#and turned into my thoughts on writing skin tone and descriptions

[gubsbuubs]

Trophy wife

Pt. 2 is out - It´s Mutual

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~ 4.5K

Warnings: Typical case descriptions, kissing and petting, enemies to lovers, a set up for a smut. Summary: When an unsub targets trophy wives, (Y/N) is asked to go undercover with her nemesis, Spencer Reid, posing as a couple to lure the killer. As they navigate a high-stakes operation, tensions escalate, blurring the lines between their professional and personal animosity.

Preview: "All this animosity, the bickering... we don't actually hate each other; we want each other.” He stared into my eyes before continuing, “And I don't think I can go another day without tasting you."

A/N: Hi everyone, this is my first-ever fanfiction. I initially wanted to write smut, but to add depth, I decided to craft this background story. English is not my first language. I hope you all enjoy it, and any and all comments are appreciated 🍒

“Are those poker chips?” Derek asked as the images from the most recent crime scene appeared on the screen behind Garcia.

"Bingo, my lucky charm! Those are poker chips, and you've hit the jackpot," Garcia continued. “This is the second woman to be found in a motel room stabbed and extremely beaten in the last two weeks.”

“The Vegas police have requested our help,” Hotch informed as he analyzed the pictures.

Ross quirked up his eyebrows as an amused smile played on his lips. "Well, either he really likes poker, or he's on a mission to prove that crime can be a high-stakes game…"

"Well, he's certainly raising the stakes in our investigation," I added, my remark eliciting another round of chuckles.

"Children, behave, please," JJ attempted to redirect the team's focus to the situation at hand.

As I scanned the pictures, my index finger reached above the image on the table. "The persistent appearance of poker chips as a signature strongly suggests a connection to the unsub’s personal experiences, perhaps indicating a deep involvement with poker, possibly even as a player. Maybe…”

“While symbolism is intriguing, we should prioritize empirical evidence. Jumping to conclusions based on perceived patterns might lead us astray." My brows furrowed in annoyance as I turned my head, hearing him cut off my train of thought. His tone carried a subtle bitterness, as if questioning the validity of my analysis.

And there he fucking was again, Dr. Spencer Reid, incessantly questioning my every move, as if my mere presence irked him to no end.

Our "relationship," if you could really call it that, was basically just a constant back-and-forth of arguing, interruptions, and tension you could practically cut with a knife. We tried to keep it professional for the team's sake, but it was obvious we weren't exactly best buds.

And what kept his skepticism going wasn't just about work competition; it was personal. He had this lingering grudge because I had stepped in after his buddy, Alex Blake, bailed on the BAU, leaving him behind.

To be honest, his animosity seemed mostly one-sided. At first, I admired Spencer's intellect and respected his dedication to the job. Plus, let's be real, I wasn't blind—I definitely noticed he was a good-looking guy. But his hostility kind of pushed me to throw up walls and respond with a guarded attitude. And then, well, naturally, I found some twisted enjoyment in getting under his skin and making him lose his cool.

"How can you have an IQ of 182 and yet be so clueless?" I scoffed, laughing. "Sure, you're intelligent, but common sense seems to elude you at times."

Reid stared for a moment, a mix of shock and rage flickering across his otherwise monotone, expressionless face. His eyes narrowed, and he responded curtly, "It's 187, and (Y/N), I would advise you to mind your manners when addressing me. My intelligence surpasses yours by far more than a number could explain." As he stood there, staring into my eyes, arms crossed by the presentation board, a surge of irritation pulsed through me. I was poised to respond, the words itching at the tip of my tongue, but before I could unleash them, Derek intervened. With a subtle shift in his posture, he leaned in towards the table, effectively redirecting our focus. A deliberate clearing of his throat signaled the shift in conversation. "The sheer brutality of these killings unmistakably points to an unsub fueled by intense rage. The way the victims were forcefully and repeatedly stabbed suggests a perpetrator with considerable physical strength and stamina.”

"The messy and disorganized scene adds another layer to the unsub's profile. Women just tend to be cleaner, so we are definitely dealing with a man,” JJ added.

“They are waiting for us, we can discuss the rest of the preliminary profile on the jet, wheels up in thirty,” Hotch said as he stood up, the team following right after.

--x--

As I focused on the files spread out in front of me, the sound of the door swinging open abruptly pulled my attention away. "We've got another body," Hotch announced, his voice cutting through the silence that lingered in the small meeting room lent to us by the Las Vegas police.

By now, we had successfully linked the unsub to the world of poker. Our victims, all married, had been last seen with their partners at casinos during poker nights, forming a clear pattern. Despite our breakthroughs, the mystery surrounding his identity and motive remained unsolved.

"Rebecca Miller, 29 years old, was last seen with her husband at Riverside Casino," Hotch added, his tone steady as he placed the picture of the victim on the board. "Witnesses report they were very affectionate. Her husband mentioned she went to get them drinks before she disappeared," he continued, his gaze scanning the room, inviting any additional insights or comments from the team.

"She definitely fits the victimology—young, beautiful, and married to an avid poker player," JJ remarked casually as she got up to take a closer look at the picture.

Rossi gazed into the distance, lost in thought. "They must be raking in serious cash playing poker. Why else would these stunners be tying the knot with someone clearly out of their league?" he mused aloud.

As I scanned the pictures of the victims, a realization began to form in my mind. Each photograph depicted a strikingly beautiful woman, always beside her husband, who often appeared much older or less attractive in comparison. "They're trophy wives," I exclaimed, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place.

I glanced to my left, where Reid stood, scoffing and shaking his head. "Trophy wives?" he immediately questioned, his focus remaining fixed on the board as he continued drawing lines for the geographical profile.

"Well, think about it," I elaborated, gesturing toward the pictures of the women. "These women, young and beautiful, carefully curated for a certain image, accompanying their husbands to the poker games, spending the entire night all over them. How had we not seen this glaring pattern before?"

"That's a rather simplistic and uninformed view, (Y/LN)," he countered. "These women had successful careers. Assuming they're merely trophy wives diminishes their individuality."

"Just because they have successful careers doesn't negate the potential of being used as accessories," I countered, locking eyes with Reid as he turned to face me. "It's not about undermining their achievements but acknowledging the potential for a specific dynamic in their relationships. We need to explore all possibilities, not just those that fit neatly into your rational worldview."

"Acknowledging possibilities is one thing, but chasing baseless theories is another," Reid retorted, his tone measured. "We can't afford to indulge in wild conjectures without solid evidence."

"Sometimes you're so buried in your 'facts' that you miss the human element of the cases," I remarked, chuckling dismissively as I shook my head to the side.

"It's called objectivity, (Y/LN)," he asserted, stepping closer until he stood before me, his hands slipping into his pockets in a gesture of dominance. "Something you might want to consider before letting personal biases cloud your judgment."

"I'm the one who lets personal biases cloud my judgment?!" I retorted, my voice rising as frustration bubbled up within me.

He remained silent for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"You've got to be kidding me," I continued, my tone escalating gradually. "You're the one who's been acting like a little bitch to me since I joined the team, so don't lecture me about taking things personally here."

Still, he said nothing, his hands now clenched into fists at his sides.

"You've had a problem with me from day one," I pressed on, "and it's about damn time you admit it instead of acting like such a child about it."

"This is about doing our job objectively," Reid retorted, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. "Your presence doesn't change the standards we uphold in the BAU, but clearly you don’t meet them."

"That's enough!" Hotch's voice boomed, commanding attention as he intervened. His gaze shifted from Reid to me, a subtle warning in his eyes. "I think we should explore that possibility," he acknowledged, nodding towards my earlier suggestion. "It seems reasonable. Apart from that, are there any more leads we need to consider?"

Spencer turned on his feet, his movements purposeful as he approached the board. "Actually, I've been working on the geographical profile," he began "And it seems that, looking at the last victim’s place of abduction, he is moving in a straight line." With a marker in hand, he started drawing on the board, "Look at this: the first victim was last seen at the Lotus Casino Central, the second victim at the Charlaton, and now Rebecca at the Riverside. It's a straight line, which means..."

"He's heading for the Bellagio next," JJ chimed in, seamlessly connecting the dots of Spencer's thoughts. Spencer nodded in confirmation, acknowledging her insight.

Rossi rose from his seat and joined Spencer by the board. "Now that we know where he's likely to strike next, perhaps we can set up an operation to catch him; he’s been striking on poker nights."

Hotch leaned forward, his brow furrowed in concentration as he considered the strategy. After a moment of contemplation, he straightened up and cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the team. "Yes, an undercover op might be our next chance." His gaze fell on me, lingering for a moment as he addressed me directly. "Y/n," he began,"You have experience as an undercover agent, and you actually resemble the victims," he observed, "Would you mind going in?" The room fell silent as the weight of the proposition settled among us.

"Yeah… sure," I responded quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Derek immediately sensed my apprehension and offered reassurance with a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Hey, it's okay," he said softly. "You're not going in alone. It has to be a couple, so you'll have someone to have your back."

"Can you come with me?" I asked, my voice tinged with a mix of vulnerability and hope.

"Actually," Hotch interrupted, straightening in his chair, "I want Reid to go with you." My head fell into my hands as I sighed, dreading the complications that might arise. The weight of Hotch's decision settled heavily on my shoulders, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at the thought of partnering with Reid for this undercover operation.

"Sir, with due respect," Spencer began, but Hotch raised his hand to stop him from continuing.

"(Y/N) needs a poker player husband; you’re the only one who could actually pass as an avid poker player," Hotch explained simply, as if it were that straightforward. "I trust you can both behave professionally and put your differences aside?" His tone sounded more like an order than a question.

"Let's get to work then," Rossi said, his tone decisive, as I let my head rest on the table. It dawned on me that this was the only option to ever catch this guy.

--x--

JJ pulled out all the strings, ensuring we had everything necessary to play our roles seamlessly. With meticulous attention to detail, she provided a stunning black dress that hugged my curves perfectly, matching pumps that elongated my legs, and exquisite jewelry that added a touch of elegance to the ensemble. Among the glittering gems, she placed an engagement ring and wedding band, enhancing the authenticity of our charade.

As I admired my reflection in the mirror, a wave of mixed emotions washed over me. The thought of spending the upcoming night with Spencer made my heart race, a strange feeling stirring within me.

My mind constantly drifted towards the way we were supposed to behave, thoughts swirling with anticipation. I imagined his touch, knowing that as a couple, he would have to be close, his hands possibly lingering on my body. How would it feel? Would I be able to maintain eye contact as he stared me down during our conversations?

I sighed heavily, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. Despite this being an undercover mission, it felt strangely intimate, as if I was gearing up for a date with him. The prospect of going out and spending time with Spencer was something I'd never experienced before, and it left me feeling nervous, even though I couldn't quite admit it to myself.

Maybe if things hadn't unfolded as they did, Spencer and I could've found common ground. Perhaps we could've forged a genuine connection, evolving into friends, or even something more meaningful. But fate had a different plan for us.

From the moment we crossed paths, our destinies seemed entwined in conflict rather than harmony, and I remember the day I met him all too well. We had just finished the tour, and Derek was now showing me to my desk.The ding of the elevator caught my attention, and there he stood. I've heard of Dr. Reid, everyone talked about him – his genius IQ of 187, his remarkable accomplishments at such a young age. But amidst all the praise for his intellect, no one ever mentioned how good-looking he actually was.

"Pretty boy," Derek exclaimed with a grin as he welcomed him. I couldn't help but agree silently. It was indeed a fitting nickname, Spencer was undeniably attractive. "Come meet our new member, Y/n Y/Ln."

With a smile I reached out my hand instinctively, ready to greet him, but to my surprise, he took a light step back. "Sorry, I don't shake hands," he said dismissively, his tone somewhat curt. "Did you know that the average person carries about 4,000 bacteria on their hands? It's a breeding ground for germs. It's actually safer to touch a toilet seat."

I stood there, utterly dumbfounded. Did he genuinely suggest that touching a toilet seat is cleaner than shaking my hand? "You really know how to make a girl feel special, Agent Reid," I retorted, rolling my eyes as Derek chuckled at the situation.

"It's Doctor, not Agent," he corrected, his tone matter-of-fact as he swiftly made his way to his desk. My mind raced, attempting to conjure a response, but he had already moved on, leaving me standing there, still processing what had just happend.

"Are you ready, or should I tell the unsub to wait because you need to keep fixing your lipstick?" a voice spoke from the darkness of my room.

“Jesus fucking Christ Reid, what the fuck is wrong with you?" I jumped from my place, surprised to see him standing there, leaning on the frame of my bathroom door. "No one ever taught you how to knock on a door?" I muttered under my breath.

"First of all, your door was unlocked, and second of all," he shook his head disapprovingly. "That's a very foul mouth you have, you should really watch your tongue," he chided. I felt his gaze lingering appreciatively on how the dress hugged my curves and accentuated my breasts.

From the corner of my eye, I lightly took in his appearance. The tailored suit fit him like a glove, different from what he wore every day. He looked more relaxed, better, hotter.

I was taken aback when I saw him move and enter the bathroom. My heart started racing as he stood by my side, exchanging a glance with me in the mirror.

"Honestly?I don't think he'd mind waiting for me” I straightened up, finally satisfied with my lipstick.

"Too bad he won't get to see it," he said, chuckling. His left hand met my hip, swiftly turning me around, and I gasped as the small of my back hit the bathroom counter. His own body caged me in, his intense gaze never leaving mine as I looked at him, confused yet strangely drawn to him. His right hand reached for a wipe, and he gently cleared any remnants of the red lipstick. I felt the cold, wet cloth on my lips, erasing any traces of the vivid stain. "If we're going to act like a couple, I don't want your lipstick all over me," Spencer remarked dryly, his expression unamused. "It's not my fault you don't know how to kiss a girl with lipstick, Doctor," I retorted, my annoyance evident in my tone.

"You look good enough," Spencer remarked with a smirk. "I'll be waiting for you in the car." With that, he turned and headed out, leaving me to gather my thoughts before joining him. "Well, this is going to be a long night," I sighed.

--x--

As Spencer drove us to the casino, we found ourselves going over the details of the plan. It was simple; our initial objective was to seamlessly integrate into the casino's scene, mirroring the couples we were emulating.

The plan dictated that Spencer and I had to project the image of a couple deeply in love, sharing glances, engaging in affectionate gestures, and creating an atmosphere that would draw the unsub's attention. Spencer would transition to the poker tables, just as the husbands of the previous victims had, all while showcasing his "trophy wife."

As the night progressed, I would strategically separate from Spencer to lure the unsub into action.

Inside the casino, Rossi and Morgan were playing their part as players, keeping an eye out. The rest of the team was in a van, ready to jump in if things went south.

The objective was clear – act like a couple. How hard could that be?

The tension in the car was palpable, and we exchanged glances, silently acknowledging the complexity of our roles. The success of the operation hinged on our ability to draw the unsub's attention, making him believe we were just another couple enjoying a night out.

The atmosphere in the casino buzzed with energy as Spencer and I entered. The dim lights, the soft murmur of conversations, and the distant chiming of slot machines created a captivating ambiance.

As we made our way to the bar, I reached for Spencer's hand and intertwined my fingers with his.

His eyebrows immediately shot up, a silent question evident in his expression as he glanced at me, perhaps surprised by the sudden display of affection.

"The more convincing we are, the more it'll attract the unsub's attention," I replied, my voice hushed but determined.

His gaze flickerd between our intertwined hands and my face. "Yeah," a small grin playing on his lips. "Just make sure you don't take it too far and end up falling for me."

"That's a good one, Dr. Reid," I chuckled softly, a hint of sarcasm lacing my words. "I'll try to contain myself."

We approached the bar, and Spencer took a seat on a stool. As I moved to stand by his side, he surprised me by pulling me closer, guiding me between his legs. His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me snug against him. I was taken aback, but I didn't say a word. Acting like a couple—that was the plan. It was just all part of the plan.

"So what should I call you?" Spencer cut through our silence, his gaze focused on mine. "What should you call me?" I echoed, my voice filled with confusion as I furrowed my brows.

"I'm not going to address you by your real name," Spencer said matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "We need undercover names. So, what's it going to be?"

His eyes scanned my features, awaiting my response, while I took a moment to ponder. "How about pretty girl?" he proposed with a smirk, his gaze lingering on me. My expression must have betrayed my surprise, but before I could respond, he continued, "Or how about Angel?" The endearing term rolled off his tongue, and I felt a flutter in my chest at the sound.

"Angel seems to resonate with you," he teased, a chuckle escaping his lips, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he awaited my reaction. I felt the heat rising to my cheeks, rendering me momentarily speechless.

I closed my eyes, disbelief washing over me. Was this real? Was Spencer really saying these things to me? And during a mission, no less?

"You seem awfully quiet for someone who doesn't know how to shut the fuck up," he said, his lips brushing against the side of my neck. "If I'd known all I had to do was call you angel, I would've done it sooner."

"Sweet names will only get you so far," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. Despite the warmth spreading through me at his words, I couldn't shake off the sense of disbelief at the way he was acting. "Oh yeah?" Spencer asked, his tone amused, as I felt his breath tickling my neck before his lips brushed against my skin, leaving a small kiss on my pulse point. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart pounded in my chest as he slowly moved his hands along my waist and lower back. I couldn't focus on anything but the warmth of his body pressed against mine, sending shivers down my spine.

"Doctor Reid, this is highly inappropriate," I managed to utter.

“On the contrary, my sweet Angel," he spoke softly as his small kisses traveled up my neck. "See, this mission requires us to act like a couple, so I'm simply enjoying my time with my wife,” he lightly chuckled as he reached my jawline. “As you said, the more convincing we are, the more it'll attract the unsub's attention”

Suddenly, Hotch's voice disrupted the moment as he barked over the wire in my ear, "Guys, great job. We've got a male in his late 30s to early 40s staring at you; he's moved closer since you arrived. He could be our unsub."

I heard Hotch's words, but my brain struggled to process them as I was too focused on Spencer's eyes, his gaze fixed on mine while his hands lightly pressed me closer.

"Come on, Angel, let's give him a show," Spencer pleaded, his voice laced with a confidence that both shocked and intrigued me. It was unexpected to witness this side of him, but there was something undeniably exciting about it. Perhaps it was his confidence and assertiveness, or maybe it was the way he was taking control and leading the interaction. "Yeah.... let´s.... let´s do it" I lightly nodded my head, I swear he could feel the pounding of my heart against my chest from how close he stood to me.

His right hand reached my face, his touch gentle against my skin. "Angel," he spoke quietly against my lips, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll only keep going if you give me permission."

His eyes were dark, his lips plump, inviting, calling for my attention. I couldn't even form a "yes," but he knew what I wanted. I pulled him closer by his tie, and our lips collided in a hot, messy kiss. I was taken aback by his skill and technique, completely unable to resist him as the heat between us intensified.

Spencer pulled away and wrapped his arms around my body, embracing me in a hug. His warmth was comforting, and I felt a sense of security in his embrace. "He's standing right behind you, gray suit, red tie, black hair," he whispered in my ear, his voice low enough not to be noticed by anyone standing nearby. Suddenly, I was snapped back to reality. The mission. The unsub. He was standing right behind me

"Should we join them?" I asked softly, glancing over toward the tables of poker and motioning for Spencer to start playing, continuing with the plan. He was supposed to hit the games, and I needed to find a way to get myself alone.

"Absolutely, my love," Spencer said with a smile as he rose from his seat.

Still a little dazed from that kiss, my mind was on fire, and my panties were ruined. How was I supposed to continue my life after knowing the effect Spencer had on me? My racing thoughts were only interrupted by the sight of the suspect following us to the tables. Instinctively, my body reacted, and I found myself clinging to Spencer's arm, seeking comfort and reassurance in his presence.

As planned, Spencer sat down at the closest table and began playing, our actions subtly conveying intimacy to onlookers. I wrapped my arms around his neck, planting kisses occasionally, making it clear to everyone that I was his prize, and he was proudly showing me off as his trophy wife.

As he played, I showered him with praise and encouragement. "You're doing so well, baby," I whispered, my words laced with admiration. It was evident that he was enjoying the attention, his gameplay slightly faltering under the distraction of my praise. Despite being a skilled and experienced player, known for his prowess and banned from multiple casinos, he seemed momentarily thrown off his rhythm by my words of encouragement. It was a small victory, a slight advantage gained in my favour.

Feeling the need to draw the unsub away, I leaned in close to Spencer and murmured, "I'm going to step out for some fresh air on the balcony, honey. I'll be back soon."

Spencer nodded, his attention still on the cards. "Okay, sweetheart," he replied with a smile, not once lifting his gaze.

Before I turned to leave, I couldn't resist the urge to plant a quick kiss on his lips, just as part of the plan, playing my role as the devoted wife. After all, that's what a wife would do, right?

The fresh air hit my face, sending shivers down my arms. I didn't need to turn to know he had followed me outside; I could feel his presence on my right side. When I glanced over, he gestured to a drink in his hand, offering it to me. "You look like you could use a drink," he said.

My heart raced, and my breathing quickened as he got closer, but I kept a cool, confident attitude, determined not to let him see my nerves.

"(Y/N), don't drink that. It's laced," Morgan's urgent voice snapped through the wire, jolting me into alertness. "Just keep him talking so Garcia can check him."

My blood ran cold as I registered Morgan's warning. Without missing a beat, I forced a smile and nodded, "Thank you, handsome, but I've had enough tonight," I replied smoothly, declining the drink with a casual wave of my hand.

"That's a big rock on your finger," he pointed out, glancing at my, unknowingly, fake engagement ring. "Why are you here all alone? Where's your husband?" he continued, raising an eyebrow and asking the question directly, as if he didn't already know the answer.

"Well…" I laughed, injecting a flirtatious edge into my voice. "I could ask the same thing," I continued, "Where is Mrs…?"

"Mrs. Desmond? She stayed at home; she doesn't really like poker," he replied nonchalantly. "I'm Steve, by the way," he added, reaching out to shake my hand.

I shook his hand, my heart quickening as I heard Garcia speak from my wire: "Steve Desmond, a 39-year-old banker, is divorced; according to court files, his wife left him after he lost all of their money on poker.” The sound of clicking keyboards could be heard in the background. "The divorce dates coincide with the killings,” Garcia added.

“That sounds like a trigger,” Hotch's voice chimed in.

"Holy moly, he also assaulted a prostitute a couple of years ago, but the charges were dropped and he was never convicted," Garcia spoke nervously.

"That's our guy, (Y/N). Keep him talking; we're on our way,” Hotch said, his voice steady and authoritative.

"Is everything okay?" Steve spoke, his tone taking on a hint of aggression as he grabbed my attention. "Maybe you should take that drink."

“I'm not thirsty, thanks,” I replied firmly, stepping back in an attempt to keep my distance. However, he refused, reaching out and gripping my arm to keep me from moving.

"I'm telling you," he said angrily, his grip tightening. "You're clearly nervous. Just a tiny sip won't hurt." I tried to break free of his grasp, but he was stronger than me and refused to let go

"FBI!" Suddenly, I saw Spencer coming up behind him, his fist connecting with the guy's face with a solid punch, knocking him back into the wall. He was strong and quick; the unsub didn't stand a chance against him. Spencer swiftly pulled out his handcuffs, cuffing him without even breaking a sweat.

"Steve Desmond, you're under arrest for the killings of Amanda Crane, Juliet Sand, and Rebecca Miller,” Spencer announced, his voice firm and authoritative.

Morgan and Rossi soon appeared, Morgan helping the unsub up from the ground and carrying him out as he spoke, "Steve Desmond, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to an attorney for advice before we ask you any questions. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford it…” His voice faded as they left, escorting the suspect away from the scene.

Once they were out of sight, Spencer came up to me and reached for my arm, his expression filled with concern. I winced as he touched the red marks left behind by the unsub's grip.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice full of concern and care, his eyes searching mine for any sign of distress.

"Um, yeah…" I replied softly, my voice shaky. "I just need a moment to process this." My heart was still racing from the encounter, and I needed a moment to collect myself. Why did he step in like that? I thought to myself, a mixture of gratitude and confusion washed over me. I could've handled the situation on my own—I was trained for this, after all. Yet, there he was, interfering in my work.

After the quiet ride back to the motel, Spencer led me to the door of my room. As we stood there, I realized I could no longer contain the annoyance for how he had handled the situation. The tension of the evening had been building inside me, and I needed to let it out. "Spencer," I began, my voice tinged with frustration. "I appreciate that you were trying to help, but I had it under control. I didn't need you to intervene so quickly," the frustration bubbled inside me, I couldn't help but wonder why Spencer felt the need to intervene. I felt like I had done a great job handling the situation, and his actions made me feel as though he had robbed me of an opportunity to take down the unsub myself.

Spencer's eyes widened in shock as he opened his mouth to speak. "Oh, really?" he said incredulously. "I didn't realize you had everything under control. I just figured that the guy having his hands all over you and aggressively grabbing your arm was cause for concern. But clearly, you didn't need any help."

"Oh, right, because clearly, I was in so much danger," I snapped sarcastically.

"I'm not going to sit around and watch some creepy-as-hell psychopath put his hands all over you," Spencer said firmly, shaking his head in disbelief. His brows furrowed in concern, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and genuine worry. "I won't let him put you at risk of being hurt … or worse." His tone was sharp "Get it through your head; I'm not going to let that happen."

"Oh, right, I wasn't aware this situation called for a 'white knight' to swoop in and save me from myself," I retorted, my tone laced with bitterness. Crossing my arms defensively, I met his gaze head-on. "Since when did my safety become your problem?"

"Since the moment we met, you stubborn brat," Spencer snapped back, his frustration evident in his tone.

"Since the moment we met? That's so much bullshit," I shot back, my voice rising with indignation. "Since when did you care about my safety so much?" I challenged him, my eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You've never shown me any compassion before, so why now? Hun?"

And then, suddenly, his lips crashed against mine, his body pressing mine firmly against the door with a resounding thud. I felt the heat of his body press on mine, the tension that had been building between us explode in an instant.

His kiss was messy and sloppy, but damn, it was hot. There was an urgency in the way our lips crashed together, fueled by a raw desire that couldn't be tamed. As the kiss deepened, the air grew thin, and I felt myself getting breathless. With a gasp, I had to pull away,

“What the fuck was that about?” I whispered, not being able to back away from his hold.

"When I kissed you at the casino, I finally understood," he muttered, his forehead resting against mine. "All this animosity, the bickering... we don't actually hate each other; we want each other.” He stared into my eyes before continuing, “I don't think I can go another day without tasting you."

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[creatingblackcharacters]

Lesson 4: "Do Black People Blush?" Bringing brown complexions to life

Inspired by this ask

So, do Black people blush?

We are human beans 🤣! Blood rushes through our veins! This isn't just a nonblack misconception either; I know plenty of Black people who think we don't blush. Stop saying that shit. It's not true! If you thought this at any point, I'm glad you learned, TAKE THIS L IN SILENCE! I am sparing you the indignity of saying this out loud, ever! 🙏🏾

Jokes aside, the actual issue usually lies with the depiction or description. Depending on our skin tone, most of us aren’t going to turn ‘bright pink’ with a blush (if you write that in your y/n or roleplaying fics, that’s an easy way to negate a good amount of your potential Black audience). Think of a cherry coke- how you still see the tint of red in it, but it’s still brown? Like that.

One way to dodge this in writing is to say “flushed”, or “ears/cheeks became hot”. This is describing the physical action of blushing, without having to describe the color of someone’s face. If you’re really nervous about not writing us correctly via blushing… there you go!

Colorism

Okay. So this is something I’ll likely do its own lesson on, because there’s no way I could encapsulate it into one little blurb and I’m not going to try! After asking the internet an admittedly confusing question 😅, one thing I was able to reaffirm is that people have different opinions on what ‘dark’/’darker’ skin tones mean. People recognize that different cultural upbringings and contexts will change what that means! And that’s good- that an important part of the larger conversation!

However, I want everyone to understand that you don’t have to be Black to be dark/’darker’ skinned- you can be Black and very pale! We discussed that in the last lesson! There’s no ‘singular point of brown-ness’ that designates a Black person as ‘Black’- there’s an entire sociological conversation behind that!

My point is, this isn’t a ‘oh Black people OVERALL aren’t depicted blushing properly’- because there are ‘lighter’ skinned Black people that wouldn’t suffer as much from this particular issue.

Blushes and Undertones

Three Links for Tips on Medium to Deep Skintones

Different complexions are going to require different colors, there's not a 'one fits all' option. However! What we want to do for deeper brown complexions is to focus on BOLDER, not lighter! Putting light pink or a white person’s ‘nude’ on our skin will often make us look ashy and undercolored. And we don’t like looking ashy.

"It looks like they're ashy!"

What do we mean when we say this about a piece? Well, worse case scenario, it looks like this:

This was NOT one of KD’s better days, and he was thoroughly mocked for this. He got more than enough money for lotion! Anyway, when we say that your art looks ‘ashy’, it means that it feels like the skin of your Black character is gray, or dead. Like a corpse. We don’t look like that unless things are dire.

In fan and professional art, you can sometimes find people user a grey undertone for deeper shades of brown on Black people: NO! We are NOT grey! We are not pitch! Many skin shades of brown can be found based in the oranges and the reds. Based on lighting and depth of complexion, you might even have to go into the blues and purple to capture the brown you’re seeking.

I’m begging us to stop desaturating the browns we use. We can see the difference. It’s usually one of those ‘White Man Painted Brown’ techniques I discussed before; an attempt to ‘make a character Black’ without really committing to it because the brown skin tone ‘doesn’t look good’ to the artist. Brown is beautiful! Commit to brown! Commit to the full design!

Put in the work to create the brown you need!

While this is a traditional art piece (follow Ellie Mandy Art, a Black creator), I want you to notice how she incorporated many colors to create the deep brown for her piece.

-8:05 for the list of paints

-8:05-17:29 for the process

She used black, yes, but it was nowhere near the base color. She incorporated blues and reds and other browns to capture that depth. It wasn’t ‘toss in a bunch of black or grey to get the brown darker’. (SKIP TO THE END TO SEE HOW GOOD THIS PIECE IS, BTW. I felt like I was in the presence of a master watching her do this, fr. We gotta pay artists more.)

I want to use this model as an example to show that while we might get very dark, we're still not 'pitch black'. You can see the flat of the black of their clothes versus their deep complexion. They're not the same!

Even if your character's complexion is very deep brown into black, you still need to incorporate ‘life’ into them (if that makes sense). And you know what? Even if you want to describe your characters as having ‘black’ skin, that’s fine, but there are still other ways to do it- obsidian, the night sky, velvet. Find a way to romanticize our skin (there’s an entire conversation about how ‘black’ is used in a negative connotation in language and storytelling, and we’re ALSO going to have that conversation later!)

A Real Simple Way (i.e. how I do it)

I tried, but I cannot find my skin tones palette link anymore. I’m sorry! But, it’s been essential to my character design. If you don’t ever buy anything else, I would HIGHLY suggest investing in a skin tones palette for your art program.

Everyone say hello to Philia, my OC! I’m used to drawing her, so I’m going to use her as an example. Now remember, I am still an amateur! But this is how I do it!

Admittedly, I do the one on the left when I'm feeling lazy, but more often I'll take the time to do the one on the right. Now here’s the thing- I’m not actually blending the red into the brown. This is on a whole different layer. What I’m actually doing is adding to and fading the color until it’s at a color that I feel is natural. There's definitely an easier, smarter way to do this, but that’s what I like to do- I like to see the stages slowly until I’m comfortable.

You have to mess around and practice; see what looks good and what doesn't. Go into the reds, the oranges, the pinks and observe how it looks- I may go through multiple before I settle on one. It’s really just a matter of getting used to drawing Black skin tones and how they look in different lighting. This one's not perfect for sure.

Resources

Here are some really good posts and Youtube videos on how both to paint skin, and to add blush tones. And remember, as per my usual, the best way to learn how the draw and paint Black people is to follow and learn from Black artists! Another good idea might be looking into Black makeup and Black SFX makeup artists. As people that work with skin on a regular basis, they would be a good place to study what colors can and should be used on different skin colors as a whole.

ami0amii

Likelihood Art

Tiara Anderson

Proko

Sinix

Ross Draws

In summary, focus on bolder colors, be willing to test until you get what you need, and practice! All you can do to get better is to practice! And as always: it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

#creatingblackcharacters #character design #black characters #black art #black artists #black character design

[fairysluna]

HERE AGAIN

43. “Go on ride my thigh.” WITH HARWIN

knight in shining armor.

When the Red Keep is attacked, Ser Harwin is the one in charge of your protection. Spending the night by your side, he finds it hard to keep his emotions under control.

MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Harwin Strong x Targ!Fem!Reader.

TAGS — fluff (a bit too much, I'm sorryy), smut —thigh riding, nipple play, oral fixation, praise, virgin!reader, dirty talk—, sexual tension, descriptions of nudity, mentions of blood and violence, murder. If something is missing let me know!!

AUTHOR'S NOTE — small context: here the dance of the dragons doesn't happen, Rhaenyra never fucked Harwin and the greens and blacks are a lovey dovey family. Long live fanfiction for this. A big, big thank you to @bucknastysbabe for beta reading this!! Ilysm!!🤍

My baby bel, i think i put a bit too much fluff into the mix while writing this, but i hope you like it and enjoy it. Ilyy🤍

WORD COUNT — 3.6k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤenglish is not my first language.

A thunderous sound woke you up from your peaceful slumber. By looking around in the darkness of your chambers, you could tell something was wrong; a strange atmosphere appeared in the air, something odd that brought an inexplicable chill in your spine. You arose from your bed, walking barefooted towards the nearest window and peeking outside - the cold wind that entered the room sent shivers through your body, causing goosebumps to arise across your skin. It had to be the hour of the Wolf, you could barely see a thing.

There was a group of guards marching towards the entrance of the Red Keep; you heard them bellow, but you were not able to make sense of their words. They ran from one side to another, picking up their swords and shields, giving commands to one another. You grew curious to know the reason behind such a fuss and the answer came quicker than you expected. While you were observing a knight standing beside the arsenal and keeping guard on the perimeter, another man silently approached him- wearing all black, camouflaging in the darkness of the night.

A small part of you told you to look away, but you stood there - eyes fixed on the guard. Curiosity killed the cat.

Out of the blue, the black-clad specter reached for the knight, and before you could discern what the man had done to him, you saw red flooding out under the moonlight - staining his prestigious white cloak. You froze in your place as you saw the guard falling to his knees before his entire body reached the dirt on the floor. The air escaped from your lungs as you witnessed such a gruesome scene, feeling your heart beating frantically in reaction.

It only became worse once the unknown man looked up, right at your window. Right at you, steely eyes glinting.

Immediately, you took a few steps back - your hand covering your mouth and muffling a squeal as soon as you realized what had happened. Chills traveled around your body, and before you realized, your cheeks were soaking with tears of horror and fear. It was suddenly hard to breathe, your chest feeling heavy and tight. That man saw you, he would certainly come after you now.

Your feet kept moving, eyes fixed in the window as you walked backwards, as far as possible from that frightening scene. In that moment, you felt your back hit something cold and hard before two strong arms wrapped around your body and squeezed you between them. You yelped, screaming hysterically with the thought that it will be your turn now - squirming desperately as you tried to be freed from the arms of the person who was holding you down.

Then you heard his voice.

“Princess, it's me!” The familiar voice exclaimed, loosening the grip around your body and allowing you to turn around to see him. He removed his helmet, throwing it onto the floor. “It's me, my sweet princess,” he repeated, this time more calm and with a soothing tone in his timbre. He placed his big, calloused hand on your cheek.

The relief washed over you as you saw your beautiful knight in shining armor standing before you, tense shoulders instantly relaxing as you locked your lilac eyes with his deep brown ones. His gaze was soft, but it still showed signs of his preoccupation for you. His thumb brushed against your skin, wiping the tears that had fallen down your face. You leaned towards his touch and he sighed.

“You're safe with me,” Ser Harwin murmured. “Everything will be okay…” His impressive frame towered over your smaller one; you had to look up at him as your hand wrapped around his wrist.

Harwin was taken aback once he felt your trembling arms wrapping around his armor. You hung from his neck as he picked you up from the floor. One of his hands held your waist, while the other went to your nape - keeping you close to him. The coldness of the metal was pressing against your cheek, and you closed your eyes - silently crying against his shoulder. Your heart fluttered inside your chest once he tightened his grip around your body; you felt safe in his arms.

“Shh… it's fine,” he cooed against your ear. His lips pressed against your head. “No one will hurt you if I'm with you, princess. No one will harm you.”

“What happened? What's going on?” you asked between sobs.

“Some miscreants managed to go through the gates, they're now being secured in the black cells. They’re trying to find those who are inside the Keep,” he explained while he slowly put you back on your feet - a soft whine involuntarily left your lips once you stopped feeling his warmth. “I've come as soon as I heard.”

“Is my family safe? My mother, my siblings? Rhaenyra and the children?”

“They are all being guarded by members of the king's guard,” Harwin replied.

You nodded before you took a look around his face, as if you were trying to search for some wound - just in case he needed your help. “Are you hurt?” A little smile appeared on his handsome face once he noticed your worry. “Did- did they hurt you?”

“No,” he answered. “And you shall not worry about me, princess…”

You pressed your lips in a thin line before murmuring - a bit embarrassed, “you know I'll always worry about you.”

Harwin paused to take a look at you; his heart beating fast with the mere sight of you, feeling like a green boy whenever you were around, staring up at him with those pretty, sparkling eyes of yours. So beautiful, so precious. It was no secret between you two that your feelings had flourished like roses in Spring. Yet, even when the deep affections were obviously mutual, both of you were scared to act on it. It was forbidden, and - somehow - that made it even more tempting for both. How scandalous, King Viserys daughter has the Hand’s son as a paramour.

“Mayhaps your royal highness should go back to sleep,” Harwin suggested. “On the morrow all this would be just a faint memory.”

“I don't think I will be able to do it,” you told him, taking a step back and wiping your tears away. “I lost all my sleep with what I've just seen…it was awful, terrible…”

Harwin approached you again as he noticed your despair - your voice breaking in the middle of your words and your eyes glistening once again by a layer of new tears. He cupped your face, brushing his thumbs against your cheeks.

“It's okay, my sweet angel,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours - you closed your eyes. His closeness made your heart beat faster, and the syrupy way the name that came out of his plump lips almost caused you to sigh. “Come here, let's sit down for a second, alright?” Harwin motioned.

Obediently, you grabbed his hand as he guided you through your room, finding a comfortable spot in the large settee right in the middle of your chambers. Once Harwin turned around, he finally noticed what you were wearing; a thin see through nightgown. His eyebrows twitched and mouth went dry. He knew that the right thing was to look away, give the privacy you needed - yet he couldn't manage to take his eyes off of you, his lovely princess. He followed a path from your face, going downwards towards your neck and collarbones - he even imagined how they would look with small marks from his lips printed on them. He continued shamelessly eyeing you, finding your breasts; he felt his throat getting dry once he noticed your pebbled nipples peeking through the white fabric of your nightgown. His mouth watered, resisting the urge to think how they would feel against his tongue. Unexpectedly, he felt his pants getting tighter.

That's when he knew that enough was enough. You were a princess; his princess. You deserve the utmost respect. He couldn't allow himself to think of you in that way, especially on a night like this one.

Harwin cleared his throat, sitting down on the couch and tapping the empty spot by his side - once again, you obeyed. Your body curled by his side, clinging into his armor, laying your head on his chest as his arm went around your shoulder to keep you close. You squirmed a bit, trying to make sense of the feeling between your legs - the one that grew more intense once you noticed the desire on his eyes.

“Close your eyes, try to rest. I'll be here when you wake up,” he promised.

You nodded, making yourself comfortable and doing what he told you to do - and you really tried, yet it seemed impossible for you to take that horrid image off your mind. Your whole body would tremble with the thought of being murdered in the same way. Each time you would close your eyes, that was all you could see. It was torturous, a bone chilling fear that didn't let you rest.

That scarlet blood seeping down white cloth played over and over again in your racing mind.

Before you noticed, you were sobbing again. Harwin, chivalrous as always, grabbed your quivering body and placed you on his lap, rocking your body from side to side as a desperate attempt to try and calm you down. It wounded him to see you like this, so scared and defenseless - he even wondered what he could do to make your anguish go away.

“He saw me… he'll come and try to- to kill me!” you whined - your lower lip shaking uncontrollably. “I cannot- I cannot stop thinking about it all.”

Growing up as a princess left you inside a bubble. Behind the thick walls of the castle you never had to watch or see something as such - the evilness of people. Harwin has always told you that you had a pure heart and soul, always oblivious to the wrongdoings of the people. You never knew how cruel people truly were, and now that you saw it you couldn't stop thinking about it.

“Nothing will happen to you, not if I'm here,” Harwin softly whispered. “I will always protect you, my precious angel.”

But then he thought of his words again; he might protect you from the enemies, from the dangers of the world, but how was he supposed to protect you from the torment that was caused by your own mind? How could he possibly make you forget about it?

He knew the answer, but he knew it was wrong. Terribly wrong.

“Come here.” Harwin invited you to sit on his lap. In any other occasion you would doubt a bit before assenting to do it, but in that moment all you wanted was to feel safe, to feel him against you as he got rid of all your fears with his mere presence - you couldn't resist.

His hands grabbed your hips as he lifted you up and motioned you until you were sitting on top of him - your arms around his broad body as you laid on his shoulder. His hands went to your head, his fingertips softly caressing your scalp while he soothed you again.

For him, it was quite hard to ignore the fact that the only thing in the middle of your nudity was a thin piece of fabric that did nothing to hide your body. He could see it, but you could feel it. At first you just sighed - the coldness of the metal covering his thigh would touch the heat between your legs, which was growing more intense with every passing second. You shivered, holding back a gasp when you accidentally moved your hips.

Out of the sudden, a thunderous sound similar to the one that woke you up was heard again. Your body jumped due to the shock, and your eyes widened with terror.

“Harwin…” you mumbled his name, almost as if you were begging him to make it stop, even when you knew he couldn't do anything more than stay by your side.

“Look at me, Princess,” he replied, his voice becoming slightly raspy as his big hands went to your hips. You felt how he started to pull your nightgown upwards - he had given up his hesitation to do this, defiling the pure little angel. How your doe-eyes and small body contrasted against his large frame, Strong was ensnared. The knight no longer fought against the carnal urges. He needed to take your mind elsewhere, and this was the only way he could think of. You tried to look down as he kept pulling the only layer of clothes that would cover your body - the only thing that separated your warmth from the coldness of the metal on his thigh, and he grabbed your chin, forcing you to keep your eyes on him. “Don't look away from me, angel…”

You obeyed, slightly parting your lips as the fabric brushed against your flesh, and once your cunt was laying naked on top of his leg, you felt a shiver running down your spine. Harwin’s honeyed gaze did not tear from your face at any moment, reluctant to see your most vulnerable places. He felt unworthy of it. He wasn't going to see you, he wasn't going to touch your vulnerable petals - he was just going to let you use him as you please.

“Ser Harwin…” you repeated his name in a gasp as his hands moved your hips on top of him. Gentle movements at first, just to see how you would react; that's when you moaned, feeling metal rubbing directly against your clit. It felt odd, but extremely good.

“Don't stress your mind any further,” he whispered, almost feeling breathless. “Forget about everything, just focus on what you feel…”

With your eyes closed, you placed your hands on his shoulder in order to find some stability when he slightly quickened the pace. The whimper that left your lips would be carved in Harwin’s mind forever, haunting his nights and increasing his need for you. You were there, in front of him looking so angelic, yet so sinful - he was tightening his grip on your hips, digging his fingertips on your flesh as a desperate attempt to hold back; the urge to rip that nightgown was almost unbearable. He needed to touch you, even when it was awfully wrong to do so.

One of his hands left your hip, moving upwards until it cupped your face. Your cheeks were burning beneath his touch, too flustered and shy to hold his haze for too long. You weren't stupid, you knew what was going on and you knew what it meant, yet it was hard for you to care when it felt this good.

Involuntarily, you started to move your hips on your own, growing needy and aching to feel more of him. You longed for his hands on your skin, touching every inch of you until his scent was spread all over your body - yet, he denied you of that, too scared of not being able to stop if he got to fondle your curves.

“Does it feel good?” he asked, his voice so deep and husky, almost making you purr like a kitten between his arms.

“S’good…” you whined in response, mouth agape and letting gasps fall from your lips.

Harwin shifted his position, trying to find some comfortable posture that would make him forget about the ache inside his breeches. He laid back on the settee, spreading his legs and letting you place your hands on his chest. You soon started to move your hips again, moaning his name.

“Fucking hell…” he groaned, now getting a full view of your body. “Go on, ride my thigh…” Those words slipped his lips before he was able to stop them. He felt ashamed, but you loved to hear them, driving your pace harder in reaction.

Your eyes opened and you found Harwin looking up at you as you used him for your own pleasure. He sat there, your weeping cunt coating his armor with your slick as you rubbed yourself on him; you quickly noticed how hard it was for him not to look down - not to look at the sinful view of your swollen bud brushing against him. Instead, his eyes remained on your face, lost in your glossy eyes and swollen lips. He was bewitched with the way your face would express the pleasure you were feeling; Blessed may be the gods for giving him the opportunity to see you like that.

His thumb moved closer to your lips, and you were quick to trap it inside your mouth, sucking and nibbling at it while your movements became more intense. Harwin couldn't resist, and he moaned once he felt your tongue swirling around his digit, imagining how that very same tongue would feel on his cock.

“This feels better than your pillow, doesn't it?” He suddenly groaned. On any other occasion, he would be too ashamed to mention that - the fact that he has heard you pleasuring yourself, yet he couldn't help it… the words slipped out of his mouth before he was able to hold them back. “Do you think of me when you do it?” He asked, almost begging to admit it, longing to hear you say it.

Though you were in no position to speak - too overwhelmed already, you manage to mumble a positive answer, humming as you nodded. A little smirk appeared on the knight's face, making him look even more charming than he already was. You felt your body melt in his arms.

With the motion of your body becoming more intense - faster, your nightgown slowly started to fall down your body, exposing your pebbled nipples to the hungry haze of the man beneath you. The struggle inside his mind was killing him, he wasn't supposed to touch you yet his body craved for it. His mouth watered at the sight while you kept moaning around his finger.

“Touch yourself for me, my angel,” he murmured, as if that would cease his cravings.

He removed his hand from your face, grabbing your wrist and relocating it to your breasts. You moaned at your own touch as you pulled your nipples and played with your own flesh. You leaned forward then, pressing your forehead against his, open-mouthed as you gasped when he grabbed your hips to control your movements once again. Harwin closed his eyes, groaning when you whined and mewled.

You sounded so beautiful.

“Come on, my princess,” he breathlessly said. His lips were merely a few inches away from yours. He fought the urge to devour your swollen lips. “Fucking hell… my angel, keep rubbing your sweet pussy against me. It feels so good, doesn't it? Bet you can’t think of anything else…”

“Harwin, I- I feel…”

“Sh… just let go. Fuck yourself on me, use me as you please. Let me help you empty that pretty head of yours.”

Harwin gave one last look at your trembling body before he started to bounce his leg, thick thigh adding more stimulation that almost made you scream. It was too much - the possessive grip around your hips was making it hard for you to think about anything else. You fantasized about him, about his hands, about his mouth… you longed for his touch, to feel huge calloused hands on your silken skin. You wondered how it would feel to have him inside of you, to let him defile your body. You wanted it so bad.

The thoughts soon started to push you over the edge. The metal covering Harwin’s thigh was soaked with your slick, it was slippery enough to fasten your movements until you couldn't hold it any longer. Your body weight fell forward, your hips twitching as your release oozed out of your weeping cunt, his name falling from your lips like a chant - as a way to thank him. Harwin felt his cock aching underneath his trousers, painfully hard, too damn close to coming undone.

“So good, my beautiful princess…” he whispered as he caressed your hair. His touch burning against now sensitive skin. “Bet you're not thinking about that bad man anymore, are you?”

You could only whine in response. Tired, overstimulated, and sleepy.

“Let's get you to bed now, shall we?”

Harwin grabbed your waist, lifting you up effortlessly as you leaned on his shoulders. Ever the gentleman, he fixed your gown and covered your nudity as he took you to the bed. He placed you delicately over the soft mattress and you hummed when he wrapped your trembling body on the silk sheets.

He leaned back then, but you grabbed his hand before he could go further away. “Please, don't,” you mumbled, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “Stay with me… Lay here.”

“My princess-”

“Please.”

And he couldn't say no.

You heard how he started to get rid of his armor, slowly detaching the pieces of metal from his body until there were just thin layers of clothes covering his body. He cautiously laid behind you - not wanting you to feel the hardness under his trousers, yet you grabbed his hand and forced him to wrap his limbs around your body, feeling the need to have him as close as possible.

Silence fell on the room, just hearing his calm breathing as he closed his eyes and smelled the sweet perfume lingering in your hair. But then, you spoke again.

“Ser Harwin?” you uttered his name so delicately it almost felt like a caress.

“Yes?”

There was a small pause, a moment of doubt. You continued regardless.

“I… I think I might be in love with you.”

Harwin's heart skipped a beat on his chest, and a smile appeared on his face. He felt a joy that he had never felt before.

“Princess?” Now it was him calling your name.

“Yes, sir?”

“I am in love with you.”

TAGS — @islandfantasydream

follow @by-fairysluna for updates!

#harwin strong #harwin strong imagine #harwin strong smut #harwin strong x reader #ser harwin #harwin strong x you #harwin strong x y/n #harwin strong x targ!reader #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | two

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: will a complicated realisation drive you and joel apart, or drag you closer together? warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, some mildly gratuitous Classics chatter, some very gratuitous descriptions of joel's office, trope of being enamoured by your favourite teacher lol [and her fav isn't even joel, sorry guys], angst, a little manhandling, semi-public sex acts with a not-so-stranger, dirty talk, brief impact play, fingering, orgasm denial, oral [m!receiving], face fucking, facial, cum eating, sheeesh i think that's it okay i need a glass of cold water word count: 10.3k i'm not sorry series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: folks, this series has taken over my entire brain. i'm having the best time writing+outlining it, and i have been so delighted by how many people liked the first part. giving you all the biggest kiss through the screen right now. lmk what you think of part two! this is part two of ALP. you can read the previous part here: one.

Tuesday.

It’s as though a mirage resides in the periphery of your vision.

A wobbling, shimmering thing that offsets the centre of a picture and makes your eyes hurt until you want to close them. The type where you’re squinting and trying to see, trying to make out what’s happening, and people are turning to look at you and pointing and you realise that you aren’t wearing any pants, and it’s a dream, a dream, a nightmare, it’s not fucking real. Illusory. Fantasy.

It's a childish thought that you can’t help but be consumed by. The idea that this is all some cruel, fucked up delusion you’re about to wake up from. That it couldn’t be possible for the charming Texan you’d met four nights prior to be stood only a few metres in front of you, discussing your fucking syllabus. Reality becomes this twisting, writhing thing that is painful and awkward to comprehend, and everything slows to a liquid, dreamlike pace. His voice, his movement, the shifting of other students around you, all drifting by slowly, as if a year has passed in the span of ten seconds.

And yet when you pinch your arm—nails scraping across skin until raw red marks raise in jagged lines—and you don’t wake up, the mirage remains, your stomach rolls.

Joel looks so different here. What had been casual at the bar, a lob of messy hair above a cotton t-shirt, is now professional. Buttoned shirt tucked into pressed brown pants. Beard trimmed, and hair pushed back into soft, tidy waves that roll down to his neck. A set of glasses rest on the bridge of his nose. Square, with black frames that compliment his skin tone, and have your fingers gripping the edge of the desk, wondering why the hell he hadn’t been wearing them on Friday night when he sunk his mouth against your cunt. Dirty little thing.

You can still feel his hands on you, days later. Feel the rough scrape of calloused fingers on your thighs, between your legs. Remember how soft his hair was when you buried your fingers in it and held him against your aching core, whining his name. It had been like this all weekend; holding an image of his tan, handsome face in your mind, trying to emulate the feeling of his hand between your thighs with your own, only to fail over and over again.

And he’s talking. That low, honeyed drawl that tickles across your skin and drips into your ears, warming your insides. It’s a marvellous thing; the way he shifts easily from topic to topic, disarming the room with short, sharp—surprising—jokes sifted in between soft-spoken sentiments about classical academia and the university, and what he hopes you as individuals will gain from a postgraduate in this course, and it feels like it’s been both hours and seconds as you watch him breathlessly, waiting. Waiting for his eyes to skirt to your side of the room, to dance across your face and recognise you, remember you, just as he said he would. 

Joel is talking about The Aeneid when he finally notices you.  

“I want you to be thinking about language,” he’s saying. “And tone. Virgil and Homer’s writing differs in a lotta ways, but it does share that same character of irony. Don’t forget that Virgil wrote during the Golden Age of the Roman Empire – and he’s presenting us with a story about destiny, about fate. Our focus here isn’t so much about love, or reverence, as it is about tragedy – no one in The Aeneid is safe from what their own fate lays out for them. All of these calamities and heartbreaks are necessary for the empire to thrive.”

He pauses. “Take Dido in book four as a prime example. In the openin’ lines of her story, if we’re looking to the West translation; she is suffering from love’s deadly wound, feeding it with her blood and being consumed by its hidden fire. We know from the beginnin’, that her love for Aeneas will be her downfall; that her death is essential for him to leave Carthage. And on that same page, talkin’ about Aeneas, we get, oh how cruelly he has been hounded by the Fates. This is what you need to think about if you’re gonna get to the bottom of Virgil’s bigger plan with these books. Why is he using this language? These words? I want—” 

Joel inhales sharply, dark eyes frozen on your face, which grows steadily warmer beneath his scrutiny. His body doesn’t move, hands hovering in the air mid-gesticulation, lips parted as his next words rest there, caught on his tongue. You swallow thickly. Feel sweat form on your hairline. The silence stretches, dead air giving rise to confused murmurs across the room, and your eyes widen, willing him to look away and continue; to do anything except stand there and keep looking at you like that. But it’s like he’s in a trance. Tan face dimming to a sickly, pallid colour, shoulders shifting as he breaths deeply. Staring.

A few heads turn in your direction, but you can’t bring yourself to look back at them; to snatch yourself away from the feeling of being held in his gaze again. It’s intoxicating—almost euphoric—to have those dark eyes on your skin.

And then it’s over, the moment severed as Joel’s eyes snap away and he clears his throat, offering a pained smile to the rest of the room. And he’s apologising, Lost my train of thought for a moment there, using a playful tone of voice as he says, first day of the semester jitters, y’know?

He ignores you after that.

For the entirety of the two-hour lecture, he makes sure not to spare a single glance in your direction. And it stings, but you suppose you understand. Can see the tension held in his shoulders now; the strain in his voice as he works to talk with that same measured ease he’d had at the beginning.

You take notes carefully, and don’t bother raising your hand when he inspires participation from the other students. But by the end of the class, you can’t bring yourself to walk out – not without saying something, without finding some kind of understanding over what the fuck is happening. You’re practically glued to your seat as students rise, filing out of the theatre hall.

Joel stands by the desk, back hunched as he collects his things, fielding kind comments of thanks and that was great from people as they pass him on their way toward the exit.  Eventually you join the stream, wandering down the stairs on shaky legs until you find yourself at the edge of his desk, fiddling with the strap of your bag and watching his back. His shoulders hunch tighter when you pause there, shadow splaying across the desk. Though his face isn’t visible to you, his hands are almost a blur, scrambling to drag his things into a messy pile so that he can pack up faster. He slaps his laptop closed and you flinch at the sound.

After a few moments, you find the courage to speak.

“That was, uhh, that was really interesting,” you clear your throat awkwardly, watching other students shuffle past in your periphery. His hands move faster, stuffing loose notes into a leather satchel with little disregard for the paper creasing.

You lower your voice to a hoarse, careful whisper. “We need to talk about this.”  

Joel finally looks up, nostrils flaring as he meets your stare. He nods once, looping the bag over his shoulder. “Not here,” he says gruffly, tight eyes darting around the room. “Room’s booked for another lecture in five.”

He tilts his head towards the door, encouraging you to follow him as he paces out towards the hall. You shadow him quickly, clutching your bag and watching the muscles in his back shift beneath his shirt as he walks three paces ahead of you. You fight the urge to place your hand in the dip between his shoulder blades; to feel the heat of his skin, the rolling tension beneath it, and dig your fingernails into him. Joel doesn’t look back to check if you’re following – he knows you are.

He leads you up a flight of stairs and down another hall, makes a left, and then another left, until finally he’s pausing and dragging a key from his pocket, pressing it into the lock of a heavy wooden door and nudging it open. There’s a plaque on the wood that reads J MILLER, PhD. You swallow. And then follow him inside and let the door fall shut behind you.

Joel stalks into the room, feet heavy against the dark carpet. He tosses his satchel to the floor and then stands by the desk, wild eyes trained on where you hover silently by the door. He looks on edge, to say the least. Frazzled fingers race through his hair, mussing the curls until they look reminiscent of the past Friday. Foot tapping against the ground in a quick, jerky rhythm.

And you know that you need to talk, need to clear the air, need to say anything, but you can’t help it when your eyes wander around the room because—

His office is sort of beautiful.

A larger space than you expected it to be, with a north-facing window that allows a natural yellowed morning light to fill the space, and a vast bookshelf stretching across the wall behind a large desk. You can’t make out the titles from where you stand by the door, but texts fill every crack and crevice of the shelfing unit, not organised by any noticeable colour scheme or structure. The space is messy – personal. In fact, everywhere you look seems to expose something private, something intimate.

A jacket hangs from a hook on the back of the door, made of a worn duck brown waxed material that looks soft to the touch. In the corner opposite the desk, a velvet green armchair sits beside a low table that houses a record player and a potted plant. Sleeves of records are tucked beneath the table, stacked upon each other haphazardly, without a hint of dust on them. Clearly touched and rifled through more often than not.

The wide window is cracked just an inch, allowing a warm early-Fall breeze to slip in and rustle the starched curtains. A coffee mug is beside the record player. Two more sit abandoned on the outskirts of his desk. All empty and forgotten about, too busy to be refilled or moved or cleaned. And there are books everywhere; strewn across his desk, forgotten beneath the cushion of his armchair, piled against the wall beneath the window. Worn, well-read books, with frayed covers and broken spines. You almost drool, tempted to ignore him completely and venture towards them; to run your fingers over the covers and find out exactly what kind of writing this enigma of a man spends so much time devouring.

After what feels like an hour of simply looking—but could only have been a minute—Joel breaks the silence.

“Did you know?”

His voice is quiet. Detached. The backs of his thighs perch on the edge of the desk, hands tangled in his lap. Large fingers pluck at each other as he stares at you from across the room, in an almost anxious fiddling movement.

“What?” you ask.

“Did you know who I was?” he clarifies, voice hardening. Those dark eyebrows tighten in the middle of his forehead, features pinching together into a sharp frown. “When you saw me.”

“Joel,” you scoff, taken aback. “How the hell would I know who you were?”

“Your classes were organised,” his voice raises slightly—just a little. “You knew the names of your profess—”

“J Miller,” you interrupt. “Everything says J Miller, that’s it. I didn’t fucking know, Joel.”

His frown softens at that, eyes dropping to the carpet as he nods once, clearly still unsure. You shuffle awkwardly on your feet, shoulders tense. There’s only a metre or so between the pair of you, and yet you can feel it. That static, burning energy, the same as four nights before. Something inside of you that rages and claws at your skin from the inside, begging to get closer to him. You ignore it.

“Why didn’t I meet you when I interviewed for the program?” you ask. You remember the day you came in, six months ago. Sitting with an older man—the Classics department head—and a soft, round woman with light hair. No Joel. You would’ve remembered him. 

His eyes flash, hands tightening in his lap. “I was on vacation,” he grinds out. It’s like it physically pains him to talk to you—to even look at you. One of his hands drops, palm flexing by his side. He’s taking deep breaths, clearly trying to calm the quell of panic that has been swirling inside him for the past two hours. You keep your distance.

After a moment, he speaks again.

“Greece, huh?” It comes out in a low scoff. His eyebrows are raised expectantly, frustration laced through the lines in his face. “Said you were there for a month.”

“Mhm,” you hum. “I was involved in a text translation study based in Athens.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he exhales, digging the palms of his hands over his eyes. “This can’t be happenin’.”

“Joel—”

“Y’need to transfer out of my class,” he interrupts, eyes blazing. “They run it online, you can—”

“What?” you blink. You feel your blood pressure rise, anger spiking as you comprehend what he is suggesting. “Be serious – I am not doing the class online because of this. It’ll jeopardise my entire semester.”

“I don’t care,” he glowers, rising from the desk.

“Jesus, stop acting like this was all my doing,” you snap. “If memory serves, you’re just as to blame as I am—you wanted me just as much as I wanted you.”

“Stop,” he growls. It’s a rough, unforgettable sound that fills your stomach with heat. An oddly familiar thing that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Silly little slut. The memory licks at your throat, the skin of your chest, leaving a hot heady feeling in its wake. You wonder if he’s noticed the hickey on your neck that hasn’t entirely faded yet. A persistent, lingering reminder of his mouth on your skin. Of the sharp scrape of his teeth.

You take a step forward and Joel’s entire body goes rigid, right hand jutting out in front of him, fingers splayed open.

“Stay over there,” he says quickly, voice a low warning.

You scowl but don’t move, feet planted in the soft carpet. The breeze rushes in through the window and causes a paper on his desk to flap upward, and your eyes drift toward the movement. Gaze shifting over the items on his desk, the mess of papers, the half-full mugs, and then… a picture frame. You squint, unable to make it out from where you are. Take a step forward, and then another, and realise it’s Joel’s shape in the image, standing with a tall woman tucked against his side. It’s too far for you to see clearly, but you can tell his arm is wrapped around her shoulder, holding her against his chest, and you know he’s grinning from the splash of white across his face.

“What’re you—” Joel’s words turn to silence as he tilts his head and realises what you’re looking at. A broad hand darts out, gripping the frame and knocking it face down on his desk.  You flinch, eyes widening in incredulity as you turn to him.

“What?” A sardonic laugh escapes your mouth. “Are you fucking married or something? Jesus, Joel.”

You reach for the frame, fingers skirting across it with every intention of seeing, of understanding, of knowing just what it is that he’s so desperate to hide. But then he’s there, strong fingers looping around your wrist, halting your movement. The speed of it sends you stumbling toward the desk, and Joel’s body follows you forward, chest flush against your back as your lower stomach collides with the dark wood. Caught between a rock and a hard place, quite literally. You stiffen, sorely aware of how close he is. How much of his body is touching yours, and how similar it is to before.

“I’m not married,” he bites, and you can feel his breath against your ear. Hot, harsh exhales that send whisps of your hair fluttering forward. A shiver runs down your spine. His grip is firm around your wrist; not hard enough to hurt, but enough to hold you in place with your hand frozen in the air, fingers still outstretched towards the frame.

“Then who’s in the picture?” you grunt.

“None of your fuckin’ business,” he snaps quickly. You can feel his stubble graze the edge of your jaw, and something fizzes in your stomach. Your resolve softens at the frustration in his voice; the truth that bleeds out through his words. It is none of your business. Your body relaxes a little, arm going limp in his hold, and yet he doesn’t let go. It takes a moment for you to realise why.  

Joel’s hips are pressed tightly into you, trapping you against the desk, and he’s hard. You can practically feel him throb against the small of your back, the full length of his cock only separated from you by two layers of clothing. Saliva pools in your mouth, eyes pinching closed as you remember the feeling of him; the delicious burn of his heavy cock dragging through you. Using your free hand, you twist your arm behind you and slide it down his front. A whispered oh fuck escapes your lips as your fingers drag across the front of his pants, and he grunts in your ear, grasp tightening around your wrist. Painful this time, but only for a second, until he’s tearing his hand off you and placing it on your lower back, pushing you down so that your chest is flush with his desk.

You gasp, lips parting to speak, but no words are coming out and Joel’s hands are on the waistband of your jeans, on the button. He’s undoing it, fingers steadfast in their movement, and then he yanks the material down roughly over your ass.

“Joel,” you whimper urgently as he grips your panties, dragging them to your knees as well. He keeps you bent against the desk, so you twist your neck to stare at him over your shoulder, legs tensing when you see the expression on his face. His eyes are dark, pupils blown behind his glasses as he looks down to where his covered cock grinds against the swell of your ass.

“God dammit,” he exhales, and you clench around nothing, warmth pooling between your thighs. This is so different from at the bar. There the door was locked, place full of people who didn’t know either of you. Here, in his office, anyone could walk in. A member of faculty, a student, anyone. And the thought has you fucking aching for him.

Thick fingers streak between your thighs from behind, spreading your slick folds apart. You gasp as cool air hits your throbbing clit, but the sound cuts into a low moan as his fingers expertly roll over the sizzling nerve endings there. He ousts a low grunt of surprise at how wet you are, hips still grinding against you as his fingers drift to your entrance, rubbing and collecting your slick on his fingers until you’re whimpering into your own palm, pressing your hips back and begging him for more. All at once, one of his palms slaps across your ass while two thick fingers press inside you. The sting has your eyes rolling back. Your teeth sink into the palm of your hand to muffle the noise you make, and he’s curling his fingers inside you, rubbing against your g-spot, and your legs are trembling with the effort of staying standing. Your mind is a blur. You feel almost lightheaded at how suddenly this is all happening – and at how relieved you are to feel his hands on you again.

“S’this what you wanted?” Joel pants, scissoring his fingers inside you, stretching you out. “Knew if you followed me in here, I’d end up fuckin’ this pretty pussy again? Huh?”

“Fuck,” you choke out, eyelids fluttering as he adds a third finger. Heat sizzles beneath the tightening muscles in your stomach, and you can feel yourself clenching around him over and over again, your high already approaching. It’s almost pitiful, the affect he has on you; how easily your body yields to the simplest of touches from his hands.

“Huh?” he prompts for a response. You can feel the cool zipper of his pants cutting across the bare skin of your ass, scratching you as his hips rut forward.

“Please,” you say, voice quiet as you can muster. “I’m so close, Joel, please.”

He grunts, increasing the speed of his fingers. Soft squelching sounds are audible now, slick smearing against your inner thighs, his wrist, and your face goes warm at the sound of it. Your fingers claw at his desk, nails catching on paper as your hand lands against a book and grips it tight. Your abdomen burns, that soft thrumming heat licking at your skin, the muscles of your thighs, scorching in its might as your orgasm builds and builds, hanging dangerously close to the precipice.  

“Gonna come all over my fingers?” Joel asks, voice haggard and breathless. “C’mon, give it t’me.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes speaking, forehead knocking roughly against wood, eyebrows pinching together. So close, so close, so fucking clo—

A light knock sounds against his office door.

Joel freezes. Your eyes widen, hips shifting against his hand as you murmur no, no, no, please Joel. But he ignores you, gripping your hip to keep you still and dragging his fingers from your dripping cunt to press them over your mouth. Your pulse thunders in your ears, heart trashing wildly in your chest as you catch your breath, devasted.

“Joel?” a soft voice calls from the hall. A woman. “You in there?”

“Just on the phone,” he says loudly, voice surprisingly steady. You can taste yourself on his fingers. Feel it smear across your lips. “What d’ya need?”

“I’m headed to the café,” the woman calls. “You want anything?”

Joel responds with a sharp, resounding no.  

There’s a beat of silence where you can almost feel him holding his breath, waiting for her to inevitably open the unlocked door and discover the scene in his office. But the silence stretches on, and then you can hear soft footfalls fade down the corridor, and you know that you’re alone again.

Joel rips his hand from your mouth. Grips your underwear and drags it up over your hips, then your jeans, before he’s stumbling away and dropping into the armchair across the room. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, eyes wide as he gazes at the floor. When you push off the desk and turn to stare at him, a firm tent is visible in his pants. You button your jeans slowly, watching him. He doesn’t look at you.

“Joel—” you start softly.

“Don’t,” he interrupts. “Just… just get out.”

You open your mouth to speak—to argue—but once again, nothing comes out. No words to defend yourself, or what the two of you just did. You stare at him for almost a minute, but Joel’s eyes stay trained on the carpet, fists clenched against his thighs.

You leave his office silently and try not to look back. Make two rights and head down the stairs, outside and across the green to where your car is parked. The whole thing feels so dirty, so debauched, and yet you want so much more from him. Want it so badly that you drive home in silence, mind too busy with thoughts of Joel Joel Joel to remember to turn on the radio. 

And behind it all, is a low, itching thought at the base of your skull, something that makes you smile as you drive – the knowledge that he wants you just as badly as you want him.

Wednesday.

You decide very quickly that you like Rachel.

Maybe it was because you were having a good day. The sun had been shining when you woke up; strong beams that teased their way through the window in your bedroom and rested warm upon the bare skin of your back. By the time you rose, the coffee was already done brewing, and Trin met you in the hall with a large mug of it and a soft hey, man, how’d you sleep? And when you went to get dressed for the day you remembered you did the washing two nights before, and found your favourite pair of jeans—the ones that squeezed your ass just right—were neatly folded in a drawer, waiting for you. Yes; maybe all of that had something to do with it. Or maybe, it because Rachel was just great.  

You like her tenacity, her words; the idolatry with which she discusses her work. And she is charming; an intellectual through and through. The soft roundness of her face and the kind slant to her eyes offset by a razor-sharp wit. And there’s this peculiar quirkiness to her that catches your attention in seconds – a rough snort whenever she laughs, the bright orange shade of the toenails sticking out of her sandals.

Her teaching is direct, no-bullshit, and yet she has this smile. This soft, thin-lipped genuine smile that says, I know something you don’t know, and I can’t wait to share it with you.

During her first lecture, you feel rooted to the spot, unable to draw your eyes away from her for two-hours as she waxes poetic about heroines and tragic love stories, about the importance of myth, of gore.

Listening to her reminds you of what you’d always loved about classics – the filth of it, the horror. It feels like reaching your hands into a puddle of mud, flexing your fingers and letting the dirt and grime slide beneath your nails, coating every inch of your skin. The squeamishness of it, the rot, the tragedy – you love it all, and Rachel does too.

“When we talk about the juxtaposition between heroines across different texts,” she says. “We want to look at the values being portrayed; the meaning behind what’s happening to these women. Let’s appreciate the context here, guys! To understand the rage of Medea, or, say, the sacrifice of Iphigenia, we have to get to the root of their roles in society. Priestess, mistress, virgin, mother – we want to understand the perspectives being shown to us. What drives these women? What fire lives within them, pushing them to make their decisions—or to have their decisions made for them?”

She points to a student and nods, “Go on.”

“Do you think Medea holds much bearing here?” someone to your left asks. A man. “If we’re focusing on heroines, I mean.”

“Do you?” she challenges. A hint of a smile—that smile—drifts across her lips, hands clasped to her stomach as she awaits his response.

“Not particularly,” he says, voice less sure now. “I know you can view any text through most perspectives, but I’d never thought of her so much as a heroine in a feminist text.”  

“I see,” Rachel nods. “Well, the short answer is that I’d encourage you to read it again.” She laughs, a soft tinkering sound. “The long answer is that her character is complex. Let’s not beat around the bush; Medea is a woman scorned. Banished by Creon, forgotten by Jason. As the reader, we are able to comprehend the most brutal pain through her – a woman trapped in a world where men have decided everything for her, and she is furious. Even describes herself as a woman born to sorrow. Now, as the reader, it is your right to believe that she is bad, or an anti-heroine, but you cannot deny that she is made bad by circumstances out of her own control.” She pauses, thick eyebrows jutting upward as she looks around the quiet theatre. “I’d say that’s pretty feminist of Euripides.”

You approach her afterwards, fingers an awkward tangle in front of your chest.

“I just have to say,” you smile bashfully. “That was wonderful. You’re so engaging, I was… god, I don’t even know what to say, but thank you. I’m really looking forward to learning from you this semester.”

Rachel’s eyes light up at your words.

Up close you notice a pair of thick, ceramic earrings dangling from her lobes. They look hand painted; thick brushstrokes of dandelion yellow smeared across crimson red ovals.

“Oh, how lovely,” her eyes assess you quickly, mouth splitting into a crooked, fond smile. “I’m very glad to have you here…?”

You tell your name in a mumbled rush, and she nods once, eyes scanning the list of students on her sheet.

“Oh of course,” she says knowingly. “You emailed yesterday, no? Some trouble with accessing the readings online?”

You stiffen. Blink at her, smile dimming somewhat. “Yeah,” you exhale. “Yes, that’s actually—I was having trouble with the link for another class, and I hoped you might be able to help.”

“I see,” she frowns then. “Well, unfortunately if it’s not for this class I won’t be of much help; my access code only gets me so far in that damn portal. Which professor assigned the reading?”

“It’s, uhh,” you speak slowly, the words stiff as they stumble out of your mouth. “It’s Joel Miller.”

“Oh, Joel?” she smiles. “Well, he’ll be happy to help, I’m sure. He’s usually in his office around this time – do you need me to show you the way?”

Your mouth is dry. Yeah, you think. I’m sure he’ll be over the moon to see me.

“That’s okay,” you reply with a tight smile. “I’ll find it.”

She nods, bids you a warm goodbye, and her eyes have already drifted back to the papers in front of her when you turn to leave the room.

Your bag weighs heavy on your shoulder, straps of canvas material digging into the muscle there as you retrace your footsteps from yesterday. Up the creaking set of stairs, taking a left, and then another left, and your mind is a blur, static wobbling in your veins as you rehearse what you’re going to say, how you’re going to say it.

It’s been less than twenty-four hours since you’d last seen him, and from the second you left, an image of what happened in his office played on a loop in your brain. Like the spool on a VHS has been stuck together, wound into a circle, and the tape repeats over and over again, the same images, sounds, smells, soaking your mind until all else is white noise. And it’s twisted, and wrong, and you’re vaguely aware of that, somewhere in the part of your brain where you stash knowledge that you’d prefer to forget. Because it’s easier to forget the hard part, the ugly part, and far nicer to remember the scrape of his stubble against your skin. The smell of him filling your nostrils as he crowds you against his desk. The scratch on your ass from his zipper. Remember how your name sounds when he moans it, and forget the feeling that comes when he refuses to look at you after the fact.  

And you wonder if this is what the entire semester will be like; spending each day reminiscing on your last interaction with Joel, hoping for another touch, taste, another chance, another something, anything, from him. The weight of it sits heavy on your chest, like a wall of freshly cemented bricks left to solidify in the sun. And beneath that, beneath the clay and sand and limestone, excitement buzzes. Indisputable, persistent, anticipation. A vibrating that hums in your bones and has you shivering from the tips of your toes to the top of your skull as you knock on his office door. 

J MILLER PhD. The words glare at you from the bronze plaque for the second time in two days.

You hear his voice call pleasantly from behind the door. Light, relaxed. You swallow down the lump in your throat and step inside.

The window is wide open today, pale curtains drawn back to allow the bright midday sun to shine through and warm the carpet. Joel’s head tilts upward and within seconds the soft, easy smile on his face dissolves into something unreadable. He’s perched behind his desk, broad frame bent over a mess of papers, pen tucked neatly between coiled fingers. A clear tension simmers in the lines on his forehead; a tangible rigidity that clouds his expression when he sees that it’s you. He clicks the top of his pen once, twice, three times, and says your name in a clipped greeting.

“Hi,” you say, hand raising in a quick wave. “Sorry to barge in like this, I, uhh, I was wondering if you could help me with something.” 

“My office hours are between one and four,” he says tersely, eyes lowering back to his book. “Schedule an appointment over email.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, face warming as embarrassment swells in your chest. All of the excitement—the longing—that had churned inside you since yesterday seems to dissipate, replaced by a looming sense of dread as you register how distant and apathetic he seems. How hard he tries to not even look in your direction. Those words from yesterday ring in your ears. Just get out.

“Seriously?” you mutter, nonetheless, trying to contain the hurt that threatens to spill across your face. “It’ll take five seco—”

“Seriously,” he repeats firmly.

Your jaw clenches, annoyance tightening the already stiff muscles in your shoulders as you march over to his desk, dropping your bag onto the edge of it. The exact same spot from yesterday, where’d pressed you down against the wood and— Joel’s shoulders hunch. The sleeves of his shirt are pushed up to just below his elbows, thin white material stressing around cords of muscle. You gaze at the bare skin for a moment, tongue heavy in your mouth, before looking to what he was doing before you came in. A book in front of him is filled with scribbles and annotations, harsh black marks scrawled beneath thin lines of text. You only get a second to look at it before his hands are snapping it shut, revealing the cover. Robert Fagles’ translation of The Odyssey. The picture frame from yesterday is nowhere to be seen.

“Working on something for a lecture?” you try. If it’s about class, he can’t be mad. If it’s about class, he can’t push you away.

“What do you need?” he asks impatiently, ignoring your words entirely.

A hand lifts to rub the skin above his eyebrow. The tip of his middle finger massages the tan skin there in soft circles, and you watch the movement for a second, transfixed. No ring. I’m not married. His other hand reaches for the mug on his desk, and he takes a long, drawn-out sip of black coffee. Steam billows from the dark liquid, fogging the lenses of his glasses. The sight makes you want to laugh, but you swallow it down, acutely aware that Joel would be less than impressed by the reaction.

“I can’t access one of the readings for next week,” you explain distractedly, dragging the laptop from your bag.

You round his desk in a few short steps and Joel sighs, cringing as you place it down in front of him, opening the screen for him to see. He shifts his chair just slightly to the right, away from you. That persistent feeling of doubt coils in your gut, sharp teeth that twist and nip at your insides, taunting you, telling you that he doesn’t want you. And it’s not why you’re here—not at all—but you can’t bring yourself believe it. Don’t want to believe it. So you bite back – turn your back to his desk and pitch your thighs atop the edge of it, feet dangling an inch off the ground. You jeans are tight, and the fabric cuts into the skin of your hips where they bend.

“Get down,” he warns sharply, dismissing you with a taut shake of his head. “You can ask IT for help with that.”

“I’m asking you,” you persist stubbornly. “You’re my professor, Joel—"

“Yes, I am your professor,” Joel bites in agreement, glowering up at you. You stiffen warily at the heat in his gaze. At the anger you can see stirring in those dark brown orbs, brimming and ready to boil over. “And I don’t think we should be alone together,” he adds. “It’s not… this is bad for us, okay? I can’t… fuck, you can’t just come in here. I don’t want you comin’ in here anymore.”

And the memory plays once more. That thing, that something twisted, something wrong, something familiar, curls in your stomach. Snaps and bares its teeth at your uncertainty, sends it scattering into the distance, and replaces it with want.

“I didn’t even plan to come here,” your voice hardens, hackles rising as the feeling rises within you. “You’re not the first person I asked, alright? I just need some fucking help—”

“Don’t swear at me,” he interrupts through gritted teeth.

A beat of stunned silence hangs between you. A shocked laugh tumbles from your mouth, eyes widening as you take in the grave expression on his face.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you stare at him incredulously. “Joel, you had your fingers inside of me against this desk yesterday. I think swearing is the least of our worries.”

“Jesus,” he spits, pushing his chair further from the desk. His elbows fall against his knees, head resting in his palms as he breaths, not looking at you. “You’re fuckin’ filthy, y’know that? Can you not just behave?”

Don’t swear, you want to tease, but think better of it.

Instead, you nod slowly, drop your hand onto the desk, fingers hovering over his book. “Joel,” you implore, tone pleading. “I don’t… I don’t know how to act around you right now, okay? It’s not easy for me to just pretend nothing has happened between us. To just forget.”

“And you think it’s easy for me?” he gripes. His eyes are focused on your hand; on the way your fingers tense and untense over the bound cover, stroking the frayed paper his own fingers have clearly touched countless times. He doesn’t move a muscle. “To try and act like things are normal, act like I didn’t—” he cuts himself off, lips clamping shut. An anguished look crosses his features.

“We’re both adults,” you frown. “It’s not a crime that we fucked, Joel.”

A harsh laugh falls from his mouth, stern eyes blazing. “Ain’t about that and you know it. It’s against professional ethics,” Joel snaps, tone firm. “Against university policy – if anybody finds out it could put us both in jeopardy.”

You’re silent for a moment, watching him. His glasses have slid down a little, and they rest precariously on the tip of this nose. Dark eyes stare from over the top of black frames, and then his legs are crossing, one tucking tightly over the other, a thick forearm dropping to rest across his lap, and want burns in your throat. You struggle to remember why you came to his office in the first place.

“Nobody is going to find out,” you whisper.

A rasp of your name catches in his throat. Joel looks bemused, face as flat as he rolls his eyes. “Quit fuckin’ playin’ around. You know how serious this is.”

You contain the urge to scowl, lips tight as you say, “Yeah, I know. Just—look, you don’t have to worry. We can cut it off right now – I won’t say a word of it to anyone. Nothing else is going to happen.”

But you can see the way his eyes flicker down your body whenever you move. How his gaze rests heavily at the pinch of your waist, the spread of your thighs against his desk, your bare arms, before darting away. You wonder if he’s touched himself thinking about you, and a jagged heat tears through the top of your thighs as you picture what that would look like.

“But that's not what you want, is it?” you ask softly. Joel doesn’t speak. He’s so still you almost think he didn’t hear you. But his eyes glance to your thighs again, you know that he did.

“You want me,” you say then, voice low and sure.

The muscle in his jaw ticks. Lips purse around clenched teeth and a harsh breath escapes his nose before he’s saying your name again, a strained whisper. And God, you love the way he says it. Like the word was created just to spite him.

“You are walkin’ on some mighty thin ice right now,” he grits out, heated gaze scorching your skin.

You glance down to his lap, where a forearm still balances over his crotch, and arch an eyebrow.

“Show me,” you murmur.

You can hear him breathing. Slow, exaggerated puffs of breath, chest rising and falling at an increasing pace as he maintains eye contact. Large hands tighten into fists, fingers curling against palms, and he’s dragging his arm back from his lap, spreading his legs as far as they’ll go within the arms of his chair. You wet your lips, face heating as you stare. The firm line of his cock is evident beneath his pants, a solid ridge against his left thigh. When you look back to his face there’s a faint red hue colouring the skin of his neck, steadily rising toward the edge of his facial hair. He’s blushing.

“How long?” you ask, voice awed.

“Since you got on the desk,” Joel grumbles, tone almost begrudging.  

You hum softly, a low vibration in your throat, and then you’re slipping off his desk and taking a step towards him. And he doesn’t flinch away. He watches you close the distance between the pair of you and hover between his thighs, your legs almost brushing his.   

“Let me help,” you whisper, lowering onto the ground in front of him. The carpet is warm and rough against your jean-clad knees. Your eyes drift from his face to between his thighs, and then back up, slowly.

“We shouldn’t,” he croaks, lips chapped and dry. You want to kiss him senseless. Want to drag your tongue across his mouth until it’s soaking wet and then push your way inside.

“But do you want me to?”

An agonising beat of silence follows. But there’s no doubt there anymore. No more wondering, or uncertainty, because you can see it in his eyes. The same all-consuming, devastating desire that crawls its way up to rest at the base of your throat whenever you’re with him. 

And then thick fingers are at the waist of his pants, undoing his leather belt, his button, pushing the material open to reveal a pair of black briefs. He doesn’t take his pants off, just adjusts slightly in the chair before pressing his hand beneath the band of his underwear. Joel grips himself, the sight still obscured from your vision, and you find yourself mesmerised nonetheless, unable to drag your eyes away from the dark material. A low grunt escapes him, and then he shifts the band of his underwear down and pulls his cock out.

The head of him is swollen and leaking, tight skin so red that it’s almost a purple hue against the stark white of his shirt. Joel’s fingers tighten around his base, stroking himself once. Impatient, you lick you hand and let it drift forward to replace his, fingers slipping over the silky wet skin of his head and wrapping around him. Your hand is so much smaller in comparison, and your fingertips almost don’t meet as you flex your grip around girth.

Your underwear clings to the skin between your thighs, material warm and damp against you, a result of the simmering heat that rests in the base of your belly and flares every time Joel sighs. When you glance up to see his face, he’s already staring at you, pupils blown wide, lips sealed in a tight line. His length twitches in your palm, and you salivate.

You lean in and place a gentle kiss again his tip, smearing the pearl of precome there against your lips. You stroke the length of him in slow, firm pumps, guiding his head against your puckered lips, but not quite taking it inside yet. Joel’s fists are tight against his thighs, and you wish he would put them in your hair, on the back of your head, grip you, pull you down against him. But he doesn’t, not yet.

He’s got a salty, heady taste, and you swipe your tongue out to clean the hint of it from your mouth, swallowing with a satisfied purr. A harsh exhale shoots from his nose, eyebrows dragging further down as he watches you tease him.

A quick flick of your tongue against his slit has a sharp gasp rising from him, and in response you lathe wet, messy kisses to his head, puckering your lips around it and swirling your tongue, not caring what you look like, not caring that he probably wants you to go faster. It’s purely for your own enjoyment, and you’re moaning and sighing around the taste of him. You want to take Joel Miller a part, piece by piece, and feel him come undone beneath your mouth.

Unable to wait any longer, you let his head slip passed your open lips and sink into the wet heat of your mouth. And he’s so quiet, so composed, so you glide your tongue over his slit again before pressing forward, lips meeting the movement of your own hand as you take him deeper.

Your jaw strains, muscles smarting as you attempt to take the entirety of him. He’s so long, so thick, and the tip of him is nudging against the back of your throat in seconds, making your eyes water. And god it’s better than you could’ve imagined.

Tears cling to your eyelashes as you look up and find Joel with his bottom lip snagged between his teeth, pink skin turning white from pressure. The heavy weight of him crowds your senses, his taste on your tongue and scent in your nostrils, everywhere, and you can feel how hot your face is getting but you can’t look away from him. You don’t stop until his hand is landing on the nape of your neck, collecting your hair in his fist and dragging your mouth off him. You part with a wet gasp, a string of saliva dangling between his tip and your shiny lips.

“Breathe, goddammit,” Joel says, holding you still when you attempt to press forward and take him back into your mouth.

“You’re so big,” you say earnestly, head tilting backward to rest heavy in his hold. You blink through bleary eyes, smiling lazily. Drunk on him after only a little taste. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this, you know. How you’d taste… how it would feel to have you in my mouth.”

“Fuck, stop,” Joel says quickly, voice pained. “Y’can’t say shit like that.” His grip tightens at the base of your neck, and then he’s guiding your face forward so the head of his cock slips back into your mouth, effectively shutting you up.

You hum appreciatively and relax your jaw, taking him until he’s nudging at your throat again, and he’s still so fucking silent. Determined to get some kind of reaction from him, you pull off and lick a broad stripe from tip to base, hand stroking his length in unhurried, firm pulls as your mouth finds his heavy balls. Your tongue glides along the sensitive skin in slow, overwhelming movements, leaving no inch of him untouched. Wet sounds fill the air as the movement of your fist increases in pace, and your lips drag over him, sucking one of his balls into your mouth and then—finally—a long, drawn-out groan spills into the air, and he’s saying, “Shit, that’s it.”

Never pausing the movement of your hand, you pull back just a smidge and grin.

Joel’s hands are on you then, another deep sound sputtering from his lips. He’s brushing your hair off your face, mussing it as he rakes his fingers through it, short nails scraping against your scalp. He swears softly when you take him back into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters breathlessly. “Is that what you want? Needy little thing wants a little praise, huh? Want me to tell you how good you are, how good your pretty mouth feels on my cock?”

You whimper, eyelids fluttering as you begin to move on him desperately. Your mouth tightens around him, and a tear squeezes from your eyes as his hips jolt forward, cock nudging suddenly into the back of your throat. Joel’s hand cups the back of your head, strokes the damp skin at the base of your neck as you gag around him.

“Jesus,” Joel groans at the sound. “There you go, s’perfect, s’fuckin’ perfect.”

The muscles in your thighs tighten, legs pressing together to try and soothe the pulsing ache there. Your head is moving up and down along his length and it’s wet and messy and depraved, saliva gliding down your chin to your neck, and you fucking love it. Joel’s gruff sounds of encouragement only serve to spur you on.

And then, as if by some stroke of divine intervention, it happens again.

A firm rap against the door of his office.

Joel goes silent. Your shoulders tense, and you pull back until his tip rests heavy on your bottom lip. Wide eyed, you gaze up at him, panic swelling in your chest. And then comes that voice; the same voice as yesterday.

“You in there Joel?”

You can feel your lungs squeezing inside your chest, grasping violently for air and finding zero reprieve as the reality of the moment begins to overwhelm you, because you know that voice.

“Fuck,” you whisper dazedly, slumping back to rest on your heels. “Fuck, fuck, fu—”

Joel shakes his head, strong hands gripping your shoulders to soothe you. “Shh,” he hushes quietly. “Stop, hey, stop. It’s fine.”

Another knock at the door. Nowhere for you to go, nowhere to hide.

“Just a sec, Rachel,” Joel calls, voice laced with frustration.

And then those hands are guiding you backwards. You move blindly, allowing him to encourage your body back, back, back, broad palm protecting your head as he nudges you underneath the desk. Further and further until you’re completely hidden, tucked away where only he can see you. And as you settle into the warm, sweaty space, watch Joel drag his chair forward and squeeze his long legs around your body, you feel the panic quell. Your pulse slows, the tremor in your hands settles, and cool relief comes in the form of a chill down your spine.

“Come in,” Joel calls. You can hear the door click open a second later, soft footsteps entering the room. You hold your breath as they begin to talk, heart stuttering, eyes trained on his where his spit-soaked cock rests against the underside of his desk.

“Sorry to be a bother,” Rachel’s soft voice chimes. “I was hoping to grab my copy of The Annals, I need it for the undergrad lecture I’m covering this afternoon.”

“Course,” he says sharply, and you can hear a drawer to your right open and close. A moment of silence. “All yours.”  

Your abdomen tenses at the sound of his haggard voice, and something tight pulls in your chest. A flare of jealousy, of possessiveness, at the fact that someone else is seeing him right now. That the flush on his cheeks, the sweat on his neck, is no longer yours alone. And it’s absurd, because she has no idea. But the desire to reclaim the moment for yourself, to assert that his sweat, his blush—his body—is yours is overwhelming, and you find your hand gripping his heavy cock, tongue gliding out of your mouth to swipe against his weeping tip. The dread from before flares in the back of your mind but you push it away, shove it down until it’s hazy, a faint ringing that fades into the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

Joel’s thighs stiffen. He coughs, a sharp, surprised noise.

“Thanks for that,” Rachel says, voice slow. “Hey… are you doing okay? Looking pretty faint over there, Miller.”

You smile around him and rub your tongue in teasing strokes along the underside of his sensitive head. He clears his throat roughly, and then his hand is slipping underneath the desk to tangle in your hair. It’s rough and it stings, and you find yourself humming ever so slightly around him, indicating that you love it.

“Feelin’ a little under the weather,” he agrees faintly.

“Should try some of that tea I always tell you about,” she says, ever so friendly. “Works a treat when you’re sick.”

“Maybe I will,” Joel says, and his fingers are twisting in your messy locks, pulling your mouth away from his cock.

Although he can’t see you, you pout. Not wanting to push it, you settle for looping three fingers around him, index middle and thumb, gripping just beneath his head, and begin to rub him in slow, soundless movements. With every forward motion of your hand, the tip of his cock brushes against your lower lip, and his grip on your hair tightens.

“I could bring you some,” Rachel offers then. You can practically hear the smile in her voice, picture the kind slant to her eyes. “Maybe tomorrow, if you think you’ll be coming into wor—”

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” Joel snaps suddenly, voice almost harsh as he interrupts her. “Was that all you needed?”

“Oh,” she replies awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry.”

“No,” he says, audibly flustered. His cock is drooling over your lips, and the salty taste has your pussy aching, clenching painfully tight, begging to be filled. “m’sorry, got a fuckin’ headache, is all. Tea tomorrow?”  

“Tea tomorrow, sure,” Rachel confirms. “Sorry again, I… yeah, sorry, I hope you feel better, Joel.”

Whem the door closes a moment later Joel is shoving his chair backward again, hands wrenching you out from underneath his desk. You fall forward, flushed and breathless. His expression is thunderous, pitch-black eyes glaring down at you. On all fours, you crawl forward and splay your palms across his thighs, feel them twitch and tremble beneath your nimble fingers.

“You couldn’t fuckin’ wait?” he snaps, hand finding a home in your hair once more. He drags it into a ponytail and wraps it around his fist.

“Sorry,” you lie, teeth nipping at your swollen bottom lip. Joel’s eyes follow the movement and he grunts, unimpressed with the apology.

“She could’ve caught us,” he admonishes you.

“Better start locking the door then,” you clip, winking lazily. A short huff passes through his lips, and then his left hand is dropping to land on your chin, thumb rubbing against your lower lip, prying it from between your teeth.

“Open,” he orders.

His jaw is set with concentration, eyebrows drawn low as he cradles your jaw, holding it still while he pushes his cock back into your eager mouth. The salt of him rushes your senses again and you’re moaning around him, cheeks hollowed and eyes wet as he begins to rut into your mouth, the tip of his cock caressing the back of your throat with every thrust. It’s fast and hard, and the noises coming out of you are scandalous, but you can’t drag your eyes away from his face. Lips parted, eyes ablaze as he watches his cock push in and out of your mouth, over and over again. A tear streaks down your cheek and Joel groans, swiping at it with his fingers. Shallow curses and murmurs of your name spill from his lips in a tortured stream of consciousness.

“Always so fuckin’—impatient,” he mutters. His grip on your jaw is near bruising, cock throbbing against your tongue. You can sense how close he is. Feel it in the way his hips start to stutter, snapping thrusts losing their rhythm.  

The stretch has a dull ache searing through your jaw, but Joel is breathless, eyes dark and focused on yours, saying, “Look at you. So pretty takin’ my cock like this.” and you can’t bring yourself to care. Your eyelids flutter closed, and his fingers are tapping your cheek quickly—softly?

“Let me see you,” he says urgently. “Want those eyes on me, don’t close them.” You cast your eyes up to meet his gaze, and Joel hisses under his breath, expression taut.

His hips drag backward, and he’s replacing your mouth with his hand, fucking himself in quick, brutal strokes, and your mouth is open, slick tongue peaking between your lips before he can even say open your mouth.

“Fuck,” he exhales at the sight, tip bumping against your tongue with every wet pump of his fist. His thighs are trembling beneath your hands, and you dig your nails into the muscles there, encouraging him. “Fuck me.”

And then he’s coming, face going slack as hot ropes of his come paint your lips, your tongue, your chin. Unashamed rasps of your name fall from pink lips, washing over you in glorious waves as you sit there and take all of it. And for a moment, you think it’s over. But then Joel’s hand is still moving over his length, calloused thumb gliding against the ridge of his rounded tip, and there’s more.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck—yes.”

Salty strings of his spend gloss over your cheeks and slide down to paint your neck. And it’s like he’s coming a second time, torso jolting in short, jerky movements, and you wish you could see his body while he came; the way the muscles in his stomach would flex and pull taut, entire frame straining as he gives you his all.  

His shoulders slump forward as he stares down at you, hand falling away from his sensitive cock, and his face is ruined. Eyes blown wide, cheeks a dark red, looking at you like he’d enjoy nothing more than to devour you whole. Maintaining eye contact, you swallow down his spend, practically purring at the taste of him.

Joel’s thumb smears his come off your cheeks and into your swollen mouth, making sure you don’t miss a single drop.

“Good girl,” his voice is broken. “That’s it, yeah—yes, s’perfect.”

Perfect, perfect, perfect. The word rings in your ears. Your skin is on fire, and you can’t believe that you are both still fully clothed. You feel naked, bared to him in the truest sense of the word, despite being completely covered up.

He groans heartily when you suck his fingers between your lips, tongue swirling around them greedily, and swallow down the last of his spend. 

For a moment after, the two of you simply sit there, your knees chafed and aching against the carpet, his fingers hooked against your tongue, staring at each other. And you know. You both know – there’s no going back from this.

Joel drags his hand away and snatches a box of tissues from the top drawer of his desk. You stand, knees popping in relief, and lean against the desk to stabilise yourself. He takes a moment to clean himself, and when you’re sure he’s not looking you swipe a pen from his desk, scribble a set of numbers on a post it and press the sticky paper down against the cover of The Odyssey.

He offers you the box of tissues and you wipe your face carefully, make sure no trace of him is left on your skin. Joel watches your movements like a hawk, eyes fading from black to brown as he fixes his belt and tucks his shirt back into his pants.

“You good?” he asks after a moment. And it’s the same. The same thing he asked you that night in the bar after fucking your brains out. After calling you a slut, a dirty little thing. Maybe it’s his thing—you good? And it’s more than anyone else has ever said after you’ve had their cock in your mouth, so you smile at him. Nod. The duality of man, you think.

“Perfect,” you use his word, and cringe at how wrecked your voice is. The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches upward, something sly and conspiratorial in his gaze as he watches you tuck your computer into your bag, IT issue long forgotten.

Even as you wander toward the door of his office, tossing a casual see you tomorrow over your shoulder, you can see it in his face. In the lines by his eyes, the furrow of his brow; never satiated, never finished, never satisfied. More, more, more. This wasn’t enough for either of you. And this will not be the last time.

Hours later, when you’re tucked into bed with a glass of wine and a book perched in your lap, you get a text from an unknown number.

You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.

And then another, twenty minutes later.

That can’t happen again.

You grin. Save his number under J MILLER, PhD, and don’t reply.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @sinfulrock @bbyanarchist @murc0cks4eva @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @daisies-yellow @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida

thank you for reading! x

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut

[oh-look-at-her]

"Use that on me."

Pairing: billy the kid x reader

Warnings: profanity, PinV, unprotected sex (don't be stupid, just babyproof it), dom! And sub! Dynamics, gun play, creampie, degradation, mocking, name calling(i think), small oral fixation if you squint, reader is female

tell me if i missed anything!

Description: despite Billy being a cowboy, he's a sweetheart, especially to you. He treats you like you're a porcelain doll and always makes you feel worshipped. You follow him on his unconventional journeys and tonight, you're staying in an abandoned shack in the woods and your mind wanders to unexplored waters.

A/N: Alright, it's finally here! I'm sorry, it took a bit longer to write than I thought it would when I posted the teaser of this story. I originally planned this to go a bit different, but I'm overall pretty happy with how it turned out even if it did take its own course of action a bit. The ending is a bit rocky, I know, I'm also sorry for that. Regardless of all that, I hope you guys like it! I'd love to hear your opinions or points I can improve on! Lastly I want to say; bear with me, English is not my first language, but I think I checked about everything. I appreciate feedback and if I have anything wrong, please don't hesitate to tell me!

"Use that one me." there it was. It spilled out. You had been thinking it for the last week and now it just slipped out. You were sitting up from the floor which you had covered with blankets in an attempt to make it more comfortable. You had been staring at Billy's gun holster for a while. He had been innocently going on about the road ahead. The journey that would start the day after.

"What?" he hadn't noticed how you kept eyeing his gun. He hadn't noticed how your eyes had glazed over with lust, just thinking about what he could do to you if he tried. He most certainly hadn't noticed how it made you restless. Your body tingled and your skin was on fire.

"I want you to be mean to me. I want you to fuck me like you mean it...and I want you to use your gun on me." A rush of adrenaline had taken over your mind. Or maybe it was just arousal? Who knows? You most certainly don't care.

Billy looks concerned. "W-what? Why?" He mumbles.

You look at him reassuringly. "Oh baby, you know you're always so sweet to me and I love that. But... I don't know, I just..." you don't know what else to say, but it looks like he's understood what you meant.

Billy looks at you for another moment, a bit dumbfounded, before getting up from the floor and walking towards the chair over which his gun holster was hanging. He slowly wraps his fingers around the base of his gun and takes it out of the holster. He looks at it intently before looking back at you.

"You want me...to use this one you?" You nod. "Why?"

You ponder that for a moment, thinking back to all the times he's held that gun up to people's heads. The look in his eyes...was mesmerizing. The lowering of his brows, the tilting of his head, the tug of a smirk on his lips.... So, you tell him exactly that.

He chuckles for a moment at your confession, looking down at the weapon in his hands. It’s a low chuckle, one you had never heard come from his lips before, sultry and enchanting. Your mind runs crazy at the sound. He kneels down in front of you, as you're still sitting on the floor and he looks at you for a moment, analyzing your features.

"You sure about this, Darlin'?" He asks in that same goddamned tone of voice. You nod eagerly at his question, your thighs discreetly rubbing together for any type of friction you could get.

He notices the small movement but doesn't say anything as he gets closer to you, until he's right on top of you and you're face to face with him. He looks into your eyes lovingly for a moment before putting his attention towards the gun still in his right hand.

Slowly, he traces your collarbone with the tip of his gun, testing the waters. When you breathe out a sigh of content, his eyes meet yours again and he knows that what he's doing is exactly what you want.

He slowly traces the gun from your shoulder to your collarbone again. From your collarbone to your neck and from your neck to your jaw. All the while, keeping eye contact with you and noticing how you're reacting to it.

You close your eyes, humming as a small content smile graces your lips. Billy watches every movement you make with the utmost interest. It spurs him on as he brings the barrel of the gun to your lips. You open your mouth obediently, something he hadn’t expected but he didn’t awfully mind. He pushes the gun to lie on top of your tongue. You twirl your tongue around it and Billy can’t help but think about what that pretty tongue of yours would feel like on his cock.

He feels the room getting hot and his pants tightening at these thoughts. But, fuck, are you pretty with your mouth open for him. His innocent girl with a gun in her mouth all because she begged for it. He never could’ve imagined this happening, the poor boy. Not in his wildest dreams. He was surprised, maybe even a bit repulsed at first, but seeing you like this for him is something he can most definitely get on board with.

You go on to suckle gently on the gun and it drives Billy absolutely insane. “Fuck, baby, you’re so pretty like this.” He murmurs to you and you smile. He pulls the gun from your mouth and admires the sheen of spit on it. “Absolutely disgusting.” He whispers to himself and your thighs clench together once more at his words because it is disgusting. You are filthy for wanting him to do this to you.

You just don’t care. You want him to do these things and you couldn’t care less about whether it’s bad or not. If anything, it spurs you on. It’s humiliating, but so, so good.

“Take that off, baby.” He gestures to your nightgown. You quickly obey, surprised by his sudden demanding tone of voice. The usual sweet Billy is no longer there and right now, you very much do not mind. You slip the nightgown off your shoulders, exposing your chest and Billy’s eyes catch on the sight before drifting further down as you push the nightgown off of you. You’re bare before him now and his eyes continue to wander. He’d never done that before. He said he always wanted to be respectful and didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

He was right, it did make you uncomfortable, but not in the way he had probably imagined. You grow shy under his gaze, but secretly, you love the way he’s looking at you. Hungry, like a predator admiring its prey and playing with it. But that’s not what makes you uncomfortable, no, the growing heat between your legs is what is making you uncomfortable and Billy had barely even touched you.

God, what would it be like when he finally does touch you? Your cheeks flush pink at the thought. Billy notices, of course he does. “What is it, honey? Don’t tell me you’re gettin’ flustered already. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen and I can’t even look at her for a bit without ‘er gettin’ shy?” He’s teasing you, mocking almost. You furrow your eyebrows in frustration at his words and he chuckles. He moves to lie down next to you.

“Come here.” He demands, patting his thigh. You obey quickly, scrambling to move on top of him and straddle his lap. You’re naked on top of him and he’s fully dressed. When you’re travelling, he always stays fully dressed at night, just in case someone sees you both. He lets you wear a nightgown as you please, though. Right now, this proves to be a big contrast and it’s setting your mind on fire. You paw at his clothes and a smirk graces his lips at the desperation on your face. He likes it.

He holds up the gun that was still in his hand, tracing it from your belly to your chest. He smoothes it over your hardened nipple, making you shiver at the feel of the cold metal against your unusually warm skin.

“Might I remind you that I am the one with the gun in their hand right now, darlin’?” he props his left hand to rest behind his head as he continues to move the gun over your smooth skin. Your collarbone, your belly, your neck, anywhere he could reach. The suspense builds up and you can feel your stomach doing backflips as you close your eyes, soothing into the metal touch. But then…. click.

One short ‘click’ sound makes your eyes shoot open. He loaded the gun. Your eyes dart towards his face, a daring smirk on his lips, knowing exactly that that sound would’ve startled you. A shiver runs down your spine at the realization that the gun is actually dangerous right now. He could accidentally pull the trigger and hurt you….you like it.

“What is it, baby? You scared? I won’t hurt you, darlin’. Not unless you ask me to.” Those last words drive you insane and he can see you can’t take it anymore. You paw at his clothes once more, but he gives in this time. He gently lies the gun down next to him and sits up with you still on his lap. You stare at his hands as they slowly but surely unbutton his shirt, finally revealing some delicious skin to you. Once he’s unbuttoned the shirt, it takes everything in you to not start biting and sucking at his skin as he takes it off.

Billy sees the look in your eyes resembling hunger and he smiles to himself. He looks at you for a moment, letting you admire him, before saying; “If you want me to take these pants off, you’re gon’ have to get off of me, baby.” He chuckles as you eagerly climb off of him and he finally takes off his pants, leaving you staring at his obvious hard-on through his underwear.

“Yeah, you want that off too, baby?” he asks in a degrading tone of voice, mocking your desperation as if he hadn’t purposely been building up the tension inside you.

You nod frantically, a small whine escaping your lips at the thought and the degrading tone of his voice. Bily’s surprised at the sheer desperation of you. I mean, just look at you! Sitting there on your knees on the ground right next to him, breathing heavily and a slight sheen of sweat already covering your body, your nipples hardened and eyes low to solely focus on him. It’s driving him insane.

He quickly takes off his underwear at your confirmation, finally lying naked before you. You drink the picture up like you’re a traveler in the desert that hasn’t seen water in days. You climb onto him, your eyes locking with his before pulling him in for a kiss. The kiss is full of desperation and desire as you swirl your tongue over his bottom lip and lick into his mouth as if you’re delirious at the taste of him (which you must admit, is not entirely inaccurate). He deepens the kiss by pulling you in by the neck, his hand having snaked behind you to firmly grasp you and move you as he pleases.

When you come up to catch your breath, he looks at you mischievously. He wants you so bad… but he wants to play with you for a bit. After all, you did ask him to use his gun on you.

He suddenly flips you both around so he’s on top now, grasping his gun in the process so you don’t land on it. It is still loaded, after all. You look up at him adoringly and it melts his heart for a moment. You try to pull him in for another kiss, but he stops you and lets his gun sit on your lips again.

“Just hold on, honey. Didn’t you tell me you want me to use my gun on you?” you nod, eager to find out what your darling boyfriend has planned for you. He smiles at your obedience and then focuses on the gun still resting on your lips. He slowly drags it down again. Down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, your nipple, your belly button… He’s nestled between your legs now, the tip of the gun resting right underneath your belly button.

His gaze flashes to your pussy, your clit already red and swollen, begging to be touched and your pretty hole already so wet with anticipation. “Look at that, baby. You’re so pretty and wet for me, aren’t ya?” he dips his head down slowly and unexpectedly licks a stripe from your hole to your clit, moaning at your taste and making you mewl at the sudden pleasure.

He looks up at you, admiring the pretty look on your face at his sudden action. “hey baby?” you answer with a breathy ‘yeah’. “can I try somethin’?”  you pause for a moment, curious as to what this ‘something’ is, but you quickly say yes at his proposal. He smiles and sits up, slowly dragging the gun with him.

The gun traces down… slowly down to where your pretty clit is aching for Billy to just touch. When the cold metal touches your clit, you squeal softly in surprise, the sensation foreign to you. Bily quickly asks if you’re okay, but the only answer you give him is a low and breathy moan accompanied by a smile.

He traces the gun lower… all the way to your pretty hole. The barrel of the gun catches on it and teases your entrance slowly, warming you up to the feel of it. Soft moans and whines erupt from your mouth and Bily can’t get enough of the sight before him. You, your legs spread out for him, his gun between them, your pretty face while you make those delicious sounds for him. It spurs him on to do what he does next.

He stops teasing your entrance with the gun for a second, but before you can protest or whine about it, he slowly pushes the tip of his gun inside you. Yes, he did it ever so slowly, but he’s having you mewl and moan for him so easily. He slowly keeps pushing the gun inside you (while still making sure you’re okay the entire time) until it’s in as far as it can get. At this point, you’re a puddle for him, all lust and desire for him and your brain has turned to mush.

The gun is soaking with your juices at this point and you feel so good all filled up by it. Billy slowly starts moving the gun out of you until only the tip is left inside you. A guttural moan rips from your throat when he pushes it inside you fully again. He starts fucking you with it, setting a slow but deep pace that has you squirming for more. His dick is growing impossibly hard at the sight before him and he can’t take it anymore. He slowly pulls the gun out of you now, carefully depositing it off to the side.

He slowly drags his finger through your folds, gathering your wetness before stroking his cock with it, spreading your arousal over it. The sight of him pumping his cock in his hand right in front of you has you delirious.

“Baby…” you mewl, reaching for him. “What is it, honey?” he asks gently, “What do you want?”

“Please fuck me.” You say directly and he smiles at that, leaning down to met your gaze. “Yeah?” he asks, slowly dragging his cock through your folds, teasing you and making your moan softly. Your hips buck up into him and he laughs at you. He laughs at you, how mean. You enjoy it, though. You like it when you feel degraded by him.

“Yes, please honey, please…” you beg and he smiles before finally pushing inside you. He stretches you out slowly. Your mouth hangs open and your eyes roll back, a guttural moan escapes you when he bottoms out. He pauses for a moment to let you adjust, but god, is he stretching you out good.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby. My pretty pussy is so wet for me.” he slowly starts moving in and out of you, making you mewl.

” And all because I fucked you with my gun?” His thrusts speed up and you scratch his back as you moan with every one. He grabs your thighs and proceeds to wrap your legs around his waist, making his cock hit a spot impossibly deep inside you.

“You’re filthy, you know that?” he sets a brutal pace, his thrusts hitting that spongy spot inside you so well every time. You cry out and he admires the expression on your face, brows furrowed, jaw slack, eyes rolled back, a hot blush spreading across your cheeks, a sheen of sweat coating your skin.

“Gettin’ off on me threatening you with my goddamned gun" he curses and he can feel you tightening around him at his words, having caught on to the fact that you like it when he says these things to you.

You’re going insane at this rate and you can feel the coil in your stomach tightening already. “I didn’t expect my sweet girl to like those things.” he states, obviously out of breath. "Turn around, baby." He demands before pulling out of you. You whine at the sudden emptiness, but you do as he says, propping yourself up on your knees and resting your head down on the makeshift pillow below you.

He kneels behind you, admiring the way your back is arched and the way your pussy is soaked for him before teasing your entrance with the tip of his dick again. You're about to complain about him not fucking you yet when he suddenly pushes inside you and bottoms out in one thrust.

Your face is pushed down into the pillow and your eyes roll to the back of your skull as he keeps fucking you, setting the same brutal pace as before. He bottomed out every single time, sending waves of pleasure to your core and you can feel your orgasm starting to build quickly.

You try to tell him that you're close, but all that leaves your mouth is moans and rambles. Your brain is foggy with pleasure, but he gets what you're trying to say. "What is it, darlin'? You close? What do you need?" He asks in a mocking tone of voice. You just answer with a whine.

He chuckles at your reaction before reaching in front of you to slowly rub at your clit. You mewl and squirm at the sensation, feeling the coil winding impossibly tighter. Billy's thrusts grow sloppy and you can tell he's about to cum as well.

He sets a fast, calculated pace at rubbing your clit. "Fuck, baby, you're squeezing me like a vice." You whine at his words. "I'm gonna cum inside you." he curses at the thought. "Fuck, I'm gonna fill you up so good, honey."

He's thrusting into you at an ungodly pace and his skilled fingers rubbing your clit is just too much. You cry out as your orgasm washes over you. Your cunt clamps down on Billy's dick, coating him with your cum.

he moans and fucks you through your orgasm. "Shit, baby, I'm gonna come." The movement of his hips stutter as he comes, filling you up just like he said he would, slowly pushing his cum deep inside you with every thrust.

You whine. You're overstimulated and you can't take any more. you claw at his back and he slowly pulls out. "Hey honey, you okay?" he asks gently, cupping your cheek with his hand. you nod and sigh, too tired to keep your eyes open.

Billy lies down next to you, holding you close to him. your sweaty bodies tangle as you both calm down and you both lie there for a while.

"Well." Billy starts after a bit. "That was... unexpected." You chuckle at his words and murmur a small 'yeah' in return.

"Why haven't we done that before?" He asks incredulously. You outright laugh at his question.

"Did you like it then?"

"Absolutely."

Tags: @harvey-malfoy

#smut #smutty #writing #billy x reader #billy one shot #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid #billy the kid smut #billy the kid fanfiction #gun play #gun kink #fanfic #smutty fanfiction #tom blyth blurb #tom blyth billy the kid #tom blyth x reader #tom x reader #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow #coriolanus fanfiction

[gravedigginbbydoll]

Phantom of the Night

Phantom! Eddie x Fem! Reader Smut Blurb

AN: Hello! I am a huge POTO fan, and obsessed with men in masks. I wanted to write this for fun and for spooky season. It's a length and smut filled blurb. I'm sorry about the college of pictures not being as inclusive as I'd like (it's hard asf to find POTO aesthetic in varying body types :/ ) but promise that the description is vague and meant for anyone AFAB or feminine leaning :) (psst: this ones for my ghouls @eddies-house @xxhellfiregirlxx @ghost-proofbaby who I adore and feed my delusions lol)

Warnings: MDNI! mature themes, dubcon, vouyerism, somnophilia, mentions of exhibitionism, corruption kink, bondage, biting, oral, penetration, virginity, loss of innocence, masks, dom! Eddie, posessive, body worship, stalking and obsession, kidnapping, etc.

As a child, you had been brought up in the exquisite opera house that your town boasted of, your father taking you often to see the shows and ballets performed there. He was a violinist, a talented one at that, and had many close friends who performed at the opera. Growing up, it was just the two of you. Your mother had grown deathly ill when you were five. She passed there soon after, leaving you and your father alone. In womanhood now, you sensed that he brought you to the opera so often rather than get you a nanny to distract you with elaborate performances in order to hide your fearful loneliness that a young girl got with losing her mother. 

But now you were a woman, a member of the opera yourself in the corps de ballet, your years of training under Karen, your father’s old friend, finally coming into play. You took the job soon after your father's death when you turned 20, desperate to keep the estate he left you and not leave the home and comfort of the opera house. Besides, you loved ballet and the elegance it left you feeling, despite the pain. But it was nothing compared to your true love. Singing. Music. 

Your father had you take singing lessons as a young girl, but those lessons were now lost in years of memories. You tried to practice alone but felt off-pitch. It was disheartening. You mostly had done so as a hobby rather than a real-life pursuit of the stage, not believing yourself to be skilled enough. You kept it hidden from the rest of the troupe, embarrassed over what they would say about a grown woman attempting to learn to sing and having daydreams of the stage. 

Which is what led you to this point. You had found a few places to practice in the opera house, the building so old that there were many hidden passageways and nooks and crannies. You often tried to use these locations in order to practice. Your betrothed, Steven, constantly scolded you and claimed one day you would get lost and no one would be able to find you in the maze that was the opera house. (Steven meant well, but could sometimes be more like a mother hen.) Still, you found yourself overwhelmed by curiosity and in need to explore more and more of the building. 

You looked around, curious to see if anyone was nearby. You had found this entrance behind a mirror in a makeup room, the dark and almost damp hallway confusing you. You walked on further, the long skirts of your white gown brushing the cold stone floor, probably dirtying the edges. You held the candle you used as a light in a shaky hand, goosebumps erupting on your skin at the chill. This place reminded you of dreams you so often had involving a dark dim cave, some mysterious yet enchanting man…no, creature…whisking you away with his lulling voice and seductive tones. You felt your heart race and your thighs squeeze together at the thought. 

You were ashamed of these dark desires. You were always told that women weren’t meant to feel lust. Ballerinas were not meant to daydream about dark and haunting shadowy figures whisking them away into the night against their will. That was why you were so passive in your arranged engagement with Steven. What did it matter that you felt not a bit of swirling desire for the man if you were not meant to? He had good money and was kind and treated you well, despite your less-than-normal childhood. Maybe after the wedding, you could squash all these horrid and sinful feelings in your belly. 

While lost in thoughts, you heard a gust of wind brush by you, the sudden draft blowing out your candle. You gasped, your heart racing as you caught the sudden flash of movement by you, fear squeezing up your throat. The figure moved in a flash, clearly tall and lean. 

“Hello? Who goes there?” You called out, willing yourself to swallow down the frightful feelings in your belly. 

Nothing could be heard but the faint drip of aging pipes and the rustle of the wind in the ancient hallways. You sighed, turning back to where you came from. Perhaps Nancy was correct and you could stand to stop reading things filling your head with the idea of monsters lurking in the night. 

You laid on the gaudy chaise lounge, restless and unable to sleep. Karen, in an attempt to be motherly with you, was earlier discussing ‘wifely duties’ with you, well aware that your education on the matter was crude at best from the words you heard other girls in the corps giggle over. Or occasionally, the male singers would boast of their escapades. She filled you with this idea that women were to lay there to be for their husbands and bear children. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting more. For the past few months, you had been…exploring your own desires. You found you couldn’t sleep without it. And yet…

Tonight you were staying at the opera in an attempt to curb the dark desires in your belly. You knew nothing of a man’s touch but did not want to sully Steven with your lustful and seductive thoughts. You hoped staying in a room not your own would discourage your brain from such thoughts.

You agreed with Karen to stay in the private dressing room, despite the fluttering gasps of your peers in the corps. There were rumors of a dark figure that haunted the opera house, always causing mischief, running around and stealing props, leaving notes on the music sheets, and even occasionally harassing the singers by wrecking their rooms. You weren’t one for superstition, but felt also that perhaps the girls had a point. You had felt a presence near you often, something lingering but still there. 

Just as you did lying there. You were only in your nightgown, the fabric thin and not modest at all. You could feel a presence despite the room being empty. You stared at the ceiling, your heart racing and an even more sinful thought entering your head. 

What if you touched yourself with that presence watching? 

You felt the heat creep from your neck to the tips of your ears, clearly embarrassed despite the lack of company. The thought excited you, the heat growing between your legs and your nipples pebbling at the thought. You sighed, cursing yourself but knowing you could not rest without the feeling of release. 

You shakily grabbed at your skirt, pulling it up while turning to look at your reflection in the mirror. The mirror faced the chaise lounge. You felt a gasp escape your mouth as you looked at yourself. You looked…delectable. Absolutely depraved. Your eyes were dark with lust and your nightgown revealed most of your bare legs, part of it tugged down to reveal cleavage as your hardened nipples poked through the delicate white fabric. 

You began to rub at the wetness between your legs, mewling pathetically at the friction and staring at yourself losing control. You felt your mind go foggy, your wetness growing as your moans became more desperate. You felt your eyes flutter, feeling as if the presence was staring at you. And whether it was the small sip you had of wine earlier you had with Karen or the lust clouding your thoughts, you swore you could see a shadow within the mirror, a pair of warm and sultry brown eyes slightly visible. The sight of the shadow caused you to reveal more of yourself, feeling the need to put on a winning show. You threw your head back, pulling the nightgown down more to free your breasts to the chilly air as you rubbed at your clit more ferociously, your moans and whimpers growing in desperation. You felt the tension in the room grow as the feeling grew before the tension snapped, leaving you shattering to pieces.  

You panted as you came down from your high, letting yourself catch a breath and trying to fix your appearance. You turned towards the mirror slowly, your body heavy and worn. You saw only yourself. No warm or sultry eyes. No shadowy figure. Just you. You let your eyelids flutter as you head off to sleep, sure to dream of the dark presence once again. And just before you do…you swear you see the shadow flash across the mirror. But maybe it was just your tiredness affecting your sight. 

The second time you experienced the presence was another night sleeping at the opera house in order to assist Nancy with her duties in the morning, since her mother, Karen, had left her in charge of the duties this time around, scolding her about needing to be responsible. You were asleep, dreaming and tossing while imagining that dark presence looming over you, your lust creeping in. In the dream, the dark shadow was looming over you, kissing up and down you, as silent as possible. You watched as the shape kissed its way down, growling hungrily at your entrance. You couldn’t see much but felt, almost as if it were real, lapping at your sensitive clit. You woke dazed, lust pooling between your thighs as you tried to sit up, sure you were feeling something licking and sucking on the swollen bud between your thighs. A gloved hand clamped down on your eyes and prevented you from seeing who the culprit was, your heart racing. You smelled the familiar mix of cinnamon and orange peel, along with sharp notes of rum and ginger, a tonic you knew as familiar among the singers in the opera to keep their vocals sharp. You felt your thighs shake, and moans leaving your mouth despite your brain's conflicting thoughts. 

This is wrong. I don’t know this person. But…the pleasure…they are so skilled with their mouth…I’m so close.

You writhed, whimpering and attempting to escape the mouth to discover who was there, only to feel the other hand hold you tightly in place, a deep and fearful voice growling lowly. 

“Stop your infernal movement, little angel. I would like to worship this beautiful cunt to the best of my ability,” The masculine voice ground out in agitation, the words sending chills up your spine and desire to build to the breaking point. Worshiping you? Men in high society didn’t worship working women like you. You were lucky to even find a betrothal while most dancers were considered ‘low and loose’ women who needed to work in order to gain money. This man was odd and…so very skilled at making you unravel. 

You were drunk on the eroticism of it all. A stranger licking at you like a man starved of a month’s worth of meals, the inability to see his appearance, his demanding tone and forceful hand. You saw stars and felt your pleasure overcome you, your body shaking at your release that he seemed to slurp up, the noises so vulgar they would make a lady of the night blush. You lay there, eyes closed, catching your breath slowly. When your eyes finally fluttered open, you sat up, hoping to get to know the man behind your most recent confession in church, only to be met with silence, not a soul in the room. You felt your heart sink as you tried to fall back asleep, your mind swimming with thoughts of the mysterious voice and the warm, strong hands. It seemed the ghost of the opera might have been real after all. 

Nancy and the other girls in the corps began to notice your distracted gaze, your prolonged nights at the opera, and your skittishness, trying to catch a glimpse of the shadowy figure when people claimed he zipped past. You felt a strange obsession, a need to follow the dark shadow and discover who was consuming your dreams. 

You heard him at night occasionally, humming or singing. Or at least you thought it was him. It was a low and chilling sound. Your body thrummed with excitement anytime you thought you saw a flash of him in the rafters or heard a stair creak. You began to notice little gifts waiting for you in the dressing room, in your favorite nooks and crannies in the opera. Red roses and small notes in the messy script, usually referring to you as Little Angel. Nancy was worried about you, trying to escort you home often and getting Steven to dote on you more. But you were done. Corrupted. Filthy. And you wanted nothing more than to be in the Phantom’s embrace once more. You wanted him to explore you. Ruin you. Your mind was riddled with him day and night. 

You kept it hidden from everyone, but you often explored the ancient passageways now with the intention of finding him. Occasionally you left gifts. Your most used lipstick, a snippet of a poem, a book you had just read. You would come back to the spots to find the items gone, occasionally a rose left in their place. You felt giddy, like a schoolgirl. Your ghost…your Phantom… seemed to acknowledge you. 

If only you could catch him…

It was a few months after weeks of giddy gift exchanges and running after shadows. The notes and roses stopped. The flashes of a dark figure ended. Perhaps it was a dream. Maybe you were just a fool who imagined or dreamed of the interactions. 

On a dark night, you were aimlessly wandering the halls, singing to yourself a song you remembered your father singing. You had abandoned all hope of your dear ghost coming to capture you. Free you from a loveless marriage. You were set to marry Steven next week. Abandon the opera. Become a proper lady in society. At least Steven would not be disappointed when you laid there and bled for him, giving him a child 9 months later. You sighed to yourself, twisting your engagement ring, displeased with the thing. You wandered the underground tunnels, the candlelight dim in the dark halls. You felt your heart pick up as you heard a soft yet low voice, singing aloud. Your skin erupted in goosebumps, and your heart was racing. 

“Phantom?,” You called out sheepishly. 

The singing stopped. A deep voice coming from a direction you couldn’t discern. 

“Little Angel. What is a lamb like you doing in a dangerous place like this?” called the voice, rough and cold. Was he upset with you? You were unsure. 

You felt a tug at your heart, looking around and trying to find him. “Please, Phantom. I have only one week more at the opera. I cannot bear to not feel your touch another second,” you whimpered out. 

“Ah, so you can crawl back to that insolent boy who does not deserve your glory? My heart cannot bear the rejection, Little Angel. Leave this monster be,” He growled out, still within the shadows. 

Your heart leaped in your throat as tears entered your eyes, feeling your knees wobble as you crumbled to the ground. “Please, Phantom. I cannot bear to be without you. I do not want Steven. Forgive me, please…,” You sobbed softly, your emotions in a tangled mess. 

You heard a sigh and felt yourself get grabbed from behind swiftly, a soft yelp about to leave your throat. That familiar gloved hand snuck over your eyes. 

“Alright, Little Angel. On one condition…You mustn’t, under any circumstances, remove my mask,” He warned, his tone stern. 

You nodded wordlessly, allowing him to pick you up, dropping your lit candle onto the damp floor. The light went out, but as he picked you up in his arms, you caught a brief glance of him. He was a tall and lean figure, his hair a long and curly mess, his face halfway covered by a mask. You could see his plush pink lips and long lashes, warm and enticing brown eyes. 

He was beautiful.

You were tempted to remove the mask, curious as to why such an enticing man would haunt the opera. You refrained, however, out of respect. He tied a loose piece of fabric around your eyes, shielding your vision. 

You were enthralled and scared. 

You were laid down gently on a plush cushion and fabric, the cover softly removed from your eyes. You slowly opened your eyes in a dim and candlelit room, surrounded by aging theatrical props and the most plush velvet fabrics. You were on what appeared to be a bed, the dark figure standing before you. He wore a dark and long cloak, the hood down. His shirt underneath was a silky black shirt with a wide opening, displaying his chest. He wore dark pants and what seemed to be dress shoes. The items were all of high quality but it seemed they were at least a decade old. Upon looking up at his face, you saw he wore a white mask on half of it, his lips and half of his nose visible. His features were mostly soft, though he appeared worn from the years of seclusion and hiding. 

You reached out to touch his cheek, only to have him grip your wrists. His hands were shaking. His dark eyes were swirling with desire and sorrow. Was he shaken because he needed you so fervently? 

“You cannot touch me. I cannot bear it. If you were to touch me only to marry that…that damned fool later. My heart could not take it,” He growled out, his face twisted in sorrow and pain. 

You felt a tug at your heart, your hands aching to touch him but deciding to respect his wishes. 

“Alright.” 

He got up, running over to a pile of old props from past shows, grabbing at one, and walking over to you, grabbing at your wrists before tying them quickly to the frame of the bed. Your heart began to race as your body heated up, your skin erupting in goosebumps as you bit softly at your lips. Phantom groaned softly, looming over you, his warm brown eyes stirring desire in your belly. 

“Do not make such faces, Little Angel. You are so delicate, and I fear I will become without reason,” He groaned out, his eyes intense in their desire, his expression clear that it was hurtful to hold back. 

You could feel your back arch, his stiffening member brushing against you, causing you to whimper. “Please Phantom…Abandon reason…ravage me,” You mewled, writhing under the dark figure. 

His eyes became dark, his snarl deepening as he leaned in, his expression both terrifying and enthralling. “Be careful what you wish for, Little Angel. I am not too short of becoming a monster, devouring you.” 

You whimpered, desire pooling as your eyelashes fluttered, and your body leaned towards him. Two could play at that game. “Please…I’m frightened. R-release me, monster,” You whined, writhing under the Phantom’s dark gaze. A smirk fell upon his lips, dimples evident as the smirk broke into a villainous grin. 

“Oh, you should not have wandered into my lair, Little Angel. Now I must have you,” He growled lowly, taking his gloved hands and ripping open your corset before tearing at the chemise, the fabric pooling in shreds around you, your chest heaving in fear and excitement. 

Your body was bared save for the underpants that exposed your ever-wet entrance, your legs shutting in embarrassment. The Phantom growled, kissing at your lips with hunger and desperation, moans lost on his lips. He kissed you until you gasped for air before biting, nipping, and kissing his way down, focusing on your breasts. You pinched and sucked upon your nipples, heightening your pleasure and making you writhe more under him, whimpers echoing in the cold and dim room. He bit and marked you, his movements like that of a wild beast. 

“Ph-Phantom…Master… Devour me as you have before,” You whined out, meeting his wild brown eyes behind the mask as he looked up, snarling. 

“Beg. Beg for it,” He snarled, hands continuing their tortuous teasing on your breasts. 

“P-please… Master… Dev-devour me…I beg of y-you! I beg of you. I beg of you. I beg of you…,” You babbled, brain foggy with lust and his touch. 

He grinned devilishly, his white smile making your heart race. “As you wish, Little Angel.” 

He slowly made his way down, sure to kiss and mutter praises over you the entire time, letting you know how divine you were, leaving marks with sharp bites here and there. Finally, he reached your entrance, diving in as if it were his last supper. He flicked his tongue across your clit before sucking on it, alternating that and nibbling at your inner thighs, your body writhing like a woman possessed, your eyes rolling in pleasure. 

He truly was wicked, worshiping you beyond your wildest dreams, his words meeting your ears and deepening the carnality within you. You were gone. Lost to this bodily sin. 

“So divine. I do not deserve this beautiful cunt, these heavenly breasts, your godless moans… If this is the price I pay to become Lucifer’s lackey, I will happily pay the toll,” He babbled, fingers curling up into your entrance, his mouth still latching onto your clit. 

You felt your back arch and felt a ripple through your body. You shattered around his finger, your orgasm taking over your mind. You whimpered as he continued to touch you past your high, your nerves so sensitive you felt tears come to your eyes. He stopped short, growling lowly. 

“I’m going to condemn you, Little Angel. Fill you full of my cum. Mark you as mine and mine alone. You are my pet. My divine creature,” He snarled, his face twisted as you felt a shock of fear and lust overtake you. He could have you. You were his. 

“P-please Phantom…Pl-please,” You whimpered, lip trembling in longing as your body shook with terror. 

You suddenly felt a slow thrust into your entrance, the fullness causing a sharp pain, your head thrown back in a silent cry, eyes watering. The thrusting continued at a slow pace, the Phantom’s arms shaking as he appeared to hold back. You looked up at him, the desire growing sharper in you, your dull pain now adding to the pleasure, your legs slightly writhing. You fought against the ropes, whimpering. Phantom seemed to catch on as his brown eyes met yours, something in him snapping. He began snapping his hips at a ferocious pace, making you cry out as he continued to growl but also began to whimper and moan. 

“Such a perfect cunt. A vision. They don’t deserve you. So flawless…Cannot wait to fill your belly with my seed…Corrupt and condemn such a goddess…Ravaged by a monster…What would Steven think…?”

You moaned at the suggestion, thinking of how scandalous the situation would be. Your high was coming along a lot faster as the Phantom growled in your ear, hand at your throat while squeezing the sides and cutting off air. You felt your mind panic suddenly as you writhed but moaned louder, the lightheadedness causing immense pleasure. You were so close. 

“Oh, does my Little Angel enjoy that? Would you like to put on a show for the opera? Singing that beautiful song of pleasure?” He moaned out, his thrusts getting sloppier. 

You felt yourself climb higher and higher towards release, reaching it finally when Phantom growled in your ear making you grow with a child, making everyone know you were his. You saw stars behind your eyes, your heart bursting from your chest as you panted. The Phantom chased his own high, filling you up shortly after, making you moan softly. 

You attempted to catch your breath as the Phantom went to grab you a washcloth, wiping away at the spilling fluid. He released your wrists allowing you to rub at them. You flushed, your body limp and warm, worn out by the activity. You lay beside Phantom who held you to his chest, singing softly as you drifted off. 

You woke up once in the middle of the night, Phantom asleep. You stared at his face, only noticing how much more peaceful he looked in his sleep. You bit your lip, wondering why a man would wear a mask, even during sexual activities. Curiosity always got the better of you. You reached out softly, peeling away the mask, being careful to make sure he didn’t stir. You gasped softly at the reveal. The man's half of his face seemed to have large scars as if someone had taken a chunk of flesh in a bite, perhaps an animal. His cheeks were riddled with them, and half of the tip of his nose also with a chunk missing. 

You frowned, cocking your head. Sure he wasn’t gorgeous on that side but why was he here. He just seemed a little scarred. You softly touched the scars, the Phantom twitching at the touches in his sleep. You stop for a moment but again, only to have the mysterious man's eyes flutter open and horror and realization cross his face and he shoots up and snarls at you. 

“You broke the one rule?” He growled, his eyes dark and anger-filled. 

“I didn’t mean-” 

You felt a quick hand tie you up again, the ropes had been on his side of the bed, You tugged against them, feeling panic come up your throat as he tilted your head up, eyes gleaming with villainy. 

“From now on Angel, you belong to the Phantom of the Hawkins Opera. Edward Munson. But you may call me Master,” He growled out, his eyes swimming with possession, desire, and fury, your mouth opening to let out protests and failing to make a sound. There was no escape. No way to save yourself. You were his. 

Be careful what you wish for. 

THE END?

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things 4 #phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera AU #poto au #eddie munson au #poto! eddie #dark! eddie #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #dark! eddie munson #eddie munson nsft #eddie munson fluff #stranger things au #eddie munson blurb

[neowinestainedress]

wrapped around your fingers | lee jeno

title: wrapped around your fingers

pairing: CEO!lee jeno x fem!oc/reader (no name, no descriptions, third person) | mentioned: na jaemin

genre: smut, CEO!au, established relationship, fluff (if you squint) | requested

summary: Jeno finds out he has his girlfriend wrapped around his fingers... well, in a way he doesn’t quite expect.

warnings: smut, office sex, fingering (with rings on), oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, teasing, orgasm denial, minor impact play (pussy slaps), orgasm control, multiple orgasms, vibrator, light bdsm (spreader bars), squirting, rough sex, mirror sex, fingers sucking, hair pulling, hand around the throat (not chocking), minor cum play, aftercare, dom!jeno, bratty-sub!oc/reader

words: 8.009k

a/n: that’s what happens when you make me write about my strongest weakness. Hope you enjoy it. Let me know with comments, reblogs or asks!! | credits for the picture © somnia

The sound of her heels resonating through the building made heads turn around, staring at her as she walked through the corridors toward the elevator as if she owned the place. 

She smiled at some of the workers she knew, mostly because she sneaked into meetings with Jeno even if she shouldn’t have been there. 

She never should’ve been here, to be honest. Not even now. But after an entire week without seeing him, she was going insane. 

When the elevator rang, signaling it had reached the 10th floor, she walked outside, briefly waving at the secretary at the front desk, slightly surprised to see her there, before she walked straight to Jeno’s office. 

Pushing the big black door open, she stepped inside. 

“Yeah, sure, I’ll call you tomorrow for the deal.” There he was. Busy over the phone, turned to look outside at the big windows behind his desk, turning around in surprise when he heard the sound of her heels against the floor.

He shrugged the surprise off his face, trying hard to concentrate on the phone call that didn’t seem to end. It was surely with an old client (both for the long-lasting partnership and for his age) and Jeno couldn’t just shut him off like that. 

So, she sat on the black leather chair in front of his desk, waiting patiently for him to be free. Not that she minded staring at him, there was something dreamy (and hot) about him right now. The warm sunlight peeking from the windows hitting him. The way his toned legs were wrapped into the pants of his suit, the white blouse tucked inside, and the sleeves rolled up revealing his arms. Then her eyes fell on his fingers, they were tracing invisible lines on the black wooden desk, slim, veiny and adorned with the silver rings he always used to wear. 

But something she couldn’t take her eyes off was the new watch on his wrist. It was objectively beautiful but there was something about the way it looked on him. And reminding herself how expensive it was almost made her have a heart attack again. There was something powerful behind it. One of the many signs of all the things Jeno had accomplished at such a young age. Sure, he couldn’t act as if his father’s support hadn’t been vital but he still walked on his own legs and she was incredibly proud of him.  

So lost in her thoughts, she didn’t realize Jeno had hung up and was talking to her. 

“Are you with me?” Jeno asked her, waving his hands in front of her face. 

She blinked repeatedly, only now realizing he had moved from behind the desk. “Mmh? Yeah, just waiting for you to get off the call,” she replied, legs crossing over each other as she shifted on her seat, the fabric of the mini skirt she was wearing rising up on her thighs. 

“Are you sure?” Jeno asked, tilting his head and staring at her. His eyes landed on the exposed skin of his girlfriend before raising up, watching with a smirk how she was scratching her neck. “Why are you here? You know I’m not done, yet.” 

She hummed, wetting her lips. “I missed you,” she pouted, “You’ve been away all week.” 

“I told you I was going to pick you up tonight,” Jeno replied. “You really can’t last that long, can you?” He teased, before leaning close to her to kiss her. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t miss her too. As much as he loved his job, he hated when he had to leave and she couldn’t come with him. 

She shook her head when he moved back, biting her lips as her eyes got lost once again in his arms and veins. 

“Hey,” he called her, making her head snap up, meeting his face painted with a smirk. “Oh, is this a new thing?” 

“What?” 

“What? I was talking to him, but I saw you staring,” he said, thumb and pointer finger pinching her chin to make her look at him. “I thought it was just my fingers but apparently you’re drooling on something else.” 

“I’m not drooling,” she said, trying to defend herself, acting as if she wasn’t caught with her hands in the cookie jar. 

Jeno chuckled, sitting on the desk, rolling his sleeves up more, her eyes inevitably falling there once again, thighs rubbing together subtly — at least she thought — when the toned muscles of his arms flexed. She had no idea where he also found time to hit the gym, but unfortunately, he did, and that was the price to pay. 

“Do you like this watch, baby?” He asked instead of talking back, moving the expensive watch with his other hand. “Like the way it sits on my wrist?” 

She hummed, shifting more on the chair, feeling herself get wetter and hotter now that he was standing this close. 

“Or is it my rings?” His hand started to trail on her neck before he brushed it against her breast, skin slightly exposed by the top she was wearing. “Or maybe my veins, you love them, don’t you?” 

“Ye-yes. Jeno, please,” she pleaded, looking at him with begging eyes. 

“Please, what? I have work to do,” he said, pulling away, and walking behind the desk. 

“No, no, please,” she whined, standing up from the chair, already feeling her legs weak. “Just your fingers.” 

Jeno chuckled, shaking his head. “Just my fingers? You want me to believe that will be enough for you?” 

“It will,” she whispered, sitting on the desk. “Please, I’ll be good.” 

“Come here,” he called, tapping his thigh, pushing the black chair back, just enough so she could sit on top of him. “I’ve got some emails to take care of.” 

“What?” She asked, eyes wide and looking at him with disappointment. 

“I told you, baby, I’m busy,” he replied, turning the chair so he could pay attention to the computer. But while one hand was on the mouse and skimmed through the things he had to do, the other was on her thigh, caressing the soft flesh of her skin.

“Can’t you just make one of your secretaries answer?” She asked, resting her elbow on the desk to lean her face on the palm of her hand, eyes fixated on the computer, cursing every single person and company that had sent him something to check. 

“They already did. These need my approval before they can be sent away.” 

Jeno wanted to concentrate on his job, he should’ve done that if he didn’t want to deal with this on Monday morning, making them pile up with some other things he had to do. 

But when his girlfriend wanted something, she was going to get it. He knew her, she was like that since the first day they met, sitting next to each other in one of the uni classes they shared. Her determination was scary… but hot. He couldn’t deny that the way she loved to play around was one of the things that brought him to his knees. 

And if he knew her, she knew him just as well. 

She knew what she was doing when her ass started grinding against his crotch. She knew what she was doing when her fingers were teasingly grazing his hand on her thigh. And she knew what she was doing when she started to let out forced fake moans. 

Jeno knew what her real moans sounded like, nothing of the pornographic whimpers and groans she was letting out just to get a reaction. And he was never going to make her fake it, not even if it was all a game.

So he closed the email tab and turned around. 

“Go lock the door, come on.” Those were the only words she wanted to hear, and with a big smile on her face, she sprinted to the door and came back to him in a second. 

“You need me that badly, baby?” He asked with a teasing tone, still sitting on his chair, legs spread open and she could make out his hard cock.

She hummed. “You made me starve for a whole week,” she pouted, letting him sit her on the desk how he wanted, big hands cupping her ass and squeezing tight. “Not even a picture of you. And you even barely answered the phone.” 

He chuckled, shaking a strand of hair out of his face before his fingers started tracing her legs, his touch soft like a feather, and that was enough to make her heart start racing. 

“It was a long week, babe,” he whispered, starting to kiss her neck, nibbling her skin ever so often, eliciting the first real moans of pleasure out of her. 

“You’re wearing one of my favorite skirts,” he commented, pushing the Balmain knit buttoned skirt up. “Let’s see if you also have matching panties,” he chuckled, smirking when he saw the pastel pink laced panties sitting on her. “You came here with a mission.” 

“Maybe, or maybe I just know how to catch your attention,” she winked. 

“As if you need to dress up to catch my attention,” he replied. “Take the shirt off, want to see your boobs in that pretty bra.” He also knew the set she was wearing, he had gifted it to her after coming back from a long trip and it was one of his favorites.

Her hands swiftly reached the hem of the top, lifting it over her head and throwing it on the chair where she was sitting before. 

“Beautiful,” Jeno whispered, face buried in the hollow of her boobs to leave kisses and light bites. Hand cupping her breasts and squeezing, eliciting a moan from her. “Missed feeling my hands around your boobs? Missed feeling how they fit perfectly in the palm of my hand?” 

“Jeno, please,” she whimpered, hips rolling trying to find friction somewhere just to be met with disappointment. 

“Want my fingers, baby?” He cooed, fingers trailing over her pastel pink laced panties, moving in circles. “Want them buried deep inside of you just how you like it?” 

She hummed, head thrown back and lower lip bitten by her teeth to keep it low. But she failed as soon as Jeno moved the crotch of the panties to the side, leaving her bare and exposed to the chilly air of the room. 

“Look down,” he ordered, “want you to watch how good I can fuck you.” 

Her eyes moved down, feeling more wetness drool out of her just at the sight of him pulling her panties down her legs. She fought against the want of throwing her head back when he pushed two fingers inside. 

“Fuck, I missed you,” she cried, nails dragging against the desk when he started pumping in and out, long, slim, veiny fingers curling inside of her, hitting her sweet spot just how she liked it. 

“Yeah, I can see it,” Jeno chuckled mockingly. “Look how easily they go in and out. Maybe we should film this so you will miss me less when I’m gone, ugh? You’ll use it to get off when you’re all alone at night?” 

She moaned, legs falling more open and ass sliding toward him. 

“Look at how wet you are. You’re dripping on my desk. Do you know how expensive this was?” 

She shook her head, she could imagine, but she didn’t care. 

“Faster,” she simply mumbled, meeting his eyes. 

“You’re so fucking greedy,” Jeno mocked but his wrist started moving faster, the cold metal of the watch hitting her mound making her go insane. “You don’t even care that someone might come in?” 

“They can’t,” she argued, closing her eyes. 

“But they sure can hear you. Your dirty pussy is so loud. Can you hear it, baby?” He teased, moving even faster, lewd wet sounds resonating in the room making her body burn up in shame. “Hear how messy you are. All of this for two fingers?” 

“Yeah,” she moaned, hips grinding against his palm, one of her hands wrapping around his wrist to feel him more. 

“Are you close already?” He asked with a fake pout, fingers moving so fast inside of her that the veins of his arms popped out even more and she lost it. She came hard. Body slumping behind against the desk, and moans spilling out of her mouth too loud that Jeno had to cover her mouth with his hand, legs shaking as finally, he gave her what she wanted. 

“Too – too much,” she cried when he slapped her swollen cunt after pulling out of her, leaving her empty and leaking.

“Is it?” He cooed, doing it again, making her moan. “You came here just for this and now it’s too much?” 

“Mhh,” she whimpered when the third slap hit her, cum splashing on her thighs and his pants at every hit. 

“Is your clit sensitive?” He asked, starting to slap her rapidly, not hard but fast enough that she could feel herself come again, clit throbbing and cunt clenching around nothing. “Are you gonna come from this? Really, baby? Wasn’t it too much?” 

“No, no, please, please, Jeno,” she cried, grabbing his hand and placing it back where it was, but the only thing she got was one last slap before Jeno pulled away. “And this one is for the naughty video you sent me one day after I left.” 

She whined, throwing her head back. “I thought you forgot about it.” 

Jeno laughed. “Think I can forget about you screaming my name while you fuck yourself while I’m not there? You know the rules, baby, and it’s dumb of you to think I wouldn’t punish you for not breaking them.” 

She wanted to complain but her attention was brought to something else. “What are you doing?” She asked when she saw him unbuckling his belt.  

“Doesn’t it seem obvious?” His pants fell on the floor, followed by the black boxer, revealing his hard cock. 

“No, if you keep up with your words of before.” 

“You think I can really go on for the rest of the day with a boner cause by you?” 

She shook her head, not able to hide the smile that was forming on her face at the anticipation of being fucked on his desk.

“On your knees.” 

Her eyes widened at his words. “You won’t fuck me?” 

“I told you,” he replied sternly. “Tonight. If I want to.” 

She huffed but obeyed. She surely wasn’t going to turn off the offer of sucking him, but the idea of having to wait longer to finally feel him inside her again was driving her insane. Also, she knew that if she acted like a brat more, he was probably going to make her wait for a week before she had sex with him again. 

“Suck my cock,” he ordered after giving it a few strokes. “Show me what you were doing with your dildo in that video. You’d suck on anything.” 

She started slowly, licking him all the way down to the base to get him wet before she wrapped her lips around his tip, sucking hard just there, making him groan. 

“Don’t tease me,” Jeno warned, voice low and eyes glaring at her. “I don’t have time for that. If you — fuck — want my cock in your pussy tonight, you better don’t make me stay after hours.” 

And that was enough to make her move up and down on his length. 

“Shit,” he stuttered through gritted teeth, looking down at her, chest panting as he watched how focused she was on him. “Missed your mouth so much.” 

Her hums vibrating around him made him push forward, catching her by surprise. 

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned when she started moving on him at a slow rhythm, his sensitive tip hitting the back of her throat with every bob of her head. “Always taking my cock so well.”

Her eyes looked up at him, smiling, her heart swelling with pride.

“You’re so good. Taking it all even if it’s so big. You love sucking me, don’t you?”

Hearing his words she started moving faster, cheeks hollowing all while she kept her eyes on him.

Jeno loved watching her going down on him. He loved seeing her eyes water and the endearing furrow that formed between her eyebrows.

“I won’t last longer,” he warned her. It had been a week even for him and he was extremely weak for her. “Fuck,” he groaned when she wrapped her hands around his base and started moving them while her lips sucked hard the first half of his cock. “Shit, shit, gonna come,” he groaned before his hips stilled and came into her mouth, head thrown back, eyebrows knitted together and mouth open, letting out groans and moans that only got her wetter and madder that she wasn’t going to get anything. 

“Damn, babe,” Jeno sighed, gulping before helping her stand up, not minding about putting his cock back into his pants and kissing her. “I love you, you know?” 

She hummed, slapping his ass playfully before walking back behind the desk, and pushing her skirt down.

“Running away from me after I gave you what you were begging for?” 

“You didn’t give me what I wanted,” she replied, grabbing her discarded shirt on the chair and putting it on while Jeno fixed his clothes back in place. 

“You can’t always get what you want,” he reminded her. “By the way, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a bit more for the big thing.” 

“Until we go back home, yeah, I know,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. 

“Nope,” Jeno said. “My father invited me tonight to one of his clubs.” 

“Oh,” she whispered, trying to don’t appear as disappointed as she was. Club nights weren’t anything crazy, it was just music and alcohol while boring businessmen — that weren’t as cool as her boyfriend —discussed their next moves and plans. “I thought we could at least spend some time together. I miss you, not only for the sex.” 

“I know, and I miss you too, that’s why you’re coming with me.” 

“With you? There?” 

“I have no intention of listening to them talking about business for a whole night while drinking soju,” he said. “Also, if I leave you alone at home you might pull your dildo out again.” 

She glared at him, but then shrugged off the last comment, making him chuckle. “I will be so out of place.” She didn’t mind spending time with him, but there? All they did was talk about economics, statistics and other things she didn’t care to listen to. 

“You are never out of place,” Jeno reassured her, his attention once again on the computer as he cursed lowly because he had too many things to do. “Also, I bought you a new dress, you could use try it on tonight.”

“Another one? You don’t have to spoil me so much.”

“I love doing it,” he smiled. “And, back to my father... You can be the reason we can leave first.” 

“Sure, so he and all his friends can hate me,” she rolled her eyes, already hating the idea. 

“My father loves you, he won’t say a word. You know he only yells at me and not at you.” 

“But we won’t be staying more than 30 minutes?” She begged. 

“Fine, not more than 30 minutes.” 

Being a brat wasn’t exactly what she loved to do, but she felt like she had no other chances when Jeno was barely paying her attention. 

It had turned out that his father wasn’t even there, not for more than 10 minutes, and it was just a setup to make Jeno meet with some other businessmen in a less professional space to ‘get close to each other,’ or whatever, she truly couldn’t care. 

And she couldn’t even be too touchy with him because he just wouldn’t pay attention. Too busy listening to what some old men had to say. 

“Bored?” Jaemin asked, he was holding the cue stick as he stood next to the billiard table.

“What does it look like?” She huffed, fixing the hem of her dress to push it down again. The dress Jeno picked was beautiful, of course, it was, he had impeccable taste for everything but especially when he wanted to dress her up. But it was too short to even make her have a great time. 

“Wanna play?” The blonde haired asked, cocking his head to the side to point at the green table.

She chuckled, shaking her head. “I don’t know how to play.” 

“I’ll teach you, come on,” Jaemin said, calling her to the other side where the white ball was. 

She looked around for a second, hoping Jeno noticed her absence at his side and looked for her, but nothing at all. So she had just one last thing to try. 

“It’s all about the body movement,” Jaemin started to explain, his body behind him, and she could see that he was trying to don’t get too close but that was what she needed if she wanted to have a reaction. 

“Like this?” She asked, inclining her back, her ass brushing ‘accidentally’ against his thigh. 

“Uhm, yeah, just uhm,” he mumbled, hand touching her back to fix her posture and then adjusting her fingers on the stick. “Here, that’s great. Hit the ball.” 

“I did it!” She screamed when five of the other balls fell down the holes. Turning around with her arms raised before she wrapped them around Jaemin’s neck. 

“See, you aren’t bad at all.” 

Jeno heard her squeal and turned around, eyebrows furrowing for a second before he shrugged it off. She was just having fun and he didn’t mind if Jaemin kept her occupied while he tried to cut the conversation off with these men. 

But that got on her nerves more. So she kept playing, getting touchier with Jaemin, feeling even a bit guilty for how he was visibly turned on by everything. She would’ve explained if she passed by him another day.

“Want to dance?” She asked, not really giving him a chance to complain by dragging him in the middle of the small dance floor. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea?” He chuckled awkwardly, briefly looking back at Jeno.

“Is it not? What is the music for if not for dancing?” Her hips started moving to the rhythm, her hands trailing up and down her body while she encouraged him to dance with her eyes. 

Jaemin wanted to complain but then gave in, and grabbed her hand and in a second they were dancing close to each other.  

It had to be an eye-catching situation, right? There was nobody else around them, nobody else had brought their wives — guessing by the average age — there. 

“Your girlfriend is putting on a show,” a man commented and Jeno’s head snapped in their direction. 

“What the fuck…” he mumbled, fists clenching under the table. 

“She loves dancing,” he commented, a forced fake smile forming on his face as he turned to them. Trying to bring the conversation to their deals again because he couldn’t drag her out of there right there at the moment. He needed to pretend they had to go home because… because… he would’ve come up with an excuse, not that it mattered. It was none of their business why they were leaving. Still, he couldn’t make a scene.

But he could only last five more minutes because his eyes kept landing on them. Jaemin was doing his best to hold back, Jeno could see it, but her, on the other hand… 

“It was lovely to meet you all, I hope we can see each other again to seal some deals,” Jeno greeted briefly, not even waiting for an answer before he got up and reached for her. 

“Hi, darling,” he sang with a fake sweet tone, grabbing her wrist. “Having fun you two?” 

“So much fun,” she replied before Jaemin could talk, but Jeno didn’t need to listen to his answer, he knew it wasn’t his fault, though he might’ve had a talk with him on Monday morning for some looks and touches he saw. 

“Sorry but the fun it’s over,” he whispered against her ear. “Let’s go.” 

The ride back home was silent. She was waiting for Jeno to talk but he didn’t say anything and the only word that came out of his mouth when they got inside was, ‘bedroom.’ 

And she knew exactly what it meant. Jeno wanted her to wait for him naked, sitting at the edge of the bed. 

Weird. 

She expected him to push her against the wall as soon as they were shielded from the outer world, but he didn’t, and she wondered what he had in mind. 

Thinking about how she behaved for the last past week it was probably a punishment summed up with other three, if she was lucky. 

When the door opened and Jeno stepped inside her eyes followed him silently, feet tapping against the floor as she was growing impatient. 

And Jeno was growing impatient too, but he wasn’t going to fall for her games this time. He knew what she wanted, a reaction, a jealous one that lead to the hard sex she loved so much. But he didn’t need a reaction, he had nothing to be jealous about because she was his. No matter how much she was going around to tease him. No matter how many days they spent apart. Jeno had her wrapped around his fingers and he had nothing to worry about. 

So he reached the armchair at the corner of their bedroom, giving her his back as he unbuckled his belt, making it run in the loops and removing it with a slap that made her stomach twist. He could feel the way her leg was nervously twitching and how her breathing was getting short. So he turned around, giving her more. His fingers moved slowly to unbutton his shirt, and even if his eyes were still lowered on the pavemente, he knew she was staring with attention, surely hating she wasn’t the one taking those clothes off of him. That was always her favourite part, getting him naked, running her hand on his skin, feeling him close, showing how desperate she was to feel him. 

But there he was, standing naked in the corner of their bedroom, the only thing that was still on his body, the expensive watch. He wasn’t going to keep it on, right? She thought, hoping for that because she wasn’t so sure she could take it. But that night Jeno was doing all the opposite she was thinking about. 

“I don’t like brats,” he said, an edge in his voice, as he walked in front of her. “And you know it.” When he stopped in front of her, she squirmed in her place, feeling so small compared to him. “So why do you love getting on my nerves? Why do you act like that?” 

She opened her mouth but he shut her with two fingers on her lips. 

“No, don’t answer. I know why. You think you can make me jealous, you think that acting like that, you will get a reaction from me. But have you ever thought that your plans might go wrong?” 

She shook her head, biting her lips nervously. 

“I told you getting my cock was already on the line, babe,” he whispered, hands roaming on her body touching her breasts, slowly reaching down on her tummy, before he caressed her thighs. “So why blow up the only chance you had?” 

Her eyes snapped into his. He couldn’t do that… 

“No — no,” she mumbled, truly shocked about that. 

“Lay on the bed,” he simply ordered and she followed without blinking an eye this time. “Funny how you listen when you don’t want to make it worse, isn’t it?” He joked before he opened the closet and she already knew what was coming. 

When he moved on the bed, it was to block her wrists and ankles in place. He was quick at moving her how he wanted, the cuffs clicking shut around one wrist before he did the same with the other. And then followed her ankles, stopped in place and parted from each other by the same purple spreader bar that was holding her hands in place.

“So pretty for me,” he praised, shifting on the bed, and rubbing a hand on her thigh. “Don’t think I’m cruel by the way. I have a gift for you,” he said, before pulling out from behind his back a small vibrator. 

“I want you,” she cried, hips — the only part of her body she could move — bucking up in complaint. 

“Should’ve thought about it first,” he reminded her, moving the toy to her lips to make her suck it, wetting it before he pushed it into her already soaked pussy. “You’re so wet it slipped in so fucking easily. God, not even punishments can put some sense in your brain.” 

She didn’t answer, only looked at him silently, as he grabbed his phone, surely opening the app to control the toy. 

“I’ll turn it on and you can’t come.” 

“I can’t come?” 

“You heard that,” he replied with a stern tone, not giving space for objections. “My fingers and my cock are the only things you’ll come on tonight. Oh, wait, you’re not going to have them,” he pouted before laughing wickedly and walking back to the armchair. 

“Are you lea — fuck,” she cried when he turned it on without a warning. 

The vibrations started slowly, and the rhythm was consistent, but the toy was so pushed inside of her that it was enough to make her back arch at the pleasurable sensation. Maybe at this pace, she could’ve held it in and just relaxed. That was what she thought until her eyes laid on Jeno. He was staring at her, eyes filled with lust and she knew that look, he wasn’t going to let her go tonight without fucking, there was no way he was torturing himself too. But right now he was doing everything possible to drive her insane. 

His fist was wrapped around his cock, moving up and down slowly. And she couldn’t describe it with words but the fact that he had nothing on but that watch made her stomach twitch and her toes curl.

“Want to touch it?” He asked before letting out a low laugh when she nodded eagerly. “Want to suck me again?” 

“Want it in me,” she cried, mouth slacked open when he raised the vibrations, faster and stronger this time, so much that she could feel them everywhere in her lower body and her eyes fell shut again. 

“I told you,” Jeno whispered. “You should’ve thought about it before.” 

“But please,” she pleaded, voice broken by the pleasure.

“Bad girls don’t get what they want,” he replied, voice firm as he slowed the vibrations, making her body relax again. But he had no intention of being sweet that night, so after a few minutes, he raised them again. 

“Should we try all the pulsating functions this toy offers?” He asked, walking closer to the bed but still not touching her. “Oh, what about this one?” 

“No,” she whimpered when the pulse changed. 

“You don’t like it because it’s intermittent? You always want the most intense things:” 

“This — this is intense,” she replied, throwing her head back. She hated the small pauses in between every buzz but the vibrations that lasted for only a few seconds were so strong that almost brought her close to the edge before stopping. It was a constant edging.

But Jeno enjoyed watching her squirm, mouth open and back arched, and thighs shaking as she tried to stay tensed up to don’t give in to her needs.

“I’ll pick another one,” he said, standing right in front of her at the end of the bed, smirking when his eyes laid in between her spread legs, cum dripping everywhere, sticking to her ass and creating a wet spot on the bed. “And if you last for more than five minutes without coming… you’ll get my cock.”

“Happy?” He asked when she nodded like a puppy but her smile dropped as soon as he picked the new speed. The highest.  

“Jeno, no,” she cried, wrists struggling against the restrainers as her hips bucked up. “I can’t.” 

“At least try,” he only replied. “I set the time so we can’t go wrong, baby. And don’t try to lie to me, I know how your body reacts when you come.” 

She only hummed, trying to close her legs but the bar kept her wide open. And she really tried to don’t come but not even after two minutes, the orgasm exploded, body squirming against the bedsheets and loud moans coming out of her mouth followed by curses as the vibrations didn’t stop. 

“You just can’t listen,” Jeno mocked, his hand slapping the side of her thigh, making her open her eyes. “Don’t look at me with those wide eyes. I’m starting to think you don’t want me tonight.” 

“I do, I — I do, please, turn it off. It’s too much.”

“Is it?” He cooed, changing the rhythm again but it wasn’t any better. “Planned of coming home and fucking you nice all night just like you’ve been dreaming about all week, but no, you had to prolong your suffering. You had to make me teach you a lesson, remind you how to listen.” 

“Please,” she still pleaded, knowing it was useless. 

“No, baby, keep it in and don’t come. I should’ve trained you before you turned into a brainless brat.”

“Don’t — don’t you want me?” She tried to win him in another way but the only answer she got was a mocking laugh that made her whine even more. 

“You have two minutes left,” he warned. “I’m giving you one last chance, baby. If you fuck it up, you won’t get anything tonight.” 

She hummed, a groan slipped past her lips when he picked the same speed as before but she closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on it. Even trying to think about things that turned her off, anything to don’t lose the last chance she got. Jeno was pissed and she wasn’t so sure that his want to have her was bigger than the want of teaching her a lesson, at this point. 

And somehow she succeeded. When the vibrations came to a stop she started breathing normally again, her body going limp against the bed and shoulders letting go of the tension. 

“So you can listen when you want to,” Jeno commented while his hands caressed her body before he reached between her legs and pulled the toy out, leaving it on the bedside table. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said when he moved to free her from the spreaders. “You still don’t deserve praises. Make it up and then maybe I’ll praise you.” 

“Come here,” he ordered, patting the edge of the bed. 

“I — wait,” she said, feeling too tired to stand up. 

Jeno rolled his eyes, walking around the bed again to hoist her up and place her where he wanted her. “Can’t even walk now, imagine once I’m done with you.” He sat on the bed and sat her on his thighs, her eyes widened when she realized they were sitting right in front of the mirror. 

“What, baby? Surprised? I want you to see how desperate you are.” 

“I want you.” 

“I know you do,” he said, spreading her legs, planting her feet on his thighs, exposing her once again. 

“What —” 

“Stop asking,” he replied, growling before he kissed her hard. “Do you need to know what I’ll do to you? Acting as if you wouldn’t enjoy anything I give to you?”

She shook her head. 

“What I thought,” he snickered before his fingers pushed into her pussy. “You’re already a mess.” 

Her head rolled back against his shoulder but Jeno’s fingers immediately wrapped in her hair to force her head up. “Eyes on the mirror, baby. You love my fingers so much you will watch when they fuck you how you want to.” 

“But I want you.” 

“Stop begging before I change my mind again,” he reminded her, fingers thrusting faster inside of her. The sight was filthy but she couldn’t take her eyes off of there. It was too hot, the way they curled deep into her, pressing exactly where she wanted him, pumping the cum out of her that rolled in drops on his slender, bony hands. The rings hitting against her skin and adoring his fingers just making everything hotter as he thrust them inside at a firm speed. She couldn’t even be embarrassed at the dirty squelching sounds. 

But when Jeno pushed her legs closer to her body she felt a different sensation build up. His fingers were angled even more perfectly now, hitting her sweet spot with precision, and increasingly going faster. And before she could even warn him, it got too much. The tension exploded in an orgasm that shook her body from head to toe, tight walls pulsing around his fingers before her squirt started spurting out of her, making her gasp and squirm, trying to make it stop but Jeno shushed her. 

“That’s it, baby,” he praised. “That’s what I wanted from you. Keep doing it.”

At his words, she relaxed more, shame still eating her alive as her cum hit the mirror and stained it, slowly rolling down to meet the floor.

“Fuck,” she cried when the sensation slowed down. “I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry for this?” He chuckled. “You should be sorry for the way you behave, instead.” 

Right, he was still pissed. 

“I’m sorry, Jeno,” she apologized. “I promise, I won’t act like a brat anymore. I’ll be good.” 

He only hummed before kissing her briefly. “Get on the bed,” he ordered and her legs were swift — well, for what she could since she could barely feel them — at pushing her body on the bed. “Not like this,” he said, clicking his tongue, hands signaling her to turn around. “Face to the mirror, on your hands and knees. Now.” 

In a second she was how he wanted her, ass arched up, inviting him to give her what she craved for so much.

“Don’t tease me,” she cried when he started rubbing the tip of his cock against her entrance and her clit before slapping it on her pussy.

“You talk about not teasing?” He hummed, pushing the fat tip in, stretching her slit but not pushing further. “You know why you’re lucky? Because I want you too much to be mad at you,” he groaned, pushing in completely, yanking her body forward with a single strong stroke. “You drive me insane but I can’t resist you.” 

She smirked, as her eyes rolled in the back of her head at the sensation of being filled by him again.

“Don’t fucking smirk,” he growled, wrapping a hand around her neck to lift her up, her back pushed against his chest as his hips slammed against her ass. “Here, keep my fingers in your mouth since you — fuck — since you love them so much.” 

“Fuck,” she hummed around his digits, sucking them. 

“Look at you,” he moaned, meeting her eyes through the reflecting surface. “I didn’t even start with you and here you are.” 

Her eyes rolled back, nails digging into his skin as she held herself up. 

“Happy now?” He asked, pulling his fingers out and pushing her down against the mattress. “That was what you — fuck — wanted. Does my cock feel good, baby?” 

“Yeah, so — so good,” she mumbled, pushing her face into the sheets before Jeno yanked her up by the air. 

“I said, don’t you take your eyes off of me,” he groaned against her ear, pressing her flat against the mattress with his body, only keeping her head up. “I want you to keep in mind that none else can see you like this. Nobody can turn you into the mess you want to be turned into. Not even your fingers or — fuck — your toys.” 

“Yes, only you,” she blabbered, forcing her eyes to stay open as the pleasure started to overwhelm her again. It had only been a week but it felt like ages without feeling him. His thick cock was stretching her so good, veins rubbing against her wet walls and balls slapping against her clit, making her head get dizzy. 

“You have no — fuck — no idea for how long I waited to have you,” he moaned, standing up again, holding her head with a firm hold, and pounding harder into her. “Could’ve — fuck — had you right when we came back home but no — fuck — you just don’t know when to stop.” 

“Bet you fucked yourself all week — fuck — thinking it was my cock, didn’t you? And what did I have? Nothing.” 

Her eyes fell shut again but the tug at her hair made her open them again. 

“You look so pretty when I fuck you like this,” he groaned before he grabbed her wrists and locked them behind her back. “Can you keep your head up without your hands, baby?” He teased, watching as she tried her best to still follow his orders, eyes looking into the mirror with a desperate pleading look and he knew exactly what it meant. She was close but had no intention to make it finish so soon. 

“Ca-can,” she whimpered, biting her lips. 

“No, babe,” he said, holding her wrist with just one hand, slamming her body against his with force, arms flexing at the tension he was putting on his muscles. “I want to hear you moan. I want to hear your whimpers and moans and — fuck — and curses. Just for me. Come on, louder.”

So she did, letting go, not trying to keep quiet.

“That’s it, pretty. Love hearing you be so eager for me. So eager for my cock.”

“Jeno, harder," she pleaded, the beg followed by more desperate sounds. 

“Harder than this?" He asked with a smirk on his face. “Can you take it?” 

“Yes, yes, please. I — I can take it all.” 

“I hope you do,” he groaned, letting go of her wrist to lean against her, his fingers pushing into her mouth again. “Suck them, baby," he ordered, voice hitting her ear while his lust gazed eyes stared right into her soul through the mirror. “Good girl. Suck them just like that. You love them so much don’t you? It doesn’t matter where they are buried deep into you,” he mocked, pushing them against her tongue, making her gag, “as long as they are inside you. Such a selfish little girl.” 

“I’m close,” she whimpered around them, nails digging into the sheets as she felt another orgasm build up in her body. He was thrusting into her so fucking hard, releasing all the pent-up tension of the week, hips snapping against her ass creating lewd sounds, while his other hand was holding tight around her waist, surely leaving marks on her skin.

“Come here,” he moaned, lifting her up. “Since you love my hands so much — fuck — feel them, feel them around your neck.” 

She let out muffled moans when his hand wrapped around her neck holding her up while the other moved forward to play with her clit. Head rolling back at the sensation of his thumb caressing the side of her neck, eyes almost crossing when the fingers on her clit started moving faster. 

“Yeah, you like that,” Jeno groaned, watching with a smirk as she smiled with a fucked out expression, completely lost in pleasure, just how he wanted. “The prettiest necklace around your pretty neck, yeah?” 

“Yes, yes, fuck,” she whimpered. 

“Gonna fill you up,” he warned her, head falling against her shoulder as he got closer and closer to his climax. “Do you want it, baby?” 

“Yes, yes, please, Jeno,” she moaned, body twitching as she felt him fill her up, their orgasms washing over at the same time. But he didn’t stop. 

“Gonna give you another one,” he groaned, freeing her neck, pressing her body against the mattress again, shielding it with his. His thrusts hitting deeper and harder. “Gonna give you all I kept for you — fuck — for a week.” 

“Mmph,” she whimpered, squeezing her eyes close, chest panting hardly. 

“Will you take it? Will you be a good girl and take another load?” He asked, voice coming out more hoarse and low as he pushed himself over the limit. 

“Yes, want it all. Please, fill me — fuck — fill me full of you.” 

“That’s it,” he whispered, biting her earlobe before he stuck his face in the crook of his neck and kissed her on her sweet spot, eyebrows knitted from the pleasure. “Take it all, baby. Come with me —  fuck —  one last time. Fuck,” he moaned lowly, hips rolling against with a last strong push.  

She moaned loudly when they came at the same time, feeling his cum fill her again and squeeze out with every lazy pump he gave her as he rode both of their orgasms, dripping down between her legs and staining the sheets. 

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, chest panting hard against her back, lips kissing her face while his thumb rubbed circles on her hip. “You good?” 

She hummed, eyes blinking slowly as she came down from the high.

“You’ve been such a good girl,” Jeno praised, pulling out of her slowly, getting lost in the way his cum was dripping out her swollen pussy. Two fingers running on her slit to push it back inside, plugging them deep, feeling her insides twitch in overstimulation before he pulled them out, letting his seed drip down on her thighs.

“Open up,” he ordered, waiting for her to part her lips and lick his fingers clean. “Good girl,” he whispered before kissing her again. “Took so many orgasms, I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, kissing the tip of her nose and then leaving a peck on her lips that made her giggle.

“So, did you learn to don’t act like a brat anymore?” He asked, caressing her back gently. 

She chuckled. “If you fuck me like this how can I don’t be a brat?” 

Jeno rolled his eyes before laughing. “You truly will never learn.” 

“Oh, please, as if you mind.” 

“I told you, I love you too much to be mad about it.” 

She smiled proudly before she reached for his hands and started caressing them. 

Jeno smirked as he watched as she trailed the paths of his veins and played with the rings and the watch. “So this thing for my hands is serious?” 

“Can you blame me? Look at how pretty they are. They are so delicate and yet so strong, and they’re soft.” 

“Mhh, yeah? Think I should use them more often?” 

“You definitely should,” she winked. “On me, of course,” she added with a ‘menacing’ furrow on her face.

Jeno laughed. “Of course, baby. Only you,” he replied, leaving another kiss on her lips. “And I think I should start using them right now.” 

“Another round?” She asked in surprise. 

“No, honey,” he reassured her, caressing her cheek. “To clean you up in the shower. Do you like the idea?” He asked, but he had already lifted her up and was carrying her to their big bathroom. “If you want, I’ll even wash your hair.” 

“So you can massage my scalp?” 

“Mhh, mhh, I think you deserve it. So? Are you in?” 

“I love it.” 

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think about it if you want to ♡

#nct fanfiction #jeno smut #lee jeno smut #jeno scenarios #jeno oneshot #jeno fluff #lee jeno fluff #nct dream smut #nct smut #nct dream scenarios #nct dream jeno

[the-kr8tor]

So sorry to add onto your pile of reqs but I just really love the way u write 😭❤️

Could you write something for some really soft and fluffy cuddling with hobie 🥺? Just some casual banter/teasing here and there while really just basking in each others presence

Hi hun! Thank you for your request ❤️ I really love writing cuddling in bed, just spending time with each other 🥹 hope you like this!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, FLUFF

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The soft music blares out from your headphones, the afternoon rain gives you the perfect excuse to stay in bed for the rest of the day. You're properly tucked inside the covers, the only thing Hobie sees of you is the upper half of your face, lashes kissing the heavy blanket, your eyes are closed, the only indication that you're awake is your feet tapping rhythmically under the covers.

Hobie comes out of the shower feeling refreshed after a hard patrol, he leans on the doorway, wiping the water droplets off his torso, the pajama pants you've bought for him are soft against his skin. He watches as you listen happily to your music.

Hobie tosses the towel somewhere, jumping next to you in bed, you gasp when your body suddenly lifts a few inches off the mattress. Hobie laughs loudly when he sees your startled face, you can hear him guffaw through the music. Lifting off the earphones, you pout at him for disturbing your peace. The rain knocks on the closed windows, the wind howling outside.

"Hobie! I almost dropped my phone" you sit up by your elbows, your eyes quickly scan his naked torso, shutting you up immediately.

Hobie smirks when he sees you staring "oi perv, what are you listening to?"

" 'm not a perv" you murmur, Hobie almost missed it, he grabs you by your shoulder lying you back down gently, you lie on your side, face to face with Hobie. He pulls you by your waist, his fingers caress the soft skin where your shirt hitched up, "alright, 'not a perv' what're you listening to?"

Hobie turns, laying on his chest. His eyes stare at you the entire time, hand glued to your waist. You lovingly wipe at a wet spot he missed on his nape. His eyes flatter close at the contact, making him completely relax, thinking you're massaging his sore muscle. You indulge him, kneading his skin with your fingers.

"You won't like it" he hums a reply, eyes still closed "it's a slow pop song"

"Let me hear it, just pop it in" He groans in pleasure when you massage a particularly tensed muscle.

It's a struggle, giving him an earphone while you're massaging his neck, practically playing twister. You manage though, slipping the other earphone on his ear, the other one on yours. You both listen in on the same music, a smile spreading across your face, knowing exactly what his reaction will be in a few seconds.

He listens in for exactly five seconds before he flings the earphone away from his ear, making you giggle.

"I told you! you wouldn't like it!" You say in between laughs. Your hands stop from massaging him, palm laying flat on his toned back.

"The 'babygirl' got me" he scrunches his nose, making you laugh harder. It's exactly what you thought his reaction would be. You copy his position, laying flat on your chest, hooking your leg over his. His soft pants tickle you slightly.

Hobie has a lopsided smile, you grin back at him, leaving a sticky kiss on the tip of his nose.

He chuckles at your adorable affection, Hobie moves your hair out of your face, seeing you in all of your glory. Heat blossoms on your face, you shuffle closer to him, arms tucked on your side, breaths mixing together.

"You like the pants I left you?" You tease him by smoothing your foot over his leg, feeling the fuzzy material kiss your skin. "You actually make it work"

"What can I say, I look good in everything" he plants his hand back on your waist, this time he fixes your shirt, covering your exposed skin, worrying that you might get cold.

"I know, it's unfair" you pout, he takes one of your hands, intertwining them with his. "Sorry, it was the only thing available in your size"

"And here I thought you bought it on purpose"

"Kinda" you smile widely "at least it's black though" you laugh when he rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, sure" to tell you the truth he actually likes it, it's nice to wear something different from time to time, especially when it's this comfortable. "Come closer, you're too far" he acts like you're far away, even though there's no way for you to get any closer to him.

"You could just tell me you want to cuddle" you hold out your arms, Hobie immediately positions himself in between them. You raise your leg up, bringing it over his waist, completely cageing him in your embrace. And that's absolutely alright for him, he sighs, content.

"You want me to massage you again? Or a nap?" You kiss his bare shoulder, sending goosebumps over his skin.

"Nap sounds good, lovey" He yawns.

"Nap it is" you whisper against his skin. You're sure your arms are gonna be sore by the time you both wake up, it's a small price to pay, you'd gladly offer it again to Hobie.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed it ❤️

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #spider punk #hobie brown #spider man across the spider verse #x reader #atsv fanfiction #atsv x reader #atsv fanfic #atsv hobie #hobie brown x gn!reader #spider punk x gn! reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #fanfic #hobie fluff

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 7.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 2.5k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

a/n: a short chapter, but very important! the next 3 after this will be very action packed! and then it is the end of act 1!

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, my terrible, terrible combat writing, descriptions of injuries, allusions to suicide, talk of chronic pain and illness

story playlist

Shera had never rushed before so much in her life. She needed out. Out of Viserys’ room, out of the tunnels, out, out, out. As she pushed a stone backing, her knees skidded across the cobbled ground, skin ripping from them violently. Oh, how adept she’d become at injuring herself. She haphazardly wiped a few tears away.

The crisp night air whipped against her face before the smell changed– her other senses other than sight had become so keen since her loss of sight in her eye, so she was especially sensitive to even the most minute change in scents. She smelled the distinct aroma of fire– ashes to ashes, wafting along the breeze, mingling with a familiar smell of sandalwood and white cedar musk. 

A pair of polished black boots, now a bit dull in their pallor from soot, stood in front of her. 

“Lost, little banshee?” Aemond cooed. She could practically see the grin on his face, once again not of joy but something akin to self-assuredness and beastly callousness. 

“I told you…” she croaked, putting her now bloodied fingertips up to her throat, the pain reverberating through every word. “Don’t… call me that, nūmāzma zaldrīzes.” Mean dragon. She didn’t look up, or lift herself in any sort of way. Shera was all too aware she was not wearing her veil, nor her choker– and Aemond’s comments at the dinner (that he had still not apologized for, the cad) were festering in her mind, stinging and infecting like a plague. They hadn’t spoken since her almost ill-fated swan dive. He probably thought she was still suicidal. 

It was all too quick for her to register, her vision was still spinning, but he had picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, or perhaps a bale of hay. He didn’t say anything further as he began to walk down the hall, deeper into the Keep. 

Shera’s face went beet red as she sniffled, kicking her legs against him. “Put me down,” she growled, her voice raising more than it should, her tone becoming skewed and cracking. She resorted to trying to bite him then, her teeth fastening down on the leather jerkin he was wearing. It was so thick, that her attempt to snap her jaws upon his skin was hardly even registered to him.

“No.” he responded flatly, an arm fastened around her waist that was slung over his shoulder, his other hand coming up to swat her bottom. “Stop trying to bite me.”

“This is demeaning.” she hissed, now resulting in hitting her forehead on his shoulder blade, hoping to hide the fact that her face was burning scarlet at the fact that he had swatted her bum like an insolent child, no less carrying her like one. 

“Yes– well, mayhaps you shouldn’t be sneaking around at night, much less without your mutt guiding you.”

She grumbled a noise of discontentment, burying her face into his shoulder blade as a means to hide herself further, lest anyone see the absolutely precarious position that Aemond– and herself– had put her in.

They didn’t speak much as he took her back to her chambers. Moongeist was awake in an instant when he opened the door, growling and snarling.

“... s’okay,” Shera mustered as Aemond planted her on the ground next to the wolf, who immediately calmed at his owner’s presence– not without a wary look towards the prince, though. She put her hand on his head, her fingertips shaking. 

“You’re bloody, Shera.”

“Fell.”

“You can’t go to bed bloody. You’ll stain the sheets.”

“I can.”

“You can– but the maids would most certainly report it to my mother, or worse, to Rhaenyra. It’s not exactly a good look for a supposed maiden bride-to-be having bloodied sheets?”

Shera sighed, putting her head in her hands as she sat at her boudoir. “Get on with it.”

“Tell your mutt to not bite me, then.” Aemond returned in an equally annoyed tone as he wet a cloth at the washing basin, swathing it over her skinned knee, while keeping his eye trained on Moongeist– who in turn, was staring back at him.

“Have half a mind to… you were… quite mean.”

“Mean? I helped you back to your room.”

“At the dinner, when I came back. And you have been quiet since the… Kingswood.” 

“Ah.”

“... ‘ah’? That’s it?”

“Tell me truthfully; are you being coerced into this? If you are, I will cut that Strong bastard from stem to stern like a roasted pig. I see what it's doing to you. You’re frayed at the ends.”

He’s noticed? She glanced at him waywardly, fists squeezing in her lap. “I’m not some helpless little creature with no power… I still have some voice.”

“Hardly.”

“Jacaerys has been… cordial and proper,” she said. When he isn’t fucking my brother, that is.  “He even has written me letters when not visiting. What a novel idea that is, hm?” 

“You’re still upset about that?”

Shera peeked through the hair fallen in front of her face, scowling. “Yes. I am.”

He reached his hand up to pry one of hers from her face. “I’ll need to clean these, too. Even so, I do believe it requires two people to have a conversation through letters, does it not? I don’t recall receiving anything addressed to me from you over the years. I heard Helaena got quite a few.” 

Shera pressed her marred side of her face into her shoulder as she let Aemond clean the blood from her fingertips. She didn’t want him to see– she couldn’t. She didn’t quite understand the confidence that Aemond had, his scar proudly on display above and below his eyepatch. The tips of her ears went red at his insinuation. “... I suppose we both could’ve sent letters, then. I just…” her fingertips twitched as he pressed the cloth underneath her nails, scraping the dried blood from under them. “I wasn’t sure you would want to…” her hands strayed from his grasp, to which he grunted at, taking them back. “Cregan wrote the response for the first one. It… I’m sure you know it was a lie now. He is such an idiot– I am the opposite of fine. I don’t think I’ve been fine in nearly a decade.” her bottom lip wobbled slightly as she rambled on, saying all the things she’d always wanted to say to someone– no, not someone– to him. 

“... it was callous of me,” he finally offered, “To say… what I did at the dinner. It was mostly to rile Jacaerys.” he finally responded, putting the cloth to the side and examining her to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. “I’m sorry.” Aemond spoke his apology quietly, but looked directly at her face, then. His face was… surprisingly open. Not guarded.

“... ‘twas not far from the truth.”

“May I see?” 

Shera shook her head vehemently. “You can’t.”

“Please.”

She made a noise of disagreement, pressing her face further to her shoulder. She didn’t, however, account for the visibility of the scar on her throat, jagged and raised against the soft flesh of her neck. She felt one of Aemond’s fingers trace it, across slowly, then upward. His hand went to her chin and he turned her face towards him. And she let him. She didn’t have much energy to stop him, anyhow. 

His touch was soft, which surprised her greatly– she thought him unhewn and rough in all places– but this was something reminiscent of how he used to touch her as children. He was always gentle with her before. Her face was turned to him completely now, unveiled, unhidden– she braced herself for the look of humor or pity on his face, her heart stopped beating for a moment, her breaths caught in her chest.

Brushing an errant hair aside, he traced the scar over her eye. It wasn’t an entirely clean cut, like he had guessed, jutting out into two diverging lines, like branches of a tree going downward. His violet eye, the hue hardly visible from how large his pupil was, was trained on her blind one. The milky blue, her own pupil long gone. The edges of his lips curled into something akin to wonder. There wasn’t a look of pity and it didn’t seem like he was about to make another poor jest about her face– he just looked, as if to study it, to commit it to memory.

“Blue?” he murmured. “How curious.”

The way he said it had Shera perking her brow– it sounded like an epiphany to him, his voice taking a lighter note than she’d heard. There was no trace of callousness that had been exuding from him previously. He was calm.

“Yes, it's blue,” she muttered in response, his taut (but not uncomfortable) grip on her chin keeping her facing him. She desperately wanted to hide away, hide, hide. She’d never felt so exposed in her life, so naked– and she was fully clothed. It felt like her soul was on display to him, cracking from her ribcage. 

“Let me formally apologize,” he cleared his throat. “‘Tis not mangled at all, nor a mess. I now wonder, even more than before, why you persist with the veil.” Aemond let go of her chin, but not before giving it a little tug in an almost playful manner. Aemond? Playful?

“I like them– it's… to hide.” 

“Hide? To make oneself obscured, to conceal and fade into the background,” he pondered it for a moment. “You make yourself a spectacle with that thing, Shera. You are doing the opposite of hiding.”

Shera puffed out her chest, arms crossed over defensively. “A spectacle?”

“You chastised me for calling you a banshee, when you dress the part,” he leaned back in his chair, hands laced together over his stomach. He was relaxing. 

She puffed, rolling her eyes. She mimicked his body position, leaning back with her hands on her stomach. It felt… odd to be looking at him without any inhibition. It felt almost normal. Normal– normal. When was the last time she felt normal?

“I want to clarify,” she cleared her throat, fingertips paused on her throat from speaking up too fast, too loudly. “I was not trying to kill myself. It… I… I’m not suicidal.”

Aemond’s expression didn’t change, he merely focused his gaze even more onto her. He didn’t say anything.

“The… disassociation is new, like Hela told you,” Shera’s hands wrought over one another slowly. “But it isn’t… unusual, given my… conditions.”

“Conditions?” he asked finally. His face still didn’t give away any emotion.

“... no one else knows except for Cregan and the maesters at Winterfell. Jace probably knows from Cregan… telling him all the things that are wrong with me, to look out for when we’re married.” she took a breath before continuing. “The maesters don’t exactly know what to call it— but it is… I lose control of my body and fall to the ground, convulsing— it's terribly painful and then everything goes black. We have referred to it as my… fainting spells, but it surely feels like more than fainting. It’s… quite violent.” 

Aemond blinked. Hard. He took a beat to absorb the information before speaking. His position shifted as he leaned forward. “When was the last time you had one of these… spells?” 

“… not since Winterfell.” 

“I don’t remember this being an issue when you were younger— is it… relatively new?” he asked then. His lips were pursed together in a tight line, in tandem with his furrowed brow. 

“Since Driftmark.” 

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly at the mention. “Another thing for us to bear, isn’t it?” he gave a low, bitter chuckle. “The Gods weren’t satisfied in our mutilation alone and had to… bestow us with lasting gifts, hm?” 

Shera stayed silent, sitting up to where their knees were touching. Her eyes were wide as she took him in. His melancholic smile and the dullness of his eye as he looked off somewhere in the distance.

“The pain is bad most days. And on its worst days, it’s unbearable. The… the nerve damage, the maesters said. I’ll live with it forever— a constant thrum and reminder of it. There’s a few medicines that help temporarily but…” his voice trailed off, his gaze returning to her. “I’m sorry.” 

“You have nothing to apologize for, Aemond.” 

“I do and I do not— I should’ve protected you. I should’ve killed them.” he gave an ugly sneer, lip curled. 

Shera’s heart felt like it was in her throat. She wanted to cry, to scream for his pain, for her pain. She couldn’t speak, her voice coming out in unintelligible, choked sobs. 

He looked sad, too. The depth of his despair laid bare in front of her for only a moment. The mask slipped back on, his proverbial walls back up. 

But she knew. 

They were so alike— even now.

–

Aemond had always prided himself on his resilience, on his ability to mask his emotions into stone. 

Why did he become so unraveled with Shera? He confided in her so easily, as if it was second nature. 

His boots stomped down the corridor of Maegor’s Holdfast without much care. He was coming apart at the seams, like a thread pulled from an old doublet, letting the structure of the garment fall away. 

All it took was one thread. 

He found himself at his desk, candles lit. The piece of fabric she’d gifted to him, with her silly note, was still there. He clutched it in his hand, bringing it to his face and taking a breath. 

Lavender, rosemary, chamomile. The scent of her on it still lingered, if not a bit faded. 

He would smell it in the halls, coming back from training. He knew she’d been watching him in secret for the past moon. Whenever it wafted near him, he had half a mind to follow her, to confront her, to hold her—

Fuck. He was fucked. He was fucked the moment she came to King’s Landing— the very first time. 

His hand glided through his hair as he snapped off the leather cord holding it back from his face. Strands of it fell over his vision as he tossed his eyepatch to the settee behind him. 

Taking out the sapphire was a tedious task. And painful. 

But damn the Gods, if he wasn’t vain. Even if he was the only one who saw it most of the time. He clenched his free fist, white knuckled as he prised the gem from his socket, setting it aside. 

He picked up the note that had been attached to her fabric favor, looking over it again. Her handwriting was terrible— but so inevitably her. Pulling a key from under a stack of innocuous papers, he unlocked the third drawer that fell down the side of the oak desk. 

In it, were letters. Penned by him. Unsent, unseen. 

All for her. Everything he’d wanted to say to her for years, everything he’d ever written with her in mind. 

Everything he never could confess— not even now.

There were at least a hundred letters in the drawer, dated from those ten years apart. 

He placed the favor note on the top and locked it back in place. The favor fabric, however, stayed in his hand. 

After some careful cutting and somewhat haphazard stitching— Aemond had sewed a small segment of the fabric to the inside of his eyepatch. 

He stowed the remainder of it in his nightstand.

He was so fucked.

#aemond fic #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond fandom #my writing #banshees lament #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond x original female character #aemond x ofc

[onlyhuis]

pov he just finished blowing your back out and giving you head and now he’s watching you come down from your high while he waits for you to whine and beg him to come back to bed so he can fuck you dumb (or fuck you to sleep, which ever comes first… but probably both)

why are you so mean to me 💔💔😞....

member — dom!junhui x reader word count — 555 warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, nicknames (princess, darling, good girl, pretty girl), there's no sex but there's like. sensual touching ig you could call it

jun stands off to the side of the room, running his hands through his hair by the long, gilded mirror on the mantle. in the reflection he can see you, still laying flat against the bed, fucked out of your mind as you struggle to recover from the orgasms he’s just given you.

he watches your chest heave with each shallow breath, trying to force your brain to catch up with the rest of your aching body. a thin sheen of sweat glistens on your skin and your hair is a tangled mess. you keep your eyes tightly shut out from the rest of the world as your cunt throbs, and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

when you’ve finally recovered enough to sit up, he turns around from the mirror.

“did you have a nice little break, my princess?” he coos, his tone just barely condescending. “are you done for the night?”

“no— jun, please, need you,” you gasp out, still struggling as you haven’t fully caught your breath. “come back to bed.”

“more?” he says, raising an eyebrow, but he walks over and sits down beside you at the edge of the bed. “but i’ve given you so much already. my baby still needs more?”

you fall back against the sheets again with a whine. “yes, please. always want more of you, junnie.”

he pouts, a look of faux-concern on his face. “but are you sure you can take it? you’re already so worn out.”

you shake your head quickly. “no ‘m not! not tired at all. you’ve barely even fucked me yet.”

you both know that’s a lie. he’s fucked you in so many positions tonight, it would rival a professional’s gymnastics routine.

his eyes darken as he slides around onto the bed. he climbs on top of you and lets his cock rest against your stomach as he straddles your hips, the tip still glistening from the night’s previous rounds. “is this what you want, my darling? want me to fuck you stupid?”

you whimper out another “please”, reaching up to grab at his biceps and trying to pull him back down closer to you. his muscles are smooth and firm in your grip, and you swallow a moan at just the feeling of him.

“now that’s a good girl,” he says as he runs his own large hands up and down your body, squeezing your breasts and grinning when he sees your eyes wrench shut and hears soft whines fall from your lips.

every inch of your body aches from how long you two have been going at it, but even after so many hours of pleasure you’re still insatiable. yet you find yourself struggling for words, unable to form a coherent thought.

“tell me what you want, pretty girl, and i’ll give it to you.”

all you can do is whimper and plead with him, rambled begging as if it’s been weeks since you’ve cum, when in reality it’s been just minutes.

he just knows exactly what you want, what you like, and he knows exactly how to give it to you that’ll leave you a babbling, exhausted, satisfied mess.

he smiles with pride as you get more and more desperate, knowing he hasn’t even really done anything with you yet. oh no, he’s just getting started.

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging with tags or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

> drabble taglist | @wonderfulshinee @noniestars @onlymingyus @just-here-to-read-01 @wonuziex @enhacolor @yourfavoritefreakyhan @dkakapizzaboy @skzzooyaaa @zozojella @rainyjeno @jwnghyuns @uwuheeseungie @miriamxsworld @synthetickitsune

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#kflixnet #k-labels #[📌] — june.writes #jun smut #junhui smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios

[mantamind]

I wanna fuck you like an animal

Character: Portgas D. Ace Reader: gender neutral, no anatomy description Word Count: 1.3k CW: explicit, n.sfw, established relationship, protected sex, slight possessivness?, masturbation, using 'cock' and 'dick' to describe male genitalia

Synopsis: You find Ace in your room on moby dick. When suddenly dazed passion turns to feral love making

A/N: english is not my first language also this is the first smut I ever wrote. I thought about this scenario while I went on a walk and I actually liked it a lot. So I figured I should try to write it down as good as I can so I can share it with you. I think this is worthy of being my first tumblr story/post.

MDNI (Minors do not interact)

There he is, on your bed, naked, panting. All he can do is think of you as he runs his hand up and down his dick. Occasionally teasing the tip or massaging his balls. He gently guides his other hand over his defined torso and plays with his nips. His eyes shut in bliss as he let's the back of the other hand rest on his forehead.

You didn't plan to peek through the bullseye in the door while he was clearly enjoying his alone time on another sunny and busy day on board of the moby dick. All you wanted was to rest in your room after you finished your duties. However you can't deny that the sight of Ace pleasuring himself is incredibly hot and sexy. The way his hands skillfully trail over his body stimulating evey spot that absolutely get him going. His expression is lewd and and sinful. His skin looks like it's glowing as the thin layer of sweat reflects the light that's shining through the bullseye.

You can feel yourself getting aroused by the sight of your boyfriend. You quietly open the door and step inside as not to startle the boy who is clearly not aware of the situation he is in. Slowly you step towards your bed.

"Ace." You say softly more like a realisation then actually calling him.

He acknowledges your voice and tilts his head to face you, opening his eyes slightly. Ace is a shameless person so your sudden presence doesn't detain him from continuing his ministration. His lust driven mind doesn't allow him to gather a thought for a reply. Instead he just looks at you in awe. You take in all of him as he is spread out in front of you. You can tell how his gaze shifts and his eyes seem to be more glossy at the time that his desire for you grows.

It shows that for the mere seconds you stand there like this the both of you simply enjoy each others presence in this intimate moment. It's moments like this that feel especially precious for you. It might sound foolish to others but you feel like right at that point your souls resonant just by looking at each others faces.

Ace's starts to slow down his actions until it comes to a stop and gets out of bed. Ace's dazed state slowly turns into fiery passion as he embraces you to meet you with a deep kiss. You are not surprised by his actions as you've been in situations like this or similar a couple of times before.

The first oh so passionate kiss turns into a sloppy, wet open mouthed kiss which eventually turns into a heated make out session. His hands grope your body tightly and you can feel the heat of his fingertips through your clothes. You break the kiss and take a shallow breath. You swiftly move your hand to touch his face.

"You're getting hot baby." You say alluringly

"Did I hurt you?" Ace replies.

Tone matching your seductive manner with a hint of actual concern. You move your face closer to him.

"Nah. Actually it's cute how you lose control over yourself like that." You whisper into his ear seductively. Ace lowers his chin to your shoulder.

"I wanna fuck you like an animal right now." He breathes.

"What's stopping you then?"

He graps your shirt and pulls it up slightly to expose bit of your stomach.

"These clothes."

"Then take 'em off."

Now Ace is not so patient anymore. He removes your clothes and underwear swiftly. You move back to the bed and you lay down on your back. Ace quickly crawls I between you legs and peeks at you with hungry eyes. You watch as he starts to lick and suck on your privy parts. His fingers skillfully caressing your sensitive skin deliciously just like he did to himself before.

"I don't even need to prep you a ton, baby, you're already so eager me, aren't ya?" You nod slightly. Ace starts to push his thick finger inside of you, adding a second one shortly after. He carefully moves and scissors his fingers just enough to loosen you a bit more.

He withdraws his fingers from you and quickly shifts to the side to grap a condom from the nightstand. He gives his dick a couple more quick pumps and rolls the condom on his erect cock. He lines up his cock with your entrance and slowly bottoms out. After giving you a little time to adjust to his girth he takes a brief questioning look at you implying if he can start moving. Again you give an assuring nod.

Ace graps your pelvis and slightly lifts it up. His deep rhythmic thrusts penetrate your core. A little tilt of his hips changes the angle just enough to hit your sweet spot perfectly. Soon enough both of you start panting and the tingling feeling in your lower body becomes more intense. As his thrusts become harder deep groans escape from his mouth.

Ace lifts your legs over his shoulders and leans forward to rest his hands on the sides of your face. The new range allows him to go even deeper than before. His black hair falls into his face, some wisps stick to his sweaty forehead. He still looks at your face closely. Your mouth agape and tongue slightly sticking out causing drool to gather in the corners of your mouth, little droplets of sweat on your face, kitting your eyebrows, glossy eyes, cheeks glowing red, eyes rolled up a bit. It's this face that makes Ace so proud. He knows only he can make you feel this good. Your soft whimpers, moans and panting are only confirm it.

"I need more of you." Ace guides you on all four's. With his cock buried inside of you again he leans forward. His torso pressing against your back. His left arm around your waist and his hand finding a place on your chest holding you even tighter. Right hand placed on the bed beside your shoulder stabilising him. With his body practically wrapped around you like that he is now thrusting in and out of you at such a harsh pace that the bed starts to bang against the wall. Your moans become louder and the knot in your stomach tighter. Both of you are close. At this point his mind is far gone again. No straight thoughts in your heads. Everything is foggy from ecstasy. He told you he'd fuck you like crazy and Ace always keeps his promises. "Ah- Ace!" You cry out as you finally come and your body feels like jelly. "I know Baby." He mutters as he continues to fuck into you but this thrusts start to become more sloppy. "Shit." He hisses as he releases his load. He lowers his head and places a kiss on your shoulder cooing a sweet 'I love you.'

He wants to pull out but you stop him. "Please don't, not yet." So you drop on your sides with Ace still inside of you. You want to make this beautiful moment last just a little bit more. You love spooning with you being the little spoon.

Ace pulls out his now limp dick, shifts to the side and gets out of bed. You glance over your shoulder to see him remove the condom from his cock and throw it in the bin. He turns around and looks at you with this sweet puppy face you fell in love with. He walked back towards the bed and picked you up. "Let's go wash up now."

The sun is setting and another day on the moby dick is almost over. You don't have a lot of time for each other on days like this so he'll pay special attention to aftercare helping you to wash and dress up with a lot of kisses, jokes and hugs.

#portgas ace smut #one piece smut #ace smut #portgas d ace x reader #ace x reader #manta writes #manta smut

[justporo]

Changing Trajectories (Stars that collide)

A while back I wrote this drabble about ascended Astarion suddenly interrupting one of Tav's jobs as a thief - almost ten years after they've parted ways. The title was How to Catch a Mouse

I've come back to it and decided to turn it into a longer story. So, we'll be right back at the moment where the first (very short) part left off: Astarion with his hands on Tav, interrupting her from stealing her target object. Turns out the vampire lord didn't happen upon Tav on accident this fateful night.

Song: Devil May Cry (Apashe & Sofiane Pamart)

Pairing: Ascended Astarion/Fem!Tav (You) Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, angst Note: This will not be like the usual fluff I write. In fact it will probably not be fluffy at all

~~~

You were pulled back by the hands firmly gripping onto your waist. You couldn’t help but let out a little shriek as you collided with the upper body of the person standing behind you. His presence was overwhelming now.

You could take in his scent now: he still smelled of bergamot and rosemary and the scent immediately unveiled memories you had desperately tried to forget, to hide in the deepest, darkest corners of your mind, to strangle so they wouldn’t haunt you anymore. But images flashed through your mind: of the close moments before, ten years ago, when you had thought you had found your soulmate.

Hands were still gripping hard on your waistline, holding you in place, pressing you against a firm body.

“Hello, my darling Tav”, you heard the voice purr again and felt his breath as it was leaning over your neck. No lips were touching your delicate skin, but you could almost feel the grin that bared fangs right above your quickening pulse.

“Astarion”, you whispered spiritlessly because it was the only thing you could muster. You knew you should feel terrified that you had fallen – quite literally – into the hands of one of the most dangerous creatures of the Sword Coast if not Faerûn. But all you could feel at the very moment was deep desperation and overwhelming sadness as more memories flooded you from a different time.

“Is this the way you’d like to greet me after all this time, love?”, Astarion said with a tinge of anger when there was nothing else coming from you. His hands spun you around, made you face him. His hands grabbed your elbows now, holding you in place.

Again, you couldn’t help but gasp. He was as strikingly handsome as you remembered, even more so! Ten year old memories couldn’t do justice to the vampire lord’s glorious beauty: his chin lifted arrogantly, every white curl perfectly in place, ruby eyes striking, piercing, boring into your soul and soft lips perpetually curled into the smirk that once had almost made you give everything to him.

And suddenly you felt rage overcome you, drowning out all other emotions you had felt before.

The element of surprise on your side you pushed him away, startling him. It was only a split second, but it was enough for you to step out of his reach.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”, you screamed at him and took more steps away from him – until you collided with the small stone pillar behind you. The amulet on it fell to the ground with a clattering sound. But you couldn’t care less in this very moment.

Astarion’s face had become a mask of rage, his eyes almost blazing with it. “You dare speak in that tone with me?”, he screamed back. Power rang in his voice and struck primal fear into you immediately.

You immediately scurried around the small stone column at your back and slowly took more steps backwards, trying to get away from him.

You realised two things: firstly, that it was very likely no one in their right mind should speak with this mighty monster in this tone because secondly, he could absolutely kill you and splatter you all over the ground if he wanted to. It probably wouldn’t even cost him that much of an effort. And he’d probably walk out of here with not a hair out of place.

You gulped as fear filled you as a delayed reaction to Astarion’s appearance.

The vampire meanwhile closed his eyes and took a deep breath in as he obviously tried to gain back his composure. He rolled his head and shoulders as an arrogant – and very fake – smile entered his face and he opened his eyes again to watch you again.

You stopped wandering back – there was no use to it anyway, Astarion was blocking the only way out of the room.

“I do apologise, it’s been a while since someone has been foolish enough to cross me.” His tone was civilised, polite even. His gestures that of a bored noble merely having a dull conversation. But the way the smile grew into a wicked grin baring his fangs was still a bit too predatory for his masquerade.

And still your heart couldn’t help but flutter again as he looked at you again – this time again not out of fear. He angled his head and looked you up and down.

“You look incredibly beautiful, my darling, even more so than I remember.”

Unbelievably enough, he sounded genuine. His gaze lingered on you, seemingly far away for a moment. It seemed you weren’t the only one taken aback by a sudden flood of memories.

“So do you”, you whispered before you could think better of it. His gaze snapped back to yours, a knowing smirk playing on his lips now. He looked a lot less intimidating now and much more like you had kept him in your memories.

Back then, you had always told him how beautiful he was. At every given opportunity. And each time he had smiled at you and given you a loving kiss.

Your chest started to ache as you lived through one of those memories.

“What are you doing here?”, you asked him before the pain of it could close up your throat.

“Ah, I could ask you just the same, couldn’t I?” He inclined his head a little and his smile grew making it even easier to mistake him for what he really was. He watched you carefully, noting how you had taken several steps away from him, but he didn’t move closer again. “But then again, I know very well what you are doing here, seeing as I was the one who had the cheese laid out for you”, the vampire explained and pursed his lips. His eyes twinkled mischievously.

Your jaw dropped: “You are the client behind this contract?” Obviously, you internally rolled your eyes at yourself. Why else would he have put up a show with the whole cat-mouse-thing. But you had been too starstruck in the beginning to make sense of it all.

That you hadn’t known the true identity of your client wasn’t that much of a surprise though. You only had had contact via messengers that had kept the identity of your customer hidden – but that was very usual in your line of work.

Astarion’s eyes started to sparkle even more as he watched the gears in your head turn and while his smirk grew, he started to saunter towards you again. He kept silent as he approached you once more as you kept feeling more and more alarmed.

This wasn’t good. In fact, it was terrible. This meant he hadn’t just happened upon you. He had specifically sought you out.

“Why?”, you simply asked as the vampire lord strode closer to you with the languid elegance of a cat.

He threw out his arms in a dramatic pose: “Why indeed? Because I wanted an artifact stolen, obviously.” One of his eyebrows twitched and he let his tongue roll in his mouth. He was so obviously enjoying keeping you on thin ice. Another flare of anger rushed through you.

And to add to your misfortune, you suddenly heard shouts and the stomping of heavily armoured boots outside the room.

You must’ve been found out.

Your eyes darted to the door, then back to Astarion who must’ve heard the same. His grin had become feral again.

“Oh oh, my dear, looks like you’re about to be caught in flagranti”, he said as he had almost reached you. Your heart and mind raced, searching for an impossible solution.

“Come with me”, Astarion whispered in a deep, sinister tone when he was close enough to reach out to you and elegantly offered you one of his hands.

Your eyes jumped between the door, his face and his offered hand. Outside the steps came closer. You were indeed between a rock and a hard place – and you couldn’t decide which option was more daunting.

“Rot in a dungeon until you die or take my hand, your choice”, Astarion said, his tone now cold and sending new jolts of icy dread through you. And you were suddenly sure that if you were caught and indeed thrown into a dungeon, he would make sure you would die there. So, you probably did not have a choice from the moment you had entered this room.

With your heart racing you took his hand and he immediately drew you in close to him: his forehead almost touching yours in a delicate way. Another gesture you remembered well from him. Emotions swinging wildly from incredible fear to bittersweet melancholy and back again.

“Glad to see you still made the right decision”, he mumbled. His red eyes dropping to your lips for a moment before looking in your eyes again. You weren’t sure you would agree with him.

As he made to turn, you remembered that there was still an amulet to steal. You were a thief after all and even though your client was an evil vampire lord and your former acquaintance you’d rather forget, you sure as hell wouldn’t miss out on the gold – not if you had gotten so close.

Astarion must’ve sensed your intention as your head turned to where the amulet had fallen to the ground. “Oh, don’t worry about that, my love”, he said with a wink at you. “That’s only a replica, I had the real one stolen and replaced months ago. And you should be glad about it because two of the three thieves that were sent didn’t make it out alive”, he continued to explain and let out a laugh at the end as your eyes widened in shock and you felt goosebumps all over your body.

You let yourself get dragged towards the door as your mind tried to make sense of what he had said. This whole situation was becoming worse by the minute. So – not only had he specifically sent you on a quest, but the job hadn’t even been his motive… “Was this whole shitshow just an elaborate setup to get to me?”, you asked the vampire and dragged on his hand that was now firmly held by his, fingers crossed. As soon as the words left your mouth you wanted to bite your tongue off realising you had shouted at him angrily again – and you feared how he would react.

But this time Astarion only grinned at you, lifted your arm and made you turn beneath your joint arms as if dancing until you were chest to chest with him again. “Oh yes, you’re only now getting this? I mean, I could have let you be taken by my servants or broken into your home for a quick little visit, but this is way more fun, isn’t it?”, Astarion drawled. You could only stare at him in shock as hot and cold shivers ran down your spine at his casual explanation of how easily he could have threatened you.

But more than anything you wanted to know why he had taken such elaborate measures to get to you.

But you had no time to voice your question as the door flew open and a bunch of heavily armoured city guards stepped in followed by a bald servant from the estate.

The guards took in the scene and immediately levelled their halberds at the two of you. Astarion let go of you and nonchalantly stepped in front of you and the very pointy and sharp-looking weapons. He casually crossed his arms over his chest – not a care in the world it seemed. But somehow his posture was still that of a threatening predator not that of prey backed against a wall. Maybe it was the way how he held his back straight and slightly leaned forward as if ready to strike at any moment or his absolute stillness as he confronted the guards.

Before any of the guards or the obviously terrified servant could say something, Astarion spoke up: “Care to explain why you are so rudely interrupting this sweet – and dare I say private – moment I was sharing with my beautiful lady?”

His voice was cold now and made the hair at the back of your neck stand up. You’d been the focus of this voice once this evening and deeply wished to not be it again.

“Well, do you care to explain what you and your lady which is also a wanted thief are doing here?”, one of the guards answered – seemingly the captain of the six men and women lowering their weapons at you.

“In fact, I do not. But – I feel rather generously today, so if you’d be so kind as to let me and my lady pass through, then we can all forget about this and go about our lives”, Astarion offered throwing out his arms and then clapping them together again.

The captain threw his head back in laughter and his guards joined in with chuckles. “Who do you think you are?”, the captain replied after a few heartbeats.

The vampire lord lifted one of his hands quickly. You could see it was surrounded by a soft red glow.

With lightning quick motions every single one of the guards had moved and were now pressing their halberds beneath their chins, the metal points already drawing blood for some of them, their eyes filled with the same red glow.

The servant screamed and tried to scurry away, but Astarion’s eyes shot to him and enclosed him in this sort of spell as well: making him grip his own throat with both hands and squeezing.

“I think”, Astarion spoke, his voice filled with otherworldly power “I am someone you don’t want to threaten.” He flicked his hand and the guards parted into a grotesque row for you, their weapons slowly pressing harder against their skin, cutting flesh now. Their faces distorted as they felt the pain.

You had become a statue, horrified by the casual display of violence. You were no stranger to bloodshed, by no means, but this… this was different.

“Come now, my love, before we’re further inconvenienced”, Astarion said as he turned to you again. His demeanour was that of bored arrogance again. He stepped over to you, put his hand on the small of your back and pushed you towards the door – you did not have it in you to resist. Too shocked, maybe, or too scared he’d do the same to you.

You passed the men and women quickly as they were silently suffering. Only as you were past them did you dig your heels down and tried to turn around.

“Let them… let them go”, you demanded shakily. The vampire turned to you, his face a sneer. “Tss, if it makes you happy.” He snapped his fingers and you saw how the spell broke, the tension in the guards’ bodies broke and they toppled over, gasping, screaming. Astarion snapped again and the door flew shut, blocking your view of the men and women. You turned to the vampire lord who was carefully observing you, still holding on to you with one hand.

“Don’t tell me you softened up, my love. After all you were the one pushing me to sacrifice seven thousand souls to become this”, Astarion sneered moving closer to you until his nose was almost touching yours. “Don’t tell me, violence shocks you know, Tav. You’re no innocent lamb.” His eyes sparkled with challenge; his lips curled in slight disgust.

You tried to hold his stare, but you couldn’t. Only after a few heartbeats you had to lower your gaze; because he was right.

He dragged you on. “Come on now”, he demanded, no room for disobedience.

The two of you walked through the giant mansion for long minutes. You weren’t even entirely sure how much time passed as you were too deep inside your thoughts and also kept coming back to notice how gently Astarion was holding your hand as he led you very purposefully through this maze of a place. There was no need for him to still keep holding on to you. You knew you didn’t have a chance to get away from him. But it seemed he enjoyed this method much more than other means.

Then, before you could round a corner, you heard voices coming towards you.

Astarion lifted his free hand again. “No”, you whispered almost out of reflex, your tone pleading. The vampire looked at you in annoyance but simply dragged you to a nearby, small alcove and with a quick mumbled incantation shrouded you in shadows for passing eyes as he pressed his body against yours.

Two servants passed, focused on their idle chatter, as you were painfully aware of the closeness of Astarion’s body: closer than you had been the entire night. You could smell him again as he carefully observed the two passing persons and you kept staring up at his face.

You knew the line of his nose or the way a deep wrinkle formed between his brows when he furrowed them as well as the back of your own hand. Despite everything that had happened this night you couldn’t deny how your body and not least your mind and heart reacted to being so close to Astarion after a decade of mourning him and yearning for him.

The way his body pressed against yours, making you remember how it had felt like to be held by him or kissed. Just how effortlessly close the two of you had been. Whole nights wasted away with laying around naked, talking, embracing each other - not even always ending in sex.

You had felt the walls of the fortress you had built around those memories and feelings start to crumble from the very first moment you had heard his voice again. But the stones started crumble dangerously fast now.

When the servants had passed, Astarion looked at you with a grin, but not seeming inclined to move away. In fact, he even pressed you harder against the wall with a cheeky grin.

You gasped, eyes widening at him as your heartbeat thundered and you realised that you absolutely were the dove facing the dragon and yet craved for this continue – to go further actually.

And Astarion must’ve seen something in your gaze as you looked up at him with doe eyes. His expression changed from playful and cruel to something that almost made your heart stop.

For a moment it seemed in his crimson eyes like something was desperately trying to claw its way up to the surface. Something that had been thought lost almost a decade ago. But the moment passed.

Then Astarion pressed his open lips to yours, taking them in a possessive kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth, dominantly taking it for himself as one of his hands pressed to your chest on the naked skin of your neckline. With so much force it hurt, his hand wandered up your chest to your neck until he could almost wrap his fingers around your throat.

You could not help but moan into his open mouth in heedless pleasure as the kiss continued aggressively, all teeth and tongues, his fangs grazing your bottom lip and drawing just a single drop of blood.

Tasting you again after what had been ten years of abstinence almost made the vampire lord lose control.  He moaned and his leg pressed between your thighs making you feel embarrassingly hot within in mere moments.

But then something changed. Almost as if an echo of what you had seen in his eyes for a heartbeat or two had come back to haunt him.

The kiss softened, his leg withdrew slightly and the hand on your neck wandered up further to softly cup your cheek. It became something sweet and slower until it was almost delicate and chaste, his thumb on your face caressing it with a featherlight touch.

And you felt your walls not only crumble but turn to dust – all the work of keeping these emotions out, for nothing. You were helpless under his touch and as it felt like something that could almost have been.

Suddenly, Astarion broke the kiss and stepped back – way more than necessary, as if he had suddenly an urge to get as much distance between you as possible. For an instant you saw confusion on his face, but a mask of teasing mischief was slipped quickly back into place.

“So, you do still want me”, the vampire said with another grin. “Interesting”, he whispered as one of his eyebrows twitched and his smirk grew. “Very interesting”, he said louder as he turned away and you asked yourself if he was doing it to keep a safer distance from you now.

“I trust you can find the rest of the way yourself, you’re a capable thief after all”, he said and threw you a last glance before he started to saunter off. “And don’t worry, I’ll be checking up on you again, very soon, my love.” He drew out the last words as he walked away without another look.

Of course, he hadn’t asked if you wanted that, but you had already realised that none of this had been your choice after all; it never had been.

And so, the vampire lord strode away, deep in thought about what kind of storm he might’ve started. While you kept standing there some long moments longer feeling helplessly violated by the events of the night.

But in your heart… In your heart you felt foolish and stupid and yet delicately warm hope rising up, slowly.

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #ascended astarion #vampire lord astarion #stars that collide

[machiavellli]

In the HEAT of the moment

Pairing: Cal Kestis x chiss!jedi!reader

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: reader is in heat, unholy use of the force, slightly angst dynamic (we are a bit bratty), 0ral f&m receiving, p in v, dom!cal(?)/switch (accusingly), p0rn w/o plot (not really?), no use of y/n

Summary: Terribly h0rny on a ship with an attractive redhead, what could possibly happen?

MDNI!

Author’s note: it all started that I wanted to write an old classical sex pollen! fic, but then I remembered how a lot of people (myself included) headcanon chiss people to have a mating cycle and I thought it could be an interesting alternative. Also the only thing you really have to know about chiss people is that they are generally speaking slightly cold people, they have blue skin (NOT MENTIONED) and red eyes (which glows when they feel strong emotions). Reader is depicted as a force user, but this honestly only serves the purpose to make it even more filthy.

Sorry for the BAD DESCRIPTION of the Mantis, do you really care though? Also BD is safe and sound from any inappropriate view🤌

English isn’t my first language

I watched the red-haired figure beside me trying to land the ship as fast as he could, fear painted all over his face, anxiousness filling his chest. If only he could know what was actually wrong with me.

I was spread out on the co-pilot seat, breathing heavily, clothes increasingly damp from the sweat that was now clearly crowning my face. I was trying to concentrate exclusively on my force signature, or rather I was desperately trying to keep it closed. I just had to wait for the wave to pass, for this embarrassment to end.

I hated the fact that it happened in front of him, I usually was able to handle it myself. I wanted to shout at him to leave, I wanted to maintain my usual cold character, he had never seen this vulnerability in me before and he was scared.

He was probably thinking a fever had come over me, he couldn't possibly know how my biology worked and he couldn't, shouldn't know, that I was developing a soft spot for him.

It was so hard to be this close yet so far from his touch. If I had spoken I would have lost all control over my signature and he would have been able to sense my heat expanding. How the heat ran more and more in my blood until I felt my eyes burning. If only he could know.

I remained contorted in the chair, trying to tighten all my limbs, trying to make myself smaller and smaller, to repress this uncontrollable situation. My head was back, eyes half closed, I couldn't look at him, even though the image of him, those damn red hair, was now imprinted on my retina. Every time I tried to open my eyes even slightly, he would turn his worried gaze in my direction. My glowing red eyes left me no opportunity to escape his peripheral vision.

I closed my eyes definitively, trying to cling to the little concentration I had left. I could feel Cal landing the ship, this is absolutely useless, I kept thinking. BD scanned me, «I know her temperature and pulse are high, I can see it» he replied with a frustrated tone to the droid, he didn’t like at all this unusual situation.

My eyes were still completely shut, not even for the love of the Maker I was going to open them, especially now that I could hear him rising from his piloting seat.

«You have to tell me something though, what the hell is happening to you, you were fine thirty minutes ago» he was now hovering over my face, and I could feel his warm breath as he spoke.

His hand reached out for my face, but I quickly sent him away, dismissing it with my arm, still, the brief touch made me tremble from the inside. And he noticed it.

You aren’t getting any information out of me, I would explode before letting you know anything, I thought.

He loudly snorted, starting to grow frustrated by his anxious state and my attitude.

«Listen, you got to tell me something. Why can’t I access your signature? You never blocked it. Let me read you» he then gripped with decision at both of the sides of my now completely sweaty head and made me face him.

I had to bite so hard my lips to hide the moan that almost made it out, to the point where I tasted my own boiling blood.

Focus, focus, focus. For the love of the Maker and for my dignity.

I tried to remove myself from his cautious touch, but his callous hands gripped harder, keeping me firm in my place. I then opened my eyes, the light of the cockpit invading my sight, making my eyes water from the discomfort, but I kept my burning gaze on him. Hopefully, even if a tear started to descend, he would recognise my furious gaze, which I had unfairly dedicated him numerous times, on missions, but also in everyday activities. I was just trying to keep my distance for all of those months, but all the crafting I did on my persona was breaking just in front of his eyes. If only he knew.

«I just want to help you. Let me help you. I know that you hate being helped, especially by me, but I need you alive and healthy kriff» he sighed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment, but I kept my gaze fixed on him, breathing even more heavily. It felt like oxygen wasn’t enough. Because it wasn't, as I resignedly knew; and I knew I was going to need his help if he didn't get out of here in mere seconds.

«Since I don’t know what’s the matter with you, I’m sorry, but I have to try to access your mind. You look like something is giving you a panic attack» how ironic.

If only he knew.

After that sentence, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold the game, the control I had over my force signature was feeble, so it took me all my strength to do it, but I kicked him as hard as I could in the stomach, desperately trying to send him away. The kick ended up being much more delicate than I had in mind, it didn’t even hurt him, but it still made him step back a little and remove his delicious hands from my skull. I tried to catch the opportunity to leave the cockpit, but as I tried to stand up, my bloody wobbly limbs made me crash on the floor, my head hitting the seat just above and failing forward.

I hissed in pain, desperate, needy and desolate for the scene that Cal had to endure. I was barely lifted from the floor with my elbows, I lifted up my gaze towards his direction. Hairs sticking to my forehead and breath still as heavy as an imperial cruiser.

«Let me help you. You are a mess» he slowly walked next to me, lowering his broad figure to my level. Flashes came back in mind from all the times I had the upper hand over him, in our training sessions or missions. I was so good at hiding everything, until I wasn't.

«Y-you need…t-to stay away from me» I whispered and it made him widen his eyes from the surprise that I could speak. Words as light as air destined to fall into the sea of ​​uselessness as quickly as lead. And with that, the unstable hold I had on my signature fell.

«I can’t leave you here, don’t be rid-» he started saying by lifting me from my arms. And with that, he knew. Now he knew.

Moments that felt eternal passed as I held again my gaze, now completely stripped of any decency. Kriff, if he knew.

I couldn’t reach for his signature, I simply lacked the strength to do so, but I was sure that he was scanning my interior from top to bottom, I could sense him everywhere in me. It was so good, I imagine the real touch, how good that must feel.

«Go away.» I replied, closing my tired eyes once more, letting my head fall forward, hiding hopelessly my bare mind.

«But I thought that I felt so good…» he said meanwhile rising my head once more, lifting my chin with one of his damn hands. And a light moan escaped my lips.

My mind went blank there, eyes fixed on him as I would be staring into the void itself and my mouth opened from the shock, revealing the now dried blood painted on my lips. I felt the agonising tears and the sweat mixing over my face, this was purely mortifying.

One thing was being shamed without addressing it and one thing was whatever was going on here. But as much as I felt shamed, I felt this growing heat rising once again in me: it felt good.

And it certainly didn’t help when he started to gently brush away the dried blood from my lips with his thumb. I was just glad his eyes were fixed on them and not my eyes, you know, for the sake of my decency.

«All of this…all of this for what?» He chuckled lightly, readjusting his gaze on me, making our eyes entangled again «For hiding from me? The only one ashamed is you, wilful as always».

«Leave the matter to me, I-I will handle-»

«You don’t get to handle a thing. Be a good girl and let me help you or your rut won’t pass» he voiced firmly.

This time, my eyes widened in surprise and the little nickname made my body flinch.

«Tell me you want my help and you will be served.»

For a moment, I breathed heavily again, focusing entirely on reaching for his signature: he was being honest. That’s all I needed. I needed him and he knew. He knew it all.

«Help me, n-need you»

Without any other dancing around, he lifted me easily, closing the cockpit door of the Mantis behind him, and locking up BD. My head instinctively went back, just for him to catch it with his large hand. I wanted any clothes off.

Once we reached for the table, he delicately leaned me against its surface, ice against my warm skin. He climbed over me with his broad figure, feeling his own arousal growing. He waited for this for so long. And I did not know.

Our lips, now, mere inches away. I was hot, but kriff, I could feel his heartbeat also running. Our breaths mixed over our faces and for cutting short all the theatrical tragedy, I simply lifted one of my hands to cup his face, making him come instinctively closer. Now as my lips danced on his, I knew it was over.

I was burning, to the point where the heat gave me back my strength and I started holding onto his hair with both of my sweaty desperate hands, making a moan escape from him. He felt like a sweet fresh relief from my pain, but Force, if I need more than that. Our hips then started to stroke against each other, searching for the real relief.

It felt like we were eating off each other’s faces, sloppy kisses filled with burning passion, mixing with the sweat and blood, nothing too different from our condition on a battlefield wryly.

Then, he started travelling down to my neck and moans finally freely left my mouth, as I felt the ginger growing harder on my thighs.

«You are so warm, so good» he muttered half moaning into my neck as his hands started working on my tunic, but he stopped for a moment and looked at me with those pretty green eyes: «Can I?».

«Hurry.» was my response.

And he hurried. Basically ripping my damp tunic away, and without losing a second he was on my breast, skilfully sucking one as he played the nipple of the other with his callous hand.

«So soft, can’t believe I had to wait this long» he whispered as his voice grew hoarse with desire.

«More Cal» I whined softly, now completely blinded by lust.

And my wish was his command.

He navigated down, in the direction of my wetness, leaving a trail of careless kisses behind. His hands, which felt frigid, given my temperature, followed him as he went down, gripping firmly my waist, and making my eyes roll. Hence, he held me still with one large hand flat over my lower stomach, pressing lightly, as the other worked to remove my trousers. At last, I was bare before him, a desire I hid for long.

«It took you a heat wave, almost a heart attack, for letting me touch you. So obstinate to prove yourself, when you were already perfect in front of me» he breathed while he lowered himself, as my thighs were being spread upon his face.

As my legs parted, I felt my indecent drench slide down, feeling exposed and turned on like never before.

«You are going to be my four-course meal» he mumble, taking a look at my condition and smirking, before starting to rub over my sensitive clit, as his breath kept teasing me.

I was in no condition to speak, my mind was already far too gone, and filthy sounds were the only thing coming out of me. And Force, the sight would have killed any Jedi master back at the temple. Too bad.

Once he considered it enough, he closed the gap between my heat and his lips, starting to suckle intensely, holding me open for him, feeling every one of his digits pressing into my flesh. The touch felt electric, combined with his force signature overwhelming me inside. I wanted him, may this be the last thing I ever do.

And he damn knew.

«For someone so bitter, you taste so sweet» A low groan escaped from him as he gripped greatly at my inner thighs, parting my lips even more, whilst I held on the table for my damn life, trying to steady myself as my body trembled beneath him.

His lips, the swirling of his tongue over my swollen bud, the slightly cool sensation from his lower temperature and the air around us, were driving me wild. I was getting close and instinctively I tried to force my legs closed, but I was immediately shut by his powerful hands, keeping me more open and vulnerable than ever.

«Don’t try. Let me have what is mine» he hissed while flipping me over to my stomach.

My face and chest made contact with the cold surface, as I felt my hips being lifted and dragged at the edge of the table. His cool grip, air, surface and exposure made my walls clench. The sight of my bare ass made his cock, still hidden beneath all his clothes, twitch in anticipation. He nudged over my warm soft flesh, admiring my curves, gripping it with force and giving it a loud slap.

«Don’t you think you were bratty enough? It feels so good to have the upper hand, no wonder you like it some much»

He was enjoying this almost as much as me, the only difference being that I was utterly submitted to my own desire, my rut, desperately trying to get me filled with his seed.

He lowered once more his gaze to my warm, opening my lips with his rough thumbs, as my wetness fell on the table’s surface. His mouth captured my clit once more, making me tremble from the newly acquired angle, but his hands were quickly on my sides, supporting my weight.

We kept filling the room with my indecent moans and his low groans as he ate me out like a starved man, till the point where I reached my peak, surrendering to the overwhelming sensation coursing through my body. Oh Force, oh stars. Why did I wait so long for him?

Instinctively, I let my hips fall on the table and Cal followed me, resting his head on my lower back, giving it a soft kiss. We were both breathless, but we were both far from being over with this.

We both knew.

My heat returned after mere seconds, making me whine. I flipped myself over as Cal lifted himself from me, gripping one of my ankles to drag me closer to him.

«Undress. Come over to the table. Quick.» I commanded and so he did as I said.

Rapidly he removed his own clothes and I got to stare at his toned pale body, covered in delicious freckles and reddish hairs travelling all the way down to his throbbing member. What a show.

He climbed for the second time that day over my figure and when he got to the level of my face, I decided that before anything else, I would have to taste him, my thoughts driven by my burning lust. I took him from his shoulders, switching our positions, causing his head to collide with the table and blocking him with my thighs, my wetness now pooling on his lower stomach, just above his crotch.

«My turn, you had your fun Kestis»

Whiteout giving him the time to protest, I descended over his body, leaving a trace of warm bites from his neck till the lowest part of his abandonment, making him squirm at every touch. I felt like my blood was boiling even more, raising my temperature once again.

I softly bit the flushed skin of his cock, before opening my watery mouth and taking as much as I could from his size. My boiling mouth, working in sinuous movements around his member, made him let out a low groan, overwhelmed by the sensation.

«If o-only I could’ve shut you up before like this, mhm. So pretty. So good.» he stated bringing his hands over his face moaning, lifting his hips up a little, causing me to pleasantly choke on him.

Hence, he moved one of his hands on my head, encouraging me to go deep, to move faster, increasing his excitement. From now on, I wouldn’t have ever again protested to remain silent.

Then, he lifted my head from him, a hand taking me from my chin, cleaning once more my lips, but not from blood this time.

«Nobody here wants me to come in your mouth, let’s be honest» he asserted and it was almost as if my rut snapped me out of my state, remembering what I truly want and need.

All I wanted was being filled, till I couldn’t take it anymore, filling me with pleasure and relief from the unbearable heat that has been consuming my body.

«Please» I pleaded softly, biting my lower lip between my teeth, desperation adorning my words.

Cal lifted me from my stance, sitting up and swinging my legs around his lap, my core just in front of his.

«You are beautiful, you have always been amazing, even if I thought you hated me» he spoke softly, caressing with one hand my face, removing some of the hairs sticking over it, whilst, with the other one, he held my waist firmly.

«I am sorry, I was just trying to be professional» I confessed lowering my gaze. The sounds of our heartbeats were the only thing I could hear as our force signatures started to entangle.

«You were more annoying than professional» he chuckled, «And professional for who? Do I look professional? C’mon.»

«Mhm…annoying…just because I kept beating your ass Kestis»

I took his chin with one of my hands, as the other gripped at the nape of his neck, his Adam’s apple rising as I bit again into his neck, making him breathe heavily.

«So annoying…» he moaned, «Tell me what you need to make you feel better, I would do anything for you»

Our signatures overflowing into each other, make me see the stars and the kriffing galaxy, I said in his mind. He thankfully knew.

Without another thought, he laid my back again on the surface, as he towered over me.

Breathe in, breathe out.

His fierce mouth was on mine, filthy kissing me, catching restlessly my swollen lips and whimpering while doing so. His hand adorned my curves, clasping at the softness of my hips, gently moving one leg up, aligning himself at my entrance.

Locking our eyes, sharing one last breath, before his length entered me.

Instinctively, I rolled my eyes back as his thick member filled me completely. He was everywhere inside of me, his pleasure was mine and mine was his. The Force could reserve such unholy uses.

«See? Good girls get stretch real good» he muttered in a groan of pleasure.

The carnal desire was burning more now than ever.

As he moved inside of me, I arched my back and let out soft moans, whilst he was holding me tightly, growling at the nape of my neck. I clenched my walls around him as he hit every sweet spot just right. Every deep trust emanated a lustful indecent sound, skin against skin, clapping together, coiled by sweat and desire.

He was filling me divinely, but I needed it raw. Animalistic. As my rut intended.

But, without words, he knew that.

Cal flipped me over, grabbing onto my waist from behind, as he impaled himself without warning in one trust. His powerful thrusts sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through my entire being, and I felt the intensity of his emotions radiating through every cell in my body as he poured into me relentlessly. One of his hands reached for my neck, bringing him even more inside of me.

As our hearts synchronised, the combination of the raw act and our force signature fuelled his movements. the connection deepening with each powerful stroke.

Every noise, every sound of pleasure, filled the room, intoxicating our actions even more, the sound of our skin colliding acted as a frame, in this almost dazzling lust.

We both become lost in the heat of the moment, Cal blinded by my rut that I shared with him in the force.

His cock throbbed with excitement, eager to release its energy deep within my welcoming embrace. The redhead filled me up completely with his solid, pulsating presence. The sensation was invigorating, propelling both of us closer to the brink of euphoria.

«Close» I mumbled with the little strength left in me.

His muscles tensed, as I tightened around him, feeling my pleasure intensify as Cal’s arousal reached its peak.

With his last powerful strokes and the connection we shared in that moment, I saw the stars and the galaxy, feeling our bodies intensely tremble at the reach of our high, whilst gasping loudly.

He painted my inside white with his warm liquid, turning my body temperature back to normal.

Breathless, he fell onto my back, his nose brushed deliberately over my ear, with his member still inside of me.

Restored our normal heartbeats, he lifted the both of us from the table, guiding us to the sofa, where I sat on his lap, brushing some of his hair away as he did the same with me.

«I had no idea chiss had a mating cycle»

«Nobody knows, it’s embarrassing»

«It was fun in my opinion baby» he confessed before giving me a small caste kiss. The action, made me flush and smile unintentionally, which produced a soft laugh from the redhead.

«Fellow associate» I replied, hiding the smile.

«Don’t start again ple-»

«The cycle lasts a week» I said, cutting him off by placing one finger over his own swollen lips.

His eyes widened and a smile formed upon his face as I pressed my forehead on his, smiling, without control this time.

There was nothing he didn’t know now.

Lovely gifs from @vindicia !!

Beautiful dividers from @cafekitsune !!

Star Wars masterlist

General masterlist

My request are open, just know that I’m slow✨

#dedicated to all my ginger friends<33 #little treat after those the bad batch episodes #huge backstabbing tbh #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis #jedi!reader #chiss!reader #star wars #jedi survivor #jedi fallen order #cal kestis smut #star wars smut #also #shoutout to all the Thrawn fanfiction with his rut going on #chiss #star wars fanfiction #star wars chiss #reader insert #Jedi fallen order x reader #Jedi survivor x reader #cal x reader #cal kestis x you #cal kestis/reader #cal kestis x y/n #chiss ascendancy #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars x y/n #cameron monaghan #cameron monaghan x reader

[januaryembrs]

DEEP ARE THE SCARS | Din Djarin x Mandalorian!reader

Request: Hello! Congratulations on 1k my friend! You deserve it <3 I am wondering if you are comfortable with writing a din djarin x insecure/depressed reader. Thank you!!

description: Din and you have a conversation after one of his past lovers shows up, beauty and all.

Word count: 1.5k

trigger warnings: insecure feelings, scarring on face, established relationship, kissing, parental death mentioned, crime ridden planet mentioned?

main masterlist

Author’s note: it comes as no surprise to anyone this is another part of the KISS THE SCARS universe since I am now apparently very attached to these two and their love but this can be read separately if you like. READ KISS THE SCARS AND TOUCH THE SCARS here!

The world had always been cruel; you had learnt that at a young age. Your planet back was riddled with crime, and when it wasn’t, it was riddled with Empire sympathisers creating just as much chaos and tension between the people, resulting in your parents’ death and your Mando caburs [protector/guardian] to take you to their guild on Nevarro as their own. 

Where you met him.

Din Djarin. The man who you had laid your life on the line for hundreds of times, who had shown you the furthest reaches of the galaxy that you never thought you would see in this lifetime or the next. Who understood you like no one else did, like no one ever had. Din, the one you knew you were going to marry when the time was right, though he had already proposed months before and neither of you had the money spare to settle down let alone afford a ceremony. 

Who had seen you for exactly who you are, perhaps the first to ever do so with such love and unbridled adoration in his golden brown eyes. 

It didn’t bother you so much; him seeing your face, your scars. It was ugly; you had always been aware of it, but since the day he had seen you without your helmet on, he had made you feel nothing but beautiful even with the unsightly tissue marring your face. 

That is until you ran into her. 

You had been collecting credits from a bounty at a nearby tavern, the buyer particularly pleased with your reputation and efficiency. Din was standing barely a few feet behind you waiting for you to finish with the man, when your ears pricked at a feminine voice. 

“Mando!” You immediately turned around, seeing as people used the name for both of you. A tall, incredibly toned Togruta sauntered up to your fiance. The buyer seemed to fade into white noise, mumbling something about needing your service some time in the future, as you watched her throw her arms around Din’s neck. He straightened up awkwardly, but gently returned the hug with a large arm around her waist.

“Kuri,” He choked out, as if someone had punched him in his throat.

Do not act out, You barked at yourself, but your heart willed you to move towards the two like a panic alarm. 

“It’s been years since I saw you! The moon solstice on Kashyyyk, wasn’t it?” The lady, her skin a blossom pink colour reached out with a small laugh and held his wrist dearly, “Oh, I suppose it was the morning after, wasn’t it?”

Do NOT act out. 

But you were there. Stood behind her with your hands lingering on your dagger sheathed at your side, freshly sharpened this morning and ready to cut down any foe that challenged you. Especially the ones that tried to take what was yours. 

Din’s helmet flicked over Kuri’s shoulder, and you could practically see his face begging you to not behave rashly over this. He hadn’t reciprocated one flirtatious advance in the few seconds she had arrived, so he held no blame. Even so, you supposed he didn’t want to deal with the consequences of uncontrolled jealousy. 

The two of them went quiet for a second, and this Kuri woman seemed to notice his eyes were no longer on her. She turned to face his gaze and instead was confronted with you. A female Mandalorian decked out in pristine armour from many very successful bounties, guns and large blades at your hips. She didn’t need to see your face to know you did not look pleased.

And yet all you saw was perhaps the most gorgeous woman you’ve ever met. Her lekku were long and draped over her perk breasts, covered in white stripes and tiny, brown feathers. Her eyes were siren-like, mouth full and a naturally dark pink as if to attract your attention there first. Her red eyes flicked up and down your figure, faintly attempting to hide the fear that was clear as day in her face. 

“Kuri, this is my riduur, Y/N,” Din said as you advanced on the woman slowly. She gulped dryly, stepping back though her face tried to seem poised.

“Is there a problem here?” You asked coldly, taking another step towards her before Din put his arm on your shoulder to halt you. 

“No, j-just catching up with an old friend is all,” Kuri choked out, her eyes flicking to the door as if begging the Maker to send someone to save her. 

“Charming,” You bit out, your voice lowering as you stared daggers at the woman who looked beautiful even when she was cowering in fear, “Though I suggest you leave now. You’d hate to find out what’ll happen if I catch up to you,” 

And with that the woman fled the tavern without a single utterance of goodbye to her ‘old friend’. But you didn’t feel accomplished. In fact, you had never felt so low. 

—

It was three days before he brought it up. You seemed sluggish, quiet at times when he was waiting for you to chime in with your own thoughts, granting him nothing but hums of agreement when prompted with a question. He knew you weren’t sleeping either. He heard the way you tossed around your bunk, even the blanket grating on your nerves for one reason or the next. You’d wake up the following morning, eyes heavy and face dull of life. 

“Are you hungry?” Din tried to offer, as he had been trying for the past three days to get you to respond at all, but you simply shook your head.

“No thankyou,” Your voice was empty, your gaze zoned out as if you were miles away from him despite standing in front of him. And you were. He had never seen you so dead. It shook his resolve, and he couldn’t help himself from stroking a hair away from your face as an excuse to cup your cheek in his large, warm hand.

“What are you thinking about?” He whispered, the voice coming out deep and rugged. But the tenderness was still there. It was always there when Din spoke to you. 

“Nothing,” You murmured, though his hand caressing your cheek seemed to thaw away the cold you felt inside. Sighing, you nuzzled into his palm and shut your eyes gently, liking the way he pet you too much for your own good. 

“Tell me, pretty girl,” Din whispered, bringing his thumb up to trace over where your scar lay at your lip like he always did when the two of you were this close. Yet you flinched as if his fingertips scolded you, as though him touching that part was as sensitive as the day it came to grace your face.

It had been years, but the pain of it cut just as deep. 

“Do you ever wish things were different?” You asked, watching him frown and shrink back. Obviously, he had interpreted your question in the worst possible way, as you having second thoughts on this marriage that had not yet come. “That I was different?” You clarified.

He stared at you aghast. “No, never,” Din replied with such earnestness that it hurt your chest to hear him so disappointed, “What ever have I done to make you feel like that?”

“No, it's not you, it's just-” You huffed, getting frustrated with the words that seemed too difficult to produce, “Kuri is pretty,” 

“Pretty terrified of you, you mean,” Din tried to joke but it fell flat when you glared at him. He chuckled at your mean face, bringing you in close and kissing you on the nose, “And what does that matter?”

“You were together weren’t you?” Your voice was hostile, something you couldn’t help. The Mandalorians never really taught you emotional regulation growing up, it was all fighting as a means to end a dispute.

He sighed, looking down at you with such love despite the fact you knew you were being selfish, “Not the way me and you are, no.”

“So? It doesn’t matter, it still proves you could be with any and every woman much prettier than me. Someone not tainted by a Tusken hound, someone with a perfect face, someone-”

“My sweet wife,” Din cut you off, his hand slipping into your hair to cradle the back of your head. His lips pressed to your brow this time, “I do not want anyone else,” You opened your mouth to interrupt him again, but he shut you up with a kiss there too, “You are strong, and beautiful, and powerful. I loved you just as you are even before you took off that helmet, and I’d love you even if the stars burnt out and the world went dark.” He kissed you once more on your lips, “You are the only one I see,”

You pouted, knowing he was being too kind to a scornful woman like you but melted into his embrace nonetheless. He petted your head kindly, kissing your hairline as you hugged him back, “Thankyou,” You said into his chest though he deciphered what you meant.

“I enjoy seeing you jealous. You had that poor woman running like a scared sand rabbit,” You pinched his ribs in retaliation though you felt him shaking with laughter. “Don’t worry, meshla. I’d show any man just the same manners if they tried to take away my sweet almost-wife,”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin imagine #star wars fanfiction #star wars imagine #din djarin #pedro pascal x reader #star wars #mando x female!reader #mando fluff #mandalorian!reader #star wars x reader #pedro pascal x female!reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal imagine #the mandalorian x reader #mando imagine #mando x reader #din Djarin x mandalorian!reader

[saintmuses]

Please write Jonathan Crane x Female! Reader one-shot, where the reader was admitted to Arkham Asylum because of minor mental problems and Jonathan Crane became her psychiatrist. She had a difficult situation in her life and Jonathan, having listened to her story, is attracted to her. Soon, after several sessions with her, he fell in love with her. However, after a while, Jonathan used his toxins to make her go insane, and he drives her so crazy that she is now under his control.

❝𝙚𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙙❞ — 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐞

Warning(s): Dark themes. Description of Taphophobia. Usage of toxin. Hallucinations. Power imbalance. Manipulation. Strong implications of future controlling tendencies. Minors, dni!

Word Count: 946

She couldn’t see anything, nothing can see her as clusters of dirt began to fill her mouth, eventually suffocating her lungs.

No sounds could be heard other than her terror which was screaming into nothingness. An empty abyss.

“Darling?” A voice murmured, she had recognized his voice.

Doctor Crane. Her mind wailed, screaming his name. Her mouth refused to dispose of any soil she had felt in her lungs. Help me please.

She could feel the soil collecting on her skin, above her, below her, and everywhere as the hell began to engulf her and her sanity.

She felt herself being shaken by someone. “Y/N,” it was the same masculine voice, but a hint of urgency was added to his tone this time.

Doctor Crane. She attempted to shout, but couldn’t. His name bounced off in her own head again instead of leaving her throat.

“Y/N,” he shouted, finally cutting through hallucinations that was drowning her. Clearing through the muddled thoughts and images, blurring all into one until it faded to reveal a concerned Doctor Crane peering down at her.

She gasped, finding herself back on the couch that was set up in his office at the Arkham Asylum. She scrambled off the cushions and into his arms after realizing he was the one who was holding her.

“I got you, darling.” He shushed her gently, rubbing his hand down her back. “I got you.”

She whimpered, fingers clutching his blazer-clad shoulders. “Doctor Crane-“

“What did I say about calling me Doctor Crane?” He reminded her, his tone stern as he leaned away to give her a slight strict glare.

She struggled with that sometimes, and when she did it, she would receive a reprimand from him. “To call you by your first name.” She mumbled, shyly.

“You’d be a good girl, and call me by my name properly.” He ordered, the glaring light from his table lamp reflected off the glass of his metal frames as he turned his head to the side.

She ended up dragging her fingers from his shoulders to the hem of his blazer, curling her fingers into it.

“I can’t be in here anymore, Jonathan.”

It was one of the worst hallucinations she’d ever had since she started receiving them two weeks ago.

He shushed her, his icy eyes became intense as he stared into her eyes. “Listen to me; I will put the note in that your condition has improved, and you are ready to continue your recovery at home. They will let you go,” he murmured softly; running his fingers through her hair, tangling them slightly in her strands as she looked up at him with glassy eyes.

“But where would I go?” Her voice sounded small, pitiful even as she inquired. Her fingers clenched tightly in his blazer.“I-I don’t have a home. Not since my parents did not believe what happened with…” she trailed off, sighing softly; almost defeated.

“Well, you can turn down my offer if this is something you would not want to do, but I can take you in until those hallucinations stops, okay?” He offered, giving her a slight quirk of a smile. Tracing the pad of his thumb across her collarbone that was revealed during her scrambling.

She knew she was his favorite patient out of everyone in the Arkham Asylum due to his treatment of her compared to the others. He was gentle with her whereas he was stoic and harsh with others. He even let her eat in his office during lunch and dinner hours. Jonathan was patient with her, always has been since the moment she was admitted to the asylum.

Jonathan was even there during a few episodes of night terrors a few months ago, and then he was there during her hallucinations for the last two weeks. She had been compartmentalizing her hallucinations from her usual night terrors with her fear of being buried alive. Instead of dreaming of what happened to her, she was experiencing it all over again but without the vault protecting herself.

Growing up she had never known she was afraid of it; Not until her step-brother who turned out to be a psychotic asshole happened, and he tortured her by trapping her in the safe vault and attempting to throw the vault into a makeshift grave in their backyard with her in it.

She never had a home even when she was a child. Her parents -including her step-father who her mother recently married to- were never nice to her. She grew up in a household of negligence, but it was not enough to drag Child Protective Services into it.

“Really? You would do that?” She wondered, twinged with doubt. She dragged her hands from the hem of his blazer, placing them in her lap.

He nodded, his eyes shifted into a slight storm. “Yes,” he said simply. “We will get you out of here, and you’ll stay with me until you feel better.” Then his eyes lit up with a possibility of keeping her permanently when no one would miss her at all.

“Okay,” she whispered, giving him a small hesitation of a smile before looking down at the top of her thighs where her hands rested.

He grabbed her by her chin, gripping it with his fingers as he beckoned her to look at him. “Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.” He murmured darkly, his lips curled into a soft smile as he looked down at her with tenderness no one would ever expect from such a stoic man himself. Although the tenderness was there, it was tainted with sinisterness. “I will never let anything happen to you, darling.”

#jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x y/n #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane #the dark knight trilogy #cillian murphy x reader

[flightlessangelwings]

I know there’s other posts out there but I wanted to make a comprehensive post about being completely inclusive when writing reader inserts. Everyone has their own perspective and ideas so I wanted to share my thoughts and tips that I use myself when I’m writing. Of course I most likely forgot things as well so feel free to add on if you think of something I missed and I’ll add it to the list here!

Quicke note before we get to it: if you spot something on this list that you’ve done before, don’t beat yourself up about it. We all slip up and make mistakes. Just learn from it and keep it in mind for the future! As readers, we understand that it’s near impossible to include every single individual that could possibly read your work, but the point is to be as inclusive as possible with your writing.

Under a cut for length and to make sure you always see the most updated list when you click on it! Reblogs are very much appreciated too, especially if you’re a writer so we can all learn and grow and be better!

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Labeling your reader (a guide to terminology)

Gender neutral (gn)- no pronouns, no gendered nicknames, no mentions of genitals

Assigned female at birth (afab)- no pronouns, no gendered nicknames, reader usually has a vagina

Assigned male at birth (amab)- no pronouns, no gendered nicknames, reader usually has a penis

Female/fem/f- she/her pronouns, traditionally femme nicknames, reader usually has a vagina

Male/m- he/him pronouns, traditionally masc nicknames, reader usually has a penis

Non-binary (nb)- usually they/them pronouns, reader can have either a vagina or a penis

Quick note: terminology changes often and as far as I know this is the most up to date on being inclusive with labeling readers. If it changes or if anyone has suggestions I’ll update this.

If you do want to assign your reader character some type of label, please tag it appropriately. Lots of poc writers like to write black, Latine, Asian, etc readers for example. Or other examples are plus size reader, short reader, tall reader, nerdy reader, shy reader, sporty reader, etc.

Don’t be afraid to write a trans character too! Trans characters can have either the opposite genitalia from their birth assignment or the same, everyone is different! There’s a big lack in trans reader representation!

Please note too that just because reader is labeled one way does not necessarily mean they are cisgender. People can be non-binary and use she/her or he/him pronouns. There’s no need to label your reader as cis at all

And please don’t label your readers' sexuality as straight. Bi/pan/demi/queer people can be attracted to a male character but that does not mean they are exclusively into men. It alienates queer readers.

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Inclusive with skin tones

Please do not use “blush” or “flush” or anything like that! I know that’s one of the top issues when being inclusive with skin tones. But those words have the connotation that the skin turns red or pink, and while everyone is capable of their skin warming, it doesn’t always show the same especially on darker skin. Instead, try something like “you felt your skin heat up” or “your palms felt sweaty” or “you felt flustered.” Focus more on the emotions and what reader is feeling or thinking or physically reacting rather than saying reader blushed.

Be careful when describing bruises or injuries. Not all bruises get bright red for example. Instead, try mentioning blood stain, swelling, or just use “discolored” or “beat up” or something like that.

Not everyone’s skin turns red when slapped so just avoid “your skin reddened” altogether.

Not everyone has pink nipples, just skip describing the color altogether

Or pink lips. Again just skip the color description

While all skin is able to get burned, not everyone’s skin turns red/pink from being in the sun. Instead use more feeling descriptors like “your skin felt hot from the sun” or even describing peeling would be ok.

Don’t say that reader looks like an established character.

“Knuckles turned white” doesn’t happen with everyone so just leave it out. Focus more on muscles straining or something instead.

Avoid the phrase “you look white as a ghost” when referring to reader.

If you want to mention makeup, just leave it general and don’t specify colors or shades or anything like that. Not all shades show up the same on all skin tones.

Overall, it’s best to just avoid skin tone indicators and anything describing color on the skin. That simple thing makes a world of difference in inclusivity. The more you do it, the easier and more natural it’ll feel until it’s second nature! Your readers will be extremely appreciative of it!

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Inclusive with hair

Not everyone can run their fingers through their hair. Textured/curly hair gets caught or someone may not have hair long enough (or any hair) to run their fingers through.

Instead, try something like “fiddled with your fingers/ear/clothes”

Not everyone has hair long enough to tie up/back so it’s best to just not mention it at all. Your reader can just imagine how they want their hair for the scene.

If you want a more formal look, just “you styled yourself nicely” something like that is enough.

Some people enjoy hair pulling in sex, some don’t. Hair touching can be very upsetting for some people, especially people of color. If you want to include it, just make sure to add it in the tags/warnings so readers are aware before they get into it

~

Inclusive with language

Please don’t assume your reader doesn’t speak Spanish! (This is aimed mostly at those who write Latino characters because I see this a lot)

If a character is speaking Spanish, you can either use italics to indicate the language change or provide a translation right there. Avoid adding “you didn’t understand” with that.

Instead you can use something like “you didn’t hear” so your reader can interpret for themselves if it’s because they don’t understand or they simply didn’t hear.

Or use phrases like “he said X in Spanish” for either praises, curses, etc. it leaves it more open for all readers.

I know it’s tempting but please don’t use google translate to write in another language. It’s fine or a word or a phrase but when it goes into full sentences then it gets a little funky. Try consulting with a native speaker if you can!

When writing in Spanish, please note that n and ñ are not interchangeable!

~

Inclusive with body shape and size

Don’t assume your reader is thin or short and the character can easily pick them up or toss them around. If you want to specify a short reader, please tag it.

Also the opposite: done assume reader is taller than a character too!

If you want character to pick up reader, please include it in your warnings.

Limbs generally don’t weigh as much so something like “he hiked you leg over his shoulder” while laying down is more inclusive (I’m short and can pick up limbs from my clients at my day job so trust me your leg itself doesn’t weigh a lot)

Avoid “you got up on your tiptoes to kiss him” because not everyone is short. Instead just say “leaned over/in to kiss” or “angled yourself to kiss” something more generalized

Usually describing a hug/holding reader/cuddling is fine but don’t get overly specific on how much a character is able to wrap their arms around the reader and fit their arms fully around reader. Writing a tight embrace or an engulfing hug should still be fine since it can be a show of emotions.

Wearing a characters clothes. Not everyone can fit their fav’s size and not everyone will “drown in his shirt.”

Again the opposite is true too: not everyone has curves or thick thighs or big breasts or a big ass. Plus size and curvy readers are important to write too since representation is lacking, but just be sure to tag it properly!

~

Inclusive with background in general

For this section, the goal is more to be aware of certain things and to be sure to include proper tags and warnings more than avoiding things completely. Readers understand that there is the element of fantasy in reading fanfiction but sometimes a certain aspect can be triggering or upsetting or can knock the immersion out so it just important to be aware and have tags and warnings before your fic!

Be careful when describing readers family because that can be hard for some readers. Not everyone has a good relationship with their family. Yes sometimes a backstory is needed for plot and people can pretend for the sake of the story. Just be sure to include in your warnings for the story, especially if it’s either a really good or really bad relationship.

If you’re making up family members for reader, be it siblings or kids, try to be aware of what their names are. Typically white names won’t fit every background so just be aware of that. Or try just using nicknames instead!

Religion. Just don’t mention it at all unless it’s properly tagged and warned for.

Around the holidays especially, Christmas fics are very popular but please be aware that not everyone celebrates the same holidays! Be sure to tag and warn for any holidays that they could be celebrating. And please don’t write Jewish characters celebrating Christmas.

Don’t make your reader biologically related to a white character. If you absolutely want to, there’s options like step family, adopted, childhood friends that are closer than family, etc.

Reader’s job is usually something you have more leeway with in order to fit your story but just be sure to tag it appropriately. Disabled readers for example can’t always imagine themselves in certain jobs so it’s just something to keep in mind.

When creating a backstory for reader, try to think outside your own experience and make sure it’s not something that poc readers can’t relate to or wouldn’t have had the same experience from. If you’re unsure just put it in the tags/notes beforehand.

This one is more aimed at Americans but please remember that not everyone reading lives in the US. Sometimes yes, a setting is necessary, but please be open to the fact that people from all over the world read fics. If it’s set in the US, especially when the canon setting is elsewhere, please note it beforehand.

There’s really no need to give your reader an age as it can alienate a lot of readers. Sometimes it can be inferred through context but I find that outright giving reader a specific age is very excluding. There are plenty of people in fandom who are not in their 20s so please don’t assume everyone reading is. And it sends a message to anyone in their 30s or older that they don’t belong when every other fic is a very young reader character. Obviously don’t write smut about minors too but that should go without saying.

If you’re at the point where your reader has a name, it’s no longer a reader insert but an original character. Nicknames or code names are totally fine, but please don’t give reader a name.

And if you are writing an oc, please keep it out of the reader tag. Use the oc tags.

~

Inclusive with art and moodboards

Please include poc when making moodboards for your fics!! I know from personal experience it can be hard to find the right pic you want, but I promise with some digging it’s possible.

Follow models of color pages here on tumblr, there’s unsplash, Pinterest (I know it’s not the best site but I have found a lot of poc pics there) and other sites too. Curate pictures to save for later when you can!

When it comes to art for reader insert fics, please don’t default to a white woman all the time. It’s disheartening to see white women used for “reader” in 90% of art or more. It makes poc feel like they aren’t welcome and that it isn’t meant for us. My personal opinion is that reader should be just a shadowy figure or outline or something vague like that. Or use a few different body types and skin tones.

~

General inclusive tips

These aren't specific to skin tone or anything but rather little things that can help your reader feel more immersed in your story in general. I know some writers have a specific image in mind when writing but these are little things I’ve noticed that can knock the fantasy out for me so I wanted to share some thoughts and pointers. These are lower pressure points and not as big a deal but I did want to include them anyway.

Instead of specifying food or drink, write something like “your favorite (whatever)” or don’t even mention what they make or eat. Just say they made something or they ate something, your readers can fill in for themselves that’s on the plate

If a character buys reader flowers or something, don’t specify the flower. Either leave it vague or use “your favorite flowers”

Instead of a specific outfit, leave it vague or don’t mention at all. Sometimes a certain kind of outfit is required for situations (like a formal event or ball or something), but even then you can use something like “a gown in your favorite color” or “a formal outfit that flattered you well.”

Adding on with the clothing point: please tag if you’re describing clothing in a fantasy type setting. While clothing itself has no gender, sometimes trans and nb people can get hit with dysphoria if you’ve got reader wearing a skirt or something like it with no warning. Either just leave it out, leave it vague, or warn for it!

In the case of an AU or a fantasy setting you have more wiggle room with clothing but still try to leave it more vague if possible.

Same with shoes. Not everyone likes/can wear heels so keep that in mind

~

To wrap up, please be aware when writing your reader inserts. It’ll get easier with practice the more you consciously do it! And please listen to poc writers/readers when we ask for inclusivity! And support writers of color too! Thank you for reading and taking it all in because I know this was a lot!

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #frankie morales x reader #javier peña x reader #javi gutierrez x reader #joel miller x reader #agent jack whiskey daniels x reader #marcus pike x reader #marcus moreno x reader #santiago garcia x reader #poe dameron x reader #billy russo x reader #boba fett x reader #the darkling x reader #will miller x reader #benny miller x reader #frank castle x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #cassian andor x reader #inclusivity #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #poc writers #writers #support poc