#but what's the fucking point of it if the only time y'all reblog or comment is to ask me to update

[daisynik7]

Pairing: Takuma Ino x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~1.7k

cw: explicit language, mentions of a popular horror movie, smut – PIV sex (cowgirl position), nipple play, blow job, mask kink, slight degradation (slut, whore), use of pet names (cutie, sweetie, baby) 

Summary: You and your new boyfriend Ino decide to watch a horror movie together in honor of spooky season. Halfway through, he notices how skittish you are, making him want to play a silly prank on you with his signature ski mask. It’s all fun and games until he realizes that you actually like seeing him in this way more than he anticipated. 

Author’s Note: Happy October y'all! What can I say, I am VERY into Takuma Ino right now and I just had to get this out of my system. This is barely edited or proofread, sorry for any grammar mistakes or typos, I really was just letting my fingers fly through this in a moment of passion LOL. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated, thank you for reading! MDNI banner by @/cafekitsune. 

You turn off all the lights, the only source of illumination coming from the TV screen, paused at the very start of the movie you decided to watch tonight. With a big bowl of freshly popped kernels in your grasp, you huddle beside your boyfriend, Ino, on the couch, covering both your legs with a fleece blanket. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you in closer, reaching to grab a handful of popcorn to stuff inside his mouth. “Ready?” he muffles, pointing the remote to the screen, finger pressed to the center button. 

Nuzzling your head against him, you answer. “Yup!”

It’s apparently one of those cult classic horror flicks according to Ino, who recommended it when you mentioned how you wanted to watch something scary for October. He’s seen it before, many times in fact, but he insists that you watch it. He has no clue how frightened you get over the silliest things, so tonight will be a treat for the both of you. 

The opening scene plays out: a beautiful blonde picks up the phone and the conversation ends quickly short because it’s the wrong number. Normal so far, good. It rings again, but now the caller seems interested in talking. Do you like scary movies? Do you have a boyfriend? The man’s voice gives you the creeps, and you find yourself shuddering from it, cuddling closer to Ino, who glances at you with a smirk on his face. 

You never told me your name.

Why do you want to know my name?

Because I want to know who I’m looking at.

This line gives you goosebumps and you lift the blankets up to hide behind it. “Ew, creepy!” Ino only laughs, throwing a few more pieces of popcorn into his mouth. 

It escalates from here, getting increasingly chaotic and violent. By the time you’re halfway into the film, the bowl is down to its last kernels and you’re crouched in Ino’s lap, peeking through your fingers. He pauses the movie after one particularly brutal kill. “Snack break! I’m going to make some more popcorn and go pee.”

“You’re leaving?!” you whine, clinging on to him as he tries to get up.

He chuckles. “Babe! It’s just a movie. I’ll be right back, okay?” He kisses you on the forehead, heading into the kitchen, leaving you alone in the living room. 

Of course it’s just a movie, but you can’t help feeling creeped out in the dark like this. You reach for one of the nightstands, turning on the lamp. You hear the drone of the microwave, and after a minute or so, the distinct sound of popping. Eventually, it comes to a stop, and the entire house is eerily quiet. You’re tempted to call out for Ino, wondering where he is, but you remember that he had to use the bathroom. 

Suddenly, a shadowy figure appears right behind on you on the couch, grabbing your shoulders and shouting gibberish at you. You scream bloody murder, ready to punch him and run away when Ino lifts his ski mask up to reveal himself, tears streaming down his face, cracking up at you. 

“Ino!” you yell at him, slapping his hands away from you. “You fucking asshole!”

He doubles over, cackling, wiping his eyes. It takes a good while for him to regain his composure as you glare at him, arms crossed over your chest. “I’m sorry, baby. I just couldn’t resist.” He sits beside you, stretching his arms out for a hug. “You have to admit, that was fucking hilarious.”

You shake your head, refusing. “You’re such a dick.”

“Oh, come on! It was just a little prank. Now you’ll be way more prepared for the rest of the movie!” He pulls the mask over his face again, everything covered except the holes for his eyes. “See? Not so scary anymore, right?”

You inspect him carefully, still pouting, not saying a word.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Truly. I promise not to scare you again.” He scoots towards you, nudging you in the arm. 

You roll your eyes at him, relaxing. “Fine.”

“Can I get a kiss now?” 

He tries to lift his mask up, but you stop him, pulling it back down. “I don’t want to see your face right now. I’m still annoyed, you know.”

“Aw man! Really?”

You hoist it just past his nose, leaning in to give him a soft kiss on the lips. When you break apart, he smirks at you. “You like this, don’t you? Seeing me with my mask on.”

You shrug, a sly grin on your face, neither confirming nor denying his accusation. Sure, you were a bit upset at first, when he scared the shit out of you. But seeing his face covered like that may have sparked a desire in you that you never knew you had, until now. 

“Oh my god! You do, you do!” he exclaims, shaking your arm. “My cutie has a mask kink!”

“Shut up, asshole!” you yell at him, pretending to shove him off, smiling. 

“You’re a fucking freak!” he giggles, pouncing on you. He starts tickling you along your ribcage, causing you to squirm beneath him as he straddles you, trapping you between his legs. His fingers flutter under your arms, stroking your sensitive skin.

“Ino!” you cry out, laughing from the sensation. 

You can feel his cock growing hard in his pants, balls heavy on your stomach. Suddenly, he stops, mask still folded to expose his lips, leaning down to kiss you sloppily. He pins your hands above your head, locking his fingers with yours. He slips inside your mouth, grazing your tongue with his, hungry for your saliva. “Fuck,” he moans into you, nipping at your bottom lip. “You like this freaky shit, don’t you? Nasty slut.” His playful tone is laden with lust now, low and sultry, mouth brushing along your neck, sucking at your pulse points to mark you. 

You whine his name, wrapping your legs around his waist, grinding yourself against him. 

“Look at you, getting so fucking dumb all because of my mask,” he purrs. “What else turns you on, cutie? Tell me.”

Without thinking, you blurt out, “Spit. Your spit. I want it.”

“Oh shit,” he swears, licking his mouth. He traces the outline of your lips, beckoning you to open up, dribbling a thick wad of saliva inside you. You gulp it down, sticking your tongue out for more. 

“Oh fuck, you’re nasty,” he says, doing it again. “Makes me so fucking horny seeing you like this. Seeing my cutie act like a fucking whore.” He slips beneath your shirt, fondling your bare breasts, flicking your peaked nipples with his thumbs. 

“Fuck, Ino,” you whisper, pussy throbbing in your panties, arousal leaking through the fabric. 

“You like it when I play with your tits, huh?” Like it when I pinch them hard like this.” He squeezes them between his thumb and index finger, enough pressure to stimulate you, making you moan his name again and again.

He swears under his breath, shoving his pants down his legs, shimmying out of them until he’s only in his underwear now, erection stiff in his boxers. “You gonna suck my cock now or what, slut?” 

You nod, kneeling in front of him, knees on the carpet, spreading his thighs apart. He lifts his ass off the couch to slide out of his boxers, letting them fall around his ankles. You kiss the tip of his dick, smearing his precum around your lips like gloss before swallowing him into your mouth. 

He lets out a drawn out, “Fuck,” watching you with wide eyes as you bob up and down his shaft. Voice shaky, he asks, “Can I put my hands on you?”

Something about him in this ski mask makes you want to be submissive, makes you want to be used. You grab both his hands, guiding them towards the sides of your head, giving him free rein to manhandle you.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, gripping you tighter, gradually thrusting his hips in tandem with you. His cockhead hits the back of your throat, teasing your gag reflex, but you resist, tears collecting in the corners of your eyes, enduring it. 

Noticing you, he pulls out, a string of spit between you. “Baby, baby. Please don’t force yourself. I don’t want to hurt you.” He reaches to his side, grabbing a tissue from the table beside the couch, wiping away the spit around your mouth and the tears in your eyes. “Come here, cutie. I want to make you feel good too.”

You strip out of your bottoms, straddling his lap, pussy wet and aching against him. He moans as you rock back and forth on his shaft, pressing his thumb to your clit, massaging it. “There we go. Now we both can feel good, yeah?”

After a few more strokes, you beg him to fuck you, lifting up to guide his cock inside you slowly, sinking down on him until he bottoms out. You bounce on him, his hands gripped to your waist, guiding you, moaning your name between expletives. 

As you approach your orgasm, you pull up his mask, placing it on his head as he usually wears it. He smiles brightly at you, nuzzling his nose to yours. “There’s my pretty girl. Can you come for me now? Come all over this cock?”

You kiss him passionately, arms wrapped around his neck as he thrusts into you, hands squeezed on your ass now. You reach your climax, moaning into his mouth. He comes with you, shooting his load deep into your womb, filling you up with his cream pie. The two of you continue to kiss slowly, catching your breaths. He caresses your back while you melt into his embrace. 

“We need to establish a safe word,” he suggests, cradling you in his arms. “I want to make sure I’m not hurting you.”

You hum into his skin, saying the first thing that comes to mind. “Popcorn."

He chuckles, stroking the back of your neck gently. “Alright. Popcorn it is.” A beat later, he exclaims, “Popcorn! I totally forgot about the popcorn!”

You laugh, giving your boyfriend a wet smooch on the cheek.

#takuma ino #ino takuma #takuma ino x reader #takuma ino smut #ino takuma smut #ino takuma x reader #takuma ino x you #ino takuma x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader

[aemondsbabe]

Stick it Out to the End

summary: michael is desperate to get into oxford's prestigious bullingdon club; unfortunately for him, they command him to do the impossible to gain admittance

pairing: michael gavey x bimbo!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, bimbo reader, mentions of hazing but nothing horrible/extreme, virgin!michael, breast/nipple play, praise kink, piv sex, protected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), oral sex (f receiving), consensual filming, dirty talk, cursing, what i hope is saltburn-esque humor, mild size kink, mild angst but happy ending, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 12.7k

a/n: images in the header are for aesthetic purposes only & are not used to describe the reader! she's back and she's long as hell but what else is new!!! this is my first time writing bimbo!reader and while she wasn't super bimbo-y, it was fun getting my feet wet! hope y'all enjoy!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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Michael

Michael couldn’t help but feel his heart speed up in his chest as he wound through the quiet corridors clutching tightly to the cryptic note he’d found stuffed in his pigeonhole that morning – just a page torn out of a standard notebook covered hastily written red ink; wholly un-intimidating as far as cryptic notes were concerned. Really, he was surprised to see they didn’t put more effort in; with as secretive and imperious as this little club was, he had been expecting some sort of extravagant stationary, perhaps even some gold embossing. 

Coming to a stop in front of an unassuming janitor’s closet door, he narrows his eyes behind the gold frames of his glasses, staring at the door with a nearly accusatorial expression. Michael swivels his head once more, his brows furrowed as he checks and re-checks every door in the vicinity before turning back to the one he stands before. Scoffing, he unfolds the note with a little irritated sigh and quickly scans the page again, mouthing the words to himself for the millionth time that day. 

The riddle had been easy enough to figure out, some trivial little lines about dead men walking, the mob, finding God, and looking to one’s heart pointed right toward some hush hush basement beneath the Merton College Chapel. That, and it didn’t take a genius to see that each line consisted of a specific number of words, pointing him right to the very door he stood in front of now – 129. 

Fucking amateurs, he’d thought after cracking the code in under half an hour. But that was earlier. And now, as he stares at the stupid dull grey janitor’s closet door in front of him, Michael can’t stop the little tendrils of doubt from creeping into his periphery. He’s sure this is the right door and positive this is the right place and yet… janitor’s closet. He checks his watch, 11:50 PM on the dot, and glances up and down the dark, shadowy corridors once more, half expecting one of the twatty rich assholes to jump out and start snickering at him, making fun of him for thinking that a no one like him would’ve ever received an invite to a club like this. 

Shaking his head, he reaches for the doorknob anyway, he’s come this far so he may as well. He freezes a little when it actually turns and his blue eyes go wide when he pushes the door open, shivering a little as he’s met with a wall of cool, dank air – eau de basement, just as he’d expected. A little actually impressed sigh passes his lips when he pokes his head in, an apprehensive smile blooming on his lips as he takes in the eerie red lighting spilling up the stairwell from the God-knows-what downstairs. 

He winces as the door squeaks when he tugs it open but he doesn’t stop, emboldened now as he knows he had been right once again. He takes the stairs quickly, probably too quickly given that he hasn’t a fucking clue what or who could be down here, but before he can dwell on the idea too much, he’s faced with another corridor. This one, unlike the ones upstairs, is narrow and brick-lined and leads in only one direction, straight to another closed door at the other end. 

Michael squints against the bright red light coming from a spotlight that had been haphazardly set up on the stone floor and walks down the hallway, his steps speeding up as he hears the janitor’s door above him open and close once more. His breath hitches a little as he opens the second door and quickly steps inside, like ripping off a band-aid. 

He freezes once more when a strong hand latches onto his shoulder and quickly jerks him further into the room, making him yelp as he stumbles, trying to keep pace with whoever the hell is leading him. 

“What the –”

Before he has time to so much as blink, his back thuds against a brick wall and finally he looks up, the vicious scowl he’d prepared morphing into a look of disturbed confusion as he eyes a row of other students, about fifteen and all men from the looks of it, dawned with black –

Oh, Christ, are those ski masks? He thinks as he eyes them up and down, How fucking banal… at least it’s not hooded cloaks. He nearly rolls his eyes as he scans the rest of the room, taking in the dim lighting interspersed with blues and greens from more of those stupid party boy spotlights. Glancing to the side, he sees another boy in his year, some guy he only knew from a few classes and passing glances in the hallways, but even still he’s comforted to not be alone down here, no matter how cliché this whole affair seemed. 

His blue eyes snap forward as the door, the only door, to the room is opened once more and some other poor sap is hastily dragged across the room, only to be smacked on the wall to his left. Again, it’s just some other boy Michael knows from classes, though he doesn’t know why he expects any different – it’s not as if he knows many people outside of the forced proximity of a lecture hall. Which was really his only reason for putting up with this bother, for seeking it out in the first place; a quick flash of him placing a tightly folded up sticky note with his name and pigeonhole number in an old, beaten up copy of King Lear in the library played in his mind – the price he seemed to pay for loneliness. 

Distantly, the bells of the chapel began to chime, signaling the hour. Once, twice, and eventually twelve times – midnight. Time to start the show, Michael surmises. 

“Welcome, initiates,” one of the hooded men says in a tone that makes Michael glare judgmentally, his voice pitched down like some idiotic knock-off Darth Vader. He steps forward from the row they stand in and holds his arms out open at his sides, “Consider this your first foray into the Bullingdon Club.”

Again, he has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold in a scoff. This was all just so… juvenile? He was beginning to sincerely doubt that this was the über clandestine club that granted its members all sorts of connections to various businesses, societies, and insider information that even the richest of the rich couldn’t buy. 

Unfortunately, his face seemed to betray more of his emotions than he intended and the masked boy steps forward once more, his dark eyes zeroing in on Michael. 

“You,” he says gruffly, pointing a finger in his direction, “Something you wanna say, initiate?”

Out of habit, he pushed his glasses up on his nose before he spoke, perhaps foolishly bold given the situation. 

“Doesn’t this all seem a bit much for three people?” He scoffs, shaking his head slightly, “I mean, masks, really?”

The hooded boy stops for a second and studies Michael closely, one hand on his hip, “What’s wrong with the masks?”

“Well, what’s the point? There’s, what, fifteen or sixteen of you? And three of us?” He asks, glancing around the room, which he now realized very clearly used to be some run-of-the-mill storage room, probably forgotten about by now.

The boy laughs sarcastically and shrugs his shoulders a bit, his voice back to its natural pitch, “It wouldn’t really be a secret thing if we just invited half the student body, mate.”

Michael supposes his reasoning is sound and says as much with a little hum and nod of his head, eyebrows raising dismissively. 

“Anything else?” The masked boy asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The masks don’t really disguise you lot that well,” he observes, pointing at one of the other boys standing in the row, “That’s Harry from Multivariable Calculus.”

“Shit…” Harry mutters under his breath, the sound carrying through the concrete room. A few of the other boys in the row lean over and place comforting hands on his shoulders and murmur words of encouragement, much to Michael’s dismay.

“Why’re you here, initiate?” The lead boy asks, turning back to Michael.

“Dunno,” he shrugs again, pushing his glasses up his nose, “Friends, I guess.”

A couple of the boys in the row make little noises, mutters of empathy that make the blond’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion as he glances up and down the line. 

“And this was your first thought? A secret society?” Harry from Multivariable Calculus asks with a little laugh, “Not like… chess or something?” 

“Don’t really like chess…” Michael says with a little shrug. Apparently a good enough answer for Harry, who makes a little noise of understanding and nods his head. 

After another moment, the lead boy clears his throat, which shuts up the rest. “Anyway,” he says, his voice falsely low once more. “Each of you will be given a task…,” his dark eyes glance between Michael and the other two boys as he paces in front of them, “Perfectly customized to challenge you, to push you to your absolute limits.” 

The masked boy pauses his little speech and gestures back to three of the other boys standing in the row behind him who then step forward and walk over to the dank brick wall that Michael and the other two boys stand against. He studies the boy that walks towards him carefully, his eyes narrowing in suspicion when he notices how much shorter he appears to be.

Finally, the boy comes to stand before him and presents a plain white envelope, though Michael’s lips spread into a hateful smirk when he sees an all too familiar pair of old, beat up trainers on the boy’s feet. 

“Oliver?!” He hisses meanly, shock lacing his voice as he jerks back the hand he had reached out for the envelope, wincing as his elbow collides with the cool wall behind him. He glances around the room, noting the few pairs of eyes that were on him, before fixing his gaze on the boy before him once more with a harsh glare, “You’re in Bullingdon?”

The boy in front of him hesitates for a second, cutting a sideways glance toward a taller boy that was busy presenting an envelope to the boy to Michael’s left, before he sighs and looks back at him, blue eyes peeking out of the holes in his ski mask. “Yeah,” he huffs, shrugging his shoulders defensively, “How’d you know it was me, then?”

“You look like a goddamn twelve year old!” Michael jeers, his voice low and vicious as his hands curl into fists at his sides, “How’d you manage to get into this club anyway?” He questions, seething, “They only let you in if you have the money or the marks and I know for a fucking fact you don’t have either.”

Oliver sighs again and rolls his eyes, which makes him see red and grit his teeth, although he doesn’t miss how the shorter boy’s eyes cut to the side again quickly. He opens his mouth, but before he can get a word in edgewise, the blond cuts him off with a little mocking laugh.

“Don’t tell me that’s fucking Catton,” Michael groans lowly with a shake of his head, breathing heavily as he feels the same sense of anger and betrayal he’d felt all those months ago well up in him once more, transporting him right back to the stupid damn pub, “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me, is this shite little club only full of cunts?”

“Look, I’m –” 

Oliver starts to speak again, only to be cut off when the head boy traipses over to where they are, coming to stand ominously behind him with his arms clasped behind his back. His dark eyes dart between the two boys before he speaks.

“Problem over here, lads?”

“No,” Oliver answers quickly, staring warily up at Michael as he practically shoves the envelope into his arms, “Just complete the task, initiate. You have thirty-six hours.” 

Before Michael can blink, Oliver turns his back and stalks back over to the other boys, taking his place in the row once more. The head boy looks Michael up and down appraisingly before nodding to the letter in his hands with a sly smirk.

“I can’t wait to see how you fare with that one, Gavey,” he says, his voice low and threatening, as if he’s in on the most delicious joke, “Remember, thirty-six hours, initiate.” He chuckles softly and departs, returning to stand in the center of the room. 

Everyone stands still for a moment, Michael and the other two boys to his left and right holding their respective envelopes nervously, unsure if they were supposed to open them now or not. Thankfully, the head boy clears his throat, commanding all eyes to him once again.

“Initiates,” he says slowly, his voice no doubt already hoarse from this little farce, “Failure to complete your tasks will result in a permanent ban from Bullingdon; no second chances. We expect results as well as proof of those results,” his dark eyes scan over the three boys once more, one corner of his mouth turned up into a mean smirk, “We’ll be seeing you back in this location Sunday at noon. Your thirty-six hours begin now… have fun.” He finishes with a taunting laugh before turning and exiting from the room, the old door creaking as he pulls it open before disappearing into the faint red glow of the hallway, followed by the rest of the fifteen boys in an orderly line.

As soon as the old door closes, the sound of paper tearing echoes around the dimly lit basement as Michael and the other two boys hastily tear open their envelopes. Pulling out a little slip of paper, his eyes go wide as a wave of dread washes over him. His eyes scan over the paper again and again as he nervously shoves his glasses back up his nose once more, silently willing the chicken-scratch words on the paper to somehow change, to give him some other command. 

His heart is pumping so loudly in his ears that he misses it when one of the other boys tries getting his attention, his head snapping up suddenly as a hand waves in front of it.

“Oi!”

“W-What?” 

“What did they give you?” The boy asks, nodding at the scrap of paper in Michael’s hand.

He clears his throat and tries his best to come off as casual, though he hardly cares with the way thoughts begin racing through his mind. “Oh, um,” he starts, glancing down to read over the paper once more, “I just uh, have to sleep with someone is all.”

The other two boys gape at him for a moment before groaning frustratedly. The one that had first spoken to him holds his paper out and smacks it disdainfully with the back of his hand.

“What the hell?” He asks gruffly, glancing between his paper and Michael, “Why’s yours so bloody easy?”

“For real,” sighs the second boy, rubbing the back of his head, “Ours are damn near impossible. They must already be decided on you to go so soft. How am I meant to steal the fucking Selden Map from Bodleian?” He laments, brows furrowed as he stares down at the paper in his hands.

“Yeah, and I have to transfer ten thousand pounds out of the chancellor’s bank account and into mine!” The first boy sighs, shaking his head, “At least your mum’s head of conservatorship here, you can at least get within a stone’s throw of the map. I have to commit fucking wire fraud!” 

The two boys grumble for another moment as Michael silently descends into a tailspin, his blue eyes unfocused as he stares at one of the dingy brick walls of the basement, trying desperately to formulate a plan, any plan. He merely glances up as the other to head for the door, spitballing ideas for each of their tasks.

“Isn’t your dad the president of Julius Baer? Can’t you just get him to pull strings?”

“Oh, yeah, fantastic idea! I’ll just ring him and ask the old man to commit a felony! What could possibly go wrong there?”

Michael tries to tune out their bickering as the three of them ascend the staircase and trail out into the hallway of Merton College Chapel once more; the two other boys don’t pay him any mind as they continue whispering amongst themselves, their voices trailing quietly down the hallway as he leans with his back against the cool metal of the janitor’s closet door. 

Sighing, he reads over the directive again, his blue eyes catching on the sharply scrawled letters of a very familiar name, one that makes his cheeks flush and his heart race. He swallows nervously, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

How could they know to do this? He wonders sheepishly. It’s not like he’d mentioned her to anyone; hell, he’d never even said so much as three words to her! No, his pathetic little crush was entirely in his mind. 

Too much of a coward to even say hi, he bemoans, trying to stave off the sense of shame he felt as he considered how many times he’d finished with her name on his lips, her pretty face and soft curves and sweet smell and little girly outfits whirling around his head since he’d spotted her on the first fucking day; he’d pined ever since and she didn’t even know he existed! How could she?

This is fucking impossible, he thinks miserably, wishing that he had any other task. He’d rather steal the Queen’s own goddamn family jewels than this. He glances at his watch once more and groans when he sees it’s almost already two in the morning; pushing himself up off the door, he hangs his head as he scurries back to his dorm room, thoughts spiraling as he plots. 

You

A laugh bubbles up past your lips as you sway your hips, your whole body vibrating as “Umbrella” blasts through the speakers while you dance with your friends, partying to celebrate the end of term. 

“You can run into my arms, it’s okay, don't be alarmed!” You sing happily, yours and your friends voices mingling together with another peal of laughter; you take another sip of your drink as you move along with the beat of the song, savoring the fizzy strawberry daiquiri as you begin to feel a bit warm from the little rush of alcohol, already on your third drink of the night. 

You smile proudly as you spot Felix in the crowd, his hazel eyes already fixed on you, or well, fixated on your chest. His attention makes you preen and you bite your lower lip, the sickly sweet taste of your cherry lip gloss filling your mouth as you purposefully bounce up and down on the balls of your feet. 

The thin straps of your pastel pink dress hold on for dear life as your chest heaves enticingly, and you giggle when you see those hazel eyes widen just a bit, no doubt tracing over the glittering chain of your necklace, following down to where it settles, a little sparkly pink diamond nestling temptingly at your cleavage. You teasingly wink, blushing a little when you get a wink back, and go back to dancing with your friends, knowing from experience that Felix preferred to approach rather than be approached. 

You dance with your friends for a few more moments, grinding up against any warm body you can find as a raunchier song begins pumping through the speakers, before you feel eyes on you yet again. Smiling at the attention, you glance around again, the low, colorful lighting of the pub making it hard to tell exactly which direction your admirer’s coming from. 

Your eyes flit over a few familiar faces, you can’t help but sigh in relief when you notice that Oliver’s eyes are thankfully planted firmly on someone that is not you, though a confused little crease forms between your brows when you realize that Felix’s aren’t either. Turning your head, you sway along to the music still as you look around quickly, your feet beginning to ache finally from the precious little satin Chanel heels buckled around your ankles. 

Your eyes finally lock onto an unexpected gaze, a fresh wash of pink coloring your cheeks as blue eyes glance shyly away from you. A little giggle titters past your lips as you lean over to one of your friends, patting her shoulder to get her attention.

“You know who that blond guy is? With the glasses?” You call over the music, nodding over in your admirer’s direction as he stands awkwardly back against the wall by the entrance, clutching a still-foamy pint. 

She glances over before turning back to you with a little shrug. “Michael something, I think!” She says, her breath warm as she leans in closer so you can hear her, “I thought Oliver knew him!”

Your eyes immediately find the brunette, predictably following Felix around like a lost little puppy, before you look back over at Michael. You can’t help but feel a bit bad when you see him quickly look away from your direction again before staring intently into his pint glass, one hand shoved in the pocket of his khaki pants. 

“I’m gonna take a breather for a second!” You yell over the loud music, leaning in close and cupping a hand over her ear. 

“Aw, babe, come on!” She pouts playfully, tilting her head at you, “Stay longer!”

You shake your head with another little laugh and gesture at your feet, “These are sooo cute but they’re killing me!” You laugh, finishing off the last sip of your drink, “I’ll be over by the notice board!” You tell her, blowing a kiss as you walk away from the dance floor of the small, cramped pub. 

Finally, you reach the little area by the front door and lean back against the wall, taking in a much-needed deep breath as you pull your little tube of lip gloss out of your bra and carefully reapply some more, smirking when you glance over out of the corner of your eye and see a certain blond boy already shyly eyeing you. 

Rubbing your lips together with a little pouty pop, you tuck your gloss back in your bra once more before slowly approaching Michael, prettily manicured hands clasped behind your back to help shamelessly push your chest out more. His wide eyed stare makes you giggle and blush as you study him, eyes flitting appreciatively up and down his lithe frame; so much potential hidden away under a little button down and khakis. 

“Haven’t seen you here before,” you tease, smirking when he blushes and all but chokes on his beer, coughing for a few seconds before finally speaking.

“I… Me?” He asks awkwardly, glancing around for seemingly anyone else you could be talking to.

Lucky for him, you find his awkwardness endearing. Truthfully, you had for months, never missing the way his eyes always happened upon you in a crowd. There was something impressive about the boy, something that had made your mind drift to him on more than one occasion, even if you were already under someone else. 

“Of course you, silly,” you laugh softly, leaning against the wall next to him and tilting your head curiously, “You’re Michael, right?”

His eyes go wide again and nods wordlessly before finding his voice. “Yeah, Michael,” he says with a reserved little smile, “Gavey! Michael Gavey…” He adds awkwardly, cheeks flushing even more when you giggle, seemingly charmed by his inability to string two words together. He nods as you introduce yourself.

“I know,” he says before blinking, eyes going wide behind his gold framed glasses as he awkwardly glances away, “I just… I mean I’ve heard your name before, that’s all.”

“That’s all, huh?” You echo with a flirty little giggle, twirling a lock of hair around your finger as you let the moment linger, just wanting to push him a little. “What’re you reading?” You ask curiously, cocking your head to the side a little.

“Maths,” he nods quickly before looking down into his pint glass once more as if fizzling beer is the most interesting thing in the world, “I don’t really like it all that much, though… I mostly only picked it because I’m good at it.”

“Ooh,” you coo softly, nodding along with his words as you watch him carefully, “You must be wicked smart, I can’t do maths to save my life.” You comment with a little giggle, biting your lip when he seems to perk up at that comment and looks up at you with a little grin. 

“I can do it in my head,” he says lowly, an unexpectedly cocky edge to his voice that has your heart picking up in your chest, “Ask me a sum,” he says, a challenging glimmer in his eyes. 

You hum softly, biting your lip as you think for a second, “Uhm, seventy-two plus a hundred and thirteen?”

“One eighty-five,” he chuckles after no more than a second before scoffing a little, “Come on, give me one that’s hard, love.”

Love? The little pet name makes you raise an eyebrow before you laugh softly. “What do you mean a hard one?” You giggle, shaking your head, “That one was hard!”

“That was hard for you?” He teases, making your cheeks tingle as a pink flush settles over your skin, “What’re you reading, then?”

“Art history!” You chirp proudly, chuckling nervously when you see him roll his eyes a bit, “What? Something wrong with that?”

He shakes his head dismissively, quickly polishing off the last of his pint before setting the empty class on a table and turning back to you, pushing his glasses up his nose with a grin, “Ask me another one, then. Biggest numbers you can think of.”

You don’t know why, but something about his little challenge has you blushing again, like he’s testing you somehow. But still, you take a moment to think of some numbers, biting your lip and quirking your eyes up toward the ceiling. 

“Six hundred thirty-two times… eight hundred ninety-one,” you hum, cocking your head to the side as you watch him closely. His eyes seem to glaze over, only for a second, before once again he’s spouting off numbers like a calculator. 

“Five hundred sixty-three thousand, one hundred and twelve.” 

Your eyebrows raise at that as you gawk at him. “Wow…,” you breathe after a moment, blinking as you stare up at him, “You’re, like, super smart, then?”

“Suppose so,” he says, smiling shyly again as he tucks both hands into the pockets of his khaki pants.

You study him for a moment as the conversation lulls, finding something endlessly fascinating about the boy; the way he could swing from being so cocky and self assured to shy and awkward makes your stomach do summersaults. Turning your head, you spot your group of friends still dancing and you look back at Michael with a little sigh as another upbeat song blasts loudly through the pub. 

“D’you wanna get out of here?” You ask, smirking when he looks up at you shyly.

“W-What?”

“My dorm’s only, like, a minute from here,” you flirt, sweet and enticing as you make him blush somehow more, “We could go somewhere more… quiet?”

He stares at you for a moment, shocked that you’re asking him of all people to come back to yours before he nods and nervously runs a hand through his wheat colored hair, unsuccessfully trying to act casual. “Yeah, yeah, I can do that.”

“Yay!” You giggle happily, flirtatiously grabbing one of his hands as you saunter past him, heading for the exit, “C’mon, it’s like a five minute walk!” He nods wordlessly and you can’t help but smirk as he follows you like a lost little puppy. 

True to your word, it’s only a few minutes later when you and Michael reach your dorm room, after you’d stopped for a minute at the entrance to your hall to chat with Farleigh, who seemed very interested in the nerdy boy following at your heels. You just couldn’t wipe the smirk off your face as you and Michael left him standing at the doors, mouth open and a wicked little gleam in his eyes; no doubt, he’d immediately scurried off to the King’s Arms. 

The door to your room opens with a tiny squeak, blasted old building, and you all but prance inside, turning back to the blond boy still lingering in the doorway with a smile. 

“Am I going to have to invite you in like a vampire?” You joke with a little laugh as you bend down to quickly undo the buckles of your heels, letting out a relieved sigh when you finally step out of them, leaving you in frilly white ankle socks.  

Michael finally steps into your room with a huffed laugh and quickly kicks off his shoes, you smirk when you see his Star Wars themed socks. “‘M no vampire, love,” he quips, gold framed eyes darting around your room as he looks over every detail. You grin at the little blush on his cheeks and perch on the edge of your bed to watch him, head tilted ever so slightly. 

“It’s, uh, it’s cute in here,” he observes, his voice a low hum as he takes in your frilly, lacy curtains, plush white rug, and equally girlish floral bedding, all encased in the faint pink glow of the heart-shaped fairy lights strung up around the room, “Just like how I imagined…” He breathes, so lowly you doubt he meant to say that bit aloud. 

“Like you imagined?” You echo with a little giggle, quickly reapplying your lip gloss before setting the little tube on the corner of your desk. 

“I just… I – It’s just very… you, is all I meant,” he stutters, running a hand through his hair awkwardly, the apples of his cheeks flushed a dark pink. 

His awkwardness is so endearing, you can’t help but grin. The more time you spend with him, the more interesting he seems to become; this bumbling, nervous boy is so different from the one you’ve seen on campus so many times. On campus, he’s comfortable, quiet still, but with a definite air of confidence – clearly in his element as he prowls through bookshelves in the library or explains some complex math formula in the quad. 

“So, you think about me often, then?” Your voice stays sweet, innocent almost, though you can’t help but tease him; he’s so pretty when he blushes. 

“No!” He answers quickly, whipping his head toward you from where he’d been studying the various pictures tacked up on the walls, everything from boy band posters to stills from Clueless and Legally Blonde. “I mean, yes, sometimes, I…,” he fumbles again and pushes his glasses up his sharp nose, “I think about you a normal amount.” He says finally, glancing at you quickly before looking away. 

You hum softly and stand before walking toward him with a kind smile, though you don’t miss the way he keeps glancing down at your cleavage, or the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat when he swallows nervously. 

“A normal amount?” 

“Mhm,” he nods, gaze unsure as you come to stand in front of him, teeth biting into your plush lower lip as you twirl a piece of hair through your fingers, “As much as I think of anyone else.”

“So…,” you breathe, drawing out the word as you reach up and fiddle with the collar of his button down shirt, the turquoise gingham a bright blue blip among all the blush tones of your room, “Every time I’ve caught you looking at my tits in the library or in the quad or in the hallways… that was just a normal amount?”

You giggle as his eyes go wide, his lips opening and closing like a fish out of water. Deciding to take mercy on him, you run a finger down his chest, playfully fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.

“Relax, I’m not mad,” you shake your head, smiling when the tension in his shoulders visibly eases, “Why wouldn’t I want a cutie like you staring?”

His lips part at that as he sucks in a little breath, blue eyes widening behind his glasses. “You think I’m… cute?” He asks breathlessly, heart pounding under your fingertip. 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip once more as you nod, cocking your head to the side just slightly as you peer up at him. “‘Course I do, honey, what’s not to like?”

Again, he gawks at you, blinking in shock and swallowing nervously.

“I –” 

“I do have one question though…,” you tease, pouting a bit as you slowly and carefully undo the very top button on his shirt, relishing the way his breath hitches in his throat. 

“Y-Yeah?” His voice breaks, making you giggle while he blushes somehow deeper.

“Mhm,” you nod, undoing the second button and pausing when you find a splash of hair across his chest, the same shiny wheat color as the hair on his head, causing a familiar knot to begin twisting itself up in your belly, “Why were you at the end of term party?”

He blinks for a second, evidently taken off guard. “I… W-Was it invite only?”

His question nearly makes you snort and you shake your head, the corners of your lips twitching as you try not to laugh. “No, sweetie,” you peer up at him through your lashes as you rest your hand against his bare chest, smirking ever so slightly when he shivers, “I just meant, I haven’t seen you at parties before… doesn’t really seem like your kind of thing.” 

“I, well,” he stammers, the bottoms of his glasses fogging up from the heat radiating off his cheeks, “I just –”

“It’s for that club, yeah?” You ask finally, giggling at the shocked expression on his face.

“How do –”

“You lot are not nearly as sneaky as you think,” you laugh cheekily, bouncing excitedly on the balls of your feet, “Plus, I heard Felix and Oliver whispering about something to do with tasks a few weeks ago… and boys are very bad at keeping secrets once you get their cocks out.” You add with a little giggle, taking Michael’s hand once more and dragging him over to your plush bed. You sit him on the edge before all but climbing in his lap, smiling cheekily as you straddle his thighs, your knees digging into your soft bedding.

“So,” you start, holding onto his shoulders to balance yourself and smiling a little when he finally touches you, lightly resting his hands on your hips, “What’s your task, hm? I heard they made them, like, particularly brutal this year.”

“I don’t think I should say,” Michael murmurs with a little shake of his head, making you pout.

“Oh, come on!” You bounce on his lap a little, not missing the way his eyes seem to be drawn to your breasts like magnets, “I want to help! Is it something at the King’s Arms?”

“N-No, I really don’t think –”

“I know they keep the important rugby trophies there,” you think aloud, still playing dumb, just wanting him to say it, “Is that it? D’you have to steal one? One of the boys that works there owes me, I could get him to let you in after hours…” You prattle on, speaking faster and faster as Michael shakes his head beneath you.

Finally, he seems to reach a breaking point and his grip on your hips tightens. “I have to fuck you!” He blurts out before sighing.

“Oh, really?”

“I… I have to fuck you –”

“Mhm?”

“And prove I did somehow.”

“How interesting!”

He narrows his eyes at that and peers up at you suspiciously, studying you carefully. You can’t help but giggle, loving the way you feel when his eyes are on you, and you smirk when he finally blinks in realization.

“You… you knew this whole time, didn’t you?”

A sly smile spreads across your lips as you nod, squirming excitedly on his lap. “Like I said,” you chuckle with a little shrug, “Not. Sneaky!” You tease, punctuating each word with a little boop to the tip of his nose, unable to resist. 

He stays silent for a moment, gazing up at you with a strange mixture of awe and unease before he finally speaks through a deep sigh. “So, I suppose this is the part where you tell me to leave?”

Well, that comment throws you off. You cock your head to the side, confused, as your eyebrows furrow together. “Why would I ask you to leave?”

He sighs again and grits his teeth, looking dejectedly at the floor. “Come on, love,” he mutters, looking anywhere but you, “I-It’s not like you’d ever want to –”

“Ever want to what?” You ask with a frown, gently grabbing at his chin and tilting his head up, forcing him to meet your gaze, “You think I don’t wanna fuck you, honey?”

“Well, I –”

“Michael,” you say pointedly, raising your brows as you smirk slightly, staring deeply into his blue eyes, “I’m the one that came onto you, yeah?”

“I… I suppose.”

“Mhm,” you hum, nodding your head as you run your fingers through his short hair, not missing the little sigh that leaves his lips when you push yourself closer to him, your chest pressing tightly against his, “And while I’m not thrilled at our first time being for some stupid little task –”

“It’s,” he cuts you off shyly, shaking his head ever so slightly, “It’s – I’ve never…” He stammers, nervously gripping at your waist once more. 

You can’t help but smile softly, so charmed by him over and over. You nod your head knowingly, raising your brows just a bit. “I know, honey,” you whisper reassuringly, “We don’t have to, I’ll let you take a pair of my panties or whatever else, but we don’t need to do anything.”

He sighs up at you again, so taken with you he feels like he could scream, and shakes his head more, grabbing at your hips tighter, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “N-No, I… I want to,” he nods, swallowing anxiously, “I do, I just… don’t really know what I’m doing.”

You nod again, listening carefully as he speaks. “So, is it all new or…?”

He shakes his head and smiles a little, shyly, though the sight of it still makes that knot in your belly tighten further, making you blush on his lap while butterflies swirl around inside you. “I’ve kissed before,” he says lowly, chuckling awkwardly as he seems to get bolder, causing you to shudder when he lightly rubs his hands over your waist and hips, “And done… hand stuff.”

You giggle at his boyish explanation and bite your lip when you smile at him, wiggling in his lap as a heat begins to settle at the apex of your thighs. “Can I kiss you, honey?” 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat again, making you want so badly to press soft, glossy kisses to it, but you resist, determined to make this good for him. 

“Yeah,” he nods eagerly, blue eyes fixated on your lips.

You smile softly before leaning in and finally pressing your lips against his, both of you sighing at once. One of his hands stays at your hip while the other comes to rest in the small of your back, pressing you more tightly to him as your lips move together, his motions surprisingly fluid and practiced. 

You make a small noise in the back of your throat when you feel his tongue licking at your bottom lip, and eagerly allow him access with a little sigh. Your fingers busy themselves with unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, making him shudder beneath you when you skim your hands over his bare chest and stomach as his tongue flows with your own, the bitter, coffee-ish flavor of the pint he’d had earlier still on his tongue.

Impatient, you pull back long enough to look at him for reassurance, smiling when you earn a little nod. You kiss him once more before tugging his shirt off, flushing when he groans lowly as you trail kisses down over his jaw and neck before swiping your tongue greedily over his Adam’s apple, making his breath hitch. 

“F-Fuck,” he sighs brokenly, bolding tracing over your thigh until his fingers are tucked up under the silky, baby pink material of your dress. His touches make you shiver as goosebumps bloom over your skin, making you whine against the pale column of his throat, “Can I?” He breathes, fingers toying with a strap of your dress while the others slowly inched the bottom of it up higher and higher. 

“God, please,” you mewl, nodding against his throat, your head on his shoulder. He shudders at the feel of your breath on his neck and nods once before tugging at the bottom of your dress. You sit up to help him, whining when you feel his hard length pressing against your thin, lacy underwear, “You don’t need to ask, Michael. Want you to take me however you want.” You whisper as he tugs your dress over your head, blue eyes meeting yours for a second as he nods before they skim lower, widening as he takes you in on his lap wearing only a bra and panties. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes, making you giggle shyly as you lean in and softly kiss over his cheeks, “You have…you’re – you’re perfect,” he sighs, brazenly cupping your breasts, skimming his thumbs over your nipples through the thin pink fabric of your bra and smiling proudly when he feels them harden at his touch, “You’re perfect, but these are… holy shit.” He repeats, his voice breathy and mesmerized as he takes in your chest for another moment while you softly card your fingers through his golden hair. 

You gasp through a little giggle when you feel his length twitch, even through his trousers, and wiggle on his lap, blushing when the movement earns you a broken groan. “Yeah?” You whisper cheekily, watching as he marvels at your chest for a second longer before quickly unclasping your bra and shrugging out of it, tossing it down onto the floor with his shirt and your dress, “What about now?” You tease, proudly arching your back as you bite your lip.

He groans again, louder than he has all evening, and instantly ducks his head down. The feel of his soft lips wrapping eagerly around one of your nipples makes you cry out, gasping sharply as he sucks at the sensitive bud before he runs his tongue over it. You cradle the back of his head in your hands, fingers lightly pulling at the short strands of hair, as he switches from one breast to the other, kneading whichever one is free with his hand. 

Needing something, anything, you finally pull him off of your chest after a few moments, laughing when he all but whines, and smiling even more when you take in his disheveled appearance – blond hair sticking up at odd angles from where you’d run your fingers through it, cheeks flushed as his glasses sit crooked on his nose, and his blue eyes staring up at you hungrily. 

You shift back on his thighs just enough to snake a hand between the two of you and he gasps when you cup the bulge pressing against the zipper of his khakis. “You want me to suck your cock?” You ask cheekily, lightly squeezing at his length. 

He surprises you by shaking his head no,gulping slightly with an awkward laugh before answering. “I do, I really fucking do, love,” he breathes, kneading at your breasts as he stares up at you sheepishly, “B-But I really want to last and if you… if you suck it, I –”

“Okay, okay,” you stop him with a kiss, “We’ll table it for next time.” 

“N-Next time?” He questions, fighting to keep his eyes open as you press kisses against his neck once more. You nod against his shoulder and press kisses up to just beneath his ear. 

“I’m not letting you go that easy, honey,” you whisper, chuckling when he shivers. You spend another moment softly kissing and biting at his neck before speaking again, “Have you ever eaten anyone out?” You question, pulling back to look at him.

He shakes his head, his eyes flicking between both of yours as he looks up at you. “No.” He answers simply, his voice hardly a whisper. 

You can’t help but smirk coyly and cock your head to the side, running a finger through the little patch of hair on his chest just to see him shudder. “You wanna try it?”

He nods eagerly and surprises you once again by quickly swinging you around, maneuvering you until your head rests on the pillows of your bed. You squeal at the movement, laughing with him as he settles over you, his narrow hips slotting easily between your thighs as you silently marvel at his unexpected strength, the shock of it going right between your legs. 

“You want me to lick your pussy?” He asks lowly, grinning when he sees your eyes widen ever so slightly. 

“You’re quite something, huh?” You breathe, still gazing up at him in surprise. 

“Observant,” he shrugs, smirking as he sits up, kneeling between your legs, “You aren’t the only one who is, love.” He teases, quickly undoing his belt and trousers and groaning as he pushes them down his thighs, stopping at his knees. 

Your eyes go wide at the size of his length, it’s clearly very impressive and it’s not even out of his plaid boxers yet. That smirk stays plastered on his face as he leans back down to hover over you, hastily removing his glasses and sitting them on your desk before sloppily kissing you for a moment, surprising you yet again by trailing wet kisses down your neck. 

“Michael…” You sigh dreamily, arching your back toward him when he starts kissing over your chest. He groans from deep in his chest, mouth pressed against the fat of your breast. 

“Fucking hell,” he curses, teasing your nipple again with the tip of his tongue, “Say it again, love.” 

His simple command sends shivers down your spine and you mewl, squirming underneath him, “M-Michael!” You moan again, fumbling over your words as he sucks at your breast again before he lifts his head. 

“Good girl,” he purrs with a sly, easy smirk that makes your heart jump, a soft sigh tumbling past your lips. He shifts further down the bed, kissing down over your ribs and stomach, his confidence seemingly growing every time he presses his lips against your skin; the thought makes your head spin.

Finally, he hooks his fingers into the lacy sides of your panties, and his eyes peer up at you as he tugs them down over your hips before flinging them onto the floor. “Oh, my God…,” he sighs, staring greedily at your pussy, a broken groan sounds from his throat when you spread your legs more. 

You bite your lip and giggle, smiling shyly as you tangle your fingers in his hair once more. “Like what you see?” 

He nods his head rapidly, making you chuckle again as he stares up at you, an almost pained expression on his face. “I… uh, w-what now?” 

He’s so endearing, you can’t help the little sigh that leaves you and you sit up a little, leaning back on an elbow as you use your other hand to spread your center open. You bite your bottom lip once more when he whines a little, seeing you all spread out before him, flushed folds already slick and shiny. 

“Lick here, honey,” you whimper as you skim your fingers over your clit, so keyed up from only a few kisses that you gasp a little when you feel yourself clench; Michael looks like he may pass out. 

Ever the dutiful student, he gives you one last look before diving in. Your head falls back with a whiny gasp as his tongue snakes over your clit, just as you’d instructed. A long, shuddery moan leaves him, vibrating against your cunt and you watch as his blue eyes all but roll back in his head. 

“Just like that, Michael,” you praise, tugging at his hair ever so slightly, which only serves to make him moan more. Your chest heaves as you watch him, determined not to let your eyes squeeze shut while he licks and kisses and sucks at your pussy like a man possessed, “Holy shit!” You whimper loudly when he pushes his tongue into you, groaning lowly when he feels your walls clench around it as he presses his nose perfectly against your clit. 

“You taste so good,” he gasps, wrapping his hands around your thighs to keep you exactly where he wants. He peers up at you through blond lashes as he feasts on you, sucking eagerly at your clit and savoring the way you shiver and squirm from his motions. 

Unbelievably, you already feel that warm, familiar tug in your belly beginning to grow, making your whole body feel flush and taut. “Just like that, just like that,” you whine urgently, grabbing onto his hair tighter and guiding his mouth exactly where you need it, your eyes finally rolling back and fluttering shut, “Holy fuck, don’t stop!” 

Michael grunts as you tug at his hair, his own hips rutting greedily against your pretty bedding — cock throbbing so hard there’s no doubt he’s leaked through his boxers. He watches you carefully, studying your movements and reactions as best he can while he rhythmically licks at your clit. 

“Oh, shit!” You cry not even a moment later, your whole body seeming to stutter as your muscles finally relax. You mewl as your high finally washes over you, savoring the way Michael groans into your cunt as he feels it contracting on his tongue. Your eyes stay squeezed shut as shivers roll up and down your spine, shuddered cries leaving your lips. 

Just as his touches begin to border on overstimulation, you have enough wherewithal to push him away, and he releases your center with a lewd little pop. 

“Was that good?” He asks through a breathless laugh, swallowing as he looks up at you, evidence of your arousal still shining on his lips and chin. 

“Good?” You huff, eyebrows raised as you gaze down at him, “You’re sure you’ve never done that before?” You question in disbelief, chest still heaving. 

He smiles shyly, already pink cheeks seeming to flush deeper from your praise as he chuckles. You cup his cheeks when he leans over you again, whimpering as you taste yourself on his tongue. 

“You’re unbelievable.” You sign as he kisses down your neck again, making him chuckle against your skin. 

“Just observant,” he grunts, shuddering when you wrap your legs around his trim waist. You gasp as his length brushes over your still sensitive pussy, impossibly hot and hard even through the thin fabric of his boxers. His fragmented sigh makes you smile and you tug his head up, blushing as you look up at him. 

“You ready, honey?” You breathe, giggling when he nods his head again eagerly, his hips stuttering instinctually against your center. “Here, let me…” You trail off, the two of you separating for a moment as you lean over and pull open the top drawer of your desk, pulling out a pack of condoms and tearing one off before laying back down. 

You watch enraptured as he kneels between your legs again, pulling down his boxers finally. “Holy…” you gasp when his cock finally bobs free, twitching up to rut against his lower stomach; he’s long and thick, curving a little as veins run up the underside, leading to a flushed, leaking head. He smiles shyly again at your attention as he shuffles awkwardly out of his trousers and underwear, kicking them off and onto the floor.

You hand him the condom and watch as he rolls it on, giving him a little reassuring smile as he does. Once it’s securely in place, you pull him back to you, eagerly kissing him once more and wrapping your legs securely around his waist. Both of you moan in unison when his length glides through your folds, the head catching perfectly on your clit. 

He pulls away with a little gasp, hovering over you as he glances down at your hips. “S-So, I just…” He trails off, watching as you reach down with one hand, grunting softly when you wrap your hand around his cock. 

Carefully, you position him at your entrance and angle your hips a little. “Go on, honey,” you encourage with a soft smile, running your other hand over his chest. 

Nodding once, he presses forward and swears he sees God. “F-Fucking hell,” he groans, loudly sighing your name as he carefully guides himself into you, absolutely in awe at the way your hot cunt grips him. His eyes squeeze shut, his hips resting firmly against yours as his chest heaves, breaths coming in short, sharp pants. 

You aren’t fairing much better, head spinning at the way he splits you open, pressing incessantly at each and every sensitive spot within you. You pant against his neck as he stills, pressed deeply within you. 

“D-Do… fuck, do I just…?” Michael stutters, giving half-hearted little thrusts to test the waters. 

“Yes!” You answer instantly, anxiously nodding up at him as your hips wiggle against the bedsheets, making him swear and shudder above you, “Just move, honey, do what feels good.” 

He groans again and gives a little nod before experimentally moving his hips again, pulling out more this time before pushing back in. “Shit,” he breathes above you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he grunts with each roll of his hips. 

You pant underneath him, spurring him on by pressing your feet against his backside, urging him to move faster and faster as the frilly lace from your socks tickles his pale skin. “You’re doing so, so good, oh, my God,” you breathe, your voice high-pitched and whimpery as you tangle your fingers in his hair again, knowing by now that it drives him crazy. 

Above you, Michael’s hips slowly but surely begin to stutter, his thrusts starting to peter out as his breathing picks up. “I’m —!”

“Wait!” You blurt suddenly, smiling wickedly as he comes to a screeching halt, pushing himself up enough to stare down at you with wild eyes, “I have an idea…” You tease with a little giggle. 

“W-What?” 

“You have a phone, yeah?” 

“…Yeah?”

“One that can, like, take video?” 

“Yes?” 

“Grab it,” you laugh, pushing him off of you with a laugh. He rolls his eyes with a smirk but does as you ask, clumsily pulling himself from your heat before stumbling over to where his khakis had landed. He shuffles about for a second before pulling a silver phone from the pocket of his trousers. 

“Now what?” He asks curiously, positioning himself back between your thighs, cock twitching meanly. 

“Film me.” 

“What?!” He gapes at you, brows creased. 

“Film me, honey,” you giggle, biting your lip conspiratorially, “For your little task, you need proof, yeah?” 

“Well, yeah, b-but I can just take your panties or something, I don’t —“

“Or you could bring back something better…” You smirk, shrugging your shoulders playfully, “We don’t have to but… it could be kinda hot?” 

He pauses for a moment, eyes flicking between you, your pussy, and the phone in his hand before he nods once, curtly. “We… we can try it.” 

“Yeah? You wanna?” 

“Yeah,” he quips, catching you by surprise as a mean little smirk spreads over his lips, “Wanna see the look on Catton’s face when he sees you creaming on my cock.” 

Your eyes widen and you huff out a shocked laugh, a zing of electricity lighting behind your eyes. “You’re insane,” you say softly, an endeared smile on your lips. 

He snickers, his whole demeanor seeming to change before your eyes as he transforms from this shy, stuttering boy into an astonishingly cocky man. “You like it, love,” he teases, grabbing his dick and positioning himself at your entrance yet again. 

“Wait!” You giggle again, blushing as he groans. 

“You don’t want to anymore?” 

“No, no, not that,” you assure him, affectionately running your hand down one of his shockingly muscular arms, “You can film me… on one condition.” 

“‘N what would that be?” 

“Take me on a date.” You breathe, suddenly shy. You know he’ll agree to it, but even still, your heart pumps wildly in your chest. 

He stares at you for a second, blinking dumbly as he processes your request. “You want me to take you on a date?” He asks, flushing so deeply that the soft pink hue cascades all the way down to his chest. 

Giggling, you nod your head, giving his forearm a reassuring squeeze. “You need to start giving yourself more credit, honey.” 

He sighs at that, a little astounded huff, before he’s suddenly grabbing at your calves and pushing your legs up toward your shoulders, all but bending you in half, anxious to get his cock back into you. You gasp at the movement, and chuckle at his eagerness, a sound that morphs into a whiny moan when he slides back home. 

“Christ,” he grunts, shoulders heaving as he gets used to the way you feel around him once more, “Y-You feel so good, love, fucking perfect.” 

“You’re so big,” you whine, nodding as you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, “You’re so good, Michael, you have no idea.” 

He groans above you, hands shaking as he grabs for his phone, flipping it open and quickly opening the camera as his hips rut into you, making the springs of your bed creak softly. 

As soon as Michael gives you a little nod to let you know he’s filming, you truly put on a show — or well, you at least stop trying to quiet yourself down and be conscientious of the people in the rooms next to you. The way he has your legs bent back makes him feel somehow bigger and causes his cock to hit that sensitive spot within you with pinpoint accuracy every time he thrusts in, making you clench around him and moan loudly each time he moves his hips against you. 

You watch as he angles the camera down a bit, no doubt pointing it at the spot the two of you are joined together, letting the camera record his cock sliding in and out of you. When he moves it back up, however, to get your face as evidence, you plaster on the cheekiest grin you can muster. 

“H-Hi boys,” you tease breathlessly, smirking as you lean up on one elbow. You wave with your other hand before blowing a kiss to the camera, which makes Michael cockily laugh.

“Fuck, I gotta…” he mutters after a few more seconds, carelessly dropping his phone down on the bed before roughly grabbing at your thighs with a bruising grip, one that makes you mewl and arch your back toward him. The two of you moan and whimper in unison as he begins thrusting wildly, seemingly too worked up to care about anything but cumming. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You chant over and over, head spinning as he bullies your sweet spot. 

“That’s it, love,” Michael murmurs, his voice gruff and low as he stares down at you, strands of his hair sticking to his forehead; he looks wilder than you’ve ever seen him, the thought only serving to push you closer and closer to the edge. “S-Shit, that’s it. Fucking come for me, cream on my cock; please, please, please,” he murmurs, leaning down to press desperate kisses against your neck and collarbones. 

The new position causes his pubic bone to rub deliciously over your clit, making you seize beneath him with a loud whine. Your toes curl, heels still pressing into the small of his back. “M-Michael, holy fuck!” You practically squeal as your high finally washes over you once more, stars dancing behind your eyelids as you go lax and pliant underneath him. 

The feel of your walls pulsing around his cock has Michael reeling, his hips somehow thrusting even faster as he both desperately wants to cum while also never wanting this feeling to end. “C-Cum, honey, cum,” you pant softly, cupping his cheek with one hand and turning his face toward yours. 

That does him in and the rubber band in his belly viciously snaps, making him shudder above you as his thrusts come to a halt, cock twitching wildly inside you as he empties himself into the condom. You watch him in awe, taking in every detail from the way his nose scrunches up as his eyes squeeze close to the way he whispers your name over and over like a prayer. 

The two of you lay in silence for a moment, his breath warm against your neck as he slumps against you trying to catch his breath. 

Eventually, you can’t help it anymore and let out a breathless giggle, which only intensifies when he props himself up on an elbow to peer down at you with a smirk. 

“Something funny?” 

“Just,” you breathe, trying to calm yourself enough to get words out, “Just… wow,” you finally say, giggles petering out as you look up at him, the soft gleam in his eyes makes your heart clench in your chest. 

“Good wow?” He blushes, looking down between the two of you as he pulls himself from your walls with a little hiss. 

“Very, very good wow,” you confirm, grinning as you watch him pull off the condom before he peers up at you with a sheepish grin. “Tie it off, honey,” you instruct, smirking as he does just that, before nodding to the little wastebasket by your desk. 

He gets up with a groan and quickly tosses the condom in the trash before turning back to you, the bashful look on his face making you blush. 

Unable to resist, you grin at him and spread your arms with a giggle, wordlessly inviting him for a cuddle, which he gladly accepts. The bed creaks slightly as he lays back down, relaxing his head on the pillow just beside yours. Again, the two of you stay silent for a moment, content to merely gaze at one another, before he shyly looks away and sighs. 

“I…,” he starts, blue eyes blinking and flitting around your room as he gathers his thoughts, “Thank you,” he finally says, looking back at you with a little half smile. 

Your brows furrow at this as you grin at him. “What’re you thanking me for?” 

“Well, f-for… this,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the two of you before sitting up just slightly and fishing around in the blankets for a second. “And this,” he sighs, holding his phone up before twisting around to set it on the corner of your desk, turning back to you. “I just… I know you didn’t have to, is all, so…” 

You cock your head to the side as you prop yourself up on an elbow, eyes narrowing as you study him closely. “And people have the nerve to say I’m thick,” you joke, lips spreading into a wide grin as you gaze down at him, “I wanted to do all this, Michael. I’m the one that came onto you, remember?” 

“W-Well, yeah, but —“

“No buts!” You laugh, pressing a finger against his lips as you shake your head, “I have eyes too, you know.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“You haven’t been the only one watching someone for months,” you giggle shyly, pressing your forehead against his, “I meant what I said about that date, too.” 

His arms wind around your waist, holding you tight as he processes your words with a dumbstruck smile, blushing under your gaze. “Whatever you say, love,” he concedes finally, pressing his lips against yours sweetly. 

He yawns tiredly when he pulls away from you after a moment, which only makes you yawn as well, and you glance over at the little clock on your dresser. “Christ,” you gasp, turning back to him, “I didn’t realize it’s already almost four… you can crash here, if you want?” 

He considers it for a moment, knowing he has to be back in that stupid little basement by noon and making a mental map of where exactly your dormitory is in relation to the Merton College Chapel. “I… I can stay, yeah,” he finally nods after a moment. 

“You’re sure?” 

“Love, I’m not sure my legs work well enough yet to walk out of here anyway.” 

Michael

Groaning, Michael slowly blinks his eyes open, rubbing them softly as he sits up in bed with a yawn. Blindly reaching over for his glasses, he’s confused when he doesn’t feel them in their usual spot and finally opens his eyes properly. 

He stares, confused for a moment as to how exactly he somehow got transported into what appears to be Barbie’s damn dream house, before the events of last night come flooding back to him. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes when he turns his head and sees your still-sleeping form beneath your flowery sheets, your hair tousled wildly on the pillow as your shoulders rise and fall evenly still with each breath. Looking around, he finally spots his glasses and puts them on before reaching for his phone, and cursing again when he sees the time. 

11:47 AM. 

He practically falls out of your bed as he tries to extricate himself from the sheets, and he hears you wake with a start behind him as he grabs wildly at his clothes on the floor. 

“Michael?” You ask questioningly, your voice still hoarse from sleep as you, frankly fucking adorably, rub at your eyes before fixing him with a curious look. 

“Gotta, shit, gotta run,” he explains quickly, cursing as he nearly loses his balance trying to tug his trousers on, “Need to be at Merton Chapel in, like, Christ, ten minutes!” 

“Ohh,” you giggle softly, watching with amusement as he finishes getting dressed, hair and clothes so disheveled that he’s sure he looks like the very definition of the walk of shame. 

Just as he’s tugging his shoes on and making a mad dash for the door, you stop him. “Here,” you smirk, holding out the same lacy pair of pink panties you wore last night, “For proof,” you explain, nodding to the phone in his hand, “Along with that. Should be more than enough,” you giggle proudly. 

He smiled sheepishly as he pockets your underwear. “T-Thanks,” he nods, turning to leave before you stop him once more. 

He can’t help but blush when you lean in and press and quick kiss to his lips, your cherry chapstick rubbing off on him some. Pulling away, you playfully smack his chest with a little grin. “Go get ‘em, honey.” 

Nodding, he smiles again before finally pulling your door open and bounding down the hallway. “I’ll text you, love!” He calls, peering back just before he rounds a corner, “About that date!” 

It’s 11:58 on the dot when he flings the basement door open, only to be pulled over to the same stupid dank basement wall, his back hitting it once more with a dull thud. 

Glancing around, he sees the ski-masked boys again, all fifteen of them, standing in a row with the head boy slightly out of line. To his left stands one of the other initiates, clutching a black tube of some sort. 

The basement stays silent for a moment before one of the masked boy’s watch alarms goes off just as the bells in the tower begin to chime. 

Once, twice, all the way up to twelve. Noon.

Right on cue, the head boy steps forward even more and looks between Michael and the other initiate. “Your friend couldn’t be bothered to show his face, then?” He asks, dark eyes peering at the boy next to Michael. 

He scoffs and shakes his head, glaring at the head boy. “He’s still at the bank!” He snaps, “All the way in bloody Switzerland,” he kicks at the dirty stone floor as he explains, “Dickhead,” he finally mutters lowly under his breath. 

“Shame,” the head boy quips, clasping his hands in front of his waist, “Some men are simply not cut out for Bullingdon.” 

The boys in the row behind him nod knowingly, each making some little noise of affirmation until the head boy quickly stops them, holding a fist up by his head, bringing it back down to his side when they shut up. 

“So, initiates, what’ve you got?” 

The boy next to Michael steps forward first and hands the black tube to the head boy with a sigh. “There,” he says, gesturing to it, “There’s your bloody map. My mum could get sacked for that.” 

The head boy pops open one end of the tube, a document sleeve Michael now realizes, and gingerly extracts a rolled up piece of parchment from it, unrolling it just enough to confirm it's what they asked for. 

“Well done, initiate,” he nods, seemingly impressed as he flashes a smile at the boy, white teeth gleaming creepily through the slit in his ski mask. Carefully, he rolls the document up again before sliding it back in the tube, “Your commitment to Bullingdon will take you far. Welcome to the fray.” 

The boy stands still for a moment, eyeing the document tube with an almost regretful expression before curtly nodding and taking his place back against the wall. 

“And then there was one,” the head boy murmurs, dark faze fixed on Michael, “I seem to remember we gave you quite the… interesting task indeed, initiate. How did you manage?” 

Smiling damn near arrogantly, Michael all but skips up the head boy and proudly pulls your panties from his back pocket, letting them dangle from his index finger. “See for yourself.” 

The head boy grabs them by the edge and studies them for a moment, turning back to the row of boys behind him with a questioning glance. The boy Michael knows already to be that cunt, Oliver Quick, glances between him, the panties, and Michael, before cutting a sideways glance to a tall boy standing next to him. 

“These could be anyone’s,” the head boy says, turning back to Michael as he shakes his head, “You could’ve nicked them from your sister or something, we’ll need more than this, initiate.”

“Don’t even have a sister,” Michael quips, shrugging his shoulders with a little frown. 

“Okay, like, your cousin or something then –”

“Don’t have a female cousin,” he says with a shake of his head, “All boys.”

“The point still stands!” The head boy finally snaps, making Michael bite the inside of his cheek to hide a little laugh, though the corner of his lips still quirks up in a smirk, “You haven’t got any proof, do you? Is that why you’re stalling?”

Huffing a little laugh, Michael finally lets himself smirk meanly and steps closer to the head boy as he pulls his phone from his pocket, flips it open, and navigates to his video gallery. “Is this enough proof?” He teases, pressing play on the most recent video. 

The picture is small and grainy but there’s no doubt as to what’s happening as the sound of your pretty whimpers and moans echoes around the brick basement, along with the wet smack of Michael’s cock driving into you again and again. 

The head boy stares at the screen still as curiosity gets to a few of the boys in the row behind him and they all come crowd around Michael’s phone, eyes widening behind their ski masks and mouths falling open. 

The tallest one, the one Oliver keeps glancing at, lets out a long sigh as he peers down at the small screen and brings a hand up to his head as if he were going to run it through his hair before remembering the mask he has on. With him this close, Michael finally notices the little silver barbell stuck through his eyebrow and shivers as his lips curl up into a sadistic Cheshire cat smile, a tidal wave of savage pride crashing through his system. 

Finally, fucking finally, I get something he wants, he thinks as your breathy moans continue to pour from the speaker of his phone, tinny and muffled in some spots where he’d accidentally covered the microphone, but beautiful, beautiful and because of him.

After a moment, the video ends, the tiny phone screen reverting back to it’s little thumbnail as the head boy peers up at Michael, the rest of the club members taking their places back in line, though he can’t help but notice that Felix’s broad shoulders are slumped now and Oliver stands ever closer to him, like some kind of fucked up bodyguard. 

“I’ll be damned, initiate,” the head boy sighs with a shake of his head, “I really didn’t think you had it in you.”

He watches as Michael merely nods and pockets his phone again, holding it tightly in his fist even still. After a second, he smiles widely and claps a hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

“Welcome to Bullingdon.”

Some time later, Michael finally exits the basement, a few of the club members, sans ski masks now, nodding goodbye to him as they disperse across campus, meeting adjourned. 

He wasn’t really sure what he’d been expecting from the initial meeting but it was mostly them prattling on about where exactly they had all their grubby little fingers, poked in seemingly every facet of society from Parliament to local newspapers. 

Braggy cunts, Michael thinks as he ambles outside, glancing up at the sky as he steps into the Mob Quad, surrounded by stony old buildings. 

Smiling to himself, he pulls out his phone and quickly finds your number in his contacts list, blushing when he sees you’ve taken the liberty of adding some girly heart emoticon next to it. He hardly has time to press it against his ear before you answer.

“Well?” You demand with that now familiar giggle, some unfamiliar pop song playing in the background.

“I’m in,” he confirms, nodding to himself as he slowly walks in the direction of his dormitory, “Thanks to you.” He smiles like an idiot when you laugh.

“Don’t sell yourself short, honey,” you tease, he can picture your bright, glossy smile in his head, “You earned that spot.”

Michael merely shakes his head with a happy little sigh. “So,” he starts, clearing his throat and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “About that date… I was thinking the King’s Arms? Tonight at six, if that works?”

“Oooh, tonight at six,” you repeat teasingly, an image flashing in his mind of you twirling your hair around a perfectly manicured finger, “Someone’s quite eager, hm?”

“Can you blame me?”

“Hmm, I suppose not,” you giggle, pausing for a second, “It’s a date then.”

“Fantastic,” Michael sighs, trying with every fiber of his being to sound casual and cool about the whole thing, even as his heart threatens to beat out of his chest. 

“See you tonight, Mr. Bullingdon,” you tease, making a little kissy sound into the phone before hanging up. 

Michael pauses for a moment, standing to the side on the pavement as he nods to himself. If it weren’t so fucking cheesy, he’d raise his fist in the air, victorious, à la Judd Nelson at the end of The Breakfast Club. 

Instead, he flips his phone back open and navigates back to your video. Sighing, he stares at the little thumbnail for a second before deleting it, pocketing his phone once more, and continuing back to his dormitory. 

He has the real thing now.

taggled lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @imawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @fan-goddess @cl-0-vr @kittendoll05 @beautbuck @eponaartemisa @trshngyn @brettlovessuckingcocks @alerisc @moonriseoverkyoto @wolfdressedinlace @do-double-g @kennafild

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

#michael gavey #michael gavey fanfiction #michael gavey fanfic #michael gavey smut #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x you #michael gavey x y/n #michael gavey x bimbo!reader #bimbo!reader #bimbocore #saltburn #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn fanfic #saltburn fic #saltburn smut #michael gavey fic #ewan nation #ewanverse #emerald fennell #ewan mitchell #my writing

[valeskafics]

Oliver Quick NSFW Alphabet

TW: profanity, innuendo, afab reader, she/her pronouns

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Saltburn characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Oliver isn't one to really put too much effort into aftercare if it's a casual encounter, but if his feelings run deeper? He'll be all over you, helping wipe you down, running you a bath, getting you a drink and a snack. He has a very Daddy vibe to him and it definitely shows when he wants to care for you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite body part of yours is your eyes - he knows it's a bit twisted, but he loves seeing you cry because you look so fucking adorable and vulnerable when you do it. And he''s the only one who's able to comfort you. Also loves your ass tbh. On himself, he loves his eyes as well, because he knows how pretty you find them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Ollie's favorite place to cum is inside you, but if for some reason that's not an option, he loves cumming all over your face.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has absolutely jacked off over your bed while you're sleeping, more than once while you're both at Saltburn. He can't even bring himself to feel guilty about it. It's your fault for looking so damn tempting.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Decent amount of experience, man knows what he's doing and knows more than enough to keep you satisfied.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Mating press or any other position where you're underneath him. He likes being the one in control for the most part and having you beneath him, begging for his cock, is one of his most favorite sights.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Mostly serious! If he's very comfortable with you and trusts you, he might get a little goofy, but for the most part, fucking is a fairly serious endeavor for him.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Y'all have seen the movie, I don't think I need to go into a ton of detail hehehe.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Eye contact is key for him. As mentioned before he loves your eyes, loves being as close to you as possible. He just wants to possess you and your love in every way possible.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

This man masturbates so fucking much to pictures of you by the pool, photos he's managed to get of you while you're sleeping. He's like a fucking deviant. He sees you, gets hard, and has to excuse himself.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Daddy kink, blood kink, overstimulation are his big three. He also doesn't mind a bit of knifeplay or chaseplay.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In your bedroom or somewhere there's a risk of being caught. He quite enjoys the exhibitionist aspect of it as well as the inherent fear of being found.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you meet his eyes, when you cry, when you wear bottoms that show off your ass, pretty much just when you exist.

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

Don't think he'd be into fluids etc other than blood/spit/cum. But other than that, Ollie will try anything once.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Prefers giving at any time of day, noon, or night. Gets fucking drunk off the taste of your pussy to the point that he'll just keep eating you out until you're sobbing and shaking beneath him. And even then, he'll keep going, telling you that you can give him another one.

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

He likes it rough but slow. Likes taking his time with you, bringing you to the edge then depriving you of what you want so desperately, teasing you over and over. He likes to make it last.

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

In spite of his name, quickies aren't at the top of his to do list. Would much prefer a longer go.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Open to pretty much anything and absolutely loves engaging in risk taking behavior. Will do anything once.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Ollie can last a decent while and he also has a pretty quick recovery time. With minimal and short breaks, this man can keep you satisfied all fucking night.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He owns a wide variety of toys and uses them both on you and himself. Loves having you use a plug, watching you squirm in your seat at the thought of him fucking your pretty little ass later.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Absolutely loves teasing. He's so mean about it too, taunting you, edging you, then overstimming the fuck out of you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Very vocal about how good your pussy feels around him. Lots of grunting, rasping, and sometimes - on rare occasion, whimpering when you squeeze around him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Seems completely dom to you at first, but he's totally a switch. Loves it when you mix it up and take control.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Y'all have seen this man is packing a magnum dong, I can't add any more than that.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Extremely high, but he likes testing himself, holding himself back until he can't take it anymore and just has to have you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Takes a while to fall asleep, longer than you do, just watches you, stroking your hair and enjoying the intimate little moment.

#oliver quick x reader #oliver quick x you #oliver quick #oliver quick fic #oliver quick smut #barry keoghan #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn fic #my writing #oliver headcanon

[thisismeracing]

Part of your world | LH44

SOCIAL MEDIA AU

Pairing: lewis hamilton x actress!reader (she/her)

Warnings: curse words, Twitter environment, it’s not proofread, etc, etc. Minors DNI!

Summary: What happens when Lewis goes to the theater with his nephews and realizes he now has a new favorite Disney movie. The princess? Ynl Yln and she’s definitely fairytale-worthy outside the screens as well.

a/n: none of the pictures used are mine, they are all from Pinterest and other apps. everything else is made up by me and I do not give permission for it to be published on a different platform. I would appreciate it if those things could be taken into consideration 💛

my masterlist | taglist

yourusername

liked by lewishamilton, disney, and others

yourusername I can't believe this press tour coming to an end :( A huge thank you to everyone involved. It was great working with you guys, from filming to singing and interviewing.

view all 1,563 comments

royaltyyln omg, I still don't know which dress was my favorite, but this white one is def between the top 3

lewishamilton woah! 😍

⤷ hammertime8 shooting his shot

disney 😍🧜🏾‍♀️💙

user01 I just watched the movie and Istg I cried the whole time, my whole childhood on screen. Yn did a great job

mermaidyn I have an eight years old sister and she's so excited to watch the movie, we cried during the trailer. I can't stress how much it means to us to have a black princess on screen, I am glad my sister is growing up with these examples, and I'm happy I'm still around to watch all these events unfold. Really proud 🤧❤️

user90 Everything on this live-action was on point! From the soundtrack to the cast, absolutely perfect

sainzspain I am so ready to see Yn and Lewis interacting 😌🤌🏾

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, lewishamilton, and others

yourusername camera roll reveal 🫶🏾

view all 1,982 comments

summertimeyn soft launching, I see

⤷ ynbrasil she thinks she's lick, everyone knows its lewis lol

russelular bro, every time she posts I am reminded of the fact that she is stunning, what should one do to look this pretty?

⤷ user3 for me, only being born again lmao 😭🤣

driverslicensef1 lewis lurking on the likes

fortyfourfone Pierre Gasly liked it 🧐

roscoesfans THAT'S ROSCOE AND THAT'S LEWIS, NO DENYING

mickshoes @.disney please, a movie where Yn is the princess and Lewis Hamilton the prince, y'all owning us a live-action from the princess and the frog btw, just saying 👀

flawlessyn Yn is my religion 😭💖💖

lewishamilton

liked by alex_albon, yourusername, and others

lewishamilton we’re all about winning…and making lovely memories along the way 💚

view all 2,374 comments

yourusername cute

⤷ lewishamilton 😌😝❤️

eliteleclerc I am so happy for them

rainytracks can you imagine being born as yn yln and dating lewis hamilton???????

ynwinter God, I've seen what you've done for others 🙏🏾

estebanocon Congrats, guys!

⤷ yourusername thank you, estie bestie! 🥰

lewyn They look so happy, when will it be my turn?

hitsdifferent not yn all cautious not to spill it was lewis, and lewis saying "fuck soft launch, here's my princess" lol

arielyln wish I could beeee part of this worldddd 😭

taglist: @sachaa-ff @mickslover @formulakay3 @mishaandthebrits @iloveyou3000morgan @crimeshowjunkie

💖 Don't forget to like, reblog and/or leave a comment letting me know if you liked it *mwah* your interaction means a lot not only because it motivates me, but because it spreads my work and gives me more visibility (especially when you reblog 🥰🤍)

#f1 imagines #f1 imagine #millie writes #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton social media au #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x you #social media au f1 #lewis hamilton x black!reader #black!reader x f1 #black!reader #actress!reader

[sapphire-writes]

Down in Flames (modern!HOTD) 3

previous ~ next ~ series masterlist

pairing: modern!Aegon x Reader & modern!Aemond x Reader

summary: Tensions rise with the band as Otto Hightower runs them ragged with recording the album. You and Aegon come to a breaking point (no like for real this time you swear).

rating: Explicit

warnings: spicy stuff below the cut, choking, p in v, language, physical fighting, y'all if this isn't your thing I beg you just scroll past

word count: 4.8k

note: what an innocent lil gif for this part lmao hope you enjoy it!! loving writing this story and reading your reblogs & comments 💚

masterlist

You text Cregan when you get back to the apartment. You received an eager text from him almost immediately after entering your Uber. Baela egged you on, Rhaena laughing maniacally as she did. Truly a menacing pair the two of them can be. 

“He liiiiikes you,” Rhaena slurred, shaking her hips, “seriously you should have seen him watching while we were dancing. Practically drooling”

Heat floods to your cheeks as you remember Aemond’s gaze, the way he was watching you. The feeling of his hand on your arm. 

Jesus Christ. The drinks have gone to your head tonight because there is no way you’re blushing, no way your thighs are clenching together at the thought of Aemond Targaryen.

“Text him this! Text him this,” Baela says, holding her hands out for dramatic effect, “please Cregan, fuck me till I can’t remember the name of my shitty ex.”

You throw a pillow at Baela who catches it with ease, stuffing it under her elbows. 

“Bae you are in rare form tonight!” you accuse, laughing all the same. Baela groans, stuffing her face into the pillow.

“I just want my girl to get some!” she says, voice muffled by the pillow. Rhaena laughs, reaching into a bag of chips you all have been sharing. Baela lifts her head, eyes wide. 

“When is the last time you were fucked?” Baela demands to know, pointing a finger at you. 

You remember. A few weeks ago. After a heated argument, of course. You and Aegon had made up, leading to angry sex in his room. 

“Couple weeks ago I guess-” you begin to answer but Baela shakes her head. 

“No no no,” she says, “when was the last time you were fuuucked.”

You glance at Rhaena who is stifling a laugh, watching her buzzed sister speak her words of wisdom.

“Bae, we are not following,” Rhaena says snickering. Baela rolls her eyes, and takes a sip from the water bottle she keeps on her nightstand. 

“You know what I mean,” Baela continues, “like really fucked, like the kind of sex that makes your brain leak from your ears. Earth shattering. Mind blowing.”

You understand what she means. Maybe in the earlier days of your relationship with Aegon it had been like that. Passionate, raw, love making. But you hate to admit, it hasn’t been like that in a while. Even with the anger. 

“I don’t know,” you tell her, a nervous smile on your lips, “a while, I guess.”

Baela nods, like she already knew the answer. 

“So text this burly, beefy man,” she begins, “and get, fuuucked.”

“Okay crazy!” you tell her, snagging a chip from Rhaena, “I will, not tonight though.”

Baela reaches for the chips, Rhaena holds the bag out to her. 

“Thank you! Finally,” Baela says.

The rest of the night is spent giggling and sharing stories until the sun begins to peek through the clouds. Only then do you find sleep, and for the first time in weeks it is utterly blissful. 

It was Baela who found herself at the studio early before the rest of the band arrived. Lounging on the couch she helped herself to an old issue of Cosmopolitan, flipping through the glossy pages. Snickering she dogeared a page to show you when you arrived. 

The doors open Aemond strutting through them. Even his walk is arrogant. 

“Found him,” Aemond said. 

Aegon trails behind him, looking disheveled. 

“Where was he?” Baela asks. 

Aemond glances around the room. 

“Y/N here?” 

Baela shakes her head, not looking up from her magazine. 

“Not yet, she’ll be here soon.”

“Silk Street,” Aemond says. 

Baela’s head snaps up. The fucking strip club. She meets Aemond’s eye, his expression nonchalant. Baela’s mouth twists into anger as she turns her head to look at Aegon, who now sits on the edge of the stage with his head in his hands. 

Baela rises from the couch, moving towards him.

“You piece of shit,” she says, curling her magazine and reeling backward, ready to strike him. 

Aemond is quicker. He sprints forward grabbing her wrist, and twisting her away from his brother. 

“I know,” Aegon moans looking up, eyes glassy, “you should fucking let her.”

“Let me go!” Baela says, tugging free from Aemond. 

Luke enters from the other room, hearing the commotion. His eyes widen as he sees Aegon and takes in the scene in front of him.

“Leave her alone!” Luke says, moving to stand between Baela and Aemond. 

Aemond looks at Luke incredulously.

“Fuck off,” Aemond says pushing Luke away from him. 

Jace enters next with Helaena, watching as Luke stumbles backward. Helaena’s face crumples in confusion at the scene, as Baela grabs a vase attempting the launch it at Aegon. Helaena dashes forward, hands around the glass as Baela struggles against her grip. 

“Stop!” Jace says coming to his brother’s aid, and pushing Aemond in the chest. 

Aemond smiles at him, as though he was waiting for an excuse to release his frustration on the brothers. He pushes Jace who falls to the floor. 

Luke moves to get towards Aemond once more, and Aegon leaps from the stage, grabbing Luke by the scruff of the neck and slamming him against the body of the piano. 

“Aegon, stop!” Rhaena says as she enters the room amidst the chaos. 

Baela stands between Jace and Aemond, as they continue to taunt each other. 

You are the last to arrive, hurrying faster down the hallway at the sound of yelling. Your eyes widen at the fighting. 

“Aegon!” you yell, running over to pull him off of Luke. 

“Stop! Everyone stop it!” Baela shouts, as Otto Hightower enters the room and everyone falls silent. 

Otto has that energy about him, his presence like a soothing balm on a burn. Aemond stands straighter immediately, Aegon backing up a few paces. Luke rubs his jaw which now glows red. 

“Hardly the behavior of professionals,” Otto says in a chilling voice, “let alone a family.”

“Sorry,” Jace mutters, looking towards the floor. 

Rhaena grabs your hand, directing you towards the sofa. Helaena is the only one who approaches Otto, arms open to embrace him. 

“Thanks for coming,” she says, voice dreamlike, holding none of the stress that the room holds. 

“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” Otto tells her, “and it needs to be done quickly. I don’t want any more fighting. Nothing that delays this being completed, is that clear?”

Aegon cracks his jaw, his eyes half-lidded as he nods. Aemond jerks his head in a quick nod. Jace is glaring at Aemond, but nods as well, his younger brother following his example. 

“I need you to be perfect,” Otto says, putting a finger under Helaena’s chin. 

She smiles at him, a whimsical expression on her face. Her smile isn’t a happy one, it is rather melancholic. 

“Of course,” Helaena murmurs, and Otto walks by her, to stand in front of Aegon. 

Aegon does not meet his gaze, looking anywhere but Otto. Otto looks down at him, taking in Aegon’s disheveled state. He can smell the lingering booze, see the glitter that speckles his flesh like small diamonds catching the light. Even from across the room you notice the fresh hickies that adorn Aegon’s neck causing your stomach to turn. 

Otto makes a face of disgust before speaking. 

“And you,” he says, looking at the man in front of him. 

Aegon lifts his red-rimmed eyes towards his grandfather. Otto reaches a hand out, fingers brushing against Aegon’s swollen cheekbone. Aegon winces at his touch. 

“I need you to be perfect,” Otto says, his voice eerily calm. Aegon’s lower lip trembles, but he nods all the same. 

“Aegon, Helaena, come with me,” Otto says, starting towards the door, “I want recordings of isolated vocals, and the rest of the band ready to record in two hours.” 

He stops at the door. 

“707 King’s Road. Two hours,” Otto finishes, signaling to Aegon and Helaena. 

Helaena hurriedly collects her notebooks and pens, shoving them into her canvas tote. Aegon looks towards you, his eyes glassy as he meets your furious expression. He’s cheated. Again. Well is it really cheating at this point? 

In your mind you have broken up, but Aegon was still running around under the impression that you are still a couple. Do you even have a leg to stand on? You did give Cregan your number. You don’t even know what to say at this point, but luckily you don’t have to. Helaena moves toward her brother, lacing her fingers through his. 

“Okay?” she asks, searching the face of her elder brother. 

“Uh-huh,” Aegon says, as she begins to lead him from the room. And then they are gone. 

The room is silent for a moment. Baela looks at you, as Rhaena moves towards Luke. 

“Shit, Luke, your face,” she says, bringing a hand to touch his swollen jaw. Luke flinches, but lets her examine him. 

“His fucking fault,” he snaps, glaring at Aemond. 

Aemond tilts his head to the side, as though waiting for a reason to continue fighting.  

“He was attacking Baela!” Luke continued, and Aemond moves towards him. 

“Stop it!” Baela shouts, commanding the attention of the room, “no one attacked me. I attacked Aegon if anything.”

“Aegon?” you say, speaking for the first time since arriving, “why?”

Baela looks at you, before her eyes briefly glance at Aemond. You turn to face him. 

“What?” you question. 

You hate feeling like there is a secret in the room that everyone is aware of but you. Aemond meets your eyes but doesn’t say anything. You raise your eyebrows at him.

“He was at Silk Street,” Baela says reluctantly, “that’s where he was all night.”

Your heart sinks in your chest, an aching numbness settling deep within your bones. You can’t do this. You can’t do this anymore. 

“I’m going home,” you announce, heading for the door.

“I’ll come with you,” Baela says, hurrying after you. 

“No, Bae its okay,” you tell her, “go help them get ready. I’ll just be at the apartment.”

“Are you sure? Rhae and I-”

“I just need some time alone,” you tell her, “I’ll be okay. Promise.”

Baela nods, but lets you go. Jace comes up behind her as you leave through the door. 

“She’ll be okay,” Jace says, rubbing her shoulders. 

Baela nods, pressing her lips together in a tight line. Aemond is still glaring at Luke who now sits on the stage as Rhaena presses an icepack against his chin. 

You don’t speak to Aegon for a few days. Not that you’d get far. Otto probably has him locked in the recording box until getting the perfect take. 

You always knew the feud was serious when Rhaenyra went solo, but now with an actual album in the works blood was bound to be spilt. Otto would keep Dracarys in the studio all night if it meant getting the song recorded before Rhaenyra. 

It wasn’t all bad. You needed some time to think, to really wrack your head for what you wanted. It was good to spend time at your old apartment, your old room. It made your head clearer. So when Aegon finally texted you, you knew what you had to do. 

The studio was quiet when you arrived, save for the soft strumming of a guitar. You found Aegon sitting on the couch, fingers strumming his guitar, softly singing to himself. His eyes lit up when you walked into the room.

“Hey,” he says, placing the guitar to the side.

“Hey,” you answer, coming to sit beside him.

You suddenly wish you had changed your mind about what to wear. You wanted to look nice, so you had settled with a dress, with black tights covering your legs. The weather was getting colder and you were grateful for the warmth they provided. But you notice Aegon’s eyes roam up your legs, and worry for a moment you’ll simply forgive him, straddling him on the couch.

“How’s the album coming?” you ask, breaking the awkward silence. 

“A fucking nightmare,” Aegon laughs, “but we did it, we recorded it all. Without killing each other.”

You smile at that. You always wanted the band to succeed. 

“Otto’s throwing a party to celebrate, at the Dragonpit,” Aegon tells you. 

Your eyes widen at that. The Dragonpit is a huge club, for really fancy patrons. Rich mafia dudes, as Baela would say. 

“That’s really cool, Aeg,” you tell him and you mean it. You truly are happy for him.

“I’m really sorry, (Y/N),” Aegon says with tears in his eyes, “I don’t know why I keep fucking up, but I do.”

Your eyes fill with tears. At least Aegon knows where this is headed. 

“I really did love you,” Aegon tells you, his smile half-hearted. 

You find your lip trembling. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to love someone properly,” he admits, slowly finding the words, “but I tried my best.”

You run your hand through his hair, smoothing it off of his forehead. Aegon closes his eyes at your touch. 

Now is the moment. You could stay. You have done it before. You could lean into the man in front of him, soothing him. Wipe the tears from his face. Hold him in your arms and cradle him until he falls asleep. 

But you are tired. And you want to go home. The resistance falls from your limbs, a tension you were only partially consciously aware of leaves you. You sigh deeply, giving him a sad smile. 

“I know you did,” you tell him. Aegon’s eyes are glassy as he studies your face. As you step away from him. You are diverging from the path he is familiar with. 

“I loved you too,” you whisper. 

Aegon nods, his lips downturned. 

“Do you want to come with me?” you ask, more out of courtesy than thinking he will agree. 

He shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says, forcing a smile, “I think I’m gonna crash here for the night. Don’t want to be late for rehearsal in the morning.”

“Okay,” you tell him, getting up from the sofa to leave. 

“Friday night,” he calls, “you’re still my date. For the party.”

You smile sadly at him. 

“You sure you want me there?”

“Of course I do. You’re a part of this too.”

“Okay. I’ll be there,” you tell him, causing him to smile. 

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Bye Aegon.” 

You cry the entire ride home. You didn’t think you would, but as you sat behind the wheel it was as though a dam broke lose and everything came crashing down. But at the same time, the weight of the world had been lifted from your shoulders. 

You don’t know what made you drive to Aegon’s apartment.You just want this to be over, grab what remains of your things and quietly disappear from his life. You stayed in your car several minutes after you parked before heading up the apartment. 

The lights are off when you enter the apartment, save for the light above the stove that is seemingly always on. There are muffled voices from down the hall, a giggle. As you close the door behind you, you hear the voices from Aemond’s room go silent. 

Shit. 

You had hoped he wasn’t home. You don’t need more humiliation that comes with packing what little things you have left here. 

You walk slowly, the baseboards creaking under your foot. You hear Aemond’s bedroom door open. 

Fuck. 

You look up from the floor, wincing. Your embarrassed expression soon fades to one of shock as Rhaena walks towards you from the hall. 

She is smiling brightly, wearing one of Aemond’s shirts. You know it's his, you’ve seen him wear it. It falls past her thighs, leaving the rest of her legs bare.  

“Hey Y/N,” she says, voice shaking, trying to appear nonchalant. She bites her bottom lip, widening her eyes as if to say finally.

You can’t seem to find your voice as she collects her purse and slips on her shoes. 

“I’ll call you later, yeah?” she says, tossing her locs over her shoulder. Her cheeks are rosy, lips bruised. She places a hand to her mouth, blowing you a quick kiss before scurrying out the door. You watch the door close behind her, lips still parted in shock.

You turn back towards the hall. Aemond has exited his room, standing shirtless in the hallway. His dark gray sweats hang low on his hips, displaying the sharp v-line that disappears below his waistline. 

“Seriously?” you tell him, finding your voice at last, “Rhaena? Aemond come on.”

His tongue pokes at his cheek, as he watches you. His sapphire eye catches the light from the kitchen, sending geometric shapes on the wall. 

“She really likes you, you prick,” you tell him, anger coursing through your veins, heating your face. 

The sadness and hurt that had been in your entire being moments ago has been replaced with white hot rage. 

“So?” he says, strolling into the kitchen, and grabbing a glass. He fills it with water and takes a sip before meeting your eyes. 

“So?” you imitate him, head tilting to the side, “so this is going to crush her.” 

You can’t believe the nerve he has, to stand there so calmly. He exhales, lips turning into a smile as he tilts his head toward the ceiling, silver hair cascading down his back. 

“She’s single, I’m single,” he says, no growls, at you, “it's not a big fucking deal.”

“It is a big deal Aemond,” you say, voice increasing in volume, “Fuck. Why would you do that?”

You always knew Aemond wasn’t the nicest person, but part of you hoped deep down he had some sense of empathy. Especially since he brushed Rhaena off all these years. You thought he understood her feelings for him. A thought rushes to your mind. 

“You did this because of Luke,” you told him, and he placed his glass on the counter, resting his hands against the edge. The muscles in his back ripple as his hair falls over his face.  

You felt your shoulders relax, knowing your realization is correct. What an asshole.  

“You’re gonna mess with Rhaena’s head, just to fuck with Luke?” you ask him, running a hand through your hair. Aemond says nothing, just taps his long fingers against the counter. 

“Fuck, Aemond,” you want to keep yelling at him. You want a reaction from him, some remorse, something besides that cold look, “you really are heartless.”

Aemond turns his head to you, purple and sapphire eye aglow with anger. He pushes off the counter, striding towards you. 

“Go to bed, Y/N,” he says in a voice dripping with disdain, “you’re not my friend, you’re not my girlfriend. Stop acting like one.”

Your nostrils flare with anger and you swear you see red. You step closer to him, tilting your chin to meet his gaze. You can feel the heat radiating from him, your chests almost touching. 

“Rhaena is my friend,” you tell him, voice low in warning. 

You stare at each other for a beat, neither moving nor backing down. Gods you fucking hate him. At least ending things with Aegon means you never have to interact with Aemond Targaryen ever again. 

“Go to bed,” he repeats, voice dripping with hostility, as you shake your head. 

“I’m not staying.”

A flicker of confusion dances across his sharp features. 

“Why?”

“We broke up,” you tell him, and continue before he can argue, “really. Like for good this time.”

Aemond stays eerily still. His eye searches your face, taking in the look of acceptance that follows the words you speak. 

“So after the party, you won’t have to deal with me anymore,” you tell him, the bitterness evident in your voice. 

You look away first. Who cares about this stupid stalemate anymore? You’re so done with Targaryen men. You turn on your heel prepared to leave the kitchen when Aemond speaks. 

“You know what I think?” he says softly, and you look at him once more. 

He wets his lips, a muscle in his jaw twitching. You wait for him to speak, anticipation causing your skin to blossom with goosebumps. 

“I don’t think you’re mad I fucked Rhaena,” he tells you and you shake your head, opening your mouth to argue, your eyes narrowing. 

Of course that’s why you are mad, what is he talking about?

“I think you’re mad I didn’t fuck you,” he says slowly. 

Your mouth suddenly goes dry as all the air evaporates from your lungs. Your heart beats erratically in your chest and you swallow the lump beginning to form in your throat. Aemond’s eyes light up as you fail to answer, the beginning of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

“You’re jealous,” he practically purrs, as you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, flooding them with color. 

The air in the kitchen feels so hot, it’s as though it is melting the flesh from your bones. You’re not jealous, why would you be jealous? No, no that doesn’t make any sense. He’s just saying that to mess with you, to make you confused. 

“Fuck you,” you whisper, still frozen to the spot. 

Your chest heaves with your breath. There is a look in Aemond’s eye, reminiscent of a rabid dog.

“I didn’t sleep with Rhaena,” he tells you and you blink in surprise. 

Your heart nearly stops beating. 

“What?”

“We made out,” he admits, grinning smugly as he shrugs, “she wanted to be more comfortable so I gave her my shirt.”

The nerves you felt a moment ago are replaced by fury yet again. He tricked you, and now he has humiliated you. In the neverending battle between you and Aemond, it appears Aemond has finally won. His smile is triumphant as he takes in your reaction. 

You clench your jaw, preparing yourself for being the butt of the joke, before rolling your eyes at him. 

“You are such a dick,” you tell him, your tone defeated as you turn away from him in surrender. 

Aemond reaches out, grabs your arm, and forces you to face him. 

“Oh, fuck off-” you begin to say when he presses his lips against yours. 

The kiss is brief and sears your lips. You pull away immediately, staring at him, eyes wide. Aemond stares back at you, not releasing your arm. 

Holy shit.

Your lips tingle and you don’t let your thoughts catch up with you as you lean forward, crashing your lips to his again. You throw your hands around his neck, pulling him towards you as he molds his mouth over yours. 

His hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. You scrape your nails against the nape of his neck, securing his mouth to yours. Aemond turns his head, deepening the kiss as his hot tongue enters your mouth. He pushes you against the counter, caging you against it with his hips.

A soft wine leaves your throat, swallowed by Aemond’s pouty lips, as you feel the hardness between his legs push against you. Aemond’s hands move to cup under your ass, squeezing harshly as he lifts you with ease onto the counter. 

He brings his hands between you both, slender fingers pushing your thighs open. You wrap your legs around his waist as he does, your legs a vice around him. His fingers stroke the fabric of your tights, right against your most sensitive spot, before hooking onto the material and tearing them at the seam. 

He fucking ripped your stockings holy shit. 

Aemond continues kissing you relentlessly as he does so, its a desperate mess of clashing tongues and teeth. You nip at his lower lip earning a groan from him that only encourages you further. You move your hands from his hair, pulling down his sweatpants at the waist. You feel his freed cock, hot and heavy against your hand. 

Your eyes flutter open then, as you take him in your hand, shamefully impressed at the generous length and girth. Aemond meets your eyes, violet eye half-lidded, lips bruised from kissing. He releases a moan as you pump your hand around him, stroking his thick length once, twice. 

You barely think, mind clouded with lust as you guide him towards your throbbing center. Aemond’s nimble fingers loop through your lace underwear, pulling it to the side. You feel the fat head of his cock kiss between your slick lower lips, before he pushes into you. 

A strangled moan escapes your lips at the delicious stretch Aemond’s cock gives you. Delirious with the feeling of him splitting you open, you choose to ignore the smug grin that appears on his face as he bottoms out in your warm cunt. You can’t help but feel a rush of satisfaction in the way his mouth drops open as your cunt pulsates, clenching around him. 

The way Aemond and you fuck is just like when you’re fighting one another. There is no time for being gentle. After a moment of adjusting Aemond pulls out, snapping his hips back into you again, again, and again. All you can do is hold onto him as he pounds into you, the edge of the counter biting into your lower back. Your fingers claw at him, surely drawing blood with how hard they scrape against the planes of his shoulders. Aemond’s mouth finds the junction of your shoulder and neck, and he sucks harshly on the skin. 

You can’t help the pathetic whimpers and cries that leave you at his merciless pace, at the way he keeps one hand wrapped around your thigh keeping you spread open against him. He keeps his other hand around your neck, long fingers curling around your throat. He lifts his face from your neck, watching his cock slide effortlessly in and out, coated in your arousal. Aemond blinks to look up at you, drinking in the hedonistic expression on your face. 

Every drive of his hips sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, the head of his cock rubbing against the spongy spot within you that makes stars appear in your eyes. Holy fuck you hadn’t been fucked like this in forever. Maybe ever at all. 

“Fuck, you feel good,” Aemond growls, hand squeezing against your throat.

The loss of air makes your head spin, as Aemond continues his vigorous strokes. The apartment is silent aside from the lewd, wet slapping noises that echo throughout the kitchen. 

His pace never relents, even as he releases your throat and forces his fingers through your parted lips into your warm mouth. He groans as you suck the lengthy digits, before removing them from your mouth and bringing them to rub slow, lazy circles around your clit. A pleasurable juxtaposition to the brutal pace of his cock.  

You feel your lower stomach tighten, a wave of pleasure beginning to crest within you. Your fingers desperately claw at his bicep.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” you squeak, a breathy desperate moan. You bite your lip, stifling the next moan that manages to slip through; it comes out as a broken sob. Aemond raises an eyebrow at you, a cocky lopsided grin appearing on his face. 

“You gonna cum for me?” he asks, his voice rough as gravel.

God, you want to smack that stupid self-indulgent look off his face.

But he feels so fucking good inside you, working you closer and closer toward your orgasm. It's like he knows exactly how to touch you like he’s been thinking of touching you like this and preparing for the moment he does. His free hand tangles in your hair, tugging your neck backward and making you look towards the ceiling. Aemond licks a hot path up your throat, before biting harshly on your ear. 

With a strangled cry, your pussy clenches around his cock, and the world around shatters, bathing you in white hot pleasure. Aemond hums against your neck, as his thrusts become sloppier. As his pace begins to slow, you feel him release inside of you, hot spurts of his cum painting your inner walls as you clench around him, milking him for all he’s worth. Thank god you're on birth control. 

You feel Aemond’s hand release from your hair, your neck relaxing. You drop your hands from his back as he rests his forehead against yours. You swallow, trying to regulate your breathing that leaves your lips in pants. Aemond releases his hands from you, pulling his softening cock from within you, clutching the counter so hard his knuckles turn white. 

You feel despairingly empty as he unsheaths himself from your warmth, breath catching when he is fully parted from you. Aemond and you lock eyes, your cheeks beginning to flush as you come down from your respective highs. Warmth trickles down your between your thighs, as your place your shaky legs on the ground.

You just slept with Aemond Targaryen. 

Shit. 

Aegon’s fucking brother. Your heart drops. 

Shit.

Rhaena.

note: what did i say about things getting messy??? 😱 I hope you enjoyed ily ily ily

taglist: @padfooteyes, @herfantasyworldd, @kyuupidwrites, @lost-and-founds, @doublesparrows, @virginslut08, @f4ll-for-you, @violet2507, @itsabby15, @raphaellathedragon, @tswiftsthings, @cruelmissdior, @tempt-ress, @lexyr23, @reneki, @fictionalcomforts, @serrhaewin, @yariany02, @lily174, @schniiipsel, @nina2697, @minttea07, @queenofshinigamis, @duesobabe, @maximizedrhythms, @arryn-nyx, @arcadianmoonlight @kittykylax

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[folatefangirl]

On The Darkest Corner of the Heart

A comment on how Booktwt, Booklr, and Booktok media reactivity has lost the plot

Or, I think y'all need to log off and touch some grass and think about your actions for a hot minute. Note: This rant is a tad long, because I'm fucking pissed.

Disclaimer 1: I don't personally know the author of this book or anyone screenshotted in the drama. We aren't friends. I have no reason to either defend nor criticize these people, except for the fact that I've been a primary reader of self-pub and indie books for almost a decade now, and yes, including romances that some people don't consider worthy of civility. I'm also a queer healthcare worker.

Disclaimer 2: I don't want anyone mentioned/screenshotted here to be spammed with hate. Please do NOT contact them, including any authors mentioned. I included the primary actors for the current drama primarily so people don't claim I'm talking out of my ass.

Book blurb:

Forbidden. That's what they are to each other. Maddie Stevens has never felt good enough. Not good enough to keep her parents’ love. Not good enough to be independent and stop being her brother’s problem. Not good enough to build the future she wants. When she injures her ankle before a ballet audition that could change her career forever, she’s convinced her life is over at twenty-one. What’s the point of having dreams when they can go down the drain at any moment? And because the universe has a cruel sense of humor, her physical therapist turns out to be a tank-shaped grouch who doesn’t even seem to like her that much. It’s totally unfair that, for six weeks, she’s forced to look at that handsome beard and listen to that deep voice that makes her head all dizzy. Top that with the fact that he’s ten years her senior, and falling for James Simmons is a recipe for disaster. But when their forced proximity makes the lines start blurring, the forbidden temptation becomes impossible to resist.

The Timeline:

Events preceding 2023: Lisina Coney, author of The Darkest Corner of the Heart, was born in 1999 in northern Spain. She worked as a translator prior to publishing books.

Initially I thought these books were only self-published, but in fact are published under the formerly indie publisher Page & Vine, founded by romance novelist Meredith Wild.

January 27th, 2023: The Brightest Light of Sunshine is published by nearly 24-year-old Lisina Coney. On Goodreads, it currently sits at 3.87 stars as of today, February 10th, 2024, with 27,727 ratings and 3,592 reviews. Note: For a small-time author, especially for a debut novel, these numbers are huge.

May 2023, Page & Vine announced that Big 5 publisher Simon & Schuster would distribute their books as an imprint beginning in summer 2023.

In mid-to-late 2023, Lisina's website and socials announced The Darkest Corner of the Heart, her second novel to be published with Page & Vine on February 20th, 2024. Note: This means the events below occurred BEFORE the book's publication.

February 5th, 2024: anaborbareads on Twitter/X posts the cover and other art of Darkest Corner with the text, "a forbidden romance between ballerina and physical therapist???? pls i need this book now 🥺✨💗🫶🏻"

February 6th, 2024: h0mmelette on Twitter/X responds to anaborareads with "the booktok genre of forbidden romance is hilarious. theyre straight… whats forbidden"

February 6th, 2024: a tumblr user reposts the twitter thread from above to tumblr. Other tumblr users reblog and add on, and it quickly goes viral.

February 7th, 2024: From what I can tell via reverse image searching, the first iteration of the fake ARC page that's going around appears to be from Twitter/X user queef1ng. About 4 hours later, the same fake ARC page was reposted on the tumblr post mentioned above. And from here, this story takes a turn from people wanting to feel like they're above a romance novel writer to potential legal territory.

Of the 122 ratings on Goodreads for Darkest Corner to date, 9 appear to be 1-star reviews and from what I can tell, most/all of them were only published since the events began on 06Feb2024. 71 are 5-stars and while some of those are ARC readers, many newer ones appear to be trying to counteract the review bombing from the fake ARC page.

As of today, February 10th, 2024, it looks like the book will still be published on February 20th as planned, but we'll see.

Wait, so how do you know the page is fake?

I can't believe people have been so gullible but fine, here's my analysis:

Lisina's real ARC readers have stated that it isn't from the book (not gonna document all of them in the screenshots but you can easily go to the book's GR page and see the ARC reviews there).

As other folks pointed out on the tumblr repost, no real ARC page does a weird review watermark like that. Speaking from my own experience in reviewing ARCs or beta-reading, I agree.

The font tipped me off because it looked like it had literally been written on a Fanfiction.Net page. Not that Verdana, font size 10, is unique to FFN, but it looks like fanfiction typed font. Which brings me to:

Literally how could you believe this author writes like this? You can read her website or preview her first book or just have the bare minimum common sense to understand what satire looks like. If you don't believe me (because I know framing a post like this will put a lot of people on the defensive), I've also included screenshots below. The prose and dialogue are COMPLETELY different from the alleged screenshot. The only thing that is similar is that both characters are ballerinas.

But wait, all of this doesn't explain why YOU, Cinnia, are so pissed about this?

You're completely right! It really doesn't. All of the above is mostly documentation so the naysayers can't say I'm just some silly fangirl of the author.

The initial premise of the drama is that you can't have "forbidden love" in an m/f relationship. First of all, William Shakespeare would like to have a word with you regarding Romeo and Juliet. Second of all, yes you fucking can. See also: Religious and cultural differences and human history for a starting point. I know it may be hard to touch grass and look at media that is not tumblr queer media-centric and understand that people who are NOT you might enjoy it very much. Note that I'm a queer person saying this and I do read or watch m/f media at times because I don't like limiting myself. Go watch Bajirao Mastani and enjoy one of the most beautiful movies about forbidden love ever produced.

The book itself falls into the medical romance subgenre. For those not familiar, these are romances (usually m/f) that often involve a healthcare worker and their patient. In the real world, where people touch grass, a healthcare worker like me having a relationship with their patient is such a huge ethical violation that it will get you fired. In Darkest Corner, James is Maddie's physical therapist because she's a ballerina with a sports injury and he is treating her. Ergo, it is forbidden for them to get together and the initial premise for mocking this book is on very shaky ground.

In fact, I'd go as far as to say that the folks mocking it seem to very likely not be familiar with romance novels and their subgenres at all, or else they'd be well aware of the concept of straight romances marketed as a "forbidden romance" because they're fucking everywhere on any place that sells romance books. I have a personal collection of over 14,500 kindle ebooks. While not all of those are romances, a good chunk of them are, so I think I can count myself as a bit of a source here, you know?

The fake screenshot and social media drama has spread to at least Twitter, Tumblr, and BookTok, which all have huge reader hobbyists. For a small-time author barely past her debut novel's publication, allegations of this sort tied to your author name and book titles can last on the internet and in web searches for a long, long time, hurting an author's career. Maybe you're like "boohoo, who cares about their careers, I pirate all my fiction books anyway" and well, a post like this was probably never going to convince you of anything. I'm talking to the folks who might still have a sense of shame and self-reflection. Authors, even authors tied to a Big 5's imprint, earn peanuts. This sort of manufactured "scandal" is not ideal when the book is weeks away from being published. In fact, if the book has fewer sales than the first book in the series, Simon & Schuster may have legal grounds to go after the person who made the fake screenshot. A smarter person would have kept that to the groupchat or posted it as a clearly marked fanfic on AO3.

As a reader, this also sucks because when shit like this happens, the reviews of a book are permanently biased by both the bombers and the fans of the author, no matter how good or bad the book ends up being. Do I know if this book will be a 1-star or 5-star now, based on the reviews? Nope. Will I read it? No, because I don't read medical romances as it's a squick for me. But I may read her first book, which has mercifully escaped most of the social media nonsense.

This isn't the first time booktwt/booktok/booklr has engaged in a similar mob mentality towards books they don't like and I doubt it'll be the last. See Blood Heir by Amélie Wen Zhao and the allegations that turned out to be false then, too. However, I would like to ask y'all to please check your sources and not blindly accept what someone says on social media as truth. Get used to doing the research because manufactured misinformation is everywhere, and it's not gonna get better. (And for fuck's sake, not everyone is gonna like the same books and fandoms you like! It's not illegal to enjoy reading different things!)

Screenshots/Evidence (click for better resolution):

#lisina coney #booklr #booktok #booktwt #book rants #cinnia says stuff #long post #very long post #screenshot included at the bottom of the post #darkest corner of the heart #the darkest corner of the heart #misinformation #edited to fix title

[hungermakesmonsters]

Catch Me If You Can

Chapter Eight

Plot summary : When your friend interviews for a position at Anvil, you have a chance encounter with Billy Russo. He takes you for coffee and, by the time you’re done, Billy decides he’s anything but done with you.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Chapter Rating : PGish

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Reader is kind of mean to Billy. Random guy gets grope-y and doesn't want to take no for an answer. There's a little bit of violence. And reader has far too much to drink. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : ~4.3k

A/N : This follows on directly from the last part! Thanks to everyone still following this and for all the likes, comments and reblogs, y'all are awesome!!

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN

Chapter Eight

The club was packed, the dance floor a sea of bodies in costumes and faces in masks. You regretted deciding to go the moment you saw how full it was, but Tammy had hold of your wrist, leading you towards the bar. It was your round and, suddenly, you were very glad of the two hundred dollars Billy had tipped you for his bogus delivery. Eventually you all ended up at a table, more shots were put in front of you and, honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d had so much to drink

Michelle and her friend made a point of loudly letting everyone (you) know when Billy arrived. The newer Anvil recruits seemed just as uncomfortable as you at his presence and you made a point of heading to the bar before he reached your table, escaping his notice, but you found yourself glancing over your shoulder, drinking in the sight of him in one of his dark suits, matched with a red shirt, and a devil mask that covered half his face. At least he’d be easy to avoid, looking like that.

You stayed at the bar, slowly making your way through a couple of drinks, doing everything you could not to look back. And, for a time, that worked out perfectly.

Until it didn’t

You felt him behind you, standing too close, towering over you. A shiver ran up your spine as he placed his hand on the bar next to yours, so close that his thumb was almost pressed against your pinkie. The seconds ticked by; you didn’t speak and he didn’t move. You were the first to break, glancing over your shoulder, finding his dark eyes beneath the devil mask. He didn’t smile that playful smile, didn’t look happy that you’d finally decided to pay attention to him; his jaw was clenched and he just seemed lost.

Unfortunately for him, you’d had enough to drink to loosen your tongue.

“Did you tell Michelle that she’s a rebound?” Not caring about the jealousy and anger in your voice.

“I’m not here with Michelle.” 

“Not what I heard,” you answered back and watched as his shoulder twitched in annoyance, “tonight’s the night she finally gets you into bed.”

“I’m not fucking Michelle - tonight or any other night.” Barely managing to hold back his irritation, but you couldn’t tell if it was aimed at you or her.

“No, that’s right - you can’t fuck anyone, can you?” A laugh bubbled up and you hated how cruel you felt the moment it left your lips.

“You know why I’m here.”

“Yeah because she sent you a thirst trap and you were thirsty enough to fall for it. Don’t act like this has anything to do with me.”

Billy didn’t answer, he just reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, opening the picture Michelle had sent, zooming in on the background; it was you, talking to Tammy. He’d come to the club for you, to stop you taking anyone home, just like he said he would.

“So you’re stalking me now?” You demanded but the only answer he gave was a shrug. “I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, but your ex was right about you; you’re a fucking psycho, Billy.”

It was enough to draw a reaction from him, one that you weren’t expecting. There was a visceral flicker of pain across his face, followed by something that almost looked like fear. He looked away from you and your stomach dropped, remembering what Karen and Frank had told you about his relationship with Krista. It felt like you’d genuinely hurt him, like you’d finally managed to strike a nerve.

“You spoke to Krista.” It wasn’t a question, wasn’t even a demand, he just sounded resigned.

“She spoke to me,” you explained, not wanting him to think you’d gone looking for dirt on him.

“When?”

“At the gala. Why? What does it matter?”

“And she told you - what? - that I’m a psychopath, that I can’t feel real emotions? Did she tell you I’m dangerous? That I hurt people?” There was pain in his voice, the kind you hadn’t meant to cause, his composure seeming to break a little more as his shoulder ticked again. “She told you all that but you still went home with me?”

“I didn’t believe her -”

“But you do now?” He didn’t let you finish. “You think I’d hurt you? That I’m capable of hurting you?” He was standing close enough that you heard his breath catch over the thrum of the music, and saw his chest shudder, like he couldn’t breathe. His hand twitched on the bar, inadvertently grazing yours as he pulled it back.

Before you could think of an answer, or say anything at all, he was turning away from you and disappearing into the crowd. You’d managed to get rid of him, but the cost felt far too high.

The next few hours passed in a blur of tequila shots and increasingly sloppy dancing with Tammy and her friends. From time to time, you caught sight of him through the crowd, Michelle permanently attached to his side, putting her hands on him at any chance she got, but every time you looked his way, it was you that held his attention. 

You kept drinking, trying to wash away the sickening feeling in your stomach, the part of you that regretted what you’d said to Billy - you’d wanted him to leave you alone, you hadn’t wanted to hurt him. And it had been low bringing Krista into it. But, the more you drank, the harder it became to really focus on any of that. You just wanted to dance, but none of the Anvil guys seemed to want to dance with you or pay you any attention, and you didn’t know if it was because of Billy or just because of you. 

With your self-esteem in the toilet, you went looking for validation elsewhere, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself a dance partner (though you really should have realised he was bad news purely because he was dressed as Jared Leto’s Joker).

You danced for a couple of songs before everything started to go wrong.

His hand found your hip, low enough that his fingers could slip into the gaps in your fishnets. You tensed, but you didn’t pull away. If he noticed your discomfort, it didn’t stop him from putting his hand on your other hip, his fingertips roughly pressing into your skin. You danced like that for another song before he got a little bolder, letting one of his hands grab your ass and pull you closer, grinding his body against yours. You managed to squirm out of his grip, hoping he’d take the hint.

He didn’t.

“C’mon, babe, don’t tease. You’re gettin’ me hard.” He smirked, pulling you close again, grinding against you. You tried to push him away, hands on his chest, trying to struggle out of his hold. Instead of letting you go, he leaned in to kiss you. You felt his lips brush yours before -

Suddenly he was gone, pulled away from you, and someone was standing between you and him. Billy. 

“What the fuck?” He threw a clumsy fist Billy's way, but Billy was too fast (and sober). Billy stepped aside, catching him by the collar, holding him in place as he threw a punch of his own. Even over the music you heard the sickening thud of Billy's fist connecting with his face. Blood started to pour from his nose, but Billy didn't stop, hitting him again and again.

He didn't stop until a couple of the Anvil guys pulled him off, one of them telling the bloodied guy to walk away.

By the time Billy thought to turn back to you, you were already heading for the door, not even bothering to stop to get your jacket. He followed after, forcing his way through the crowd and calling out your name, discarding the stupid devil mask as he went. You didn’t stop, didn’t even turn; you just wanted to get out of there.

You were fighting back tears by the time you made it outside and into the pouring rain. It didn’t take long for Billy to catch up, lightly grabbing your wrist so you’d at least turn to look at him.

“Leave me alone, Billy.”

“Are you okay?” He asked, letting you pull away from his grip.

“What do you think?” You half-snapped, half-sobbed. “Are you happy now?”

“Why would I be happy?” He was confused, hurt by the implication.

“You were right; I can’t do this.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I didn’t want to be right like this.” He replied softly. Too softly. The care and tenderness in his voice were just too much to process.

You shook your head and turned to keep walking, and Billy started after you. For a few steps you tried to ignore it, hoping he’d get bored or decide it wasn’t worth getting soaked to the bone. Of course, he didn’t.

“Stop following me, Billy.” 

“I just want to make sure you get in a taxi and make it safely to your front door,” which, to you, made it sound like he wanted to follow you all the way home.

“I’m not getting a taxi.” You kept walking, trying to ignore the rain and the cold. Billy fell a few steps behind before realising just what you were doing.

“You’re gonna walk home in the pissing down rain just to prove a point?” He called after you, still following.

“Yeah, Billy. The point is that I’m not going to fuck you.” You snapped back, almost losing your footing as you glanced back at him.

“I get it, you don’t want me, you’ve made that painfully fucking clear.” And you really could hear that pain in his voice.

“Then why are you still following me?”

“‘cause this is a scary neighbourhood and I don’t think a good looking guy like me would make it to the end of the block on his own?” You didn’t want to laugh at his stupid joke, and you did your best to stifle it, but it hurt. You didn’t want to laugh with him, didn’t want to think about the sweet and playful guy you went for coffee with all those weeks ago, it just made walking away from him harder. 

Billy kept following as you crossed the street, watching as you shivered and tried to push your wet hair from your eyes. He stayed silent, giving you space and waiting for you to speak again. And, of course, a few minutes later, you did.

“Why did you have to ruin it?” You asked, stopping beneath a flickering street light and turning to face him. He was drenched just like you, but it didn’t seem to bother him; perks of being an ex-Marine, you supposed. “We had a perfect night, why couldn’t you just let me keep that?”

“Because I don’t want a perfect night with you, I want every night; the perfect ones and the bad ones.”

“Don’t you realise how insane that sounds? You hardly know me, Billy.”

“I know enough. I know how I feel whenever I’m around you.”

“And how’s that?” You rolled your eyes.

“Happy,” he answered uncomfortably, like he didn’t want to admit it. “I feel like I can just be myself with you, and you’ve got no idea how difficult that is for me..."

“Why would that be hard for you?”

“Seriously?” You didn’t say anything. “You’ve seen Michelle, right? You’ve seen how she is with me?”

“Yeah, she wants to fuck you, like pretty much every other woman above the age of consent in New York...” You rolled your eyes, oblivious to the point he was trying to make.

“And you think any of them would give a shit if I didn’t have money, or if I didn’t look like this?” Again, you didn’t say anything, finally starting to understand what Billy was trying to say. “Every time someone like Michelle wants to talk to me, it’s to get something. I spent my whole childhood trying to get anyone to care about me, and now people just see me for what I am, not who I am, but not you...”

The vulnerability in his voice, written all over his face, was enough to soften your expression.

“Don’t,” he told you softly, “don’t you dare pity me.”

You stayed silent, letting your eyes linger for a moment more before continuing your miserable walk in the rain. It felt strange to suddenly have a new perspective on everything, on Billy. It hadn’t crossed your mind how it must feel to have people only interested in his status and looks - honestly, with the way he acted sometimes, you’d just assumed that Billy was perfectly happy with it.

Soaked to the bone and freezing cold, you pulled your arms across your chest, shivering and regretting your childish decision to walk home. Before you knew it, Billy was at your side, draping his jacket over your shoulders, it was wet through, but it helped block the cold wind.

“Billy -”

“I don’t want you freezing to death out here.”

You didn’t argue, you already knew that it would be pointless to try. He kept walking like the cold and rain didn’t bother him, like the only one being punished on this slow walk home was you. And, by the time you reached your street, you were close to tears again, the wind was biting and you felt like a child for putting Billy through it.

Once you were finally outside your building, you turned to face him. There were roughly a thousand and one things you wanted to say to him, and only about half of them were nice. You were still angry, still frustrated beyond belief that he wouldn’t just let you go, but having heard him out, you couldn’t help but think you had to take some of the blame; you’d let things get out of hand because you’d enjoyed your time with him and, in doing so, you’d given him reason to hope for something you couldn’t give him.

A heavy sigh slipped out.

“I’m home. You can go now, Billy.”

“I said I was going to make sure you made it to your front door.”

“I’m not gonna change my mind between now and the third floor.”

It was his turn to sigh. “I’m not expecting you to. I just need to know that you’re home safe.”

“And then you’ll give up and leave me alone?” 

“I didn’t say that.”

Again - again, you knew that there was no point fighting him, that he’d follow you up regardless of what you had to say. So, you pulled his jacket tighter around your shoulders and made your way inside, taking the stairs at an awkward pace, almost stumbling a couple of times (probably why Billy had wanted to make sure you actually made it to your front door, because the walk in the scold had done little to help you sober up). And, by the time you reached your door, you felt worse than ever.

Under the flickering hallway light, you could finally see him, see the state he was in; soaked to the bone, hair dripping, shirt clinging to his body. And it was your fault - of course he wasn’t going to let you walk the New York streets on your own at two in the morning. And you could have changed your mind at any time and ordered an Uber, but you hadn’t because you’d wanted to put him through that.

As if you hadn’t already put him through enough.

“Can I get my jacket back?” He asked, breaking a silence that you had allowed to linger a touch too long.

“Why did you have to do this, Billy?” Still clinging to his jacket, knowing that he couldn’t leave without it.

“Which part?” He asked, like he thought everything that he’d done had been perfectly reasonable.

“Any of it.” Because you weren’t sure why he was fighting so hard to keep you. No one had ever fought to keep you before.

“You flinched - every time that prick put his hands on you, you flinched. And it made me so fucking angry that anyone could touch you in a way that made you uncomfortable.” His voice turned low, barely masking his anger, but it wasn’t directed at you. “He didn’t even notice - what d’you think he would have done if you’d gone home with him, if you’d asked him to stop?”

You didn’t have an answer for that. All you could think about was how Billy had always stopped when you asked, how he’d noticed every little flicker of discomfort - how he’d noticed your discomfort even when he wasn’t the one causing it.

“I don’t care what you think about me, I’d never let anyone hurt you.” He didn’t have to go on because you were sure his reasons for following you home were exactly the same. “And I - I know I hurt you earlier, and I’m so fucking sorry, but seeing him grabbing you like that...”

He didn’t have to finish the thought. And you were glad that he didn’t. The rage in his voice said more than words ever could.

It was then, when your gaze dropped to your feet, that you noticed the puddles you were both making on the tiled floor. Billy was drenched and probably cold - would he even be able to get a taxi in that state? His penthouse was so far away, and -

“Do you want to come in?” You asked in little more than mumble. “Just - just to dry off a little?”

“Are you sure?”

“Just to get dry, nothing else, I’m not going to fu-”

“I wouldn’t even if you threw yourself at me.” He interrupted. It stung to hear, though you weren’t sure why; you’d just spent the last twenty minutes telling him to leave you alone. His hand on your cheek urged you to look up so he could see you. “Only because you’re drunk  and I’d never take advantage of you,” he explained, a ghost of a smile on his lips, “you’re never going to regret a night that you spend with me.

“Why do you have to say things like that?” You practically whined, hating that he was suddenly being the perfect gentleman despite every shitty thing you’d said to him in the last twenty-four hours.

“I’m not gonna make it easy for you to get over me,” he shrugged.

Turning, you fumbled with your keys, missing the lock a couple of times before Billy took over. He unlocked the door and let you into your dark apartment. Obviously Tammy hadn’t come home yet. Finding the light switch took more effort than you would have liked and you were pretty sure Billy was trying to keep himself from laughing, especially when you almost fell over pulling your boots off. But, all the while, he stood behind you, ready to catch you if you fell.

“Go sit down,” you told him, waving towards the den before heading off to the bathroom to grab some towels, not even noticing that you still had his jacket pulled tightly around you.

Catching sight of yourself in the mirror, you realised just how bad you looked; hair dripping, eyes red, and make-up running down your face. (If that hadn’t been enough to scare Billy off, what would be?) You spent a moment at the sink, trying to clean yourself up a little, scrubbing away the make-up with enough force to leave your skin feeling raw, before towel drying your hair. 

There was no noise in the apartment and you almost dared to hope that Billy had let himself out but, when you finally left the bathroom, a towel in hand, you found him in the den, sitting on the edge of the coffee table. He gave you a smile as you edged closer, holding out a hand like he was expecting you to offer him the towel. But you didn’t - that had been the plan, to let him dry himself off so he could leave - instead you stopped in front of him, standing far closer than you knew you should.

Billy didn’t say anything, he didn’t even move. Looking down you noticed the way he was gripping the edge of the table at his sides, holding tight, obviously not trusting himself not to reach for you. 

Even though you knew he was still fighting for you, he was respecting your boundaries.

Slowly, you pressed the towel to one side of his face, then the other, before towelling his hair. His eyes stayed on yours, letting you do what you wanted. Your attention moved to his neck, one hand drying his skin with the towel while the other slowly started to undo his shirt. Little by little you exposed his torso, running the towel across his chest and stomach, while you pushed the shirt off his shoulders. And Billy let you, he went along with everything until your fingers found his belt.

He took hold of your hand gently before standing slowly. When he reached for you, your breath caught and, despite every time you’d said no to him, you found yourself thinking yes. But Billy didn’t kiss you, didn’t even pull you into his arms. No, he gently pulled his wet jacket from around your shoulders and dropped it onto the table.

“You should get out of those wet clothes,” he told you softly and, despite the tenderness in his tone, it felt like a rejection. 

“Right,” you huffed, letting the towel drop from your hand. You weren’t even sure why you were upset - or what you’d even been planning to do when you got his pants off. As much as you’d been trying to convince him that you didn’t want him, some part of you obviously did.

You turned from him, but instead of heading towards your bedroom you made a beeline towards the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” He asked, getting to his feet and following after.

You didn’t need to answer, it became more than obvious once you’d fished a bottle of Jack Daniels from a cupboard and found yourself a mug. Billy let out a sigh, obviously biting back what he wanted to say; haven’t you had enough? For a second you just looked at him, expectant, but when it didn’t come, you decided to pour him a drink too (managing to splash the counter in the process).

Billy looked at the mug; a bright pink thing with the words Queen Bitch painted on in silver glitter. The corners of his lips turned up at the ridiculousness of it, eyes then rolling when he noticed that yours similarly was painted silver with the words Ray of Fucking Sunshine in gold.

When you took a drink, he did too. He let the silence linger for a few long moments, waiting to see if you had anything to say, but you were waiting for him to speak first.

“What are we doing?” 

“Drinking.” You answered, taking another sip from your mug and grimacing at the taste.

“Why?” 

“Because what else are we going to do?” You offered. Billy held up his hand in a confused half-shrug, needing you to be  more specific. “You’re half naked in my apartment but you don’t want to fuck me, so what else are we supposed to do?”

Even though you were being completely serious, Billy started to laugh but it wasn’t that playful that you’d come to enjoy pulling from him, it was something far darker. Still, you glared at him, silently demanding that he explained himself.

“There hasn’t been a single moment where I haven’t wanted to fuck you, sweetheart,” there was that sharp, barely restrained tone in his voice again. He placed his mug down and stepped towards you, your head tilting back the closer he got to keep your eyes on his. “You’ve got no idea the things I want to do to you - the things I will do to you once you admit that you’re mine.”

“I’m not yours,” you answered breathlessly, not sure which of you you were really trying to convince.

He reached for you and you let him, his hand finding your cheek and, despite your verbal protests, you leaned into the touch, letting your eyes fall shut for a few sweet seconds. You didn’t open them until Billy spoke again.

“I want you in the worst ways, I’m out of control when I’m with you, but I can’t stay away. I’m bad news, just like Krista said, and you’re right to try and tell me no. But, eventually, you’re gonna give in and then I’ll show you exactly how much I want you.” It felt like he was barely holding back again and you shivered. “Once you’re mine, I’m gonna ruin you.”

You struggled to swallow down the lump that had stuck itself in your throat, heart pounding in your chest, again struck by the notion that Billy was dangerous. But you still didn’t pull away, the heat of his palm on your cheek stoked a heat between your thighs and, although he’d already said no, you wanted him. Dangerous or not, some part of you still knew that Billy would never hurt you.

“I’m not yours,” you said again, lifting the mug to your lips and draining the rest of the Jack Daniels.

“Not yet,” he answered back.

“Maybe I’m the one who’s dangerous, maybe I’ll ruin you. You don’t know me, you don’t know what I’ve done. You think you want me but if you knew…” The mug was placed on the side and you made to move, half-thinking about throwing yourself at Billy, and half-wanting to grab his discarded drink, instead the floor seemed to shift and you fell forward. Billy caught you, holding you tight against his chest.

“Okay, time for bed, sweetheart.” And you were in no state to argue with him as he scooped you up into his arms.

CHAPTER NINE

END NOTES : I don't really have much to say about this one. I just enjoy the angst. Next chapter will take place more or less directly after this one, and we're finally going to learn a little bit more about reader (though please check the warnings on the next one because there's a few things that will probably come up that are potentially triggering). And, as always thank you so much for engaging with this story, I'm speechless how many followers I've gotten and the fact that the first chapter of this story now has over 100 notes!

Thanks for reading!!

TAG LIST

@lincerad @sweetserendipity65 @rafaelakelley @slayerofthevampire @rensolodriver @lovelydoveval @doloreschanal @uncontainedsmiles @damagelove

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #billy russo fanfic #the punisher #cmiyc ff

[elvisabutler]

who's my princess?

fandom: austin butler rating: m pairing: austin butler x older female reader word count: 2169 warnings: jokes about being a sugar baby. heavy use of the nickname princess and baby boy. praise kink. faint d/s elements but not quite, you'll see in the fic. oral ( female receiving, attempted male receiving. ). public sex acts. no use of y/n. author’s note: welcome to day 4 of ally’s wet hot smut summer, praise kink with austin butler x older female reader. so here's the thing with this fic, i have been struggling to write it— and austin in general for the past week/two weeksa. to the point where i actually skipped ahead to rooster x reader titty fucking that i already posted on another account. i'll post it here once i finish my austin degradation kink day, promise. anyway what i ended up finally settling on with this fic was doing austin with an older female reader. you can read how much older however you like or if you want could ignore my reference to it being an older female reader. it also erred more toward plus size but can still be read a little more explicitly as not plus size. anyway, i hope y'all enjoy this fic even if it's a lil more niche for the fandom. as always, i do enjoy your comments and reblogs and tags and they are my writing life blood to be quite honest. there was also three different versions of this moodboard and i am still not sure i'm in love with this one. also i'm not completely back from my impromptu vacation but i wanted to post this before i tossed it in a fire or something.

"They think you're my sugar baby, you know," you murmur against the shell of Austin's ear, watching as his jaw muscle tenses just so at the implication.

His eyes slide across the room, taking in the looks people are giving the two of you. It's not that he isn't used to the looks, the slight judgment that people pass when they think he's merely just a kept boytoy but this time it hits different. For Vanessa, as much as he loved her and as much as he supposes she loved him there was always quite a kernel of truth there. It rubbed him the wrong way some days but at the same time it allowed him to slowly prove his acting chops without necessarily worrying about if he'd have a place to stay if things went horrendously wrong. But for you? For his gorgeous girlfriend? Oh, he wasn't a boytoy in the slightest. Sure, you could have made it so he was a kept man again. You could have allowed him to live in the lap of luxury and only come up for projects that were artsy and true cinema that he could sink his teeth into. No, instead he told himself he'd treat you, he'd make sure you were taken care of by him. You were older, you didn't need a partner to spoil you and cater to your every want and need. You didn't need these things but he was determined to give them to you. After all what sort of romantic partner would he be if he didn't spoil the love of his life.

"Hm," he hums softly, turning his head just enough to look you in the eyes. "Of course. They know I'm younger than you. They think I found another sugar mama to support me. If only they knew. Think they'd believe us if we told them?"

There's something so inviting and enrapturing about Austin's gaze that has you shivering just ever so slightly in delight and arousal. "About what?"

It's a dangerous game you're playing, teasing him like this but you can't help it. You want to rile Austin up in the same way he has with you on so many occasions. His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he bites his lower one. "Is my Princess playing dumb? Is she trying to be coy? Tease me?"

You smile softly and shrug, attempting to look as innocent as can be, "maybe. What are you going to do about it, baby?"

"Baby?" Austin moves to pull turn you around and pulls you closer to him, his hands settling on your plush hips and squeezing. "I think there's only one baby here, and it's not me, Princess. You don't have to tease to get what you want, you know that. My good girl knows that."

A shaky inhale is your only response for a moment as Austin smirks, his eyes dancing with a certain mixture of arousal and amusement that he only gets when he looks at you. Things between you are always a little playful, the joys of being old enough to not care about what other people think of you but it's still a delight to see after failed relationships before him. Maybe that's why you hadn't had a relationship that lasted this long before him. Maybe the universe was just having you wait for him. It takes you a moment to collect your thoughts even as you feel your arousal slowly dripping from your vagina, slowly dampening the underwear you're wearing.

"Your good girl does, but maybe I want to be bad today. Maybe I want you to show me and everyone else how desperate you always are for me," you practically purr out the last words and Austin's grip tightens just that little bit more as he moves one hand down to your behind and squeezes partially as a warning and partially as a promise.

"How desperate I am for you? How drenched are your panties? Would they stick to that pretty little pussy of yours? That pussy that was made for my cock? The one that could never be satisfied by any other cocks before mine?" His words are quiet but so deadly that you can't help the whine that leaves you even as your hand moves to cup the front of his slacks. You're in public but between the two of you, you're making your way to an empty corner with no one the wiser about what's happening. It should be mortifying the way Austin has you acting like a teenager and yet you remember that you're doing the same for him. You're both acting as if you don't have a care in the world, as if Austin and you both aren't at least partially in the public eye.

The thing is in this moment it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because all anyone is going to see is you and him having your hands all over each other because you're so in love and practically obsessed with one another that you're both needy. Even if the way you're needy is subtly different between the two of you.

"Somewhere private." The words tumble out of your mouth when you finally make it to that corner and realize that your hand is trying to undo his slacks and his hand is trying to lift of your dress as if no one would be watching. Austin looks at you with blown pupils and huffs out a breath of air from his nose before he nods, grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the room and into regrettably the nearest closet he can find.

You start to drop to your knees, thinking this has to be something quick between the two of you, a quick blowjob that'll ruin your panties that he'll steal and put in his pocket for the rest of the night until you can get home. Except Austin's grip on your arm stops you, pulls you back up into a standing position even as your eyebrow arches upward in a simple unspoken question.

"I didn't ask for you to suck my dick, Princess," he murmurs, leaning over you just enough that he practically pins you to the door. "You want to be good for me, don't you? Make up for how bad you just were?"

In another time and place you'd maybe be embarrassed about how quickly you nod. In another time before Austin you'd have scoffed and shook your head. As it is all you want is to hear Austin tell you how good you are with those plush lips of his. All you want to feel his lips upon your skin, sucking hickies on it, his teeth biting your skin and leaving small indentations. You merely want all of Austin in this moment. "What—what do you want then?"

A simple question and a request for direction. You can't be his good girl, his bestest girl, his flawless girl without direction. You might be accidentally bad.

His hand moves to cup your chin and pulls you in for a featherlight kiss before moving down to your neck kissing there. You don't realize what's happening until you feel his hands cup your breasts as he places kisses along the tops of them exposed by your dress. You see his body starting to inch closer and closer down to the floor as he trails kisses down your body, setting every inch of your skin they touch ablaze with a fire that burns starting from your aching vagina. It clenches around nothing, wanting something— anything— near it and being deprived even as his lips are so close to it that he could tongue you through the fabric of your dress.

"Aus—" you start to whisper his name only to be cut off with a shaky exhale as you feel his fingertips against your calves and against your knees. You feel his fingers press into your plush thighs and bite your lip to stop yourself from whining only to have Austin remove his hands from them. "What—"

"Good girls are loud for their boyfriends. For their baby boys," he smirks and you can tell even in the low light of the closet. Any other time and you might lightly tap his face to smack it off of him but right now it has your thighs clenching together and him laughing. "You're my good girl, aren't you, Princess? My goddess of a woman. The cougar who sunk her teeth into me? I just want to hear you. I want everyone to know that I'm bringing you such immense pleasure with my tongue that you can't help but scream."

You are about to say something before Austin's head is under your dress faster than the words can come out. They're quickly forgotten in the haze and loud groan that leaves your lipstick covered lips as his fingers— those long fingers you've sucked and nipped at before— find themselves buried in your pussy. Austin plays you like a musical instrument, earning sighs and whimpers and every noise in between to form a symphony that bounces off the walls of the closet. You feel your orgasm starting to inch closer and closer before he pulls out his fingers and you keen loud enough that you hear people on the other side of the door wondering what's going on.

Austin chuckles and if you could see his eyes you're certain you would see them blown with arousal but still somehow sparkling with pure mirth. His laughter is a warm gust of air against your thigh but somehow a cool balm against your dripping cunt. Your thighs are sticky with arousal but not release and you almost want to cry before you feel Austin's breath focusing closer and closer to where you want it. "It's like a fountain down here."

The words are said with a bit of awe before he continues, "this all for me pretty girl? All for me, ma'am? If breathe just right can I get another drop?" He teases even as he lets out the smallest puff of air against your clit. "Oh. I can. So responsive. Such a good responsive woman. Couldn't ask for anyone better to be on my arm and in my bed. Maybe I should marry you. Keep you all to myself."

"Austin, please." You plea as your hands move to his hair, ruining whatever hairstyle his stylist had crafted in one fell swoop of your hands clenching at the strands.

"What my Princess wants, my princess gets," he jokes before his tongue finds its way to your throbbing clit.

The noises between your legs sound obscene with his tongue and chin and everything sliding against the arousal between your legs. He eats you out like a starving man, one of his hands moving to curl inside you as his mouth sucks your clt. It's too much and too little all at once. Your thighs tighten around his head as your hands tighten in his hair and you hear Austin moan as he shifts just enough to have his cock press against your calf. He's in control but at the same time so are you. You're making him so desperate he needs to hump your leg to get relief and he has your cunt spasming even though you haven't come just yet. You're sure you're saying words or perhaps it's just gibberish as Austin's fingers curl just so, pressing against that spot that has the coil in your lower abdomen wounding tighter and tighter. His thrusts against your legs are becoming more stuttered and your hands yank at his hair to try and pull him away so you don't come all over his face only to have him use his one free hand to grab your ass and force you grind down on his face. Somehow the brush of his nose against your clit and the way his tongue moves just so in tandem with his fingers against that spot of yours has you shouting his name even as you try and muffle it just a little. Your body shakes with aftershocks, thighs twitching against his head and lower stomach feeling like it's pulsating from the intensity. It takes both of you far longer than you'd like to admit to catch your breath and even as you do, Austin looks every bit as wrecked as you do before he opens his mouth.

"Think they still think I'm just your sugar baby?" The joke comes easily and with a soft smile. "Because that was some loud screaming, Princess. I was proud of you for it."

You can't help but look off to the side in embarrassment before you feel Austin's hand on your chin, forcing you to look at him. You swear you smell your own scent on his hand and you can't help but lick your lips. "Maybe, but I don't— Let them. Because it doesn't change that I'm your good girl, does it?"

"Never."

taglist: @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @slowsweetlove, @kxnnxy, @meetmeatyourworst, @purejasmine, @stylespresleyhearted, @powerofelvis, @amydarcimarie, @thegettingbyp2, @austinswhitewolf, @richardslady121 and @mrs-butler

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x you #austin butler fanfic #austin butler smut #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #ally's wet hot smut summer #ally writes

[kairiscorner]

HEY RIRIIIIII HI PUKI BEARRRR I HOPE UR DOING WELL TODAY 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

ANYWAYSSS

i been rewatching adventure time because like the new fiona and cake spin off show is making me AUAUAU and marshal lees new redesign is so AAAAAAAA

BUT ONTO MY POINT

HOBIE BROWN X FEM!READER BUT ITS LIKE A SONG FIC (OR INSPIRED IDRC) BY THE SONG GOOD LITTLE GIRL SONG IN ADVENTURE TIME

BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE THAT SONGS SO HIM?? AND IF LIKE U WROTE THIS ID GO ACTUALLY FERAL

TYYYYY ILY RIIII (*^◯^*)

-🪴

HI LOVELYYYYY OH MY GOD, YES?????? i was an adventure time kid ever since i was like ... 5-7? THIS SHIT WAS MY JAM AS A KID, I'M SO FUCKING HAPPY ABOUT THE NEW SHOW, I HAVEN'T WATCHED IT YET THOUGH BUT I PLAN TO ... that scene in the original show really is so hobie x reader core omg, I LOVE ITTTT also i'm sorry but the 'puki' got me cackling – (imma explain in the comments if y'all want)

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

he's such a bad little boy. – hobie brown x fem!reader

"good little girl... always picking a fight with me."

he was pretty much the most annoying asshole you've ever met–he never took anything about you seriously, pestered you a lot for your height, your grumpy face, your sour mood, your little huffs and puffs in response to his provocation... it was all too cute to him when you'd pick fights with him and be all angry and aggressive as usual. he loved the little banter you two shared, the sleepless nights you two would spend together just running your mouths off at each to sleep–and being pampered yet teased by him all the same. he was the best, worst friend you ever had in the history of ever... and you didn't want to lose him, no matter how annoying he was.

"you know that i'm bad... but you're spending the night with me."

"back so soon?" you ask him as he climbs into your window with his spider suit still on, only taking the mask off once you let him in your room and slumps in your bean bag, smirking all the while. "your room's pretty comfy, like how... good little girls keep their rooms as." he teased, making you pout and puff your cheeks up. "is that supposed to mean something, hobart?" you asked with extra emphasis on his name, making him smirk and shrug. "hey, now, it's up for interpretation." he said with a chuckle, making you groan loudly. "well, at least let me play your guitar. maybe... smash a few simpletons' heads in with this." you murmured as hobie gently took your hands in his, correcting your finger positions on his electric guitar.

"what do you want from my world? you're a good little girl..." he asks you, with slight rhetoric, knowing you were never one to disobey the rules and let alone wish to play loud, 'obstructive' music that would bother the neighbors. you sighed and followed hobie's lead, strumming and playing the right chords he taught you.

"bad little boy... that's what you're acting like."

"can't i choose to have fun, hobart?" you asked him with sarcasm in your tone, making him laugh. "of course, you can have everything you want–that's what good little girls like you deserve, right?" he said as he gently let go of your hands and let you figure out how to play a melody you came up with on the spot on your own. "it's just that... i never thought you'd be rebellious. never did, never will." he joked as you gave him a flat, fake laugh, knowing full well he was serious about what he said. "like, i can be the intimidating-like, 'rebellious' bloke or whatever for the two of us, at least outwardly. i'll take the trouble for you, that's enough, innit?"

"i really don't buy... that you're that kind of guy."

"nah. besides... that kind of hobie everyone else sees isn't the hobie i know." you said as you tuned his electric guitar. he raised an eyebrow at you in intrigue. "go on, dear." "well... you may be a little brash, loud, and you love telling assholes in authority to kiss your ass... but you aren't a total blockhead. you have a heart, you care, and you... you aren't as mean and scary as everyone thinks you are."

"and if you are... why do you want to hang out with me?" you asked him in a partly rhetorical way of your own this time–making hobie pause for a minute to look at you, and soon, burst into a sweet smile on his face. he gently pecked your cheek and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer to him with a satisfied sigh. "i just love to be around my good little girl... can't that be enough?" "then you're lucky i like being around my bad little boy..." you said with a sly smirk as hobie grinned and kissed your lips gently.

you truly were his bad little goody two shoes, and he loved you dearly for it.

tags !! @ii01vq @luvstarrstruck @maxoloqy @k4tsu3 @solecitoszn @toneystank-3000 @arachnoia @popeheywardssecretgf @euphovlq @rohansdisciple @conitagray

#hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown fanfiction #spider punk #spider punk x reader #atsv #atsv hobie #atsv fluff #atsv fanfiction #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse fluff #spiderman across the spiderverse fanfiction

[lettersfromthelevant]

The fact that Americans are upset we rescued hostages. "It was a refugee camp 🥺" No, it's a fully developed city being used as a terrorist enclave by Hamas. Cry me a fucking river.

I've been blocking these types of people quietly ever since the war started, but I'll just make it crystal clear for everyone: if you simp for the Biden administration, make any suggestion that Bibi should be forcibly outed by the American government, or otherwise imply that Israel is committing war crimes because we aren't sucking up to your president's demands that we put our people second, you are going to be automatically blocked.

I'm done.

I'm done with your imperialist shit. Just because you're a leftist, just because he's a Democrat, that doesn't make it not racist. I don't even like Bibi, but I have been so damn tempted to jump down some of your throats for the blatantly racist shit you're saying about him. The other day I saw one of you, who is A JEW, reblog an article where they made blatantly antisemitic and xenophobic comments about Bibi, insinuating that he is the most evil, untrustworthy leader in any democracy... all because Bibi had the audacity to *gasp* talk about Israeli policy and the future of the conflict in Hebrew with other Israelis. The article writer went on to imply that he specifically created his doctrine around not trusting politicians who speak in their native language with other politicians in their government because of Bibi. And not, you know... Egypt, Jordan, Iran, or the Palestinian Authority all of whom actually have long standing precedents of manipulating public speech in English (whereas Bibi and Israel in general do not.)

It's just such flagrant antisemitism, and I cannot understand how a Jew would promote it. It was full on: "Jews are duplicitous crooks who will conspire behind your back in Hebrew, while trying to placate you in English." It so perfectly demonstrated how Americans, including American Jews, have absolutely no understanding of what life is like in SWANA, especially when living as an indigenous minority next to the Islamic Republic of Iran.

A lot of you really believe you're entitled to be xenophobic towards Israelis just by virtue of you not being pro-Hamas. You're not any better at this point. The amount of fucking times I've almost reblogged a post that starts off defending Israelis, only for it to turn into something like, "It's okay to want Israel to be slowly dissolved." NO IT ISN'T YOU RACIST FUCK. WHAT ARE Y'ALL DOING?!

#it should go without saying that if any of you americans start clowning in the notes you will be blocked. i'm not humoring your shit.

[peaky-shelby]

Define Me | Neymar x OC [6]

Summary: Famous Singer and Actress, Gabriella Hamill, travels to Qatar after being invited on live television by her favorite player, Lionel Messi. Despite the invitation, Ella tries to avoid the cameras and hide in plain side, wanting to enjoy the games without the chaos that comes with being in Public places and it all seems to be going well until she meets Neymar Jr. in this bad boy meets good girl story, the definition of good and bad is lost between the lines and redefined by the past and future.

« Previous chapter

Chapter 6: regretful by definition

Chapter summary: I'll let this one be a surprise 👀

Writer's note: as always please reblog and most importantly comment so i know y'all are still reading and i can write most chapters. There are probably only four left in the series btw.

Taglist: @xngelsau @sirensanction @reneyahh @thegrinch101 @geekwritersworld @chaotic-taco-collector-blog @blondedjoys @maneaterss @inthemoonlightblue @iluvneyney @woozarts @missamericana69 @bjoriis @marialikescherries @measimp @morganadpl @neymarloverxxx

Ask anyone in the business and they’d tell you that Peter Evans and Gabriella Hamill were the IT Couple of Hollywood. Long time friends before they were actually a thing and when they became a thing the internet went wild. Both at their high of their careers, with Peter taking over Marvel Studios and Lily with her own TV show and a fresh Oscar win. America’s sweetheart was dating Captain America himself and they seemed more in love than anyone and It was true they were. Paradise lasted for a year before it turned to the typical one-sided relationship in which both partners go on and on about their wants and their needs but neither of them seems to listen meanwhile the pressure of the media was always there, pressuring them to get married, to start a family to become a Hollywood royalty. Peter wanted that, she didn’t.

“Peter, I’ve told you before- I can’t do this!” she yelled, while making her way to the kitchen, trying to avoid him but he followed behind her like an angry dog.

“There’s difference between can’t and wont Ella!”

She turned aggressively back at him, pointing with her finger “I was honest with you from the start! I told you I didn’t want kids, not for a long time-“

“That was two fucking years ago, relationships evolve!”

“There has not been a day in this fucking relationship that you haven’t pressured me about it!” she said louder. “All your fucking jokes on interviews, talking about how much you want to be a dad, throwing shots at me whenever- it is in fact exhausting-“

Their fights would usually end nowhere good but at least most of them were at home, where no one else could hear them or record, meanwhile they’d play the happy couple on the carpet. Until it exploded in their face.

January 7, 2020 – One Day Before A Concert, Greece

“I’m tired of you pretending that we are fine, we are not fine Peter!” she screamed in between her sobs.

“Maybe it’s because you were fucking your fucking guitarist a moment ago-“ he mumbled, standing in front of the wide window from were he could see Acropolis. The hotel room was small, so small that it could easily turn into a war zone in just a few seconds. Gabriella watched him with her eyes wide open.

“You think I’d do that to you?” she asked, her voice cracking. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “no” she shook her head “You’re just looking for a reason to blame this on me, so you won’t blame yourself- its what you’ve always done!”

He turned to face her, his expression blank, his t shirt wrinkled. “It’s not my fault you can’t have any kids, it’s yours, isn’t it?”

To that she didn’t respond but if there was a sound to describe her heart breaking it would be the cold sigh that escaped her lips. She had never felt this pain in her chest before, the man she loved most in the world stabbing her with words she had only ever trusted him with. A part of her wanted to find an excuse, to blame it on the drinks he had before he came to her hotel room but another was sick of the gas lighting and the manipulation and being distracted like that.

“How dare you?” she whispered. He avoided her eyes, looked anywhere but her. He rubbed his face while she got closer. She hit him on the chest, slapped him repeatedly until he grabbed both of her hands and dropped them. He walked away from her, grabbed his jacket from the bed and put it on. Gabriella watched him leave and when he opened the door, she grabbed the nearest glass she could find and threw it at him on the hall, yelling every curse word she could think of. Everything else from that night was a blur, she knew people had seen her in the hallway in the hotel. She locked herself in her room, drank every bottle of alcohol she could find and woke up in the shower, while Maggie was throwing water in her face. Broken glasses and broken bottles covered the floors, which she must have stepped on and fallen on repeatedly because she had was bleeding from multiple scars. Next time she opened her eyes, she was in a hospital room, everyone wondering what the hell had happened to America’s sweetheart.

It wasn’t long before she fell back in her old habits, painkillers and sometimes heavy drugs. That addiction had started when she was 20. Only Maggie and Chris knew why, only Maggie kept the secret because on November 1st, just a few days before the election the whole world found out about the “Abortion of the America’s sweetheart”. She never thought she could be used as a political weapon, until she watched republicans yelling on TV about how the “democratic” actress and rolemodel would ruin their daughter’s future. She didn’t think she could ever love anyone after that until now.

But he didn’t kiss him. Although his lips hovered over hers for what felt like hours, she didn’t kiss him. She walked out of the car and walked back home, keeping her head down as she thought about kissing him and what it would mean. Ask her why she didn’t and she wouldn’t give you a straight answer because the truth is she didn’t know. She didn’t even wait for him to come after her like they did in movies and grab her in the most romantic way before putting his lips on hers. She was a lonely, scared, defensive idiot that couldn’t allow herself to fall in love with anyone and she really thought she had succeeded for the last 2 years in doing that. She really hadn’t fallen in love with anyone, anyone she’d kiss would be a fling, burnt out by noon and yet Neymar was a fire, and she hadn’t even kissed him yet.

She laid on her bed, staring at the ceiling. At some point she fell asleep and her mind started wandering in her darkest memories, reminding her of all the reasons she didn’t kiss him, all the reasons of her disappearance. When she woke up in the morning she had her coffee alone on the balcony, she didn’t even open her phone to see how the game with France ended. Maggie didn’t even try to begin a conversation; she knew better than that. And the whole day seemed to be going as silent and as that until she heard the doorbell and it was weird because every inch of her body wanted to be Neymar. She opened the door hopeful and was met by the kind smile of Antonella. Holding a bowl of Ice Cream on her hands. “Mama said it can freeze away any worry.” Gabriella couldn’t help but smile and let her in, leading her outside on the balcony where they both sat, eating from the same bowl.

“Did you see the game?” asked Antonella, taking a full bite of ice cream.

“No, I was too busy regretting all my life choices” she said, swallowing the ice cream.

“It’s fine the English seemed to be doing the same thing-“

Gabriella left down her spoon, surprised “England lost?”

“Hmm” nodded Antonella “France is on the semi finals.”

“France against Portugal then?”

“Oh no!” Antonella said quickly raising her finger “Morocco”

Now she was in real shock, she laughed, covering her mouth “Are you kidding?”

“Nope.” She smiled “Hakimi showed Ronaldo how it’s done.”

Gabriella shook her hand and reached for the phone on her pocket, finally opening it. All the texts that had been sent overnight while she had it shut down, reached her, beep after beep and she ignored them all until he name popped on her screen. Her expression fell, her eyes closing.

“Estas Bien?” Asked Antonella. Gabriella left her phone on the table and leaned back on her chair, letting out a deep huff “No, no I am not.” She said quickly “Think I’ll spent today regretting all my life choices as well.”

“You could do that.” Antonella reached for bowl, digging in her spoon until she was satisfied “or you could make some new choices.” She added, eating from her spoon.

Gabriella glanced up, raising her eyebrows “What is that a Spanish saying or something?”

“I mean I could say it in Spanish if it makes you feel better.”

Gabriella sat better on her chair, looking at Antonella like a kid. She hesitated but then- “Can you please?” she asked. She wanted to hear the language, she wanted to pretend it was her mother across from her for a while. Gabriella smiled and pulled the chair closer to Gabriella, reaching for her cheek. “puedes pensar en las elecciones pasadas o puedes ir y hacer nuevas y buenas elecciones.” She leaned closer as she said it and perhaps it was an automatic response but Gabriella threw herself on her and hugged her as tight as she could, hiding her face in her hair. “está bien chiquitín! ¡no te preocupes” whispered Antonella, rubbing her back while she sobbed in her arms. “Hey- hey, ¡Oye! Mírame.” She asked, and Gabriella obeyed, looking up to her. Antonella wiped her tears away quickly “Fue él quien me dijo que viniera a verte. Estaba muy preocupado.” Gabriella knew she was referring to Neymar. He's the one that called her to come, something along those lines. Antonella was quick to translate it to English “He called me and told me he was worried because you weren’t answering” Gabriella felt immediately bad, she sniffed back her sobs. “Leo had an advice too.”

“Leo knows about this?” she asked, feeling embarrassed.

“Of course, he does. He wanted to come but he had training.”

“What’s his advice then?”

“cuando tienes el balón, marcas. Sólo pasan unos segundos antes de que llegue alguien, te lo robe y te placen mientras lo haces.”

Gabriella smiled. She got a few words, something about scoring when you have the ball otherwise you will get tackled and broken before you even know it. “It’s always about football with him, isn’t?” she laughed in between her sobs. Antonella nodded, smiling.

“You learn to get used to it.” She said and hugged her again, holding her close to her chest.

NEYMAR’S APARTMENT – NIGHT

Outside it was raining. Inside Kylian Mbappe was making most of the noise, yelling at the screen whenever he’d miss a chance while playing fifa. “Hey! Wake up!” he yelled looking at Neymar, who was barely playing. Kylian paused the game, throwing the control on the couch and then grabbing a pillow and throwing it on his friend’s face.

“HEY!” Neymar yelled back at him “what the fuck?” he asked, holding on the pillow.

“You wanna focus on the game?”

“What does it matter, it’s just a game isn’t it?” he mumbled, throwing his controller on the table.

“Is this about brazil loosing?”

“What else would it be about?”

“I don’t know mystery girl aka Gabriella Hamill possibly.”

“No.” Neymar answered quickly, leaning back at the couch. He could feel Kylian staring and it was in fact getting annoying “Maybe it’s both.”

“Maybe.” Kylian mocked, laughing. Neymar got up and headed straight for the table with the drinks.

“I think I’ll leave tomorrow. Head back to brazil-“he said while pouring a drink for himself. Kylian watched him from over the couch, shifting his body to look at him.

“You just rented this apartment.”

“They’ll get their money. It’s fine. I wanna go back home…”

“Or get away” mumbled Kylian under his breath, sifting his body to look back at the screen.

“What does that mean?”

“Come on Ney. You always run away when things are hard, it’s your thing, either that or you get it out on the referees.” He laughed, Neymar got an ice cube from the bowl and threw it at him.

“HEY!” He yelled rubbing his head and looking back at Neymar who sat back to where he was sitting before, taking a sip from his fresh drink. “Didn’t even make me one?”

“Shut up.” Mumbled Neymar as a thunder sounded from outside the house. Just a few seconds later, the door bell rang, startling both of them. If someone had recorded their reaction it would have gone viral, Neymar jumped so abruptly he spilled his drink on the floor and Kylian cuddled himself on the corner of the couch. Kylian kicked Neymar.

“Don’t open the goddamn door. I’ve seen horror movies starting like that-“

Neymar took a few breaths to relax and completely ignored his friend. He got up and walked to the door. Looking at the camera screen, first. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He opened the door quickly, her small figure standing in front of him. Covered just by her hoodie which was completely wet by now, he stared down at her, now knowing how to act or what to do.

“hey.” She whispered, coughing.

“Hi.” He responded. The tension between them raising until-

“Bonjour!” jumped in Kylian, getting Gabriella’s attention who let out a small laugh when she saw him. She covered her mouth quickly.

“Bonjour Kylian.” She said from behind her hand. Neymar smiled at the way she was blushing.

“Are you going to invite her in dude?” he asked, reminding Neymar his manners. Neymar motioned for Ella to get in and closed the door. “Ms. Hamill, enchante” he said sitting up on the couch.

“Comment ca va Kylian?” she asked, while Neymar unzipped and took of her wet hoodie leaving her with just her t-shirt.

“Tu parle francais?” he asked surpised and got up to walk closer to her.

“I’ll get you another one.” Said Neymar quickly, running to his bedroom to get another hoodie. Meanwhile Kylian seemed to be enjoying the awkwardness.

“En peu.” She answered his question, narrowing her eyes “felicitations pour la victoire!” she added, smiling up at him. Neymar sprinted back to her with one of his hoodies, helping her wear it. After that he just kept staring at her and she at him, while Kylian was staring at both of them.

“Kylian.” Neymar addressed him without even looking at him.

“Hm?”

“Get the fuck out.”

“it’s raining.” He smiled, looking at Gabriella now.

“thankfully you’re not made out of sugar.” He answered quickly.

“What if I get hit by a thunder.”

“Kylian.” Repeated Neymar, this time more as a warning.

“Yes of course.” He nodded and ran to get his shoes, putting them on quickly and returning to where his was before. He took hold of Gabriella’s hand and kissed it, smirking at her. “You be good kids.” He added before leaving them alone.

When he shut the door both of them seemed to relax.

“You want a drink?” asked Neymar, moving to the table with the drinks.

“Yes please.” She asnwered, following behind him, slowly. All while he was pouring the drinks, she was staring at his hands, tracing the tattoos on his skin, the ones she could see, with her eyes. She was still staring when he turned back to her to hand her drink and she made sure to touch skin as he took the glass in her own hands. Her gaze slowly lifted to land on him. There was something about her eyes, he hadn’t noticed before, lust. The way she looked at him like she was promising a future, like she was begging for one. She got closer and Neymar actually felt his heard beating faster, he was anxious. He was never anxious. She let her glass down on the table, there was so much silence he heard the glass settling on the silver, like a warning. He took another sip while he watched her and he would have taken another one if she hadn’t reached for his glass, taking it away from him, leaving it next to hers while her eyes remained on his. Then she held on his shit, pulling him down to her.

“I stopped you last night.” She said in a whisper. He was stepped closer, his confidence returning, he gently rubbed his nose against hers. “Would you accept my apology?” she asked, their lips inches apart. He smirked.

“Depends. What do I get in return?”

She looked back and forth between his eyes and his lips, her face serious, sexy, her expression hypnotizing. “Me.”

He crashed his lips on hers without sparing even a second. Taking in her taste, her smell, everything she could give him in that moment and if you asked her, she’d tell you that she would give him anything, anything he wanted as long as he asked her for it. He lifted her up in his arms, almost like he wanted to make sure she was real and not just a fantasy. His kisses trailed down to her chin and then her neck as she leaned her head back, she he’d have better access, a soft moan escaping along with her breath. That was enough to give him all the confidence he needed for the whole night. “me” she said to him and he would take all of her as if her life depended on it. He carried her to his room, laid her on his bed as he took of his shirt, showing her every single tattoo all over his body. He hovered above her, balancing his arms on the bed. He started from her neck, leaving a mark on her skin as a reminder in the morning and then her ear, biting it slightly.

She grabbed his face in her hands, pulling him down to kiss her lips instead because that’s what she wanted most, to taste him, to keep kissing him until her lips were dry and she had no air left in her lungs. He pulled of his hoodie from her and just a second later, he took off her t-shirt, kissed her breast while she let fingers get lost in his curls. She reached under his chin, to make him look up at her. He smirked again, leaning his head down to her ear.

“Apology accepted.” He whispered and made sure that night he’d take exactly what she promised him… her.

dw the steamy part is not over, just wanted to let you look forward for the next chapter. As always please please comment, it's very important to keep my going. I love you all xx comment what you like so far. How do you think this will end? Will they just be happy for the next 4 chapters? Or is there another storm coming 👀👀

#neymar one shot #neymar imagines #neymar jr #neymar x reader #neymar #neymajr #neymessi #football writing #football imagine #football requests #mbappe imagines #kylian mbappe #mbappe x reader

[littlelesbinonny]

interesting how you do not seem to support any other artist or blog other content other than your own but are you shocked your story isn’t that good or popular. Maybe if you followed others back who follow you or promoted other artists people might be willing to do the same.

cute! my first anon hate! 💜

tbh I wasn't even going to respond to this bc I find anon!hate dreadfully boring and exhausting, and I don't need to explain or defend myself to literally anyone, especially online (plus giving you the desperate need of attention you seek is So Tedious) - BUT since exhaustion is at the forefront of my entire existence recently, I figured what the hell, let the audhd verbal vomit fly! and I do actually wanna address some things 🙃😘

Firstly - I have spoken to 3, count em 3, other authors in this fandom (y'all know who you are and I adore each one of you so much) and only like 2 fans. Never, not once, have I Ever made a comment about being shocked my story isn't good or popular???? ?? ??????????? so with that said, Please, indulge me further with things about me that I didn't know - I'm fascinated! I've been an artist my whole life. I give Zero fucks if people do or don't like my art, whatever it may be. I don't expect or require Anyone to reblog or interact with my shit - ever! It is here If You Want It. your online experience is Your Own.

Secondly - this is a side blog. I cannot follow people back from this blog. this account was initially created for one thing and one thing only upon request of a few fans from AO3 and that was for backup. that's it. BUT! you do make a valid point! now that I've gotten to know and interact and see more authors and such here - I Should create a second and real account so I can follow and support their work outside of AO3! it has crossed my mind plenty. And when I have time and the bandwidth, you bet your ass I will be doing so!

Which leads me to point Three - you don't know a goddamn motherfucking thing about me. and if you do, meaning we have spoken and interacted, and this is how you choose to approach this subject? Mm. bummer. this anon!hate screams your projection of your own bullshit loud and clear. to which I really could not care less. I'm 34 fucking years old my guy my dude. I have a full-time and a side job. I have a family, a very large one. I am exceptionally busy. I'm not online constantly.

Lastly - to everyone who does follow me and show me support here, know that I love you all. I appreciate you all. And yes, all you talented AF writers and Alcina artists, I see you 💜 I know it appears I may be silent in my support for you, but give me time to repay the full love and favors.

[sophierequests]

the garden // sophie's 500 followers celebration

500 followers?? are y'all insane?? i literally don't know what else to say to that. thank you all so much for following me and reading what i write! i love reading your reblogs, comment and interacting with you, it genuinely means so much to me <3

i have another event in the works, but i'll put in on hold for this lovely little celebration!

rules: literally anyone can participate, it doesn't matter whether you are one of my long-time moots, a follower or whether you just found my fics in the tags and enjoy reading them! feel free to spam me with as many requests as you'd like, i promise you i don't care, but please make sure that every request is sent via a different message. please don't send me two or more requests in the same ask! also, drabbles will take me a little bit of time, so maybe consider sending in some of the other asks too <3

this celebration starts on the 6th of march and ends on the 14th of march!

🦊 nothing at all - send me your favourite song and a grishaverse character of your choice and i'll write a short drabble about it (can be x reader but it doesn't have to be)!

🍃 pretty little things - ask games! i have never done them before but i want to try it so bad (e.g. cym, fuck, marry, kill, whatever you can come up with really) → these asks aren't only limited for the grishaverse, but every fandom i'm in!

🦔 can't go back - send me a character and a scenario or your headcanons about that character and i'll make a moodboard out of it!

🌿 i talk in my sleep - send me your ideal idea of a first date and some facts about yourself (name/nickname, favourite pastry, favourite song, random fun facts etc.) and i'll ship you with a character and write a short drabble about them → please specify your sexuality, pronouns and whether the ship is supposed to be romantic or platonic!

🦌 down the river - send me your favourite aesthetic (e.g. cottagecore, dark academia etc.) and i'll assign you a song out of my favourite song playlist!

🌷 not the ghost - send me a link to one of your fics and let me gush over it and point out my favourite lines (fandom doesn't matter, neither does the word count)!

🦋 turn out the lights - send me a number and i'll post a little snippet from one of my wips

my lovely moots:

@brekkers-desigirl @writingmysanity @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r @ell0ra-br3kk3r @juneberrie @velvetarcane @maximoffgxrl @factionlessrebel @dellabearry @yesshewrites1 @freddycarterswife @maliciousbrekker @futurecorps3 @rowritesstuff @hufflesight @spaceagebachelormann @zaypay @jahayla-parker @pregnant-piggy @nyxxxxxxxx @vamp-rom-stuff @grimbanes @the-lonewriter

#— the garden celebration #kaz brekker x reader #nikolai lantsov x reader #inej ghafa x reader #jesper fahey x reader

[valeskafics]

"Veritas Et Aequitas" - Aemond Targaryen x Reader (Modern Law School AU) - Chapter One: Orientation

a/n: surprise shorrrdy! apparently i couldn't resist. i hope y'all enjoy this - based off of a request for a hotd law school au from @an-enigmatic-avenger 🤭❤️

Summary: You're at your orientation for your first year at Harvard Law School, and that's when you meet him.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, aemond being a dick, reader being a dick, very strong marvel opinions

Word Count: 3,050 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

All your life has been spent in the pursuit of one goal. Getting into Harvard Law School. You made sure to take all the right classes in high school, all AP and Honors. You went to a prestigious school for undergrad, joined a sorority with a good reputation, joined the Pre Law society and debate team, volunteered, and eventually graduated Summa Cum Laude with departmental and college honors. A model student, and fairly popular, you have every confidence you are going to absolutely kill it in law school.

As you walk toward the orientation check-in tables, a spring in your step, a bright smile on your face, the perfect day you’ve imagined in your head comes crashing down in the form of a six foot tall blonde bumping into you, nearly sending you falling to the ground. And the bastard doesn’t even bother apologizing! 

You give him a sharp glare, calling after the stranger, “Hey! Watch where you’re going!”

You’re only slightly taken aback when the stranger turns to face you, all sharp jawline and high cheekbones, long blonde hair and an annoyed expression on his face - if he hadn’t nearly knocked you down just now, you might’ve even called him good looking, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me! Do you purposely almost mow people down every time you walk somewhere?” you demand, glaring up at him, brushing your shoulder past him as you continue walking, mumbling under your breath, “Asshole.”

You continue toward the orientation tables and, much to your horror, you notice he’s headed in the same direction as you.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you groan.

The blonde scoffs, “You again. Is there something that you want?”

It pisses you off an unreasonable amount that he looks down as he speaks to you, even though it’s clearly on because he’s taller than you. So, you brush past him, ignoring him, still making your way to the tables.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t you know it’s rude to just brush past people like that?” he demands.

“Sorry, must’ve dropped them when you bumped into me,” you snark, getting into line ahead of him.

“I didn’t ram into you,” he retorts as you grab your schedule and name badge, before grabbing his own, “You just weren’t paying any attention. Not my fault.”

“Sure, Jan,” you scoff, seeing that you’ve been assigned to Group 7.

You watch as your new… Friend takes his own name badge and smirks to himself. The tag reads “Aemond”, and you find yourself thinking that sounds weirdly familiar, but shake it off.

‘Aemond’ then checks his group number and scowls, “Great, we share the same orientation group. Just my luck.”

You’re a few steps ahead of Aemond at this point and so, he heads out after you, prompting you to turn at him, narrow your eyes and question, “Why the fuck are you following me? Stalker.”

He grits his teeth in annoyance, “I’m not following you, we’re going in the same direction, genius.”

“Yeah, okay, let’s pretend I believe that,” you roll your eyes, continuing to walk.

“I’m gonna be stuck with a smartass all day now,” Aemond huffs, still walking behind you, “Wonderful.”

You can feel his gaze burning holes into your back and immediately sass him yet again, “Can you quit staring at my ass? I know it’s nice, but have some decorum. This is Harvard, not Florida State.”

Aemond gives you an incredulous look, “I wasn’t staring at your ass, you narcissist-” he cuts himself off before continuing and instead glares at you, walking faster, hoping to outpace you.

Not one to be outdone, you pick up your pace too. And the two of you go back and forth like this until you’re practically jogging to get to the classroom before him. And, of course, he starts running too, refusing to let you beat him.

“You always this competitive?” Aemond questions.

“We’re at Harvard, everyone here is competitive, smart one.”

Aemond keeps running, eventually overtaking you glancing back over his shoulder, “Yeah, but still. You’re a little bit extra.”

“And you’re more than a little bit extra. I mean the whole dark academia aesthetic?” you gesture to his outfit, “Try hard.”

Aemond glances down at his outfit, a black coat with a cream colored cable knit sweater, gray slacks, and dress shoes. He has his hair in a bun and is wearing a pair of horn rimmed glasses along with a cashmere scarf. He relents that dark academia might be an appropriate way of describing him, but refuses to admit it to anyone but himself. He looks you over, noting your choice of attire. A fuschia colored tweed skirt and matching jacket, a white top underneath and a pair of dressy flats. Well, he already saw said skirt when he was checking out your ass, in all honesty, not that he’d ever admit that either.

“Whatever you say, Elle Woods,” he chuckles to himself as the two of you enter the building where your orientation will be, finding your way to the classroom, “You look like you got lost on the way to the ‘Barbie’ audition.”

“And you look like you got lost on the way to the MCR Reunion,” you retort sharply, pushing past him, letting out a triumphant grin that you reached the classroom before he did in the end, walking around to find your assigned seat.

Aemond’s seat is, as luck would have it, beside yours. He sighs, watching as you cross your legs and pull something out of your bag, a pink notebook with a pink pen. How surprising. How can someone who’s so in love with what’s supposed to be a sweet, girly color be so rude?

“This seat sucks,” he mutters, perhaps to you and perhaps to himself, “No back support and the chairs are uncomfortable. Who chose these?”

“Some white old man over two hundred years ago,” you pause before adding, “Maybe one of your ancestors, colonizer.”

“Colonizer?!”

“You’re Valyrian. You have the look. And your name,” you drawl, “Most Valyrians today claim to be descended from Aegon the Colonizer- oops! I mean Conqueror.”

“You know what?” he leans in, looking at you, “You’re really starting to get on my nerves. Is that your goal? To annoy me with your sassiness? Is that what gets you off?”

You don’t move away, nor do you avert your gaze, meeting his evenly as you give him a sarcastic little grin, “No, my vibe gets me off. This is just for fun.”

Aemond lets out a low groan of frustration and looks away from you, his cheeks going slightly pink at the mention of your vibe, “You’re exhausting. You must be single, no one would want to be with someone as annoying as you are.”

“I’m flattered that you’re interested but I’m gonna have to pass. My boyfriend’s at Yale,” you inform him primly as your orientation leader walks into the classroom.

“Really?” Aemond scoffs, “He must be desperate to stay with a girl as rude as you are.”

“I’m not rude to him,” you sass, “That’s reserved for you, Blondie.”

Aemond bites back a laugh at your new nickname for him, “That’s not exactly something to be proud of, is it?”

The orientation officially begins and both of you go quiet, listening to and soaking in all the information about what to expect while you get all situated this week. A lot of information is being thrown at you all at once and both of you take diligent notes on everything of import. However, Aemond keeps finding himself distracted by the way you tap that stupid pink pen of yours against your lips while listening. He glances at it, trying not to laugh, and admits to himself that your whole aesthetic is actually kind of adorable. And the way you bite your lip while in thought.

You notice him looking over at you and frown slightly, turning away from him, your nose wrinkling in distaste. And he thinks that’s kind of adorable too. But, you’re annoying. The most fucking annoying person he’s met in his entire life. He continues taking his notes meticulously and panics when his pen runs out of ink, the orientation leader still dropping new information on you at warp speed. You notice his dilemma and sigh, tossing him a pencil, which is, of course, pink.

“Give it back when you’re done.”

He nods, mumbling out a quick thanks. And that’s when tragedy strikes. That’s when you learn that those in your orientation group will be sharing the same schedule as 1L’s with you. You and Aemond are about to be in every class together. Your eyes widen and Aemond’s jaw drops in horror. This is both of your worst nightmares come true. You won’t be able to avoid each other.

Aemond turns to you, “You’re going to be in all of my classes?! I have to see you every day?!”

You sink down in your seat and groan, covering your face with your hands, “There is a God. And He hates me.”

Aemond can’t help but chuckle a little at this, taunting, Maybe He’s punishing you for being rude to me. Regret it yet?”

“Not one bit,” you snatch your pencil back from him, toss it into your purse and begin walking toward the classroom your group has been told to head off to next.

He lets out a groan of exasperation, muttering under his breath how he hates you, how rude and annoying you are, only to be called out yet again as he follows behind you for staring at your ass.

“I wasn’t staring at your- Okay, for maybe two seconds, but-” he lets out another groan, “Why can’t you stop making things worse? I swear, I hate you so much.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” you catch a glimpse of the folder in his hand, his full name written across it, your mouth forming an o when you see his full name - Aemond Targaryen, “Oh, you’re a nepo baby. It all makes sense now.”

He turns and scowls at you, “Oh, so what? I made it here on my own merit. Just because my family happens to have money, it suddenly means I’m not a real student?”

“Please, I bet you got less than a 171 on your LSATs and still managed to get in here because Mommy and Daddy put in a good word,” Aemond’s scowl deepens, his brows furrowing together, but before he can respond, you’re snarking at him again, “Why are you still following me?”

He pinches his nose and lets out a sigh, “Because we’re literally in the same orientation group. Remember? That means we’re going to the same place,” he says, walking faster to catch up to you.

You walk even faster, “Well, walk on your own, emo boy!”

Aemond rolls his eyes at the slight, “I’m not emo. You’re just… Ugh,” he runs to catch up to you, jaw dropping when you break into a sprint, “This girl is actually insane,” you, naturally, beat him to the classroom, taking your seat and smirking to yourself as he mumbles, “Fine, I guess you win. I hope you’re happy about it.”

“I am,” you grin cockily, “It’s just another bit of evidence that I’m better than you in every conceivable way.”

He grits his teeth, taking a seat beside you, “Sure, it’s proof that you’re an attention-seeking brat, but I don’t think it means you’re better in every way.”

“Why are you sitting next to me?” you narrow your eyes, “There’s an entire classroom full of empty seats, and it’s not assigned seating anymore. You obsessed with me or something?”

He laughs incredulously, “Obsessed with you? That’s rich. You may have that pretty privilege of sorts, but it doesn’t excuse your shitty attitude towards me,” he lowers his voice, leaning in to whisper, “I was trying to annoy you, like you annoy me every time you speak. And I think it’s working,” he grins, “I seem to have gotten under your skin.” 

“Pretty privilege? Awww, Gerard Way Junior thinks I’m pretty,” you snicker at his inadvertent confession.

“Of course you’d latch onto that part of what I said, you narcissist,” he scoffs, “I never said you were pretty.”

“You literally just said I have pretty privilege,” you point out.

“Yeah, but I didn’t call you pretty. I just acknowledged that you do have pretty privilege,” Aemond says, smirking to himself, quite satisfied with having dodged that bullet.

Until you snark, “You’re going to be such a shitty lawyer with that circular reasoning.”

“At least I won’t insult my opponents in a courtroom. You’ve got a big mouth and it’s going to land you in a lot of trouble with all of your smart-ass comments,” Aemond says with a laugh, though he gets the feeling you’d be one hell of a prosecutor with how sassy you are.

“Ha, look, You wanna call me Elle Woods? No, no. I’m in my Matt Murdock era, buddy. The Charlie Cox version, and you?” you eye him up and down, almost disdainfully before adding, “You’re the 2003 Ben Affleck version.”

Aemond raises a brow, sounding more than a bit offended, “What did you just say?”

“I said you’re the mid tier non Netflix or MCU Matt Murdock.”

He shakes his head in disbelief, “Well, you know what? The Netflix one sucks. The non-MCU one is miles better in terms of actual Daredevil storytelling.”

Your jaw drops, “Nah. Nah, you didn’t just say that. You did not insult Netflix Daredevil… If I didn’t hate you before…”

Aemond knows he’s talking out of his ass at this point. He hates Ben Affleck and his version of Daredevil but he refuses to acknowledge that you’re right, and instead? Doubles down.

“I did indeed insult the MCU and Netflix Daredevil and I’m not taking it back,” he crosses his arms defiantly.

“So you didn’t cheer when Charlie came on screen in No Way Home?” you press.

He shifts in his seat slightly before admitting, “Maybe a bit. I was more excited about Tobey and Andrew.”

“That’s valid,” you admit, albeit reluctantly, causing Aemond to look at you with genuine confusion that you’ve agreed with him on something, “Tobey was the best Peter. Andrew was the best Spidey. And then… There’s Tom.”

And now you’ve pissed him off, “There’s no way you just said that. Tom is the best Spidey and Peter!”

“Oh my God, I’m so unsurprised that you’re a Tom stan,” you snort out a laugh, and Aemond finds himself surprised that it sounded kind of… Cute?

“You’re insane,” he shakes his head, his voice slightly raised, all eyes in the classroom on the two of you, “You really can’t see why Tom Holland is the perfect Spider-Man and perfect Peter Parker?”

“Literally, the only reason he has any relevance is because Tony was his mentor. The only reason No Way Home wasn’t mid was all the cameos. Far From Home? Mid as fuck. The best part was when he got hit by that train.”

Now he knows you’re trying to rile him up and get some sort of reaction out of him, “You’re trying to piss me off so hard and it’s working,” he snaps, “Far From Home was near perfection!”

“The only good thing about it was Jake Gyllenhaal and that’s not saying much. MCU Spidey villains are meh at best and pathetic at worst. Nothing beats the Raimiverse villains,” you state as though it’s a fact of nature - and to you, it is.

Aemond shakes his head, laughing to himself in disbelief, “Oh, you have got to be joking. The Raimi villains were all cheesy, campy, and over the top. They were terrible.”

You look at him incredulously, as though he’s insulted your entire family line, “Are you insulting Willem fucking Dafoe?”

Aemond backtracks slightly, fumbling a bit, “I- No, of course not! He’s a great actor and he did a great job as Norman and the Green Goblin, but my point still stands, the Raimi villains were just… Cheesier.”

You’re quite worked up at this point, both of you actually, to the point that you don’t notice the guest speaker for the orientation entering the room, “Thomas Hayden Church as Sandman? Alfred Molina as Doc Ock?! Dude, if you think Vulture or Mysterio come anywhere close to those, I dunno what to say to you.”

Aemond is starting to run out of arguments at this point, and so, gives in, backing down, “You know what? Fine then, the Raimi villains are better than the MCU ones. I’m not arguing over this anymore,” he says, clearly annoyed at the victorious little smirk on your face, “You’re a pain, you know that?”

He’s actually a bit amazed that you’ve managed to win the argument, considering his entire life he’s been the one to win every debate he enters. You’ve thrown him for quite a loop and he can’t help but chuckle at your retort.

“I’m a really good lawyer,” you shrug, quoting Matt Murdock.

“That remains to be seen,” Aemond smirks, “So, since you’re so obsessed with the Raimi films, what’s your favorite film of the three?”

“Spider-Man 3.”

He looks at you, absolutely shocked. How in the fuck can the Topher Grace Venom, emo Peter film be your favorite?

“You’re kidding, right? Are you seriously picking the worst movie in the trilogy as your favorite? 2 is clearly the superior-”

“Oh, do not start with me-”

The guest speaker clears their throat, giving both of you an impatient glare. And you both finally quiet down, suitably chastised. You take notes once again on the information they give about what to expect as a 1L and then, it’s time for a short break for lunch. 

You start walking off toward the dining hall, not even looking at Aemond as you sass, “Don’t even think about sitting next to me.”

Aemond thinks to himself that the way you said that sounds more like a challenge than anything. He smirks to himself, heading the same way as you, over to the cafeteria, unsure why his pants feel so uncomfortably tight after this exchange.

There’s no way he has a thing for you.

And you don’t have one for him either.

Right?

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond fic #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #modern!aemond #modern!aemond x reader #modern!aemond targaryen #modern!aemond targaryen x reader #modern!aemond targaryen x you #modern!aemond x you #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond x reader #hotd fic #hotd x reader #house of the dragon fic #hotd #house of the dragon x you #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #my writing #veritas et aequitas fic

[lemony-snickers]

I don’t think anyone here believes you to be pathetic. I certainly don’t leaving anon hate is pathetic. I imagine it was more of what you said that no one wanted to continue to perpetuate that hate and start a fight. I on the other hand will, I just didn’t see these until right now.

wherever that anon is now I find it absolutely disgusting to leave a comment like this on the page of someone you consider yourself to be a ‘fan’ of. You never know what people are going through and struggle with so really who the fuck are you to come in with your unfounded opinions?

I don’t know any creator that doesn’t struggle with their work and or self image in relation to that work—some are just better at hiding it than others. what do you mean promotion? Sharing here or on ao3 is promotion, and yes it clearly is a problem other writers are facing in which a work will receive 40likes and 2reblogs. Or 500 hits and 10comments. People don’t want to engage when they can read it and leave it, tiktok only reenforces that, so I don’t understand why you mention that here. How about you share some of the works your a “fan” of instead?? You’ve read the comments but have you left one? On lemony work or others?

That anon must not be a creator, as they clearly do not know how difficult it is to first find the time and drive to write and second find the courage to share those works.

Lemony do not listen to them no one who is a true fan here thinks this of you 💙

let me be clear about a few things:

no bashing or negativity aimed at an anon is ever necessary to still show support for a person who receives a less than ideal ask;

when i rb a "tell me honestly" ask game, i do not expect every response to be positive;

however, i also only rb those things when i know i am in an emotional space to take potential criticism.

so i was pretty fucking blindsided when i woke up on tuesday morning and the very first thing i saw was a long, fairly aggressively worded diatribe about how i am a "nagging girlfriend" fishing for attention in response to an ask game i had reblogged a whole week prior.

TW: talk of animal death in next paragraph.

and not that it's actually anyone's business, but it was particularly awful given that i spent monday night cradling my cat in my arms as he was euthanized after developing sudden & unexpected heart failure. so i wasn't in the headspace to deal with criticism at all. i could barely fucking get out of bed & was actually considering offering commissioned fics out of desperation to go toward the huge vet bill i had to suddenly pay out of pocket.

and then, to receive another anon ask insinuating that i sent the fucking thing to myself to garner... what? attention and sympathy? (lol if i wanted to do that i would've just talked about my dead cat, thanks!) really fucking cut deep. especially when not a soul voiced any support - publicly or privately - that that is not a thing i would do. because, true or not, the way my super cool nagging girlfriend brain works is to take that as confirmation that people agree:

(see anon # 1, i don't throw all of my insecure complaints onto this blog and here, anon # 2, a preview of what a mean ask i sent myself might actually sound like.)

i spent the whole of tuesday crying - at my desk, on the bus home from work, during my therapy session that afternoon, and long, long after. and maybe it's stupid to feel so attacked by meaningless shit on tumblr or lonely because of the lack of response in its wake, but goddamn, y'all. there are nicer ways to air your grievances with me than to be insulting. and if you think i'm the kind of person who would send a lengthy hurtful message to myself for fucking likes or kind asks or whatever (lol joke's on you, i guess), honestly, why are you even here?

tbh, i don't know why i'm here at this point. maybe another hibernation is overdue or maybe i should've stayed gone, idk. what i do know is i didn't login all day yesterday and it felt pretty great. because it just fucking hurt to watch countless folks like and rb all the fanart from my queue that day with nary a, "hey lem, saw those asks, hope you're doing all right" in the same span of time.

(i will acknowledge that one mutual sent a totally unrelated ask re: an opinion on food & drink to change topics which i answered privately because by that point in the day i was so fucking depressed the thought of trying to be fun & lighthearted made me physically ill & i was of the resolute opinion that not a single person would give a shit what i had to say about it anyway.)

i'm sorry to vent on your ask, anon. i probably shouldn't post this but who even cares at this point, lol. people will think what they will of me and i'm too exhausted to attempt a curation of something better or more well-adjusted or self-assured.

i hope you're having a good week, blue heart anon. for better or worse, i hope the anons who made me cry on tuesday are, too. but i'm down in The Pit now (which is what my therapist and i call my deep dark depression spirals) and idk when i'll claw my way back out.

hopefully soon. take care of yourselves in the meantime, yeah? <3

#ask #lovely anon #tw animal death #tw long post

[xxlovelynovaxx]

Takes a decent post about disability out of my likes and doesn't reblog it because the "able-bodied people shut the fuck up" banner was in fact OP being shitty on further investigation.

Like sorry "I'm neurodivergent but I'm allowed to make posts that are not inclusive of all disabilities on a subject that affects ALL visibly disabled people in similar ways", as if some forms of neurodivergence aren't highly visible, either physically or behaviorally isn't the hot take you think it is. Like stop. Trying. To. Divide. Disabilities. And. ESPECIALLY. Disabled. Experiences. Into. Neat. Taxonomical. Categories. Because. It. DOESN'T FUCKING WORK THAT WAY.

Like great, maybe for you there's no intersection whatsoever in your experience of your physical and ND/mental disabilities! Maybe you've found absolutely no similarities in the bigotry you face for each. Neat. Not my experience but go off I guess.

The overlap between each for me is so significant that they are inextricable. For me, a reblog that talked in part about a mental illness would be BECAUSE the mental and physical disabilities play off of and build on each other to such an extent, AND that the bigotry I face is SO damn intersectional, that there's no POINT in discussing one without the other.

Like, did y'all who are pandering to the people that claim that a post about a shared struggle needs to be exclusive to only physically disabled people or it's "neurodivergents invading our spaces" not bother to learn about intersectionality and the theory behind it and that it means more than just "if you're gonna fight for disability justice, don't be racist", or did y'all just forget about how divide and conquer is an oppressor tactic and decide it sounded like a good idea, actually?

I'm at the end of my rope with this. Y'all keep claiming to need your own spaces and then gatekeeping mostly ND people who ARE physically disabled from talking about the overlap in their experiences on a public post about a phenomenon that is neither exclusive to physically disabled people nor all that unique in how it is happens to either.

Btw, the thing in question was "people not teaching their kids about disability so they don't make rude comments/we don't end up being used as a learning experience/they don't end up bullying disabled classmates" and buddy if you think my experiences with that as a physically disabled neurodivergent person haven't been very nearly IDENTICAL then you can kiss the seat of my wheelchair.

Disabled solidarity and inclusivity NOW. Stop leaving a good portion of your community behind. Certainly stop being like the person in question (who is both, tbc) and throwing other people who are both under the bus and acting like being multiply marginalized yourself means you can't harm other multiply marginalized people.

This type of neat put-into-boxes "I have a right to want my post about my experience with just one not to be 'derailed' by ND physically disabled people with different experiences than me" - because what it became clear they MEANT was, "only talk about physical disability here even if you are both" - is anti-intersectional at it's core.

And the reason I bring up my own experiences as both - because maybe after all this I'm wrong, and OP would tentatively allow talking about both, is - what about the times where I relate to a post MORE through the lens of my neurodivergence than physical disability? Physical disability is a WIDE umbrella after all. What about where I relate on both but only feel comfortable talking about one side of it?

I mean, imagine if I wrote "neurotypicals DNI" on a post about a general issue that affects the whole disabled community! Can you imagine the uproar of "this affects physically disabled people too, OP!"

Fact of the matter is, I think this mainly stems from not really believing that people who are neurodivergent - from autism to ADHD to psychotic disorders to plurality to personality disorders (especially cluster B) are "as oppressed" as physically disabled people.

If the idea of the above "NTs DNI" made you angry, but you don't see why I'm angry about the opposite, this is exactly your problem. If you say that would be fine, but only because you don't see how this disproportionately affects MOST people who are both ND and physically disabled (even if you are both and it doesn't affect you) then I'd say it's more a fundamental misunderstanding of intersectionality as described above, and beg you to stop helping divide the community.

But I also bring this up because, if my experiences can be identical across the two categories - who's to say what an "able-bodied" neurotypical person is experiencing ISN'T identical to what a physically disabled (NT or ND) person is experiencing? Do you even know it's not just because you're neurodivergent too? Do you remember that even your individual ND diagnosis 99/100 times is known to be a spectrum?

You're not in their head. You're not in their shoes. You don't know that it IS any different than your experience. You don't know that is does "affect the groups differently".

Mind you, I'm not interesting in playing the "would you consider me able-bodied" game either. I do that enough with garden variety ableists, and I've encountered no shortage of disabled people who demand my specific diagnoses and then decide that nothing short of paralysis or limb loss counts as physically disabled.

PS

My phone dying ate part of the rest of this but I got a screenshot of some of it. What's missing is just me saying: Idk I'm actually gonna believe people when they say they're experiencing something similar/the same, with the shitty example that's cut out being people saying "no you can't experience that because it's not a symptom of the specific type of neurodivergence (even sometimes when it is, like depression causing pain, but they don't believe it could possibly be "as bad"), rest is below:

Anyway, my anger is spent for now but I'm turning off reblogs because I've been through this discourse enough times to know better. Block me if you disagree, I have no interest whatsoever in engaging with you. In fact, maybe I should add a banner that says "phys-disability separatists DNI", because what y'all care is about respecting when a physically disabled person tells you not to talk about specific things, no matter whether or not they actively involve you and your communities, right?

Yeah, that was a bit much of a dig but this mad cripple is too done with your shit to care. DNI if you're going to argue because all you'll get is blocked and where possible, reported.

ETA: I will say I don't think there's anything all that wrong with wanting spaces that FOCUS on ND or physical disability. But with so many people who are both, it's impossible to make spaces that are EXCLUSIVELY for one or the other without causing harm to the most marginalized members of BOTH communities. That is my point. There is significant overlap between both the communities and the experiences.