#rare pair flair

[boldlyanxious]

admiratrice

Masterlist

Marinette had been hit with inspiration the last few days and her work space was definitely showing it. She made her way back to the kitchenette and opened the fridge. She closed it almost immediately because it had no more food. She turned instead to the coffee maker. The light was lit to say the coffee was made but the little bit she had left there had long since congealed into sludge in the bottom of the carafe. She checked the time, 4:30 am. She wasn’t sure if she had stayed up all night last night or if she had continued for 2 nights without sleep. She tried to count back the hours but that wasn’t helping. Instead she tried to remember the number of times she had made a fresh pot of coffee but she couldn’t think clearly.

She filled a cup with water to get something in her and looked through the cupboard coming up with a small bag of pretzels. She definitely needed to sleep but she hadn’t wanted to stop what she was working on. She should probably head home and refresh. She cleaned up her work space and made some notes. It always worked better if she came back to a space that had been reset from her previous bout of inspiration, no matter how long she had worked or how tired she was when she stopped. It did take awhile, the sky was just starting to show signs of daylight when she stepped out the door.

Before heading to bed she pulled some leftovers from her fridge, that hopefully hadn’t been there too long, and then collapsed into bed. The sun was just now rising but she would have to wait to start her day, whatever day it was.

—

Her alarm woke her far sooner than she would have liked. By the light shining through the window she could tell that it was past midday but she didn’t understand why the alarm was going off. She fumbled around for her phone and made the sound stop. She pushed herself away from the pillows and rolled off the bed, catching herself on her feet before she landed in a heap. She wanted nothing more than to lay back and rest for another few minutes but her history had shown her that it was a trap that she was not equipped to escape from. Her alarm probably meant that she had an appointment she couldn’t miss so going back to sleep was not an option.

The coffee maker was her first stop and then directly to the shower while it brewed, before she even checked her calendar to learn why she had to wake herself up. After pouring her first cup of coffee and taking a sip, she looked at her phone to find out why she had dragged herself from the comfort of her bed. She had a client meeting soon. Typically they would be in her workspace but it was a large group and they had preferred to have her come to them. She didn’t have any time to mess around today. Luckily she had her planning sketch book here so she wouldn’t have to go by the shop before the meeting.

She got ready quickly, choosing an outfit that was a bit fancier than her typical client meeting. She wanted to make a good impression and if her outfit looked sophisticated then they were less likely to look for signs of her being overly tired. She grabbed her keys and her bag and headed out the door. Just in time, the car they had sent for her was just pulling up outside.

When she opened the door, something fell to the ground. She leaned down. There were pink calla lilies wrapped in florist paper. She didn’t see a note but she wasn’t involved with anyone so she thought it must have been a mistake. She set them on the table by the door so they wouldn’t wilt in the heat and headed toward the car.

—

There was so much going on that Marinette had to focus hard to keep her work straight. Luckily the family butler was dedicated to guest care and had offered her coffee. She never saw the bottom of the cup so she never knew how much she drank. Everytime she returned to it between taking measurements and preferences, the mug was full and piping hot. She would probably be jittery later after her small breakfast with not nearly enough sleep. She had figured out that she had definitely been up for 2 full nights before what had felt like a short nap this morning.

By the time she had met with all those she would be designing for it had been nearly 3 hours. She took measurements and noted colors and styles, even making a fairly basic sketch for everyone. She was trying to remember what they had worn to the charity event she had attended recently. She hadn’t known many people but maybe that is how they found her. She had done a few pieces for well-known clients but it was pretty few and far between with the exception of the ones she knew from France as a teen. But creating for the Wayne family for an event they would be attending that would have a televised red carpet entrance was huge.

It was unheard of for them to go with such a small designer for something like this.

They had her sign a nondisclosure agreement. It looked pretty standard, she had signed them in the past. No one wanted their outfit to be revealed before they were wearing it on the red carpet. She requested that they also keep quiet about her involvement for now. She wouldn’t have as much time to take on more work and she had some concerns about sabotage of her work or business if someone felt like they should have gotten the commissions.

She relaxed heavily against the seat when she finally got back to the car. Hopefully she would be able to go directly to bed and get inspiration in the morning.

“You wished to go home now or is there somewhere else I should take you?” Alfred asked.

“Actually, if it isn’t too much trouble would you be able to stop for food. I will come up with a place before we get there and just get home from there,” she responded.

“Nonsense Mlle Dupain Cheng. You will eat here. Dinner is already prepared.”

“That really isn’t necessary,” Marinette said.

Alfred stood and walked back to her door and opened it before responding. “I really can not in good conscience send a guest away hungry when I have just prepared more than enough.”

—

Dinner had been loud and Marinette felt very awkward the whole time. She was too tired to interact well and she had never had dinner with clients in their home without having known them pretty well but this was something else. She was surprised that there wasn’t a food fight. They all talked over each other, told jokes and made dares. At one point two of them had jumped up at the same time and she thought for certain there was going to be a fight but Alfred had cleared his throat and they sat back down. Bruce had looked away as they mimed being polite and putting their napkins in their laps and sipping their drinks.

“So Marinette, you are originally from France?” Bruce asked.

“Yes, I grew up in Paris. I have been living here for 4 years,” she responded.

“What brought you here?” Dick asked.

“A program from fashion school. It was offered to all those who were doing a joint fashion and business program. I applied and moved here when I was accepted,” she said.

“You didn’t want to go back to France?” Bruce asked.

“Sometimes I do. It is very different here. But mostly I like living here.”

She avoided mentioning any of the awkwardness with some of the fashion “greats” in Paris. Audrey Bourgeois had never gotten over her refusal to go to New York with her and remembered that she had sassed her about her treatment of Chloe. She had a similar issue with Gabriel when she did her internship there. The work was fine and she managed well. Both of them had been impressed with her but Gabriel had chewed her out for a mistake he had found on an incomplete garment. Marinette had stood up to him and said that it was not her mistake and that she was not his son so he couldn’t speak to her that way.

The rest of the internship had been very awkward and she had gotten the acceptance to the program in Gotham by then. He had offered her a position anyway but it was not a good contract so she didn’t accept. So he got angry and told her to leave and never darken his door again. She found that only too easy. Last time she had talked to Adrien he had told her that his father had been a bit nicer to him. He thought it was because of what Marinette had said or possibly that it had been overheard and more people were interested in the story of what had made top model Adrien Agreste leave the brand to become a physics teacher.

—

Marinette had forgotten all about the flowers until she got home.

The light was still off so she had just put her purse on the table when she came in the door. She fumbled around for the switch when it fell over. She bent down to pick up the mess, wishing she had cleaned the junk out of her purse more recently. Instead of shoving it all back in, she sat on the floor and removed the rest of the things to decide what actually needed to stay there. It didn’t actually take very long. She was embarrassed she had put it off doing such a simple task so long. There was just one little envelope she didn’t recognize.

She stood up and opened the small envelope while she dropped her bag back in its spot.

The card read:

> The pink should match the lace that was on your dress that night

She didn’t know what that could mean. It didn’t sound threatening. She jumped as her bag fell down again. Nothing fell out because she had zipped it closed this time but it was what she needed to look at the table and remember the flowers from this morning.

She put it together that the card must have fallen off the flowers. The pink was the same color as the lace from her dress at the charity event recently. She looked back at the card but it wasn’t signed. Someone had seen her and sent her flowers. She tried to think back to the people she had met that night.

She had danced with several men, but none of them really stood out to her as interesting or interested. She had not really been the target audience for the charity. She had gone to support Jagged since he was unable to attend. He didn’t want his seat to be empty but Penny had gone into labor early so they were understandably busy. It had worked well with a bit of interest in her dress design so she could talk about herself and also she was able to drop off a check for Jagged to support the chosen charity.

She moved to put the flowers in water. She didn’t have to know who they were from or be in love with the person to appreciate how pretty they were. Her apartment had been woefully neglected recently so the color would look nice.

—

Marinette had nearly put the gift of flowers out of her head. It had been a couple weeks and she had long since removed them after they faded. They had not lasted long after sitting all day without water. The card had ended up in a kitchen drawer when Marinette was trying to clean. She planned to organize it later but she had desperately needed to scrub everything when she woke up the next day. So the card was moved and not seen again. When the flowers faded so had the memory of the random gift.

She was much more focused on her work. She had gotten a lot more business after the charity event and she really hated to turn away or delay new clients. It was bad for business because so few would return if she couldn’t schedule work for them. With a large name, it was a show of desirability to turn away most clients and only take a select few orders. But while building a business from the ground without the name recognition, especially for those who didn’t know her work with musicians, it was necessary to maintain a high interest level with a lot of new clients..

She was probably straining herself to make sure she could please everyone. She tried to carefully plan so she wouldn’t miss anything. She couldn’t get sucked into another design frenzy unless it was for planned commissions. Hopefully that large order for The Wayne family. Completing that was half of her work and would hopefully get her a lot of attention so she didn’t have to work quite so hard to get and maintain clientele. It was so much easier to make things for people she already knew.

She could practically design for Jagged in her sleep.

That was probably a bad plan to think about right now. She had woken up and immediately started designing baby rocker gear. She really wanted to make it but it would be better to wait until she wouldn’t outgrow it in a week. She should probably get back over there soon and hold the baby Dahlia again. She made herself a note to stop by after she finished her work. She could bring them dinner and maybe help out a bit so Penny could rest.

She ended up not staying too late. It was clear what they really needed was for her to tell them to go to bed early. Jagged had finished his last tour well before the birth and he had no work to go to for a while so he could take care of Penny as needed. Marinette could tell they were only staying up for her benefit but once she assured them that she would still think that they were rockin’ and that she was headed home to bed herself they all said goodnight and Marinette left.

There was a small package by her door when she got home.

Once again, it was not marked with who sent it. The card was simple.The front said:

> I’ve got designs on you

The U was taking up half the front and had several patterned designs filling the bubble letter. She opened the inside and the handwritten message said

> I didn’t get a chance to talk to you then. I wish I had

It was cute, but a bit worrying. She dug out the first card. It was the same handwriting, as far as she could tell. But that had been a couple weeks ago. She didn’t know if the sender had seen her since and was just specifying the event or if it meant that night only. She had met and talked to so many people but there were certainly ones she had not talked to at the busy event. She tried to calm herself with the idea that was what it meant rather than someone watching her. Someone who clearly knew where she lived.

—

She had definitely pushed herself but she was happy with her work. Penny had read between the lines and realized that Marinette was probably not getting enough sleep or eating properly and started checking up on her. But this week little Dahlia had been going through a growth spurt so Penny and Jagged were too busy and tired to keep mother henning. Jagged had started going back to the studio at just the wrong time so Marinette knew that they were both just as tired as she was. But at least the big order was ready to try on so she could make any necessary adjustments before the finishing touches.

This time, they had all decided to come to her. They were all coming at once which worried her a bit. She did not have a large studio and she worried that it would be too cramped. But honestly it was better than trying to get everything ready to transport along with any supplies she would need and then bring it all back and put it away after. It would be much easier to keep organized with any notes if she just did it one at a time. Perhaps 2 at a time if she could get a second changing area set up in the space. That would cut the time needed nearly in half.

She decided that was best and quickly set to work setting it up. She heard the bell when they entered and rushed to get down. She nearly stumbled getting off her wobbly step stool. But gentle hands caught her and kept her upright. She looked up at Cass and wondered how she had gotten there so fast after the bell on the door rang. She could hear all the others still coming in. She smiled and whispered a thank you, not trusting herself to say anything else as the other woman smiled back silently.

Their eyes stayed on each other’s and Marinette had to tear her eyes away when Mr Wayne started speaking. He was trying to suggest ways to manage it but Marinette cut him off as nicely as she could when the others started breaking in to suggest other methods. She explained that she had set up more space but that would require them to set up in 2 groups which she had already divided. Once they had a plan to follow she tried to manage as best as she could, rushing back and forth measuring and making notes. She put the outfits away as she went, labeling and making notes on her tablet so she wouldn’t get confused later.

She was relieved when they were finishing up and decided most of them should go grab a table while waiting on Bruce and Cass to finish. Bruce was thanking her and they made an appointment for the final fitting before he headed out the door. She carefully laid his suit in the bag and was hanging it. Cass was standing behind her when she turned around. Once again she hadn’t made a sound and Marinette was startled that she was there.

“Pretty,” Cass said, as she looked up from smoothing her dress.

Marinette had to stop herself from blushing. She was clearly talking about the design even though she had looked right at her.

“It looks really nice on you,” she gestured to the curtained area. “We can do the measuring behind the curtain if that is more comfortable.”

With a nod they stepped into the makeshift changing area and Marinette checked the fit.

It was very quiet after all the others had left. Cass remained silent and always moved just before she would have said what she needed to see. They managed to do the fitting in complete silence. Even their movements barely made a sound. She wondered if Cass was more accustomed to fittings than the others. They had all needed prompts for movement so Marinette could check all the angles.

She had barely stepped outside the curtain and pulled up her previous notes on the design when Cass was behind her. She kept her voice quiet when confirming the final design. WIth a smile and a nod as confirmation, Marinette made her notes and put the outfit away. The shop was empty when she finished and she went to lock it. Even the small movement made the bell jingle but she had not heard it when Cass had left.

—

Marinette had taken a morning to relax. She brought home no work. She finished all her cleaning last night and was just sitting on the couch playing video games when there was a knock at the door. She checked the time. She still had an hour before She was supposed to join Jagged, Penny and Dahlia out for lunch. Looking down at her pajamas, she paused. When there was another knock she shrugged and headed to open it. She didn’t know the man who was there.

“Hello, are you Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the designer?” he asked.

He had a clipboard with him and he had glanced down at it, presumably to get her name right. He had stretched it out to focus on the pronunciation while he read it.

“I am,” she said cautiously, offering no further information.

“I have a package here for you. A custom order that was supposed to go to your studio today. When I called to say the shop was closed, I was given your home address.”

“I didn’t order anything.”

“It’s all paid for. I just need you to sign that you received it. There is a card with it.”

Marinette signed and took the small package from him. It was a beautiful piece. It would weave into her hair and when in place it would display her signature almond blossoms that she used for her business. She couldn’t imagine who had sent it. She looked around for the card. It was under the wrapping in the box. She opened the envelope and read the message.

> Your hair was falling down. It would have been too forward to push it away from your face for you

The handwriting was the same as the other 2 cards. There was no way that someone would be so attached to her from the charity event that they would still be sending random gifts, especially since they said they didn’t even talk.. She didn’t know what to think about it. She remembered that she had part of her hair loose at the charity event, but also several times since then. It was at an awkward stage that would often slip down. She didn’t want to think about the gift right now or whomever might have sent it. But she was up so she put it in her hall closet and went to get ready. Maybe she would tell Jagged and Penny about the notes and gifts. She hated to worry them when they had a baby to worry about now but they could talk her down if she was just being overly concerned about it.

—

Her week had been so busy that she barely had time to eat. Her lunch was delivered late and the Waynes were early so it just sat there while they did the final fitting. Luckily it was mostly cold food anyway so she could just stick it in the fridge. She was feeling frazzled but they all seemed happy and she would be once she had the check for their order. It was definitely her biggest order yet and she didn’t know how that would change her business. Even if there was a bump when the designer was revealed she would not be able to rely on that long term. But she definitely wanted to get something nice for herself after all this.

She stopped at her desk between rushing around to check final fit and repacking the clothes and drank an entire water bottle. It probably didn’t look very professional. Hopefully no one saw her but even if they did it was far better than collapsing in the middle of the studio. Of course Cass saw her. It seemed that every time she turned after realizing she did something silly with them around, Cass was standing behind her. She had to be moving using magic because she never made a sound. Even when she came into the shop with the bell on the door.

The other woman smiled at her and her eyes danced. So much for no one seeing her do something ridiculous. She seemed so put together it made Marinette feel embarrassed just to be near her. Then, of course, she was more prone to accidents. She tried to ignore the feeling and gestured to the fitting area. She stumbled slightly and knocked over a small container of buttons. She shoved them out of the way with her foot, grateful that they were metal ones so she could find them with a magnet. But for now, with them out of the way, she would focus on getting the group ready to go. Cass put her hand on her arm and squeezed gently.

Marinette couldn’t believe that the graceful woman understood how it felt to be so clumsy but she appreciated the gesture of trying to help her calm after. She smiled back and patted her hand. She suddenly felt like taking it and holding it. That definitely wouldn’t be professional. Instead she pulled back without trying to make it seem like she was desperate to get away. She wouldn’t want to offend her.

She managed to get through the rest of the visit without another incident.

She really liked the look of the amount on the receipt. It was a lot of work but that was a great payoff that made it worth it. Instead of cleaning up tonight she decided to just leave it and show up early tomorrow. She might even pick up a pizza on the way home and spend the evening relaxing.

—

When Marinette got in the next morning she started along one wall and moved around the entire shop from top to bottom. She was putting everything in order as she went and she should be able to reorganize during breaks between appointments. She didn’t pay any attention to her desk until last. She wanted to have everything else done first. There were only a few minutes left when she finally glanced at it to make sure it was presentable. It had actually managed to stay pretty tidy, probably why she hadn’t noticed it before. The only thing out of place was an envelope that she definitely hadn’t seen before.

She pulled out the card. She immediately recognized the writing.

> I saw you dancing. Perhaps you would enjoy ballet

Included was a ticket to tomorrow’s ballet opening. She wasn’t very familiar with the ballet seating to know if it was a good seat but she had always wanted to go and she was very curious about the sender. She told herself she shouldn’t go. She moved on with her day and met with several new clients and one came for a fitting of a design she had been working on. It was all pretty easy work and had plenty of breaks for her to not plan on going tomorrow.

But by the end of the day she had decided what she would wear and had looked up information about the show. When she went to bed, she was still telling herself that she wasn’t planning to go.

—

Putting on the dress had been easy. Even her make up had gone on flawlessly. But when it came time to do her hair, she paused. She had been planning a simple loose knot at the back of her head but when she went to the closet she saw the hair piece that had been sent to her. That made her wonder if she shouldn’t do something a little fancier. It definitely would go perfectly with her dress and would be a perfect nod to her business which was always a plus. But she didn’t know who had sent it or how they would react if she wore it.

She turned away and went to look over her other options. She had one she had worn to Alya’s wedding that would work fine. She put it on her vanity and began pulling up her hair. She reached down for it but knocked it onto the floor trying to reach for it without dropping her hair. She continued trying to keep her hair up while looking around for it. She transferred the hair into one hand and used the other to lift the long dress so she could locate it.

She did locate it. Unfortunately it was by stepping on it with her bare foot. She cried out as she jumped away. She threw herself onto the bed and screamed into the mattress before she lifted her foot to inspect it. The skin wasn’t broken but had the impressions of the metal in it. She had felt the piece flatten under her foot. She knew her foot would be okay except for a bit of soreness. It was already fading some so she moved to where the hair piece was. It was bent and when she tried to bend it back, the clasp broke.

She could possibly fix it, but not in time if she was still going to go tonight. She didn’t know if she should consider this an omen. She typically thought omens were silly but maybe this was a bad plan to meet a stranger tonight. Standing and preparing to remove her dress and make up, she looked back over to her closet. Perhaps the sign was to wear the gifted piece instead. She had just enough time to finish her hair and she was already dressed. It would be a shame to miss the opportunity.

Once she decided that she was still going to go, the rest of the getting ready went smoothly. Her hair went up with no trouble and ended up looking really nice. She was very happy with it. The foot was still sore but her heels were low so it didn’t seem to bother her much. Hopefully that would stay that way. She was headed for the door when she decided that she should probably call a cab instead of walking. It wasn’t dark yet but she didn’t want to end up halfway there with a really sore foot. She saw a flash of movement just as she was about to turn back inside.

There was a car waiting out front. A man in a uniform had moved quickly to straighten up when he saw her. He nodded in her direction and opened the door for her. It was unexpected but didn’t seem much more risky than calling a cab and her dress would probably be better off in this one than a possibly sticky seat in a cab. She texted Penny to let her know about the ride, just in case and then again when she arrived safely at the performance building.

—

There was a huge crowd at the main entrance. There were cameras flashing and the elite were entering and getting the paparazzi in a frenzy. But the car stopped at a door off to the side. The chauffeur said that it was still an entrance but would help her avoid the crowds. She was still surprised that it opened. It was a rather long quiet hallway but it led to the same entry way that the main entrance had. There was a man there to take her ticket. He directed her to an usher who showed her to her seat. He gave her a smile when he left her there.

On the seat was a single rose and another card.

> I’ll find you after. Enjoy the show.

The crowd entering was loud in the atrium but as they entered, most hushed their voices to match the formal atmosphere in the theater. She looked around when she heard several voices before they were silenced by a tired sounding older man. She recognized them as the Waynes. She was not the only one who had turned to see the commotion. Jason turned and gave a wave to those watching and Dick pulled him along to their seats. Once they sat and were less noticeable, the interest in them faded.

Marinette had forgotten that they were coming to the opening night of the ballet. They had said that was what they wanted the new outfits for but she had let the information get lost after finishing the designs. She had thought it odd that they wanted all new outfits for it but accepted the commission anyway. She couldn’t help but be proud at how everything had turned out. They definitely looked great in the clothes. Thinking about it, they probably looked great in most clothes but she thought she had done a rather impressive job of adding to that.

She sat back in her seat when others arrived in the row with her. She ended up next to a small family with their child sitting beside her. He seemed a bit nervous so Marinette smiled at him and shifted herself closer to the aisle, gesturing for him to have access to the arm rest. She forgot all about him when the show started. She was entranced by the performance. It wasn’t until Cass took the stage that she put together why the family was so dressed up for opening night. They were there to support her.

Marinette was completely lost in the performance. She had thought before that Cass showed amazing gracefulness but she severely underestimated her. She flowed with the music and Marinette could feel everything. She wiped away tears at the beauty and stood with the crowd at the end. She had forgotten all about the secret notes that brought her here. The audience was still clapping and shouting “brava!” when the dancers exited the stage and then returned for their curtain call.

The clapping got louder as the dancers came and took a bow. Marinette was smiling as she watched. She was already planning to visit the ballet again soon. Cass paused as she was lifting herself from the bow and made eye contact with her and smiled broadly. It was a brief moment but her heart must have stopped in her chest before it started again. She stood fully and the dancers waved to the crowd. Ushers moved to the edge of the stage and presented flowers to the dancers. All the others moved past Cass and exited. She looked back once more and her eyes found Marinette’s again. It was longer this time. Several people turned to look at her but when she moved past the curtain Marinette looked at the flower that had been in her seat. It was exactly the same as the ones Cass had.

She could be wrong.

There could still be someone else in the crowd who was looking for her. But still, she moved towards the stage area. Several of the dancers were appearing and greeting those who came to wish them well. Many were trying to get pictures with the dancers. Cass came out last and the Wayne family crowded forward, excitedly praising her performance. Marinette stopped moving forward and looked around. She was nervous to be right and nervous at the thought that the gifts had come from someone else. She looked back one more time but Cass was no longer surrounded by her family.

She was right in front of her.

“I’m glad you came,” she said.

“You were wonderful. It was a great show.”

Cass looked back at her family, who were failing at appearing to not be watching them.

“I wanted to talk to you before. That is why I suggested the new outfits. They look nice but nothing compares to how you looked in the audience.”

Marinette took a breath to manage her reaction to the very clear compliment to herself and her designs. But she had to ask what she had wondered about.

“If you were wearing a dance costume, why did you have me design you an outfit for tonight?”

Cass moved her hand up and pushed a piece of fallen hair back from Marinette’s face. Her fingers brushed against her cheek.

“I wanted something nice to wear when I take you out after this.”

Taglist

@theymakeupfairies | @emjrabbitwolf | @vixen-uchiha | @trythisagainlove | @trippingovermyfeet | @tbehartoo | @izanae | @kittenmywaythrulife | @folk-ever-lore | @jayjayspixiepop | @achaoticmess1

@adrestar | @zynna | @jeminiikrystal

#Cassinette #secret admirer #fluff #boldlyanxious #ttt2022 #rare pair flair #maribat wlw

[ive-tumbled-down-a-rabbit-hole]

Flossing

Meet Cute Monday 42

Tag Team Tournament Day 2

Prompt: "so you kissed them , and then you…" "ran away"

For Leo - you mentioned the original concept ages ago and I've finally finished writing it. Must have sat about for at least 2 months half written. 😘❤️

Plus a prompt to finish it properly.

(No hitchhiker links despite it being number 42)

Masterlist

MCM Masterlist

…………………………………….

Duke stared at his siblings scattered around his dorm room. They'd been slowly making their appearance one or two at a time since lunchtime, all claiming they wanted to escape Bruce for some reason and 'his' dorm was the perfect escape. Dick and Jason had magiced up some beer from somewhere, Jason encouraging the under age drinking while Dick shushing him trying to put a stop to the encouragement. Cass, Steph and Tim were playing an elaborate card game which made no sense and the rules seemed to change every few turns when Dick said something or a keyword, it confused him. Damian had also surprisingly turned up with a hamster stolen from somewhere and was cooing over it, giving dark looks to anyone who came close.

How they fit, Duke couldn't tell and what Bruce did was still a mystery so he sighed and just sat on his bed watching the carnage in his tiny room at University of Metropolis.

"Soooo… why didn't you hide at a safe house or as you're at Metropolis with Kon and Jon?"

"Well Dukey, we don't want Bruce to find all our safe houses and the Kents have a Clark. Who for some reason likes the Old Bat."

Steph parroted to Duke while her eyes completely focused on what Cass was about to do with her card.

"Ignore Blondie! We wanted to see our baby bro! To celebrate how you may also have made your next steps in escaping B's child trap. First acting in day time, now in Supes city. Soon you'll have flown the lofty nest."

"He didn't even have to die."

"Shut it Dickwad. That doesn't even stop the Old man."

Errrr… Duke still wasn't sure how to respond to Jason at times. It kinda made sense, choosing Metropolis was a compromise he had had with Bruce and his bizarre helicoptering and distant parenting style. He was safe as Clark did (far to regularly for his liking) check-in on him. But it was a new city with a very weird feeling. There was much too much light and sunshine, and that was something coming from a light based meta. Never mind, Supes sorted the villains out and he finally had the opportunity to study (when not repeatedly bumping into the cutie he'd encountered on campus which occasionally distracts him) uninterrupted by disaster drama that followed the Wayne's.

Sighing and deciding to ignore the headache his older siblings were implying, Duke squeezed himself next to Tim.

"Deal me in the next round… and can you explain the rules?"

Cass nodded at Duke with a wild gleam of mischief in her eyes as Tim started to explain the complex nonsensical logic and aim of the game. Duke already regretted it. He was certain to lose unless he had… assisted help.

As the evening wore on and the chaos expanded and games got… more edge… bite… dangerous (?) the Wayne's and Wayne adjecents (depending on whose view point) got more lovely and outlandish.

"Bet I can!"

"Nah, you'll lose your nerve."

"I won't."

"Sure, sure, whatever."

"Give it here and I'll prove it!"

Duke snatched the tooth floss from Steph's hands who stuck her tongue out at him as he rolled his eyes. Maybe all the sugary snacks wasn't a good idea as he felt the sugar high he was on flow through him. Pulsing and giving him that invincible feel that often came when Bruce praised him or he got Alfred's special smile. Meh! Never mind. With Steph's chants and Dicks hollars and Jason's hoots he wasn't going to back down now.

Tim inspected the floss knot he'd tidied to his room's miniature balcony (if you could really call it that even) while Damian watched impassively. Cass came up and gave him a good luck hug. Or he hoped it was a good luck hug and not a goodbye baby brother as he falls to his doom. Bats can't die right?? They always seem to come back if they do.

"Stay safe little brother."

Duke nodded with a serious expression. He was doing this for his team. His own honour. To show Steph that it could be done! Once Tim had given the knots and everything his approval he handed Duke the tooth floss and stepped back.

"All set and ready to abseil."

Climbing over the balcony rails Duke gave a small wave to his siblings. This was madness but he wasn't backing down now.

"See you on the other side!"

Duke started to make his way down the building's side.

He passed the floor below him.

He passed the next.

The floss seemed to be straining a little more than he was expecting… or was expecting but had hoped wouldn't happen.

He regretted this so much. Living on the 5th perhaps was not the best of ideas now.

Actively using his meta abilities he could see the floss snapping moments in the future. Darting his eyes to the next floor down he was relieved, though a little paranoid, seeing a balcony covered in plants and climbers. Maneuvering around Duke aimed his descent towards the slightly softer and more easily to hold balcony.

Seconds later, the floss broke as he predicted. He could hear his siblings shout as Duke fell but saved himself on the tiny (made even tinier with all the plant pots and greenery) balcony with a loud thud.

Lights inside the room burst on and the doors opened with a spiked baseball, much like Harley's appearing in his face. Duke hadn't even had the chance to look up and he focused on the makeshift weapon wavering too near for comfort.

Plants and a baseball bat were a bad sign. Had Harley and Ivy really escaped Gotham? Is his small little resident in Metropolis really the home to Gotham Rogues hiding away from the Bats while they plot their demise??

Duke gulped and slowly raised his eyes up the baseball bat to the owner of the weapon before gasping in relief.

And embarrassment.

Of all the people.

Why??

Kill him now!

Perhaps Harley and Ivy were a better option after all.

Before him stood the cutie, with the light haloing her casting her shadow onto him, who he may have a small, not so large, tiny crush.

The woman who distracts him in the library with just a small scent of her floral perfume. The woman who he keeps an eye out for, whose dark hair shimmers blue when the sun hits it, as she walks through the university courtyard. The woman who gives him heart attacks when he witnesses her coffee order when he encounters her in his favourite coffee shop.

And she didn't look happy.

In fact she looked ferocious. A Valkyrie ready for war.

Nothing like the sweet clumsy cutie he bumps into.

She shifted her weight casting the light onto Dukes face causing him to squint at her.

"I'm sorry… I errr… I didn't mean to crash into your plants but my… string… broke and well, it was this or the ground."

"String?"

Her voice had a soft accent intriguing Duke further. He'd not heard it when she ordered her coffee.

"My… siblings and I are… were playing games. I was dared to abseil down the building."

Her face constricted into a puzzled frown as she tilted her head before moving her bat away from Duke. Her eyes suddenly widened in shock or recognition.

"Coffee guy!"

"Ummm… I usually go by Duke."

"Marinette."

Her accent was still there but less pronounced as she offered him her hand to stand up.

"I really am sorry about crushing your plants."

Duke took the proffered hand and ended up standing far closer than he was expecting. She filled his senses as the pair stood in the minute space of the balcony's doorway. His hand was still in hers. The vat still in her others his traitorous mind supplied.

"It's too dark to see the damage really. I'll check on them in the morning. Most of them are hardy plants anyway and more than likely have seen worse over the years."

Marinette took a step to move away back into the apartment leaving Duke missing the warmth of her nearness. He stepped in following her. Reluctant, despite his embarrassment, to miss this opportunity.

"I guess you'll want to take the more traditional way back to your siblings."

Her smile was filled with mirth and eyes twinkled with hidden meanings, enrapturing Duke further. Despite the unconventional meeting she didn't seem too upset about a crash-landed balcony visit. Almost as if this was not an unfamiliar event to occur. Duke followed her into the apartment nodding with agreement to her statement.

"Yeah… they'll probably be worried."

"At least you aren't a dead body on the ground so that'll hopefully reassure them a bit."

"Hmmm…" Duke thought of Dick's over the top protective-ness. Jason, and Tim he supposed, paranoia. All his siblings tended to jump to dramatic conclusions when worried. "Probably not. I should… I should really go. Thank you, or well, thank you for having a nearby balcony to save me. I really thought the string would hold at least another floor, or two, maybe."

"It's ok. Just buy me my coffee as a thanks."

Duke could hear the joking in her tone but he was willing to do so. Not just for a reason to talk to her again. As they reached the door, Duke felt a sense of bravery flood through him. He'd survived his siblings all evening. He survived a near (unvillianess) death AND he got to talk to his crush… and learn her name.

Marinette looked up at Duke as he paused by the door turning back to her. With that confidence… or was it the adrenaline that was still flowing through him, Duke impulsively leant down and kissed Marinette's cheek. They both froze in surprise.

"I, yeah, oh god! See you around."

Duke bolted.

In the stairwell he collided into the frantic looking Jason.

"You're alive!!!"

"What? Yes. I'm alive. I kissed her!"

"What?!"

"I kissed her, Jason!!!"

"So… you kissed her and then…"

"... I ran away…"

"Yeah, Right, nope! I'm not equipped to deal with this. We're going back upstairs now. Goldie and Blondie and deal with this nonsense. And ya going tell us how ya not dead or kidnapped."

"I kissed her and ran away… I'm going to owe her two coffees now."

#maribat #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #maribat au #ml x dc #dc x ml #meet cute #meet cute monday #duke x marinette #marinette x duke #tag team tournament #ttt2022 #rarepair #rare pair #rare flair

[archonsabyss]

╰─..✶. [ Artist, and their Muse ]

❒ pairing: Rafayel x Fem!Reader

❒ genre: smut [nsfw 18+]! fluff! romance

❒ warnings: shy virgin reader! first time sex! softdom rafayel! fingering! vaginal sex! unprotected sex! nudity! teasing! orgasm denial! vague mention of blood!

❒ word count: 4.5k

─❒ authors note: when the words keep flowing you end with a 4k+ fic. anyways, enjoy soft dom rafayel. smut took 10yrs of my life to write. It was so hard and frustrating. Hurt my wrists trying to finish this with the way I'm keeping my phone hah. Enjoy 💜

Amidst the quiet solitude of his art studio, you found yourself unexpectedly forced backwards as Rafayel approached with an unreadable glint in his eyes. You couldn't help but feel flustered and surrender under the look he gave you as he gradually closed the distance, compelling you to place a hand on his chest in an attempt to maintain a level of distance that was not merely enough to calm the rapid beating of your heart.

"You're so close" Your gaze avoids meeting his, and the flames of desire surge as soon as he steps near. The moment felt strangely intimate with your fingers delicately pressing against the cotton material of his shirt and his round beady eyes seeking yours. Rafayel didn't beckon you solely to fetch his favourite dinner, especially when he had a personal chef at his disposal and a perfectly functioning phone to order it himself. The evidence of his little white lie became apparent as he nudged you backward while striding ahead.

"Close?" He queries, seemingly not understanding what you meant and his brows furrowed in contemplation, his gaze dancing over your countenance absorbing every nuance as if seeking inspiration to craft a portrait of your essence. There was a common misconception about Rafayel's passionate character– it wasn't easy to navigate, leading most people to misread his character or feel inundated by his eccentric personality. Meeting up with him as often as you did, led you to such a conclusion. Time with Rafayel was a constant experience in itself, particularly for someone like you who normally shied away and often felt nervous around such bright personalities. You were a stark contrast to his entire existence and at times you left torn between the desire to strangle him and the impulse to pinch his cheeks, yet despite the unfamiliarity of it; his spirited flirting and teasing with seemingly effortless wit, he remained easy-going which rendered any time spent together devoid of awkward tension, and as time passed you came to accept that it was the undeniable allure about him.

"Do you hate me?" His sudden question takes you by surprise, but the genuineness in it absolutely baffles you. There were only a few rare instances when Rafayel's witty persona faded away completely, unveiling a calmer and more serious demeanour beneath. His lips didn't form their usual smile rather they grew more serious, and his shoulders deflated rather than puffed up, contrasting with the usual clingy sassiness of his character. This was one of those nights where he laid himself utterly bare without restraints and it was evident in the way his eyes were solely fixated on you as he anticipated a response.

"Where did that come from?" You wrinkled your nose. "What makes you ask such a ridiculous question, Rafayel?"

"It's not ridiculous!" He exclaims, his boisterous personality momentarily slipping away before he clears his throat. "You hate me"

"Says who?!"

"Says your body language" He refutes, pouting.

"I don't hate you" You vigorously shake your head. What made him think you hated him?

"I'd beg to differ"

For a fleeting moment, your attention shifts from the minimal distance between you as you narrow your eyes scrutinizingly at him. While he always had a flair for the dramatic, this time it felt genuinely serious.

"What are you on about, Rafa"

Sensing the impending embarrassment of his rationale, his ears turn red and he wordlessly grabs your hand from his chest and brings it to his cheek, letting you feel the heat emanating from his skin.

"I don't understand what you mean"

"Rafayel" You swallow, growing flustered under such an intimate act. He attempts to dismiss the way you pronounce his name but he fails as it echoes in his ears with an undeniable submission.

He turns his head, and his lips meet the skin of your palm, planting a gentle kiss. You repeat his name a few times but he refuses to meet your eyes, focusing solely on the way your palm cradles his cheek.

It's when you try to pull away, does he finally meets your gaze with narrowed eyes, remarking, "See, you do hate me." as his grip on your hand remains unyielding.

"You do"

"But I don't" You insist, and Rafayel rolls his eyes in annoyance, "Tell me why you think I hate you?"

He huffs and confesses with a pointed tone, "Every time I try to touch you, you pull back. Clearly, my existence is truly despised if you retreat at every opportunity,"

His sarcastic remark catches you off guard with a problem you never expected. Your heart gets entangled, growing intensely flustered with such a confession.

What if Rafayel knew his advances were rebuffed solely because you were cautious not to misinterpret his intentions or inadvertently lead yourself on?

Lost in your thoughts, you feel your cheeks burning with heat. It takes Rafayel snapping his fingers in front of you to bring you back down to earth.

"What?" He scoffs as you stare at him. "Admitting you hate me? That's your loss, I couldn't care less. There are a thousand other fish in the sea! A million other girls out there in the world who would die to be kissed by me! Who cares if the one girl I want doesn't want me, right? My existence is just a nuisance to you."

Throughout his incessant rambling, the pout on his lips becomes increasingly noticeable and the words he utters do not match the emotions he's experiencing. In reality, his heart is gradually shattering into pieces at your silence, feeling as though he's facing rejection.

Never before in your life have you taken the initiative on your own accord but now it feels necessary. You extend your hand to cup the right side of his face and gently turn it towards you. Your thumb strokes his cheek in circular motions as you strive to maintain eye contact despite the shyness tempting you to look away.

"I don't hate you, Rafayel" You confess earnestly.

"Could have fooled me"

"I'm not lying, you jerk"

"Your wounds hurt me. Then tell me why you avoided me like the plague"

"Why didn't you accept my hand when I opened the car door for you?"

"Why didn't you allow me to rest my chin on your shoulder at the art gallery?"

"Why did you resist when I wanted to show you how to stroke the paintbrush to create a gradient?"

"Why did you avert your head when I attempted to give you a goodbye kiss on the cheek?"

'Why didn't you let me feed you? And recently, why did you try to pull your hand away from my face"

He was giving you a headache. Honest to God his rambling was excessive and you weren't sure if you even got all that but you nodded along.

"I'm not like you Rafayel. Those things... I didn't─"

"Didn't what?" He persists.

"If you rested your chin on my shoulder, the distance would become unbearable. If you taught me to paint, there'd be no reason to linger in your art studio, pretending I'm there to learn. And if you kissed my cheek, who's to say I wouldn't want more? And if you fed me... I might just have to adopt you and fit you in my little fish tank."

"I didn't want to misinterpret things. I'm not as straightforward and upfront with gestures like you are. If I took your hand, I feared I wouldn't want to let go!"

"The fish jokes are getting old. And besides, Cucumber is perfectly content in his tiny bowl, a little overfed but fine nonetheless; I can't believe you'd consider evicting him." He points out, and out of everything you said, that's the only thing he focuses on. You nudge his shoulder harshly in response.

"Maybe you have a point. Maybe I should just get a cat"

Rafayel freezes, head snapping at you. "You wouldn't dare"

You nod, challenging him, and your sudden boldness catches him off guard. "I certainly would."

"See, it's a blatant display of animosity. I'll reclaim ownership of Cucumber."

"You can't do that, Raf." You find yourself suppressing a smile.

"I will."

"No," You frowned, "I love that fish."

"More than me, it seems."

"Can't I love you and Cucumber both?"

"So you love me?" He blinks, his knack for selectively responding to specific remarks astounds you.

"Maybe I should just leave. Your sudden personality shifts are giving me a headache."

"No," He seizes your wrist and presses you against the desk behind you. A tin of paint topples off the edge and spews its contents. While you gaze at the mess Rafayel fixates on you.

"You love me"

You retreat into your shell. "No"

"You just said you love me! If you deny it, I'll think you actually hate me"

"I'm not sure if it's love just yet, but it's something," You admit hastily, not wanting to restart the conversation and contend with his overwhelming persistence.

"Guess I can work with that"

Rafayel is oddly compliant all of a sudden and it makes you suspicious. The entire situation is confusing and feels dubious. It's unclear what's happening between you two, and it almost feels normal like every other conversation you've had, if not for the underlying tension building between your chests and lower halves.

"Rafayel, what are you doing?" You frantically inquire, your heart betraying you as it beats rapidly with every centimetre he closes between you.

Rafayel inclines his face towards you and you turn your head to the side with closed eyes as he hovers beyond the boundaries of personal space. His nose delicately traced the contour of your jaw, forming a constellation from your chin to your earlobe, and you can feel every measured inhale and exhale he makes while your breath is momentarily suspended.

"Rafayel" You mutter his name in protest yet again, not refuting your enjoyment of his actions but sensing the irregular thumping of your heart you fear you might lose consciousness.

"What are you doing"

"Evading your personal space"

"Yeah l─" You inhale sharply, "I can tell, but why?"

Rafayel stops for a second. "Since you don't hate me for the moment, I plan to take advantage of being this close to you"

"H-How many times must I tell you, I didn't hate you"

"Yeah, yeah whatever. I'm not moving" He prattles, rolling his eyes and pressing his forehead against yours. "Do I make you flustered?"

The way you're holding your breath makes it evident, but he wants to hear it directly from your lips so your muster a weak, "Yes"

He nods and smiles with approval. "Now tell me, do you actually want me to move away?"

"No"

Your obedience kindles a thrilling excitement within him, like a flame fueled by your compliance. Each nod and acquiescence adds to the anticipation and it makes his heart beat in rhythm with your submission.

"Can I kiss you?"

A lingering hush punctuated by the rush of blood surging in your ears envelops the space after he requests consent, and you nod your head instinctively, agreeing before your thoughts or words can be articulated. The anticipation hangs thick in the air as you await the slow descent of his lips and your gaze flitted, searching for something in his eyes that bore unwaveringly into yours with a depth that is slowly becoming your undoing.

Pulled in by an imperceptible force, Rafayel bridges the gap and meets your lips in a fervent kiss with a passion you've never encountered before.

When his mouth slots against yours, an intricate play of uncertainty, desire, and experimentation ensues. Time seemed to stand still, suspended in the dance of your entwined souls.

Rafayel's hands tenderly cradle your cheeks, tilting your head back while pressing his body against yours as he angles his head to kiss you with a deeper sense of passion that renders you flustered and breathless when he eventually pulls away.

The birds' melodious chirps seem to celebrate this unexpected blossoming of romance as if their song is a serenade to the newfound connection that has finally come together.

You meet Rafayel's gaze with a timidity he yearns to unravel. He wants to pull you right back into another kiss and lavish you with myriad praises. He wants to take you by the hand and lead you to his room where he can tenderly place you on his bed and express the depth of his desire to love you.

His infatuation lies in the unspoken words that crash upon him like a sudden wave against the shoreline, threatening to erode the restraints he struggled to maintain. The weight of unsaid wishes presses on him and the carefully constructed barriers seem on the verge of slipping away in the face of overwhelming longing.

"Rafayel." Has any human voice ever sounded sweeter? It lures him into a sense of desperation, enchanting him to the point where he feels compelled to kiss you again.

In a matter of seconds, any other words you had to offer to fade into the collision of his lips against yours. Your mouth opens willingly, his warm hands cradling your face once more as the kiss intensifies with his sweet tongue swiftly intertwining with yours.

He has you exactly where he wants. The fact that you can’t help but lean into him is like a triumph for him. The way you willingly succumb to him is something he can't get enough of, and all he craves is to lead you to ecstasy. He wants more, and the moans escaping him make it abundantly clear.

"I want you, Rafayel... So bad" You confess, overcoming shyness.

Rafayel's eyes widen with curiosity, and his lower lip protrudes with a gentle breath as he lets out a whining sigh.

"Finally! And just so you know, there's no going back" He cautions, a warning lingering in his words as he shifts his hands to your hips, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

You're inclined to nod your head, grappling mentally with the weight of your confession. Yet, it doesn't change the undeniable truth that you want this, you want him, and that was all he needed to hear to lead you to the expansive couch positioned near the extensive glass window at the far end of the studio, the closest comfortable spot for what lay ahead.

"Well?" He mused and you reply, "What?"

You were inexperienced and jittery, nerves causing a slight tension in your posture, but Rafayel as always, was there to alleviate any tension just as he's done in the past.

He seats himself on the couch, spreads his legs and rolls his hips for comfort, the bulge in his pants evident and a testament to your plea. There are a few buttons of his shirt undone revealing a tantalizing glimpse of skin. He raises but a singular brow wondering why you're still standing idly when his legs have parted specifically for you.

"Come here"

Your feet carry you forward before your mind comprehends, and the next thing you know, Rafayel has you seated atop him. He flinches at the contact of you on his bulge but quickly wipes away any sign of discomfort when he notices your worried expression, thinking you might have hurt him.

"Wait" He suddenly blurts, "Stand up"

"One of these days I'm going to eat you out" He grins, and you struggle to resist the urge to moan.

You do with hesitancy and his fingers loop into your pants and tug you forward. "I'm going to take these off," He says, and you blush hard, feeling a surge of arousal course through your veins.

You observe as he unbuttons the top of your pants with intricate fingers, sliding them down your legs leaving you half-bare. His eyes glint mischievously as he peers up at you through his eyelashes, his face in line with your lower half as he remains seated on the couch.

Rafayel instructs you to turn around, guiding you to perch on his lap and you comply. He encourages you to relax and lean against his chest. His hands then place on your knees and part them enough for the cool air to breeze between your legs. Your panties cling uncomfortably and a wave of heat courses through your body.

"Breathe," He chuckles, sensing the tension in your body as he pulls down your panties, and you gasp as a rush of cold air greets you.

"I've never done this before, Rafayel"

His hands inch closer to your core, "Just breathe, baby" He whispers as his index finger delicately traces the contours of your pussy. "I'll go slow. It'll feel good, promise"

You inhale deeply, finding your inner courage and trusting him entirely. At first, Rafayel entered with just a single finger. You gasp, your body yielding to his touch. His finger explores delicately between your folds ensuring no harm as he starts tracing circles around your sensitive bud.

Your brows pinch in response to his movements, your back arching as your fists look for something to grab.

Rafayel grins, redirecting your hand to the nape of his neck while his fingers tease your clit, and as you grasp onto him for support he presses on your stomach to prevent your back from arching away.

There is no doubt in your fuzzy mind that Rafayel exhibits the same level of concentrated energy and finesse in propelling you to new heights as he does in his artworks. Every movement he makes is precise, mirroring the precision of his painting technique, akin to the deliberate strokes of a paintbrush caressing a canvas.

The interplay of his unpredictable movements and irrational spur of inspiration, coupled with the graceful gestures of his hand, harmonizes and forges an experience transcending the boundaries of conventional perception, leaving you with a sensation unlike any you've encountered before.

"Enjoying yourself?" He feels the need to comment when your nails dig into his neck but you're too fucked to comprehend anything he's saying which makes him chuckle into your ear and picked up his movements. You squirm in his grasp, tension building in your stomach, thighs aching, yet the impending pressure refuses to ease as he pulls back every time you think you might explode.

He will be your undoing, and all it takes is a single finger toying with your heat. You can't take the suspension any longer and shamelessly beg for more, his name leaving your lips desperately. He can't deny you like you've denied him and listens, inserting another finger but this time with less gentleness, employing his thumb to stroke small circles on your clit.

A breathy sigh escaped your lips as his fingertips tentatively yet deliberately traced your slick folds from bottom to top. He kissed your neck, feeling a surge of arousal run to his cock leaking precum beneath you.

He withdraws his fingers, admiring with pride the glistening evidence of your cum coating them while a moan is forcefully drawn from your throat at the sudden emptiness and build-up within your stomach just beginning for release. You exclaim his name as he cleans his fingers with a pop by sucking on them.

In a blurry flip of the moment, Rafayel swiftly scoops you into his arms and pivots you around, settling you onto your back as he gradually lowers himself on top of you. He kisses you hard and takes your legs, wrapping them around his waist as he settles between you. After months of resisting and denying your feelings, this is what it led to.

Rafayel hovers over you, staring down at your face and running his hands over your body. He groaned, the warmth seeping into his groin as he pulsed and ached with the need to be inside of your tight body. He positioned himself at your entrance and observed as your face twisted in pleasure. Then, he murmured soothingly as he drew closer and penetrated you, causing every muscle in your body to tense as you cried out and gripped onto his shoulders, the soles of your feet digging into his back.

"You drive me fucking insane"

He exhales sharply as your thighs tighten around him and your hands slip under his thin shirt. He's unable to bear the barriers between you any longer and kisses you one final time before breaking away to discard his pants and remove his shirt. He does the same with the remainder of your clothes, unbuttoning your shirt haphazardly and tossing it across the room where it sadly lands amidst a dissaray of paint he hasn't cleaned up.

"Rafayel! It hurts" You mutter with a headshake, stifling a sob and he nods, pausing his movements and stroking your cheek. He bends down, planting a tender kiss on your lips, muffling the gentle whimpers you emit. He remains in that position for a while before inquiring, "Does it still hurt?"With shameless selfishness, Rafayel exercised restraint throughout, feeling the tight grip of your pussy squeezing his throbbing cock and it drove him insane.

Fuck─ he wanted to ravish you.

“No─ N-Not really anymore.” You eventually responded with a gulp permitting him to continue. His earlier edging was a prelude to this, as your arousal coated your intimacy forming a natural lubricant. Rafayel proceeded to push deeper into you and your reaction remained most responsive.

Inch by inch, you took him in.

"That feels good" You moaned shamelessly and Rafayel attached his lips to your throat, bringing an otherworldly kind of ecstasy to you. Slowly, he sunk deeper into you. The initial discomfort of being stretched and filled gives way to overwhelming realms of pleasure coursing through your senses.

“It feels so good” You whine as he rolls his hips, biting his lip to contain a semblance of his sanity.

"I've had dreams of this" He admits, loving the way you're so willing to take him in even with the initial discomfort. "Dreams of you. My muse. You were right, after getting a taste I doubt I can ever be without you."

You nod your head weakly and Rafayel slides his hands into yours intertwining your fingers just as he bottoms out in you. "Shh," He quieted you with a gentle whisper, slowly commencing a gentle rhythmic thrust of his hips providing you with a moment to adjust. Yet, impatience took over and you rolled your hips, emitting a moan at the euphoric sensation that left your eyes rolling. Before long, Rafayel has undeniably picked him his pace and his actions are now characterized by a precise execution of snapping his hips against yours, his cock reaching the deepest recesses within you, and as he gains speed his thrusts delve even deeper, and your responses become increasingly animated. Your hands explored every inch of his shoulders, torso, through his hair and down his back. Your lips parted with each heaving breath he drew from your chest, while his lips fervently sucked on your neck.

The delightful singing of your moans, the way your face twisted in pain and pleasure, and when you constantly arched your back and found a rhythm in rolling your hips to meet his, Rafayel could hold himself back no longer and pumped his cock into your walls, infiltrating and memorizing every crevice. Upon seeing your breasts shake with the movement and your mouth agape, he pulled out and thrust right back in with a force that eroded any lingering shreds of dignity.

Still, you had the nerve to bite your lip and smile so seductively at him, saying, “It feels so good.”

Then and there, Rafayel knew that you weren't the demure innocent little fish ensnared in his trap from the start; you were the prey, teasing the hunter with the knowledge that escape was within your grasp, unmarred.

"Taking me all" He chuckles without mirth, a hint of the devil reflecting in the crimson hue within his amethyst eyes. "Such a good girl, aren't you little one"

The faint glint of his fangs becomes apparent when he smiles, tempting you to passionately kiss him at the mere sight.

God, you were so wet, so soaked for him.Rafayel cradled your face in the palm of his right hand, attuned to the clenching of your muscles around him and the loud explicit squelching of his cock driving into you. He sensed the imminent arrival of your climax.

"Cum for me" He demands softly and you can't refuse him, can't refuse the way he holds you as his cock pumps into you. And you cum hard and fast, your body convulsing in response.

Your head droops back listlessly as do your hands, and Rafayel's grin widens as if he's stumbled upon the perfect canvas for his artistry. Words seemingly elude your mind to articulate such an experience. It was transformative, stripping away every vestige of shyness and leaving only exhaustion in its wake. Your release trickles out, enveloping his shaft, propelling him towards his climax. Rafayel thrusts his member deeply into you, and with a groan intertwined with a whine, he climaxes inside you, filling you without mercy to the absolute brim.

"Fuck" He whines, his forehead pressing against yours as his body collapses onto you, ensconced within the comfort of your embrace. Together, you climax and ride out your high as your essence intertwines and spills out between you onto the luxurious upholstery of his couch, a touch of crimson blending with the mix.

Rafayel embraces you tightly, repositioning himself onto his back with you resting on his chest. He gently guides your head to rest above his heartbeat and keeps you securely in that position.“You okay?” He asked, placing a kiss on the side of your head.

"This wasn't how I expected my night to go" You confess sleepily, and Rafayel concurs, but neither of you is complaining.

"You need to pee" He suddenly says, though his motionless form indicates he's as reluctant to move as you are. "And we need to clean up"

"Just─ Just a minute longer, I love being like this" With your words, your head nestles into his chest, leaving Rafayel with no option but to comply. He holds you tightly, savouring the moment, believing it might be the beginning and the end of his resolve.

This night has sealed the deal for him completely. He is no longer an individual entity, and it's been that way for quite some time. Now, he unequivocally belongs to you.

☣ copyright @archonsabyss all rights reserved // do not copy; steal; plagiarize; reword or repost my works to any other platform! No translations!! All credits to original owners of characters/anime/pictures that are not my own!

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace fanfiction #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace smut #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace x fem!reader #love and deepspace x reader #l&ds smut #l&ds x reader #l&ds #love and deep space #rafayel smut #rafayel #rafayel fluff #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you

[kaiser1ns]

𝘀𝗮𝗲/𝗸𝗮𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 (𝘀𝗲𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲)

╹synopsis :: your boyfriend gets jealous because of your photoshoot with another footballer player

╹contents :: fluff, a little bit ooc, sae gets jealous of kaiser, kaiser gets jealous of sae, dramatic and sassy boys, 0.5k words for Sae , 0.5k words for Kaiser

╹notes :: just randomly thought of this, hope you liked!

ITOSHI SAE

He doesn't like social media for the sole reason that he can see something that he didn't needed to know about. And now he wants to delete every app he has on his phone and sue the company who thought that you being next to Michael Kaiser was a very good idea. Marketing strategy to put two very famous people who are liked all over the world so they can attract more attention and sales. He knew you had a upcoming photoshoot, but you didn't mention anything else about it and now as Sae scrolls through the Instagram page of the sport sponsor's photos, looking how you put your head on the German's shoulder, the other photo of him that has his wrapped around your waist, then you holding soccer ball all smiles and giggles. It makes him want to vomit and gouge his eyes out.

"I can't believe they paired you with Michael Kaiser," he mutters, his voice tinged with jealousy, narrowing his eyes as his grip around the mobile tightened. You know him better than anyone else including himself and for all of the years you have been together — he gets extremely sassy when jealous. His famous stoic and nonchalant demeanor, rarely revealing his emotions can't fool his girlfriend. You reach out to take the phone from his hands, you persisted, your fingers playfully poking his cheek. "Sae, it's just part of the job" you reassure him, trying to calm his racing thoughts, "Are you perhaps, jealous?" but he only rolled his eyes at this comment of yours, crossing his arms and not looking at you but straight to the TV in front of him.

In response, Sae grumbled, his tone dripping with sass as he attempted to deny his emotions. "I am not," he insisted, though the dramatic flair in his voice betrayed him.

"Yes, you are~" you teased him, knowing that he can't lie to you, and he too does know that.

"No," he protested, though his resolve was weakening under your gaze.

"Oh, you definitely are," you persisted, refusing to let him off the hook so easily.

"Absolutely not," he insisted, though the tension in his voice betrayed his facade.

But you knew him too well to be fooled. "No, you are not" you countered, your tone gentle yet firm.

"Yes, I am," he said without thinking, Touché Y/N. Your boyfriend always uses reverse psychology against you, so safe to say you learned from the best.

"I mean, what's next? You gonna be posing with Leonardo Luna for a perfume ad?" He turned his head and gave you a pointed look, he was so cute you wish you could take a photo of his face right now.

You laughed at his behaviour, for a man who was deemed very serious, sometimes he acted like a child being all pouty and sassy. Running your thumb over his cheekbone soothingly. "Oh, please, as if anyone could replace you," you tease, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on his lips. "You're the only one who has my heart, Sae. Kaiser's just a prop in this grand show called advertising."

Sae rolls his eyes once again, but a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he concedes, finally relaxing against your touch. "But I will sue the company."

"Sae, no!"

MICHAEL KAISER

The German prodigy was always interested in the newest fashion trends, believe it or not, as he always spoiled you with the best quality designer clothes, jewellery, shoes, perfumes — you name it, you most definitely have it. He just adores you and wants the best for you, but right now he's wondering what he did wrong to deserve this?

Was he not enough for you, was he not the best boyfriend you ever had, was he just something temporary that you could so easily forget about?

As you walk through the door, you're met with a sight straight out of a soap opera. Your boyfriend, draped dramatically across the couch, staring at the ceiling as if it holds the secrets of the universe.

You raise an eyebrow, "My love, are you okay?"He turns to you, his expression a mix of betrayal and hurt. "Oh, nothing much. Just questioning my existence, like why did my girlfriend decides to do a photoshoot for the cover of a magazine with another guy?"

You blink, trying to process. "Wait, what? You mean the Versace shoot?"

He sits up suddenly, his eyes widened of you casually talking about it "Oh, of course, thanks for admitting your mistake. Because everyone casually poses for Versace with Itoshi Sae, right? It's just your average Tuesday activity."

You can't help but laugh at his overreacting theatrics. "It's not like I'm going to run away with him. Or do you want me to?" He crosses his arms, still pouting. "Hmm, maybe. Since you clearly don't love me anymore."

You playfully roll your eyes, moving to sit beside him, "When they called you to be the model, you were busy with the Euro finals." Kaiser was about to open his mouth to defend himself but he sure was busy when the photoshoot took place. "Besides it's just Sae, nothing to worry about. He couldn't care less about others." He sighs dramatically, but you can see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You smirked and wanted to tease him more, knowing how much he disliked a certain someone. "Exactly! Imagine if it were Yoichi instead of Sae. You'd probably start a protest outside the magazine headquarters."

He feigns offense, as he stood up from the coach. "My girlfriend and that sucker on the cover together? I'd have to kill him for real this time."

You grabbed his arm and pulled him to sit on the couch again, hugging him and kissing his temple as you played with the blue hair of the mullet. "Don't be silly now. You know I will never leave you, no matter what." He melted into your embrace, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, I know. Just don't go giving me a heart attack with those Isagi jumpscares, okay?" You pressed a reassuring kiss to his cheek. "You have my word," you whispered, your breath warm against his skin. "I promise no more Isagi jumpscares." He chuckled softly, leaning into your touch. "Good, because I don't think my heart can take it." With a playful glint in your eye, you added, "Unless you want me to revive you with a kiss every time."

"I would like to kiss you on different occasions, thank you."

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work.

#✧* 🤍 blue lock #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock fluff #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser x y/n #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #sae x reader #sae x you #sae x y/n #kaiser x y/n #kaiser x reader #kaiser x you #blue lock imagines

[cacoetheswriting]

honesty: the music video

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 2.3k summary: after a long day on set, you can't wait to get it on with your costar.

content warnings: 18+, minors dni: mature themes, literally smut with a minor plot, established relationship, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, praise kink, dom-ish eddie, adult language, heavy use of pet names, mentions of aftercare — if i missed anything in this chapter, pls let me know!

celebrity skin. masterlist <- part of this lil' universe, but can totally be read as a stand-alone. timeline wise, this takes place somewhere after part 3 and before end part 5.

“We want it to be sexy.”

“But not too sexy.”

“Revealing.”

“But not too revealing.”

“Sounds like you guys don’t know what you want,” Eddie chimes in, interrupting the back and forth of your respective teams.

You stifle a giggle.

“That’s ‘cause of the two distinct styles,” someone from your team clarifies, “We wanna be respectful.”

“For sure,” one of the creatives on the Corroded Coffin side agrees. There’s a short pause. “We will have you two kiss at the end, though.”

At that, Eddie smirks. He looks at you from across the table and you could just about melt right there, blood rushing to your face, warming your cheeks.

“That won’t be a problem,” he says confidently and winks.

-

Honesty was a guaranteed hit. Top of the charts. Everybody that’s been so far involved in the project said it. They praised it. From the bass, drums, to the guitar and vocals. The production value was off the scale. A dream arrangement that would stand the test of time.

All the song needed was a music video equally as captivating.

A back and forth discourse began shortly after you first started recording with the band: whose style should the clip resemble more?

Corroded Coffin screamed all things dark, maybe a little gory. Their usual expression featured slightly melancholy undertones and a lot of references to all things Dungeons & Dragons. Imaginative, for sure. An artistry that had rarely been seen in the genre. 

Although it’s been an artistry vastly different from yours. 

The glitter hadn’t necessarily been your idea, but it certainly became a signature of sorts. Anything sparkly, always. And music videos that told a story. Most often one of love since that’s what you idolised ever since you were a kid — it obviously helped that love also sold millions of copies.

Eddie’s team argued that it’s the band’s song and you’re just a feature, therefore the accompanying video should lean into their style. Your management team was hesitant to agree. Calculating risk in case the lines get blurred a little too much and your pristine image shifts to the opposite end of the spectrum. Hours of arguments. Hours of negotiations. None of which you, or the rockstar were even mildly aware of. Too lost in each other's eyes and soft cotton sheets. 

Eventually, a compromise, of sorts, was found.

Ernest Hemingway’s The Killers influenced, in part, a 1946 film noir of the same title, with Ava Gardner and Burt Lancaster taking the lead. The movie, in turn, inspired the black and white music video.

Done up in flair of the characters, Kitty Collins and Ole Anderson (aka Swede), you recreated iconic scenes alongside the brown-eyed rockstar. The rest of the band was also dressed to the nines. Side characters that played their instruments in the background of main shots. They blended in well, while adding a unique spin to the known story. 

Overall, the Honesty shoot quickly became a big spectacle. Bigger than anything Eddie Munson and his band of closest friends has ever been lucky enough to be a part of.

Intricate sets. Glamourous. In front of cameras and bright lights, you and your scene partner, Eddie, mouthed along the lyrics to the song as if they were a script. And with every scene, as if the two of you were the only people actually there, no equipment and no crew, you got lost a tiny bit. Lost in the chocolate of the rockstar’s wide gaze. In the way he smelled. The style of that decade suited the brunette greatly, so you became lost in how he looked in this character. Dapper. Unlike you’ve ever witnessed him before. He committed to the role too. A certain swag in his movements. How he touched you so hesitantly, delicately because that’s what the video required.

By the end of the night, after the director yells, “Cut!” to signalise a wrap, a round of applause for all involved in this project, you’re feeling hot and bothered. Sweaty, though not because you just completed a full day’s work. No. Somehow, you found the Corroded Coffin frontman even more attractive than at the start of that day — something you didn’t think was possible. When you glance in his direction, he’s already staring you down, and you know he feels the same way.

Backstage, inside your trailer, you’re sitting cross-legged on the couch. Fingertips at your lips as you wait for that inevitable knock on your door. You know it’s only a matter of time considering the build up of tension throughout the shoot. From the lingering touches and that kiss the director had you two repeat over and over and over…

Logically, you could wait until the two of you were home. Back at Eddie’s Hidden Hills mansion, away from prying eyes and ears. In a bed that’s become all too familiar. Far from possible interruptions. Logic however, well, right now, logic was taking a back burner ‘cause you needed him now. Desperately. And without a doubt, Eddie needed you too.

A knock. Then again. But the rockstar doesn’t wait for you to answer. He lets himself in. 

“What happened to the wig?” You ask, raising a brow.

“It was itchy,” he replies with a slight laugh, then shakes his head. “I much prefer my natural locks.” 

“That’s too bad,” you say with a slight shrug, “You looked quite smart with that short hair.”

Eddie hangs his head with a smile, though his eyes don’t leave yours. Not even for a second. That’s when you notice the glimmer. That look, the reason he’s here, just like you predicted. So you return the expression. Only yours is a little more sly. Tempting him. Teasing. 

“I had fun today.”.

“Me too.”

There’s a lot that happens in the seconds after you stand up. A lot that happens quickly. 

Eddie reaches for your wrist, pulling you closer before wrapping his, for once, ringless hand around yours completely. He presses it to the middle of his chest, holding it against his heart. You can feel it beating and that’s enough to make you melt ‘cause it’s strong and you swear it skips at the contact. His other hand reaches for the base of your throat. He holds it gently, caressing upwards until he’s gripping your jaw. 

“Kissing you in front of all those other people kinda got me going,” he admits in a low tone.

Naughty, that’s what you want to say, but you don’t get the chance ‘cause his lips crash into yours. Hungry. Desperate. Rough. Heat rushes through your body at the sudden contact, no different than any other time his mouth found yours. You’re at his mercy, always, and he knows it well. 

His tongue glides along your top lip and you part your lips to accept him without hesitation. He wastes no time sliding into your mouth, letting this tongue work in tandem with yours as he tilts his head to further deepen the kiss. The hand holding yours lets go, instead finding home on the small of your back, pushing you as close to him as humanly possible. His other hand lets go of your jaw, albeit not completely. Ghosting along the side of your neck before you feel him wrap it around your throat, squeezing lightly. It’s nothing new for Eddie to be a little rougher with you, but there’s something about this moment, after a full day of moderate teasing and borderline foreplay, that causes a moan to burst through you when he squeezes again, only harder.

The rockstar pulls back, sporting a devilish grin. “Making such pretty noises for me and we haven’t even gotten to the best part.”

“Do your worst, Eds.” It’s a dare. Nothing sweet about it.

He smirks at the challenge and before you can register what exactly is happening, Eddie is lifting you up swiftly, hiking up your dress in the process, only to drop you down onto the sofa with a gentle thud. You’re wide-eyed as he unbuckles his belt with one hand, the other tugging at the pantyhose the wardrobe lady had you wear for the last scene of the video. He partially rips them off of you, then he hikes his index finger along the band of your underwear, eagerly pulling them down your legs until they’re wrapped around your ankles, with the reminisce of your stockings.

“The heels stay on,” the rockstar instructs, pushing your legs apart with force and positioning himself in between. All you can do is nod. Half-naked, half in costume. Same as him.

In the space of a heartbeat, his lips are on yours again. This time they don’t stay for long, instead moving downwards towards your chest. When he squeezes your breast through the silk material of your dress, he compliments how fucking good you looked, “I wanted to ravish you the second I saw you, baby.”

You whimper at his words, and at the fact that his now freed cock is gently brushing against your wet folds. Not quite breaching, just teasing you further. Only adding to the overall stimulation. 

“God, you’re so fucking hot. So fucking pretty. And all mine.” Eddie’s breathing into your bare chest ‘cause somehow in the moment your dress has slipped down ever so slightly and your tits made an appearance. Fingers from one hand are digging into your hip, holding you in place, while the other has you by the ribs. Thumb brushing your soft skin while his hot mouth is sucking on your hardened nipple.

Your eyes are closed. You’re not sure when you closed them. He’s invading your senses all at once. Just when you feel like you can’t take it anymore, when you want to whither and plead for him to touch you where you need him most, Eddie plunges himself into you without warning and your eyes snap open. 

“Oh God…” he groans, drawing his hips back only to slam them in again, making your body bounce against him. “Fuck, baby. Jesus.”

You sob in pleasure as Eddie knocks the wind out of you with each relentless thrust, still increasing his speed. Heavy panting and grunting fills the trailer, along with the sounds of where his cock slams against your sweet juices. He’s sitting straight now. Eyes are fixated on the mess you’re both making, where his length disappears in and out of you, while you admire the way his locks fall naturally in place. Although briefly, ‘cause you’re arching your back the next second, rolling your eyes to the back of your head when he hits that sweet spot.

“So. Fucking. Pretty.” He growls. “You’re so fucking pretty when you’re all stretched open like this, sweetheart. Your pussy was made for my cock, baby. You take it so well. You take this big dick so well, my good girl. Fucking made for me. Ain’t that right, dollface?”

“Made for you, Eds.” You just about whisper back, nodding your head feverishly.

Slap. His hand makes contact with your thigh and you practically wail. “That’s right,” he praises, “Made for me. So fucking tight for me.” Slap. Slap. Slap. 

Eddie’s cock starts to swell. You can feel it expand inside of you, then again when he thrusts back in. It has you heaving. The speed he’s established is close to becoming a little too much for the two of you and he drops his weight slightly, allowing you to wrap your arms around him, nails digging into his bare back. He can sense that you too are close and he’s trying hard to hold back, make this moment last longer, but his body refuses to slow down. Chasing the way your glistening pussy chokes his length. 

“Where do you want me baby?”

“Inside,” you croak out. “Cum in me, Eddie. Please. I need you to fill me up.”

“M’mph—” He chokes out, movements growing more and more erratic. The whole trailer is shaking at this point, that’s what it feels like to the two of you anyway. “Everybody out there will know what a good little slut you are. Not that innocent. Wanting me to fill you full of my cum, fuck.” 

Slap. Slap. Against your thigh. 

“Please, Eddie.” 

Slap.

“Shh… I’ll give you what you want, sweetheart.” He coos, “Gonna pump you full. Gonna make you see stars while my cum drips out of you.”

That’s when you shatter around him, uncontrollable desperate squeals making him groan louder as he continues. It’s sloppy, messy, and once you’ve completely unravelled underneath him, the rockstar can’t contain himself any longer. He lets out a broken moan as ropes and ropes of his warm spend start to throb into your hole.

His body gives up at the last spur and he drops flat on top of you, although not without a loose kiss placed to your jaw. His cock remains inside of your pussy. You can feel it pulsing until, after a few minutes, it no longer matches the beat of your heart.

Eddie lifts himself then. He kisses you softly and you smile against his mouth. When he eventually slips out and stands, he tells you not to move, that he’ll grab a towel from the small trailer bathroom and will help you get cleaned up.

“Wardrobe is going to kill us,” you call after him, balancing on your elbows as you sit up slowly. “Pretty sure these clothes can never be worn again. Purely for the fact that they reek of sex.”

“At least your wig stayed in place,” Eddie points out lightheartedly when he returns, his pants once again buckled, a towel in his hand. “That’s something the hair and makeup team should be proud of.”

“I’ll be sure to tell them,” you say, meaning it as a joke ‘cause there’s no way you would ever admit to what sins the two of you just committed.

Eddie smirks. “Pretty sure they already know,” he says as if it’s no big deal, “We weren’t exactly quiet, sweetheart.”

as always, thank you for reading! pls comment, reblog & support your creators.

celebrity skin. masterlist | the killers (1946) reference

& the celebrity skin. taglist: @eviethetheatrefreak , @thirddeadlysin , @haylaansmi , @nope-thanks , @tlclick73 , @vintagehellfire , @ashlynnkennedy , @avalon-wolf , @sidthedollface2 , @astheni-a , @bebe07011 , @aysheashea , @papillonoirsworld , @vol2eddie , @spideyanakin-interacts , @rogers-sweatbands , @mimsie95 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills - (if your user is crossed out, it means the tag isn’t working. pls check you’ve enabled tagging in your settings)

#this one is a little self indulgent ngl #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson filth #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie smut #stranger things #stranger things smut #celebrity skin.

[morallyinept]

NOBODY WANTS TO BE ALONE ON CHRISTMAS - A Javier Peña Christmas One Shot

Summary: You discover your boss Javi will be spending the night alone, working on the cartel case on Christmas Eve, so you extend a kind offer for him to join you for some Christmas dinner.

Pairing: Javier Pena x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 6.1k

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶️🌶️ "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/triggers - Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks)/oral M receiving/fingering.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: There's some sexy Javi Spanish, not a lot, so I've not provided translations. Feliz Navidad!

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤

The yellowing fluorescent lights overhead cast a slightly harsh glow on the worn-out carpet that covers the office floor.

The colour, once a muted gray, bears the marks of countless footsteps and the occasional coffee spill.

The desks, a mishmash of transient styles, are strewn with stacks of files, half-empty coffee mugs, and a scattering of outdated office supplies, like typewriter ribbons and correctional fluid.

The air carries the distinct scent of freshly brewed Colombian coffee, a constant companion in the war rooms of the DEA office. Agents huddle around a communal pot, exchanging quick greetings and nods as they fuel up for the next round of investigations.

The walls are plastered with maps and charts tracking drug routes and cartel activities. Bulletin boards are covered with Polaroid pictures of suspects, illustrating the intricate web of criminal connections in Cali.

The faint hum of dial-up internet connections emanate from the few computers scattered around the office. The whirr of dot matrix printers echo intermittently, producing reports that will become integral parts of the ongoing investigations.

The agents, clad in power suits and shoulder-padded blazers work with a sense of determination etched on their faces. The sounds of phones ringing and typewriters clacking provide a constant background symphony, underscoring the urgency of their mission.

The office's ambiance is further accentuated by the occasional chatter in both English and Spanish, a linguistic blend reflective of the team's diverse composition.

Agents move purposefully between desks, exchanging information in hushed tones. The dated computer terminals emit a soft hum as agents navigate through databases filled with information on known traffickers and cartel activities. 

In the midst of this utilitarian environment stands a small potted Christmas tree, perched on the edge of the desk of Javier Peña.

Placed there as a tiresome joke, created by the junior agents during a rare lighthearted moment he suspects, adding a touch of personal flair to the otherwise stern atmosphere.

He’s pushed it off his desk twice now and it keeps reappearing, a constant reminder of his own inward dismay for this time of year.

You glance at him over the top of your screen, hard not to on the regular, seeing as your desk is placed directly opposite his, your back to the window. Not a strategic decision but one you're thankful for when his dark cocoa bean eyes meet yours. 

As Javier focuses on decoding messages or delving into the intricacies of ongoing investigations at his computer, that he types really slow on, tapping laboriously on the keys, his eyes will inevitably wander to the window.

There, amidst the rain-streaked glass and the rhythmic dance of palm leaves, he’ll always find you diligently working at your desk. Your concentration, juxtaposed against the vibrant outdoor scenery, often draws his attention. 

In those fleeting moments, as your eyes lock across the narrow expanse of the office, the intensity of your work seems to momentarily fade away, replaced by an unspoken connection that hints at something beyond the professional facade.

It isn't just the shared pursuit of justice that binds you to Javier; it’s the exchange of glances, the uncharted territory of emotions that simmer beneath the surface.

At least on your part anyway.

Harbouring an attraction to your boss isn’t a wise move. A move that you’ve sat on relentlessly, trying to squash it into the soft foam of your office chair ever since you were transferred from the archives to real administration work in a real investigations office.

Javier is indifferent to you, looks upon with you a less-than-impressed, resting bitch face, but you’ve soon learned it’s the way his features have been moulded after years of chasing down hardened criminals in the dangerous territories this country harbours.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile.

But he always holds your gaze, far longer than you suspect he should. Just lingering looks that neither of you spiral into a verbal acknowledgement.

You bring him coffee with his reports on occasion, always making one for him when you get one for yourself; another unspoken routine you’ve found yourselves waltzing in. You know he needs at least three cups in the morning to function before the computer is even switched on. 

You feel the gravitational pull of these unspoken moments. As you diligently work on your assignments, your eyes instinctively drift towards Javier's desk; a magnetised shift as you meet his eyes lancing back at you and you allow yourself to believe it could be a look of want, of some coveted desire he has for you as you squeeze your thighs together during the heated exchanges. 

But of course, that’s wishful thinking.

You know that your crush is a pointless endeavour with no viable outcome. Javier Peña’s reputation precedes him. You’ve heard whispers from the team about the hookers in downtown Bogotá, even if they leave a heavy weight of disappointment and longing in your stomach.

Plus, there is that mantra of not shitting where you eat.

As the agents prepare for the holidays, Christmas Eve being where you find yourself, tapping away on your keyboard at a productive speed of seventy WPM, compared to Javier’s eight WPM - you know, you’ve counted - the potted Christmas tree standing lackadaisical on his desk serves not only as a festive ornament, but also as a reminder that even in the heart of a demanding and dangerous mission, camaraderie and the spirit of the season can find a place, however small, in the DEA office in Colombia.

Plans are exchanged and shared as your colleagues speak of them later on when they’ll clock off. 

"I'm taking the kids to see the Christmas lights downtown. They've been pestering me about it for weeks." One says.

Another chimes in, "I'm heading to my parents' house for a big family gathering. It's chaotic, but I love it."

As the discussions continue like billowy rain clouds drifting around, Javier remains at his desk, seemingly engrossed in his work and you notice his obvious disengagement from the holiday chatter ebbing around him.

One of them dares to direct a comment towards him. “Plans, boss?”

Javier shakes his head and you’re certain you can hear a grunt. “Work. Something you clearly don’t understand the concept of, Ramirez.” 

It’s enough to bring the team to an awkward hush as they settle back behind their screens murmuring to themselves indistinctly. 

And the thought gnaws at you throughout the remainder of the day. The thought of Javier spending Christmas eve in the office alone, powering through, as the light from outside dims and he works by eventual lamplight on his desk.

You’ve seen it before, coming in the following morning to see him blinking tiredly into the stacks of paperwork that often drown him on his desk out of your view completely. 

He’s known for practically living in the office like a hermit when he’s not out in the tacvest taking on the cartel's head first, or seeking solace in some hooker's cleavage, if you’re to believe those rumours that buzz around like flies over a festering pile of shit.

And that gnawing thought starts to bite harder in the late afternoon.

Hard enough for you to try and soothe the shredded skin around your nails having bitten at them for most of the day, as you find yourself hovering over his desk a little longer after gathering completed files for you to alphabetise. 

He doesn’t look up at you, even though your shadow is still in his peripherals. The scent of him this close is intoxicating. Tobacco and a faint note of whiskey from the bottle you know he keeps in his drawer.

A swilling musk of sweat; the climate at this time of year is tropical and it ruminates inside the ill fitting jacket of his beige suit. A slight glean of it runs tracks down his throat and you lick your lips, trying not to focus on it too much as he swallows.  

“Señor Peña-”

“Javi.” He corrects bluntly. 

“-I couldn’t help but overhear you don’t have any plans for Christmas.” You begin, tactfully, keeping your voice low.

Javi finally glances up, a stoic expression on his face, "I'll be working. The case needs my attention."

“Surely it can wait for one evening?” You sway. “I’m sure the cartels will be celebrating and making merry. You should have a break, sir. It’s Christmas.”

“Just another day,” he swallows grittily.

The atmosphere in the office seems to thicken with a sudden tension. Javier, known for his abrupt stoicism, can't hide the defensive edge in his voice.

You sigh and gather the files in your arms. “You’re welcome at my place, if you want. A bit of dinner?”

"Christmas dinner? Mierda.” He scoffs. “You trying to play the good samaritan or something?" Javier says, his tone edging with a hint of spite.

His eyes, usually stern, carry an unusual flicker of irritation as they darken. “Did I miss the memo that we're suddenly one big, happy family in this office?”

You clock your colleagues, now silent and peering over their screens at the spectacle.

Javier, leaning back in his chair, retorts, "save the Hallmark moments. I'm perfectly capable of spending Christmas alone. I don't need company, especially not from someone who doesn't know when to mind their own business."

Your expression holds a mix of hurt and determination. "This isn't about charity, Señor Peña-” 

“Javi.” He corrects again with gritted teeth. 

“-We're a team, aren't we?"

Maintaining his composure, he brushes off the suggestion.

"Team or not, I don't need or want your pity, cariño. I've got work to do. And so do you." He stares up at you with a silent fury venting from his dark eyes.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek.

“It’s not pity.” You correct, stepping away; cheeks burning up with some humiliation brewing.

He watches you leave towards the file room, and tosses a glare at the others who immediately begin tapping and working again.

Growling inwardly, he shoves the potted Christmas tree off his desk again and hears it topple to the floor. 

The empty office seems to echo with the ghosts of the day's activities, the remnants of conversations and shared jovial laughter hanging in the air to taunt him long after you’re all gone.

Javi is sitting alone, the harsh glow of his desk lamp casting shadows across his caramel skin and making his eyeballs ache.

His long fingers trace the edge of the whiskey glass, each sip a bitter reminder of the solitude he’s chosen. The rain outside, a constant drizzle against the windowpane, mirrors the melancholy that settles within his chest. 

His thoughts drift towards you, your invitation lingering like an unanswered question in the quiet room.

The disappointment and hurt swelling in the moisture of your eyes as he fired venom and hostility at your attempt at festive kindness. He knows it wasn't pity you offered, not really.

It’s in the coffee you always have made for him in the mornings that's just the right amount of rich and sweet, despite being from a cheap packet.

Your good nature, although grating at times, is what he secretly finds admirable about you - you care.

It's the care in your work, the attention to detail. The care in your questioning of your colleagues’ weekends and how you listen, hanging on their every word with bright curious eyes.

As he sips the whiskey, the amber liquid burns with a bitterness that seems to match the regret pooling in his chest. The files on his desk, once symbols of purpose, now feel like burdens, heavy with the weight of his own inane stubbornness.

He can't shake the feeling that he's missed out on something important here, a chance for a connection that has slipped through his fingers.

The loneliness presses in on him, and for the first time, Javi questions the walls he has built around himself. The whiskey, usually a numbing agent, now accentuates the ache of regret. He finds himself replaying the words he’d spoken to you, realising the rooted cruelty of his own defences. 

The night unfolds slowly, the hands of the clock ticking away the minutes as Javi works through unrelenting paperwork.

In the quiet solitude, his thoughts mutate into a tempest of introspection. Your words batter his skull, your face.

He glances up at your desk and you’re not there, looking back at him and feeling his chest and loins alike filling with a tightness that aches.

The rhythmic tap of raindrops against the window becomes a thundering metronome. Filling his mind with flashes of your naked body pressed against his, the sound of your pleads and gasps filling him up as he fills you with himself.

Growls at the ache hardening between his legs, growling at his own stupidity, feeling a lifeline he's let slip away. 

He glances around the empty office, the shadows dancing along the walls like phantoms of missed chances, beacons of potential connection.

His silhouette and yours, fucking in every position known to him, and Javi growls.

The weight of his own words linger in the air, each one a sharp reminder of the distance he’s purposefully placed between himself and his colleagues, and he’s not sure why.

He bends and picks it up and sees there's a label stabbed into the back of it, one he never noticed before. 

The whiskey, now a bitter residue in his glass, mirrors the lingering taste of remorse and as he gets up to attend to a task, he trips on something.

The potted tree that he tossed so carelessly off of his desk.

Unfurling it, he realises it's a gift and not a practical joke played by his colleagues who have nothing better to do than mock his authority and professionalism behind his back. 

Feliz Navidad, Señor Peña x 

Placing the tree back on his desk, he lingers on the guilt.

The hum of the lonely printer and the distant patter of rain becomes a backdrop to his internal dialogue. What if, he wonders, he has misunderstood your invitation? What if it isn't about pity, but a genuine desire for his companionship?

The barriers he’s erected around himself feel suddenly fragile; the stoicism that has defined him now seems like a self-imposed prison.

Has he really been so blind of your affections towards him?

In that moment, a decision crystallises in Javi's mind. He can't spend Christmas alone in the sterile glow of the fluorescent lamplight, drowning in whiskey and the silence of his regrets. 

His fingers drum on the desk, a silent debate waging within him. As he grabs his creased jacket from hours of sitting on it, the decision solidifies with every step.

The office, with its empty corridors and the ghosts of his own stubbornness, seem to release him with a reluctant sigh. He can’t stay here tonight.

Not when he knows now that you want him.

“Javi… I mean, Señor Peña.”

You stand on the other side of the door. The intrepid concern for a late night knocker in a city like this, melts away into something else as you peer at him on the other side. 

“Buenas noches, cariño.”

He’s wet, soaked through almost. His hair sticking to his forehead like an oil slick, and droplets caught in the prominent pencil moustache that you’ve always wondered if it would be soft or coarse against your skin. 

“Javi, please.” He softens. 

“What are you doing here? I wasn't expecting you to...” You’re a little stunned actually. The gall and unpredictability of this man never ceases to amaze. 

He holds out a bottle that he plucks from a brown bag, tequila.

“Call it a peace offering, or a Christmas gift. Either way, I'm sorry for snapping.” Javi says, and you can feel the sincerity and regret radiate from him, burning hotter than the sun.  

“It’s okay.” You say, with a blooming smile at the corners of your lips. 

He questions it. Relief? Are you as genuinely pleased to see him as you appear? And it stunts him, your instant forgiveness.  

He nods slowly. “If it’s alright with you, querida, I’d like to take you up on your offer if it still stands?"  

He extends the olive branch and you’re only too quick and eager to receive it. 

“Sure. Come on in, Javi.” You smile with pertinent relief.

You fix him a plate, reheating leftovers, as he perches on the edge of your lumpy sofa, feeling that it could swallow him down into its gullet at any moment if he truly relaxes.

It’s a rental, probably more than you can afford, bland with peeling paint and a musty aroma that lingers under the scent of your floral perfume that pollutes his head daily at work. 

He shuffles out of his wet jacket, large wet patches dye the beige of his pants darker at the thighs and knees. He takes in the frailty of your apartment. The emptiness of it.

How nothing here reflects the sparkling personality he knows you have.

The air carries a faint scent of scented candles, the flickering flames casting a soft ambiance as his eyes find them gloaming on the coffee table in clusters. The muted colours of the furniture and the strategically placed potted plants create a serene atmosphere, a stark departure from the chaos of the office.

The harsh absence of the expected holiday decorations strike him. There are no garlands draped along the walls, no twinkling lights casting a festive glow. A vast, empty space threatens the room where a Christmas tree should stand.

Instead, the void exudes a calm simplicity that feels like a deliberate choice rather than an oversight on your part.

Noticing his surprise, you offer a small smile. "Not what you were expecting, huh?” 

Javi, still processing the unexpected interior, manages a nod. The realisation that your invitation wasn't an attempt to impress, but a genuine extension of your simple world, settles within him. 

The apartment, with its quiet and dated elegance, feels like a reflection of your character - strong, resilient, and unassuming.

"I didn't expect this," he admits, gesturing around the room. "I thought there would be... I don't know, more Christmas shit."

You hum with a smile as you pass him a plate. 

Javi tentatively asks, "so, why did you invite me here, if it wasn’t pity?"

Your eyes hold a glint of sincerity. "Because I sensed you needed it. Christmas alone in the office isn't how anyone should spend the holidays. You work too much."

He takes the plate gratefully. Then he watches as you slice into limes with a blunt knife and toss the segments into a chipped bowl. 

Javi, caught off guard by the sincerity in your words, feels a pang of gratitude. The walls he had so meticulously built around himself were showing cracks, and your presence seems to widen those fractures, as you seat yourself beside him on the sofa bringing glasses and salt for the tequila.

You lean back, studying him as he replaces his picked at plate for the bottle, twisting off the cap.

“So, you really are a good samaritan?”

"No, I just don’t think we realise what we need until someone offers it, I guess.” You shrug.

“Is that so?” He asks, pouring out shots into the glasses. 

“It's okay to accept help, Javi."

“Do you think I need rescuing?”

“You don’t want to know what I think.” You say. 

“Humour me.” He tempts as he hands you a glass. You pick up the salt shaker sprinkling some on the base of your thumb.

“Well, you’re an asshole.”

Javi chokes immediately on his tequila, spluttering it over the rim of the glass as you grin.

Then he nods, wiping at his long since loosened tie. “I am.”

“And you’re grumpy and you’re mean.”

“Never proclaimed to be Christ.” He smirks.

“Is it true what they say about you?” You question, carefully.

“What do they say about me?” Javi asks with raised eyebrows.

“That you… you know, spend a lot of time in Bogotá with the uh…”

“Hookers. You can say it.” He scoffs.

“Yeah.” You say swallowing back the tequila hard. 

“Sometimes a man has his vices.” He simply says, pouring out another. He catches your face, bitter from the lime you suck. Or maybe something else.

“What about you, no boyfriend?” He asks.

You shake your head. “No.” He watches as you frown and try to mask it.

“Thank you… for the tree.” He says after a few minutes of awkward silence have descended upon you both. “I didn’t realise it was from you.”

“It’s nothing.” you shrug. 

“We both know that’s not true.”

You smile, looking away. “Doesn’t matter.”

He turns your face back to him with a simple finger and thumb on your chin gently, dropping it when your eyes meet his again. You watch his eyes watch as you gnaw on your lip.

“Do you really think I’m an asshole?” He questions.

“Why do you care what I think, Javi?”

“Because I’d hate for you to think that about me.”

“Sometimes…" You admit. "But I just mostly think... that you’re sexy.”

His eyebrows raise. “Por que?”

“I mean-” You fluster. Shit. “Too much tequila,” you say quickly, feeling the heat abruptly flood into your face.

“You think I’m sexy, cariño?”

You reach for more tequila, but his hand, gently curling around your wrist, stops you. 

“No.” You say, and he knows you're bluffing.

It’s out there now, that spoken want and desire growing limbs and becoming a solid form before you. 

“That’s not what you said.” Javi, taken slightly aback by the depth of your admission, meets your twinkly gaze with a mix of curiosity and simmering.

“I should go,” he says, edging closer to you.

You bite down on your lip again, your eyes falling to his lips, pink and shiny as he runs his tongue on the bottom one.

A subtle drumming fills the silence between you until you realise it’s your heart beating frantically in your chest. 

The air between Javi and you now crackles with a newfound tension, static that clings to your skin and makes all the hairs on your body stand tall. 

“Stay.” You whisper, turning your body in and knocking against his knees with yours.

His hand around your wrist travels onto your thigh, moving up to your hip.

“If I stay, I’m going to fuck you, cariño. All night.” He husks, as your face draws near.

You can smell the honeyed agave on his breath. Feel it warm your eyelashes. He's so close.

“Stay, Javi.” Your hands climb the lapels of his damp shirt, twisting.

“Is that what you want?” He questions, dangerously close now.

You can feel both his hands circling your hips, kneading and squeezing gently, but firm. His forehead touching yours, lips so close to take in your teeth.

“I don’t want to be alone on Christmas. And neither do you.” You confirm.

The sharp citrus of the lime stings against your lips as he presses his mouth to yours, swallowing your gasps.

You taste his tongue; a faint descry of smoke and distilled amber dances over your own. Javi’s large hands caress your back, pulling you closer, cradling you in his arms as your kiss becomes deeper, more desperate. 

You explore the uncharted territory of him; exhilarated and emboldened by his mutual want of you. Gasps pelt into your mouth as you finger through his hair feeling the silk of it, nails scrape down his spine over the damp material of his shirt.

His hands do all the talking too as he strokes them over your body, feeling the hilts and curves. He winds up your stomach and gropes gently at your breast, pushing upwards so it spills over your cami.

He glances at you, watching him as he flicks his tongue across your nipple, and sucks it into his mouth. He frees the other one and alternates between running his tongue and mouth across them.

“Eres tan hermosa.” Javi mists over your skin. And it pulls the breath from you to know that he thinks you're beautiful.

This man that you’ve coveted for so long, in the secret, sordid confines of your imagination and your sheets as you fuck yourself with your fingers to orgasm, is running his lips over your nipples and sucking them into his mouth as though he can’t get enough of you.

You can only choke out a gasp at how good it feels, how absurd it still is that he’s actually here. 

Javi tilts your head back, fingers wrapping gently around your jaw so he can kiss your throat. You feel the graze of his teeth as he pulls on the skin, marking you as your hands fumble with the buttons on his shirt.

Revealing caramel, tan skin, you trail kisses down his throat, tasting the sweat that lingers in with the indolence of his cologne, notes of spice barely hanging on as you wash them away with your tongue. His skin is warm, smooth as you kiss down his chest as he leans back into the sofa. 

You feel his fingers fighting with his belt under the tendrils of your hair. You take over, unzipping his pants and pulling them down his svelte waist as you glance up at him; your mouth dangerously close to his cock, freed and swollen.

You’re surprised at his size, hidden and tucked away in those tight pants on the daily and unsure how you’ve never noticed this enormity before. It’s not like you haven’t looked at his crotch when he stands from his desk, it's in your direct line of sight. 

You can smell it, smell that salted crystal of precum glistening at you as it bubbles on his head, soaking his pink engorged skin, and you brave yourself to lick it. To finally taste him.

He shudders, you know you want to take your time worshipping him, suckling gently around his swollen head as his hands coil inside your roots.

Savouring the taste for yourself, only ever being able to imagine what he would feel like inside your mouth. Alternating between sucks and licks, you tease the length of him, taking him deeper each time. 

“Fuck,” Javi hisses as he watches your lips suction around him. 

You let your lips slide up and down the thick girth of him, smooth and warm, listening as he hisses between his teeth, his fingers stroking at your face. 

You jerk him as you go, hand sliding up and down and pulling the wet tracks from your mouth down his hard cock, as he glides effortlessly into your fist.

You keep licking the head until you take him inside again, cheeks hollowed out as you suck harder. 

“So fucking good,” he grits at you, a visible strain in his throat. 

You relax your throat, opening wider, taking him in deeper and he audibly groans.

Your eyes flick to his and his pupils have bled into the chocolatey irises; a dark hungry stare tossed back at you that makes your clit pull tight in response. 

You hum in satisfaction around him, listening to him enjoying your mouth. 

He reaches forward, “ven aquí,” pulling you to him and twisting so you’re on the couch. 

He kisses over your skin as he reveals it, pulling off your clothes until you’re naked in his arms. 

His hands leave a desolate carnage of tingles as he traverses your body, fingers trailing delicately across your navel as he sucks on your lip, nipping gently between his teeth. You feel him, digits slipping further to the swollen, wet bud of your clit. 

You gasp into his mouth as he circles on it, slick movements as your inner thighs jerk and twitch. You clasp onto his shoulders, kissing him deeply as he runs his fingers through your folds, teasing your hole before he pushes two of them inside. 

“Javi,” you groan.

“That feel good, cariño?”

You nod. “So good.”

“So tight,” he groans as he slips his tongue in your mouth, the soft bristles of his moustache tickling deliciously against your lip. “Lay back for me.”

Withdrawing his fingers after a few teasing pumps, you lay back, Javi kneeling between your thighs and stroking himself. Spitting into his palm and coating himself with it as he watches your fingers rub quick, little circles around your clit.

His other hand strokes up your thigh and reaches for your breast; palming it and feeling your nipple pebble under the rough skin of his palm - rough and calloused from the constant handling of his Beretta as of late. 

He kneels up slightly, running the tip of his cock inside your folds, greasing himself up with your slick. Tapping gently against your clit and you gasp as he squelches around you. 

“So wet for me, are you always this wet?” He utters in praised disbelief. 

You smirk, nodding. “For you I am.”

“Fuck,” he smirks back.

“You don’t want to know what you do to me…” You whisper.

“I want to know,” he says with deep hypnotic eyes. “I want to know everything. Dime que hago por ti, querida.” 

Leaving forward over you, his hand splayed on the cushion above your head, Javi lines up, the thick head of him notching gently at your entrance.

"Tell me what you think about when you look at me over your desk," He urges.

Javi feels you flutter against him already, the desperation to suck him in as he bites down on his lip watching you. Watching your eyes flit from the centre of your legs, to his eyes.

“This," you breathe. "Want you, Javi,” you moan to him, trying to push yourself against him. 

You move as he slips in, letting go of his cock and laying over you as his hips shunt forward in a smooth thrust, filling you full of him. 

“Oh!” You gasp.

Your lips tear at his; your arms creeping around the back of his neck as he winds into you, grunting in your ear. 

“Oh my God, Javi…” 

The crest of his hips rattle against you, pushing you closer together as you wrap your legs around him, heels digging into his pert ass.

He moves with intention, every thrust well thought out to feel every inch of you, to make you feel every inch of him. 

“You feel so good, so wet around my cock…” He grunts into you.

You can hear it, hear every lewd, wet squelch as he thrusts in and out. Louder than your mutual breathing and gasps.

He pushes your left leg up against the sofa and leans forward, closer into you as his hips continue to piston in. 

His breath is heavier, ragged in the back of his throat as it scrapes across his tongue and out into your face. 

He kisses you like he’s in love with you; gentle clicks of his lips against yours. Sucking gently around your tongue as he puffs through his nose.

He runs his chin up the side of your face, nuzzling. The moustache feels soft and silken; finally answering all your probing questions about it.  

He hooks your legs against his shoulders and stays close to your face, his hips doing all the work now. Hitting that spot deep inside you as he fucks that bit harder, that bit more intense.

You can feel the flames licking at your skin, the heat suffocating the room. The tightness in your belly, the way your limbs begin to contort with the pressure. 

“Oh, oh,” you whine. You can feel it brewing, feeling it rushing through your veins. 

He presses his forehead to yours in an effort to ground you, pull you back to him, but it does the opposite, it makes you soar. Your gasps become throated grunts as it builds. 

“Let it out,” Javi coaxes. “Let go, cariño. You feel so good around me like this. That’s it, come for me.” 

He glances down, watching his cock disappear inside your swollen lips, and coming back out slick and shinier with each thrust. He pushes down on your thighs, your knees against your shoulders folding you up as he ploughs harder.

Each breath in the back of his throat punching out as though he’s running a marathon. 

“Oh my God, yes… Javi!”

“Come for me,” he pleads again, moaning around each syllable in a soft tincture that punctures your lungs.

He can feel it when you contract, that moment you flood around him. He watches as you writhe and shudder, your voice losing it’s alto as you sigh and pant, losing yourself blind to your orgasm. 

“Oh fuck… fuck yes!" He groans as he can feel you shaking on his cock.

“Hold on to me,” he says, pushing your hands to his neck where you wrap them around him.

He kneels, hooking his hands under your thighs to pull you upright onto him, and closer, and you feel him hit deeper as you cry out.

Javi slows his pace, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip for a second as he completely loses himself. Pussy drunk on you, buried so deep inside that he forgets where he is for a moment.

The sofa creaks in pain with his tempo, both his hands on your ass winding you back and forth over his cock.

The sweat shines at the bottom of your back; the room feels like a furnace, despite the rain outside cooling the night's air that seeps in from the open window. 

“You’re gonna make me fucking come so hard…” He’s growling now, you can hear it. Those husked grunts ribbing at the back of his throat, lips curled up over his teeth as he plunders deeper into your cunt. 

You move, flexing your hips back and forth as you fuck him slowly, and he groans coming back to you. His hands slip back down onto your hips as he moves you, faster, harder on his cock.

“Come inside me, Javi.”

“Oh fuck, mierda… Fuck!” It’s sweetly blasphemous as he comes, grunting and whimpering, his own body shaking and shuddering against yours. Sweat glueing you to one another. 

He groans out as he comes, filling you with his thick spend as your tongue knots in his mouth. 

“Querida,” he moans, as you peck gently over his face, his arms unrelenting, refusing to let go of you. 

He lays back, taking you with him into the breach of the sofa. And you smile at his face regarding you back; big browns that are just mesmerised in some post-coital bliss by all those little nuances, up close and in his face. 

You become mesmerised too, by the way his tongue glides over his teeth, usually to show mirth or derision in the office, but here it commands desire. Want. 

How when he smiles, the left side of his top lip is the first to crook up into that beam that drags his cheeks up to reveal dimples either side of his face, marred usually by his moustache.

It takes you a moment to realise he’s smiling. Javier Peña is smiling for you, and it stuns you, tracing your fingers around the edges of it like a fine piece of art, the beauty of it etched forever in your memory.

“Que?” He asks, observing your awe.

“I’ve never seen you smile before.” You say, shaking your head. “You should do it more often.”

You think you spy a blush creep into the bronze sculpting of his cheeks. Small capillaries flooding with blood.

He slips out of you, but you feel his fingers reaching between your lips probing and slipping around gently in the silken feel of him starting to drip out of you.

He runs his nose across your face, nuzzling into you further. You feel him, sticky and softening under you, and you stroke through his hair, matted with sweat and smiling as he pecks at you still. 

He kisses you, tonguing around your mouth as you feel his fingers sliding inside you, pushing his come back in. His thumb delicately stroking on your clit, barely ghosting it as your shudder and clutch onto him. 

He softly strokes you to another orgasm as you pant inside his mouth.

You don’t know what tomorrow will bring, how he’ll treat you in the office after this.

If this could become a regular thing where he brings flowers and tequila, and takes a spare key and keeps some of his things here, and has dinner with you and showers with you.  

You try to ponder on if it will make things tense or awkward. If he’ll regret it. If you’ll regret it. If he’ll see you as some easy conquest, another notch on his bedpost.

Or if this could become something more.

It doesn’t matter, because right now in this moment, as the clock rolls over into the early hours of Christmas morning in the torrential rain that sprays over Colombia, Javi kisses at your throat with a gentleness about him you couldn’t believe could have existed.

And it’s the best Christmas gift you ever could have wished for. 

“Feliz Navidad, Javi.” You whisper into the hairs of his moustache.  

“Feliz Navidad, cariño.” He whispers back. 

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

#javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #javier pena #javier pena narcos #pedro pascal characters #javi p #javi pena smut #javi pena fic #javier peña #javi peña #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x you #narcos fic #christmas stories #jett's writing

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 21

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I am very tired.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As promised, the king acquires you a full outfit to face the cold. A fur trimmed hat to replace your standard linen cap, a pair of lined hide gloves, and thick boots that go to your knees. He has bolstered you to face the elements but you are wholly unprepared to face the corridors as the glances of soldiers and servants meet you with a new glint of judgement.  

You wear the king’s cloak as before. You keep your head low under the hood as he walks ahead of you. It is a farce. A poorly acted charade. How naive you’d been for so long not see through it all. You were the perfect fool for an intent audience. 

You descend and come out to the west of the castle, through a door beneath a sharply peaked arch. The snow continues to heap over the land though the winds have relented. The king pauses as you emerge and reaches to take you by the wrist, as if he fears you might be lost in the powder. 

He walks you across the yard towards the stables built across a flat of land nestled along a curved rock wall. The doors creaks as he pushes through and the heat of braziers and horses’ bodies greets you within. Sniffs, snorts, and knickers rise in the air as you walk between the stalls. There is one in which a single horse resides, the rest crowded in pairs and trios. 

You look up at the steed’s dark snout, it’s eyes even bleaker as it snuffs out harshly. It’s nostrils flair at your approach and the king clicks his tongue at the beast. It raises its nose then shakes its head. It’s ebony iris fixates on you as its master touches its braided mane. 

“Roach,” you murmur into the dry air. 

“You remember,” he comments gently. 

“Yes,” you watch the horse as it watches you. It bows its head, nose coming close to yours, fuming hot breath around you. It sniffs the trim of your hood. 

“Let the animal see you,” the king advises. 

You bring your hands up and push back the hood, letting it hang over your shoulders. You stare at the dark eyes. Roach continues to twitch his nose in your direction then further dips his head, pressing against your chest. Uncertain, you bring your hands to touch his soft ears. 

“Ah,” the king sighs, “Roach is rarely partial to any but me. Even I receive a nip or too from the curmudgeon.” He chuckles and touches the horse’s thick neck. “others have nearly lost a finger and even sacrificed garment or two.” 

“A creature so volatile, he makes a good war horse?” 

“She,” he corrects you. 

“Oh, apologies.” 

“I doubt she minds,” he muses and pets her long nose as she raises her head. “She is restless. She would do good for the exercise.” 

He lowers his hand and unclasps the stall door. He pulls it out as you step out of the way. The horse clomps through, kicking impatiently as it blows through its lips. The king moves parallel to you and draws you before him. Before you or Roach can react, he has you aloft, urging you onto the horse’s unsaddled back. 

“Hold tight,” he girds and puts his hands to the horse’s shoulder, “come, Roach.” 

The horse starts and you press your hands to her back, clamping on with your thighs. You rock with her motion to keep from slipping. You duck with the mount as she bends through the door the king holds open. The winter snows dusts down on you as you emerge. 

The king drags his palm along the horse’s side and swings himself up with little effort. He sit behind you, Roach not missing a step or buckling at his ascent. He pulls you snug to him, tugging up your hood as the chill nips at your cheeks. He wraps his arms around you and clutches a swathe of the horse’s braids. He whistles and leans, guiding the horse away from the castle. 

“She is obedient,” you remark at her agile response. 

“I prefer mares for that reason,” he returns. You wonder if it is a quip meant for the queen or yourself. Perhaps both. “It isn’t very far, though the path is steep.” 

You nod and stare at the white expanse, a few jutting rocks pocking out above the carpet of snow, leafless branches reaching out here and there. The horse carries you to a ledge, narrow and treacherous, and you lean back into the King Geralt as the edge has you dizzy. He slips his hand beneath your cloak to squeeze your hip. 

“I have you, treasure, you needn’t fear,” he assures.” 

“Yes, your highness, thank you,” you touch his knuckles and shiver. 

“Sweet summer maid,” he purrs as he draws you snugger. “This winter is harsh but I will keep you warm.” 

You shudder and hang your head. For so much comfort as he offers, you find little. It isn’t only the snow which chills you. 

You ride on, the impact of hooves softened by the layers below, the air hollow and biting as it seeps beneath your hood. The sky ripples grey and seems to darken as you descend the curling path along the cliff’s edge. At once, you are plunged into thick blackness. 

The world levels out and the king shifts, sliding off the mount to land on his feet. You peek over your shoulder and see the grim light through the mouth of the cave. The king touches your leg and you turn, letting him help you from the height. Roach kicks and spits. 

The king frames your waist before he releases you. You listen to his steps as he moves through the dim. There’s is a scratch as he strikes flint and flame illuminates his shadow. He bends and takes something from the ground. He pauses and works with one hand, wrapping something around the thick stick. He lights the length of linen around the wood’s tip, a torch to see you along. 

“She will stay, she is not keen on confinement, especially underground,” he girds and removes his own cloak, draping it over the horses back, “the air enlivens me, I shouldn’t need that much.” 

He wears a leather coat, sewn of thick strips of black and studded with silver. He approaches you and bends his arm, offering it gallantly as a gentleman might with a lady. You hesitate and hook your arm through it, hugging his elbow as he leads you deeper, the torch flickering with each step. 

You enter a tunnel with rocky tendrils stretching from top to bottom, encased in layers of ice and frost. The flame illuminates the frozen layers. Deeper and deeper you go, quiet as your curiosity mingles with concern. Where are you going? 

Your boot slips on a slippery patch but the king keeps you upright. You thank him and bring your other arm across to steady yourself on his bicep. You feel his muscle bulging beneath. You do not doubt his promises. He will keep you safe. Down here, but you doubt what he might do without. 

He raises the torch as the air thins and you the cave opens up. You look around as the walls lay beyond the breadth of the torches glow. Your eyes are drawn by the icy fingers hanging from the ceiling. There is one close to you. You reach to touch its pointed tip. 

“Icicles,” the king says, “be careful of the thin ones, they might fall.” 

He moves the torch to show more, all around you, light fangs the line the cave, lining the edges. The flame sparkles on their eerie translucence. Then the king lowers the light and you look down beneath your feet. You’re stand on ice! 

“Your highness,” you instinctively pull yourself closer to him, your soles sliding as you try to walk further. 

“It will not break,” he assures you as he urges you on, “this cave never thaws, even in the warmer months. They call it the Moth’s Den.” He leads you across the ice and your eyes catch on the icicles, thick and thin, some pointed, some reach to touch the floor. You hear an odd hum, almost a buzz, and he sweeps the torch before you. 

You stop to gape at the wall before you. It looks soft and fluffy, almost like fur. Then you lean closer and see the wings. Pale silver moths, fluttering in place, clinging to the wall. Their fuzzy bodies line every morsel of the space. 

“Snow moths. Harmless creatures. Unlike their summer counterparts, the detest the light,” he extends his arm and a circle along the icy wall is sudden bare as the moths move to avoid the glare. “When I was a boy, I always wanted to have one as a pet. I could never get one past the entrance before it escaped and flew back to the depths.” 

You blink and lower your hand from his arm, though you stay hooked onto him, “I didn’t think this was your home.” 

“As a boy it was. At least, that’s how I saw it. My father, king of the day, sent me here to train with Lord Vesemir. As much to keep me out of trouble. I am not unaware of myself. I was not the best behaved. Vesemir took me in and he bides no mischief,” King Geralt explains, “though he does not rule without compassion. He taught me many things more than discipline. He taught me,” the king peers over at you, “that my heart should be heard just as plainly as my mind. If you do not balance them, then it will all topple.” 

You look back at him. Your chest aches deeply. Doesn’t he know you don’t have that privilege? Can he not see that you do not get that choice? Even for a king. 

You might never had cared for Lady Rezlyn and her gossip. You think it cruel and unkind. Often you wonder if she spoke less of others, if she might gain more friends. You never engaged much in Merinda’s whispers either. But you heard them and you know what becomes of mistresses. 

The other woman. That’s what you’ll become. A whore. A name to be spat. A figure to be avoided. A maid might be ignored but she neither favoured or despised. She just is. She has her purpose. A mistress only has the stain put upon her. The one who taints who my walk away, but she never will. 

“The ice becomes you, treasure. The cold it... pales to your beauty,” he smiles down at you. His gold eyes are vibrant and his fine features are even more admirable in the limn of the flame. 

He lifts his chin and takes steady steps away from the wall and leads you towards a jutting stone at the other end of the cavern. He bends to plant the torches base in the crevice at its foot. The torch leans but stands on its own. 

He faces you, untangling from your arm, and puts his hands on your shoulders, “I want to know what you think. Tell me. Do you like my homeland? Do you like the winter?” 

Your lips part and you glance up. Your eyes wander around the space and you turn your head. You raise your hands to touch the king’s leather gloves. 

“I think I do,” you answer. You can’t deny the beauty even if it is deadly. “I might think differently should I meet a bear or a wolf.” 

“It is why you must stay close, treasure, I would never let a beast get anywhere near,” he avows, “I refer to all beasts. Be it man or animal. You will always have me. You needn’t be afraid.” 

You lower your eyes. You can’t say the truth. He knows it but he refuses it. His is a king, he might bend even the world to his whim. You let your hands trails down his forearms. He drops his hands and takes yours. 

“Will you tell me more? About when you were a boy?” You ask, hoping to forget the present a little longer. You are intrigued to think of this man as just a child. It is a rather impossible concept. 

“Hm, well,” he lets go of you and moves around you. He comes behind you and presses himself to your back. He rocks you as he turns you to admire the cave, “I would come to these caves and talk to myself...” he laughs rockily, “you see, if you holler loud enough, your voice bounces back at you. Lord Vesemir, he is not always in the mind for conversation and horses can be just as finicky.” 

He continues to turn you with him. Even without his cloak, his warmth seeps into you. 

“And I would gather bouquets of frostwart and white willowrods for they are the closest to flowers that grow here. I would put the bunches all around, as if I was too be coronated. I was told every day I would be king and I wanted to be ready, but mostly, I’d pretend I was at tourney. I would have my practice sword and I would parry with the air. The air was not so mean as Vesemir with his jabs.” 

You listen, closing your eyes, trying to see it in your head. A white-haired boy with his golden eyes and flowers and swords. Now a man who’s marched through blood and dirt. How time changes more than the seasons, it transforms all. 

“What of you, maid? I want to know of you. When you were a child, did you frolic with the rabbits and the squirrels?” 

You go rigid. You try to pull away but he has you caught. You lean back and exhale heavily. 

“The life of a maid isn’t very interesting,” your murmur. 

“You were always a maid? Even when you were young?” 

“Always,” you affirm. “I emptied pots, brought Lord Dustan his boots, though at times, Lady Jazlene required a playmate...” 

He’s quiet at the mention of his wife. You feel the crack in your heart. Your nose is numb and tingling. 

“Yet, how did you become a maid? Before that, was there nothing?” He asks. 

“Please, your highness--” 

“I bid you call me by my name.” 

“Geralt,” you utter, “please, I beg you, I wouldn’t speak of before.” 

“Did you have parents? Siblings--” 

“None of it,” you hiss and elbow away from him, throwing your arms out to keep balance. You spin and shake your head, “please. My parents are dead. Long gone. And the memories I have of them are nothing more than that. They’ve only ever been dead to me.” 

He is taken aback, his face pale and cheeks tight, “treasure, forgive me, I only... I want to know everything of you--” 

“You know what I am. I am a maid. That is it. That is all I can ever be. I am not a lady, not a wife, not a queen,” you clap your hands together, the impact softened by your mittens, “you cannot make me anything different, king as you may be. I will only ever serve, and you will only ever command.” 

His lips part and he steps towards you, “that isn’t true.” 

“It’s what must be true,” you look to your feet, “might I make a request?” 

“Anything,” he says. 

“Take me back to the castle,” you raise your eyes.  

He nods solemnly and reaches for you, “as you wish.” 

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au #the witcher #winter's king

[me-uglypretty]

my brother's wife

Pairing:  Carol Danvers x F!Reader

Summary: Carol faces the conflict of war, and the love of her life or more accurately, the sister of a man she married.

Warning: (18+), fluff, mention of battle/war | 4k words

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The most confident, bravest, strongest, and coolest hero—spoken with enthusiasm by the honest words of Kamala Khan—was revealed as the heavily adored Princess of Aladna. Captain Marvel, a genuine royalty among her cheerful people. A princess that roused such joy and smiles from those around the symphonic planet.

“That’s so cool! You’re a princess!” Kamala had exclaimed after the moment of revelation had passed. “Oh my god, my favourite…my idol…my captain is also a princess,” she mumbled to herself, eyes widening at each word, and the absolute look of shock on her face when she stared adoringly at Carol.

On the other side, Monica appeared equally bewildered of the infamous hero’s newly revealed title. Carol tried relaying the reasons for her status at the planet, and only received teasing remarks that made her both annoyed and flush at their comical reactions.

Distraction soon arises for the two to further their teasing when the music begun playing. Aladna’s adored couple, the prince and princes dancing together dreamily, voices blending into the other to spoken words of a coming war.

Prince Yan was quick with his reaction, immediately directing them towards a guest room to prepare themselves for battle. Furthering their planning as he spoke privately with Carol then dismissing himself as the three were left assembling their own plan of action for Dar-Benn’s attack.

However, their conversation came to a halt when hushed voices were heard from outside their room. The sounds had diverted their attention towards the closed door, several seconds passed before the wide door was pushed open forcefully and someone entered in a rushed manner, scaring both Monica and Kamala while Carol merely reacted to the sudden intrusion.

“You’re here,” was spoken first, voice conveying brazen anger and eyes staring straight into those visibly cowering. “And you brought guest.”

Carol had flinched. Those words fell harshly from a mouth always sounding so sweet, someone she missed dearly and greatly from the unpleasant time apart. But when her own wide eyes met those orbs seemingly glimmering in pure wrath—she had smiled, dissolved was the sudden fear of what may happened, forgotten was the war that would soon arrive.

It was you, wasn’t it?

Why wouldn’t Carol smile at the sight of you?

It’s foolish to simply overlook the clear irritation on your face, but Carol had always reacted as foolishly possible when it came to you. Her eyes linger on your form, trailing from the strict look on your face to the hues of your clothes that appeared different from the occupants of Aladna. A sort of darkness looms in tinge of yellow, surely making you recognisable in the crowd. Though, that was undoubtedly the truth when you appeared in any places. A beauty like yours, and Carol crumbles at the sight.

You were there. Carol was there. A border that separated two was the upcoming war. Perhaps, it was the continuous voices that sang to their hearts desire, rarely disturbed by anger and unlike how a certain flair of anger seems stuck on your face.

But you’re…you.

“Why…why is Carol smiling?” Kamala whispered, nudging her elbow to Monica’s side at the question. The oldest between two simply shrugged, far too invested to know of her aunt’s new drama.

It was true. Carol was smiling at the sight of you, a stranger simply stood by the closed door. Hands fisted by your side, a frown settled deep on your face as your eyebrows furrowed and round eyes stared in her direction, anger that seems to slip gradually into confusion as your eyes examined the strangers in the room. Then, almost as if the realisation had settled when you noticed the younger girl, your glare was fixed back on Carol with madden intensity.

Carol cleared her throat first, mouth parted to say something then deciding on approaching you instead. “I know what you’re going to say—”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Those words carried an unpleasant silence through the thickening tension. Carol’s approach was blocked as you swerve around her and walked towards the two guests.

Kamala takes an uncertain step back, seemingly pressing her body closer to Monica. Her wide eyes, those pools of soft brown swirls with an expression of fear, confusion, and adoration.

You lifted your fisted hand, extending towards Kamala and revealed a piece of pink candy in your palm. The puzzled look on her face fades seconds as she accepted the candy and uttered a soft thank you. After the minimal interaction, you glance towards the older woman stood beside her. Monica doesn’t offer a smile of any sort as your eyes squints at her like you found her familiar, before nodding your head at her.

“If you need anything, let me know. I’ll be waiting outside this room,” you stated sternly and spun around to make an exit.

Carol’s hand almost reached for yours but dropped by her side with a tired sigh as a hand was raised in her direction, silencing her from uttering anything else. The warning look remained on your face as you opened the door and closed it behind you.

It was almost too quiet till the sound of soft steps reached Carol’s side.

A hum was followed by the question, “So…who was that?”

Carol seemed to had awaken from her swirling thoughts. The clear curiosity was on Kamala and Monica’s face, neither gathering a reasonable answer for the slightly awkward and entirely too conflicted situation. The oldest of them had choose to ignore the questions looming in utter confusion and gestured for them to prepare for the upcoming battle.

It's you, it’s her, and it’s time she set aside her personal matters for the sake of their safety.

Out of the various disastrous occurrence, you weren’t prepared for the forced warfare in your peaceful planet. A home that was always glowing in hues of bright colours, people sharing the sounds of their love and embracing each other tenderly. Despite the conflict that arise at some point that made you dim, it was nothing alike the beliefs that your parents had taught you, and it wasn’t alike the absolute chaos you had witness.

Now, you were stood by the window that exhibited a view of the unexplored galaxy and you were fuming at the sight. A single foot taps rhythmically on the metal flooring, it was a song that your mother used to sing when nights were far too dark and worry expands in your chest. The kind of agony that carried forward as you grew older and when you were forced into the space ship with her.

It's for the best, your brother had claimed and pushed your body towards the hovering ship. The best of his decision was questioned in sake for you or for him. You assumed the latter was the obvious answer.

“How are you doing?” the tender voice asked and instantly, you smelled the slightly burnt aroma that carried through the air. “Coffee?” was offered soon after with a friendly smile.

When you accepted the offer, instantly did the warmth from the mug spreads to the width of your palms. A soft hum resonates through your throat as you sipped the bitter drink tentatively, the warmth doesn’t settle the ache in your chest but offer a sort of comfort from the chill that surrounds the unaccustomed space.

A gentle whisper of a thank you, and seconds after, your gaze met those of dark brown eyes swirling with sympathy.

“We weren’t formally introduced…but I’m Monica,” she introduced herself after offering the beverage. “That’s Kamala,” she pointed her thumb back, and you followed her gaze towards the young girl sat at the edge of the desk, kicking her feet absently then waving shyly in greeting at realisation that the attention had diverted to her.

You nodded your head first, followed by the confession that seemingly pulled her attention entirely on you. “I know…you,” and timid smile was revealed on your face.

Monica’s eyes seemingly widen at the revelation, eyebrows furrowed and mouth parted with questions lingering in her mind since your appearance. A taunting sense that hasn’t provided her with an idea of you.

Though, the wanting conversation was abruptly stopped by sounds of metal clattering to the ground, echoing throughout the shared space. Grumbles of sort was heard moments after, and Monica smiled, an apology lingering at the tip of her tongue as she hastily walked towards the urgent noise.

It left you alone, or at least, with the youngest among them.

Kamala’s face settled with an expression of utter concentration, the lines over her eyebrows more prominent as she squints her eyes and in return, you followed the reaction that seems to flutter out of nowhere. A moment shared between two at an hour that wasn’t great to neither, and it was the sign of a slight smile curling at her lips that warmth your heart. The commenced of a staring contest that you knew of well, a game that you had experienced with the children of Aladna.

It takes approximately ten seconds after that your façade dissolved into a smile that pulled at the muscles of your cheeks and laughter which carried happily in the air. Kamala snorted at the reaction, almost dropping the bowl of snacks in her hands from her uncontrollable laughter.

The rush of innocence in that moment, grasped at your heart and hers, which later you assumed. It seemed foreign to experience something so childlike. Life had become nothing but a period of attending to trivial occasions or listening to orders that enforced your presence far from significant discourses. The thought itself makes you feel strange. Did life really succumb into such dullness? If so, and life has truly met the worst then was that why a young child like her had become intertwined with a growing war?

Few minutes after, when neither you or Kamala was at the start of another childlike act, the young girl made a sound alike a hum.

“I like your scarf,” Kamala pointed out, her head nodding towards the fabric that was tired firmly around your wrist. “It’s pretty…like you,” she added faintly as a shy smile appeared on her face.

The mention of said scarf; an iridescence like maroon fabric which surface is scattered with a phrasing that looked faded, and the seams of the fabric was woven with embroidery of flowers in shade of gold and silver. It was one of the many fabrics made in your home planet, though, this article of clothing carried a significant meaning.

It's special, you would explain as a conclusion.

You placed the coffee in your possession by the window before untying the scarf around your wrist. Taking gentle steps forward, a tender smile curls at your lips as you glance at the fabric in your hand then meeting Kamala’s curious gaze. “Here, you can have it,” you said, and waited for the young girl to extend her hand.

A soft gasp was heard when the scarf was entirely in her touch. The sudden glow that resurfaced wasn’t unusual as you smiled at the sight. It was always a special fabric, and you believed that—Kamala is even more special.

“It’s glowing! Oh my…” she exclaimed, excitement seemingly losing an understand of what she was saying as you chuckled at her reaction. “Really?” she asked, after settling with a wide grin on her face. “Thank you!” she rushed to warp her arms around you as returned the show of affection.

“It’s a special scarf,” you spoke fondly of it. “Promised to guide in time of trouble…” you briefly explained, and witness the young girl inspecting the scarf intriguingly then her eyes, round and wide, stared into yours with questions that you waved off. “No, it’s not going to help you in every situation. It comes and goes, you’ll feel it when it does,” you wiggled your hands to emphasis it’s magic.

You wouldn’t exactly utter the word of magic. It’s not a trick. It’s just, that, something special and only worthy to those of pure heart.

“What’s that?”

The question was rushed, hand grasping your wrist that was once tied with a scarf. It doesn’t occur to you of Kamala’s sudden interest till the next question dropped from her mouth in utter surprise.

“Is that a glowing tattoo?”

You hastily pulled your hand away, and feign obliviousness as you shrugged. “Don’t know.”

The lie that slips from your tongue feels customary. It was a part of you that you hid well. The very emblem that stirred your chest with such rage, waiting for moments after another to erupt in sheer bloody wrath, and express the very notion that made you feel lost. At that same instant, where those feelings roused in such situation, the reason appeared in lurid steps.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Carol’s voice carried warmly through and her body inched closer, while yours visibly retreated with a livid scowl on your face.

Carol has always been the reason.

And there, she crossed her arms. “Are you serious? You’re still mad about what happened?”

Anger flash in your eyes, widening in sheer frustration and irritation. All those crimson flush that seems obvious to her, and you hoped for the least that she reconsiders her next choice of words. You take that step first, forcing your body into her proximity. A single finger pointed at the centre of her chest as you spoke the next line in blazing fury and in a tone that surely left everyone close stunned.

“No. You don’t get it, Carol. You got the prosperous ending with my brother, the chance to leave and continue your beautiful life in space. You had that, just pick up everything and leave to your lonesome like you always do,” you glance around her space ship to emphasise her isolation. “But I didn’t. I faced the backlash for not choosing the right person, for not— you promised that it will always be me and you.”

The breath released after your admission, it pulled at your chest and settled a heavy there. It doesn’t improve when your eyes started into hers, those spheres that you once compared to the sun.

Carol—she was the person you fell so hopelessly for—and she felt that same too, at those hours spend conversing of everything to nothing. You were sure of it. Those eyes of light brown held a heavenly like adoration for you. The mundane act of life, where her hands always find yours or the crimson flush on her cheeks when your hand rest firmly on her thigh. Carol always held a look in her eyes that others would express of how you perceive said person who painted the starts specifically for you, only someone loves you truly would go beyond to achieve that.

She speaks of it too, the love that she holds for purely for you. It was never doubt that she would have seize every colour in the universe for you. The promise that sealed her lips over yours at the first night you presumed her as another space adventurer. She wasn’t, that she swore upon.

It was love. You were confident of it.

Why must she had done everything against it?

You haven’t found the answers. Carol had left you abandoned while you still saw her face everywhere you turn and your brother’s satisfied smile at the mention of his wife.

It wasn’t fair to you—to your aching heart that stayed, still waiting for the glow of the night to appear and to see her smile. You waited for Carol every night till your mind settled with an end.

She could never settle herself for something permanent.

“You have always been so good at leaving, Carol Danvers,” you uttered with finality, and immediately walked away from her.

Pretence slips instantly. You ignored the look of disappointment on Monica’s face or the sounds of shock from Kamala at the revelation. Life was always like this; pretend, speak of every hurt, and pretend again.

Carol acknowledged the mistakes she made from the first that she remembers to the expense of the last. It takes saving the world with such reckless actions before and after, and the most horrible parts of it for her to finally understand. It was the same route that leads for another mistake.

Her heart ached with knowing that neither could compare to the shame that bathe her at leaving you in such state, and the absolute betrayal of accepting the marriage proposed by your brother. It was a documented act to solve a conflict. Merely an act, a performance for the politics that blurred heavily between social construct of Aladna and the heir of the throne.

“She’s very angry with you,” Kamal mumbled nonchalantly which ultimately directed Carol’s attention to her. “But she’s very pretty…” she trailed, momentarily getting distracted by the transparent screen which possessed classified information. “Actually, I think every beautiful woman…hates you,” and with that, she gasped dramatically at the realisation.

Carol argued with the brewing thoughts in the younger girl’s mind. “That’s not— stop, not every woman hates me.”

“Okay,” Kamila answered sarcastically. The utter shock of seeing her idol had fade into confidence if she was speaking like this without a worry, and it kind of made Carol wish back for the early stages of meeting Kamala.

A tired sigh emits from her throat, her hand brushed the blonde strains that fell to her forehead. “Kamala, she doesn’t hate me.”

Kamala scoffed at the statement. Carol’s eyebrows furrowed, and she titled her head, a look that made the younger girl raise her hand in surrender. It was followed by soft mumbles of apologies.

“She’s not happy with me right now, and I understand her,” Carol claimed, confidence wavering at each word after the tense and one-sided conversation with you. “Anyway, why do you even think that?” she questioned, before pushing the younger girl’s hand from messing with the buttons close by, and a cheeky smile soon resurfaced on her face.

“Because she gave me her scarf, she helped before and after the fight, she’s really nice…then you appeared and suddenly, I feel like a child of divorce…” Kamala expressed with a pout.

Carol’s mouth parted in shock, open and closing as though she was trying to comprehend the way to breath or find a suitable way to response. Ultimately at her speechlessness, Carol huffed and turned around, swiftly leaving the young girl giggling in her dismissal of the subject.

How could Kamala have assumed that, as if, the relationship shared between two was obvious to everyone. Carol knew you enough and that served as the only motive as search for you in the space ship.

It hasn’t left her mind since the night she had left. The circulating questions on if your brother was aware of the relationship that brew between you and her. Did the proposal of marriage arise after knowing the truth or was it proposed at the state of unknown?

Then she heard your voice, reaching her ears to where her mind drones the questions and her chest soothe with a warmth from a voice she had missed. You sounded so you, so gentle, so affectionate, and so unliked the voice that spat angrily in her direction.

You were sat by the monitors with Monica. A conversation flowing easily between two people who had never met before this. Carol was careful as she stood behind the wall, enough to stay hidden and still eavesdrop which she knew was a bad thing, but she couldn’t hinder her curiosity.

“Carol talk about you,” was the revelation that shifted Monica’s attention entirely onto you and deserting the classified information she was reading through. “There was so many stories that it felt like I knew you…but you’re obviously not a kid anymore and I don’t think your Aunt Carol had accepted that yet,” you teased at the end, resulting in chuckles from the other women.

“Our relationship feels weird,” Monica admitted, a sort of comfort disclosed in her posture as she shared her thoughts with you. “It’s been years since I last saw her and…” she paused with a tired sigh.

You nodded your head understandingly. “Regardless of what had happened in the past, I know very well that Carol misses you and she loves you so much,” your hand rested comfortingly on Monica’s arm as you continued, “I really do believe that she wants to try and make this better.”

The conversation fades into the background when Carol turned away from it. After all she had done, the absolute heartbreak that was vivid in your eyes, and you still spoke of her so kindly with someone sharing the same angry for her leaving. It wouldn’t make sense if someone else heard this, but Carol knows your compassion goes beyond.

You were rooting for her relationship with Monica to heal. It felt like your anger as fated at her, but never around what she was for everyone else.

Carol wishes and hopes that she could have the chance to fix the mess she created, and to hear your voice speak sweet to her.

The feeling of something horrible occurring—that ache which drew the most horrifying scream from your chest, your throat burns from the sheer strength it took, your hands trembling, your eyes blurry as tears shed—and the aftermath of it.

To witness someone, not just anyone, but the love of your life confined in a battle that doesn’t present an idea of who would survive. To ready your heart for the worse rather than the good, as the later hasn’t transpired for years, and you were always expecting the worse when it was intertwined with you.

Carol was, is intertwined with you.

The reality of a dreadful battle had disregarded the resentment which stirred in your chest at the sheer mention of her. Betrayal of such, wasn’t promised forgiveness. A part of you knew, forgiveness materialised in your heart when you first saw her on the dance floor, despite her close embrace with your brother.

Everything that you felt was dismissed completely at the sight of her, alive and breathing as she stood just steps away from you. Carol frowned, cheeks crimson and skin gleaming of sweat. It takes one move for her mouth to part, and for you to leap into her arms as she held you close. They won, and she was alive.

In the heat of such reunion, you pushed yourself back slight, your soft eyes gazing into hers and like nature pursuit the sun’s shine, your mouth hovers over hers—

And you kissed her.

One kiss after another, mouth pressing into the other as though air was transfer in that way, her touch melting you into a puddle of love for her.

Carol was stunned and hoped the forbidden wake from a dream wouldn’t ruin this moment with you. It doesn’t happen, not when your hands grasped her face or when her hands fell to your waist. You were kissing her so fondly that the smile on her face the only reason you stopped.

“You kissed me,” Carol whispered, her minty breath fans over your mouth, and you used to tease her for her habit of eating mint candies when she was stressed. “You kissed me.”

You hummed. “And you kissed me back.”

However, the sweet reunion of love was interrupting by a cough. Carol shifted her head slight, looking over your shoulder to see Monica stood there with an unamused expression. You tenderly turned around in her embrace, back pressed into hers as Carol rested her head on your shoulder.

It's perfect, she confessed to her heart. The bad was resolved, and you still love her. You love her enough and haven’t left her side since the start of this unavoidable war.

She doesn’t need any other proof of love than the way your hand grasps her wrist and hold her closer. The glimpse of a mark on your wrist proof of it more, a matching emblem of love that glows warmly on her skin and yours.

“So…you forgive her for being problematic?” Monica teased, and instantly raised her hands in feign surrender when Carol glared at her. “Okay, calm down, Aunt Carol. I was just…stating the obvious.”

A groan trembles through your shoulder at Carol’s annoyance. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Where’s Kamala? Go take care of her, please,” Carol plead in the end, and Monica smiled, waving her hands at you as she walked away.

Carol turned your body around, facing you entirely as the smile on her face widens as you were smiling at her too. It’s unreal, she thought, as her fingers trace the curve of your lips and you lean into her touch.

You felt the texture of her skin, the print of her birth and the ones occurred from her life filled with action. She wasn’t a fragment of a memory that made you curse and cry the night away. Just knowing she was there with you, lessen the ache that was so persistent in your heart.

“I’m sorry for messing up,” Carol whispered, her hand grasps your jaw tenderly. “I shouldn’t— I should have never left you. It’s my fault, and I would do everything to fix this, fix us.”

You simply listened or more, admire the little furrow of her brows as she spoke, the line that drew over forehead which appeared more prominent when she was frowning, and the way her eyes visibly softened, it’s not the look of a warrior but of someone blooming with sympathy. Your body seemed to react first as you pressed your mouth firmly over hers, lips completely shutting her from her rambles of apologies.

“I forgive you,” was whispered as another kiss was followed by, “But you have a long way to fix everything,” you pointed, and she chuckled, nodding her head in agreement.

This was entirely the way either of you expected for rekindle of a relationship, but she was there, you were there, and safely together. Life, rough as it always had been, but it would eventually resolve into better thing. You accepted this at once as her eyes gaze into yours, the tender touch of her hand, and the sweet smile on her face.

You kissed again—just for her.

“But you are divorcing my brother or this,” you pushed yourself back, creating a gap between bodies. “Would never work out,” you stated as you removed your hands from hers and patted her chest softly.

The response that came after was the sound of your distant steps, and Carol’s eyes followed your figure retreating to where the rest were surely waiting.

“Wait! Stop!” Carol shouted suddenly, realisation dawning on her after completely losing her state of consciousness from your touch. “We got married on papers to solve a conflict! It’s not real, hey!”

The laughter that echoed through the space ship was shared among those surviving another formidable battle. You were laughing with Monica and Kamala while Carol was trying her hardest to justify her political marriage, and the slight appearance of a smile when she realises that this is her family. Loneliness doesn’t dwell at each corner of this floating ship, but the warmth of friendships, and rekindled relationships.

hi! if you enjoyed this, do consider getting me coffee 💜

#carol danvers x reader #carol danvers x you #carol danvers imagine #captain marvel x you #captain marvel x reader #captain marvel imagine

[dnvrsmedia]

Dr. Anderson Will See You Now

Dr!Abby Anderson x Wife!Research assistant!Reader

Summary: You meet your now wife, Dr. Abby Anderson, working at Seattle Hospital as a Lab Specialist. 8 years and a marriage later, your life could not have been more perfect. What happens when your wife is destined on carrying out a silly little prank war?

warnings: 18+ mentions/themes of smut, not proof read

word count: 2k

AN: this is my first post back on tumblr in forever. I don’t foresee myself necessarily posting fics here fully time, but post the occasional fic that i am extra proud of. I still am really only posting on AO3 (sevikasplanet).

hope you enjoy.

.

Heavy breaths slow as you come down from your high. Your mind on cloud nine, you almost miss the whispers of reassurance coming from your blonde haired lover beside you. Abby pulls you in to lay directly on top of her. Your nose nuzzling into its designated spot in the crook of her neck. Soft kisses litter her skin as the both of you slow your breathing. You lift your head to look at the blue eyed girl with a toothy smile. No matter how many times the two of you have been intimate, a shy nature subcomes you. Abby chuckles at you with a light hearted roll of her eyes.

“We have been together for almost eight years, married for two of them. How are you still so shy?” Her big palm caresses your thigh as you try to return to your position you previously were in. Abby would not have any of that, the woman tilting your chin to face her with a loving look in her eye.

“I love you, baby.” Abby smiles. Your heart soars at the words left from her lips. That was something you could never get tired of.

“I love you too, Abs.” You plant a slow kiss to her lips, enjoying the feeling of her plush pillows contorting with yours.

Days like these were often very rare in the Anderson household. Abby is a very successful orthopedic surgeon, and you work full-time as a research specialist. The pair of you met while working at the same hospital you do now. Funnily enough, running into doctors was quite the rarity as you were on a completely different wing from your now wife. You had met the big goofy blonde in the cafeteria. It was your first week starting your new job at the hospital’s research facility. To say it was stressful becoming acquainted would be a complete understatement. Everything felt as if it were divinely fated against you (you do have the flair for dramatics and intense perfectionism). Even the stupid fucking self check out machine was laughing at your apparent stupidity.

Abby ran into you having a bit of…technical difficulties as you slammed your badge furiously across the scanner for the millionth time in the span of five minutes. It was pure luck that Abby just so happened to forget her lunch at her apartment today as she rushed to get ready for work. An incredulous chuckle left her mouth, not really sure if this was a bit or not. Tha confusion quickly went away when she heard your frustrated mutters of not so professional language leave your mouth.

“Stupid fuckin’ robot, n’ you’re ‘posed to take my job in the future? Dumb fuck!” Your pouty lips and furrowed brows were unlike anything Abby has ever seen. To this day, she swears this is when she started falling in love with you. Time fell frozen in her mind as she watched you, the most beautiful person she has ever seen.

“Um, I think I can help you with that, if you don’t mind?” Abby clears her throat, feeling the heat rise to her face as all of your attention turns to the buff woman before you.

Left opening your mouth like a fish out of water, your embarrassment flooded through your system– it left you hindered to speak as you nodded your head. All Abby can do is fondly smile at the person before her, what can she say, you have peaked her interest. Abby grazes her hand across yours as she reaches for your badge. Electricity flows through both of your veins at the small connection of your hands. If Abby wasn’t bright red before, she was now. She shook her head lightly as if she was telling herself to remain on task, and did just that. You practically facepalm yourself as you see the freckled face woman flip your badge to the correct side and swipe.

“Oh my god I just threw a tantrum over that.” You giggled at the situation you put yourself in.

“Here, why don’t I buy you your lunch? As a thank you for your hard work uh–” Your eyes trail to the name embroidered onto her white coat. “Dr. Anderson.” A wide smile beams from your mouth, unbeknownst to you, your forever was awaiting right in front of you.

Abby pulls away with a reminiscent smile on her face. Abby was never one to indulge in romantic relationships,at least not the long term kind, until she met you. For the majority of her adult years, Abby spent her time with her head down and her nose between her books. She would spend the little free time she had at the gym or with her close knit group of friends and family. Becoming a successful orthopedic surgeon at her age took hand work and dedication, and if her father taught her anything it would be just that. The Andersons were resilient and Abby was a direct product of that.

Never having known her mother, Abby grew up around doctors. Her second home was the hospital’s daycare. Although Jerry tried his best to be around Abby, there were times where the blonde was left to raise herself. Jerry was open minded and well informed, he lacked the experience of womanhood. Abby was never keen on stereotypical “girl” things. That did help him in raising her, though if Abby did turn out to love tutus and sparkles, he would be the first to participate. Abby appreciated having Jerry as her number one fan. You would think that he would pressure the girl into becoming a successful neurosurgeon, leading a life just as fruitful, but that was not the case. Jerry understood that doing what you loved was the greater purpose of life. Abby just so happened to have a fascination with fixing broken things– where that be bones broken or the relationships of friends. Yet, she never found time to get into relationships herself. Thus, when she found you, she knew she couldn’t let you go. From the moment she saw you halfway to breaking the self checkout scanner, she needed to find a way to fix her way into your life. Those eight years of fixing turned from putting together your pesky IKEA desk, to fixing the hinges on your squeaky door, to finally fixing the ring on your finger, cementing your future together.

The pair of you wouldn’t change the last eight years for the life of you. Those days came with love and laughter. Specifically, unbeknownst to many, Abby liked to play pranks. You, being someone who disliked surprises, somehow fell in love with a six foot two goofball. Her residents would think you were insane for associating Abby with the word goofball. She was nothing shy of a hardass when it came to work. Her pouty lips and furrowed eyebrows were a staple at the Seattle Hospital. She finds it hilarious that the interns are scared of her. Her fellow residents must comply with her reputation when they really know that she is the first one to call when times get hard.

“I have a gift for you coming in at the end of the week.”

The tall blonde smugly smirks as her rough fingers gently contrast her light touches on your naked body on top of hers. Her smile widens as your breath hitches, like you know where this is going.

“A gift? What do you have planned, Dr.Anderson?”

A groan emits from her throat, knowing what that title does to her when you use it. I mean, it is the reason why you two ended up rustling in bed on your day off.

Abby laughs while squeezing the fat of your thigh.

“Nothing you have to worry about. Lover. Just know that you’ll enjoy it just like you seemed to enjoy today.”

A nibble on your earlobe makes your shiver as the soreness between your thighs makes you remember the details of your rendezvous with your wife. Your face smooshes into the crevasse of her neck and shoulder in embarrassment. Abby smiles, ready for her prank to commence.

If you would have known that your wife would go out of her way to make your life unbearably distressing for the next week then you would have told her to take her gift and shove it up her ass. Every waking moment, Abby has decided to tease you. Relentlessly. Constant reminders throughout your day about your gift— that you should be expecting by Saturday— could have never possibly left your mind with how she never let you forget. Her lips trail all of your sweet spots in passing throughout your mornings. Strong hands roughly spread your asscheeks disgustingly well as she wetly explores the inside of your mouth in a storage closet near your lab. Whimpers leaving your lips as your wife teases your nipples while you prepare dinner. Tweaking them in her hands as she whispers dirty thoughts in your ear. Throwing you on the bed, licking, sucking, prodding, and prying at your plush thighs, groaning from below you. Calling you from your lab to an empty office, making you grind on her thigh, then rudely leaving you hot and bothered. Yet, whenever you begged for her to continue, she would find an excuse to not move on.

It’s not that you’d say your sex drive is unnecessarily high, but you have a sexy stallion of a wife, who could blame you? It got to the point where she was the only thing on your mind all day. You felt immense need thrumming through your bones at all possible hours of the day, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could take it. Luckily for you, Saturday was on the horizon. From the moment you woke up, you were by Abigail’s side clinging to her every movement.

Of course, your wife found this to be very endearing and hilarious. Any time you heard a shuffle outside of the front door, you pearled up like a dog. The worst part of the day was waiting anxiously for whatever “gift” your wife had for you. By the time you were growing annoyed, Abby picked you up and threw you over her shoulder—army style.

“Abigail!!! What the fuck are you doing?!” You squealed out between heavy laughs.

To say that you were complaining, ESPECIALLY with the view of her ass you’re getting would be a lie. A loud smack recoils from your hand slapping your wife’s sculpted butt cheek. A faux gasp leaves her lips.

“I’d be careful, baby, I’m the one carrying you.” Abby laughs at your wiggling ceasing. A smack lands on your backside, and although you can’t see her, you know that sexy and cocky smirk adorns her face. Especially after that loud whimper that leaves your lips. Abby flops you on the bed after she makes it up to your shared bedroom. Like a predator to its prey, she slowly stalks up to your lips, her body on top of yours. Her hair loose from her normal solo french braid, creating a halo of hair surrounding your face.

“Hi, beautiful.” Abby purrs as a hand of yours tucks her golden locks behind her ears, caressing her cheek in your palm. No matter the situation, Abby never fails to erupt butterflies in your stomach. Your face turns away from her loving and lustful eyes at the term of endearment.

“Uh uh, baby, look at me. C’mon, you’ve been so good this week. Wouldn’t wanna ruin your surprise now, would you?” Abby coos.

Your eyes snap back to hers, snapping into that submissive state she’s had you in oh so many times. You shake your head and respond to her with a ‘no’.

“Good.” Abby says as she quickly plants a sweet kiss to your lips. You whine in protest at the quick peck, wanting more, yet all your lover does is pinch your cheek with a smirk.

“Patience, baby. I’m gonna go get your gift now, okay?” And with that, the blonde scurried into your en suite bathroom.

Now what you didn’t see would be the devilish smile attached to her face. Abby might be a gentle giant and a fierce lover, but that did not stop her from being wildly competitive. Her need for pranking you only came after a small prank you pulled on her the first year of dating. Thus, ultimately creating an 8 year long prank war between the two of you. Abby even going as far as pranking you on your wedding day.

-2 years ago-

It was a beautiful day to have a wedding, and you could not have been more sure that you were making the best decision of your life. Your intimate wedding occurred at the private beach and house that Jerry owned. The view was spectacular, and so was the day. Before the wedding took place, Abby and yourself decided that you would want to have a private “first look” with you, her, and her friend Leah—a professional photographer. You were practically bouncing off the walls with how excited you were to see the love of your life. You were so curious about what she would wear. So, when it was time to turn around, you were surprised to see your future wife in a blow up dinosaur suit. Your jaw dropped as Abby couldn’t contain her fits of laughter, her tiny dinosaur hands trying to hold you. After your initial shock, you joined in on the continuous laughter. The pictures of your reaction were priceless, and to this day, it is her phone lockscreen.

Silly things like this was what made you sure that you made the correct decision, even if what she is about to do will royally piss you off.

“Close your eyes!” Is yelled from the bathroom with a slight giggle to her tone. Your eyes roll before you cover your eyes with your hands, you know already that Abby hates when you peak.

“They’re closed! C’mon I'm getting bored, Abs.” You yell back.

You can hear the blonde shuffling from the bathroom, trying to hold back her laughs. This sound confirmed to you that your wife was up to something very, very stupid.

“Okay, open up.” Abby bites back a smile as she stands at the foot of the bed.

Your eyes open and your mouth immediately flys open in shock.

“Dr.Anderson will see you now.” She tries to stay composed, clearly failing at the sound of her quiet chuckles.

Abby had teased you relentlessly for a week, turning you on to levels unknown…for an ill fitting “sexy” doctors costume? She looked absolutely ridiculous in this outfit. The costume fit her like an adult trying to put a toddlers dress on. The low cut white dress with a slit on both sides hardly fit over her wide shoulders and built physique. The buttons pulled at a tension so great you were shocked that they didn’t burst. The zipper not even getting the chance to zip due to her ridiculously muscular stature. The fishnet stallings digging into her wide thighs, topping it off with a very very tiny thong. To say that you were not expecting this would say the least.

“Abigail. What. The. Actual. Fuck!” You throw your head back in a loud cackle. Your belly hurting from the intense laughter bubbling up inside. She takes a stride towards you, but stops just as fast as a loud ‘riiiiip’ noise is heard. Her eyes bulge out of her head as she turns around. Her ass and thong fully hanging out as the fishnets now have a large hole on them. A howl erupts from both of your lips at the ridiculousness of it all.

It takes moments for you both to calm down, and after many pictures taken, Abby takes off the costume and joins you back on the bed.

“Although you got me really good, I'm still kinda mad at you for teasing me like that.” You pout at your wife.

Abby trails her hand up to where you need it most, caressing your clothed core. Her lips trailing up to your ear.

“Oh, babe, I’ll be sure to make it up to you.”

#dnvrsmedia #tlou #the last of us #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #tlou2 x reader #dr!abby #dr!abby anderson #abigail anderson #abigail anderson x reader #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson smut #abigail anderson tlou2 #abby smut #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby the last of us #abby anderson fic #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x reader smut #abby anderson x reader fluff

[boldlyanxious]

Kitty Key

Masterlist

Tag team day 7: what do you need?

Marinette found the cat again.

She was hiding up a tree. That was the third time this week. The poor thing had climbed so high and was just watching as Marinette struggled to drag fallen branches over to the tree to make a way for the cat to get down.

She pushed on the branches just a bit to make sure they were sturdy. Rather than trying to help the cat, she left it like that to allow her to get down in her own time.

She was a very skittish kitty and for good reason. Princess Cass was very sought after for marriage. She had refused all who offered to marry her. Finally, the king had decreed that she would give someone a key and that person would be the one she married.

Marinette often wondered if the king knew what she would do. It has shocked many. Rather than bestowing the key on anyone the princess tied it around the neck of a cat and said she would marry whoever was able to retrieve it.

It was probably to determine their agility, strength and stamina. Princess Cass was an amazing warrior. Marinette liked to go down and watch her while she trained. Sometimes it would feel like she looked right at her. But Marinette would always look down in deference to her. It was probably not even her she was looking at.

As a healer, Marinette saw the results of the warrior training and the injuries from the cat on the people of the kingdom. Many came to Marinette for healing for injuries sustained on the training field. Mostly bruises and sprains because they didn't like to injure the warriors training too badly.

The cat however had caused countless injuries from scratches and bites to falls from those trying to climb to where she was out of reach. In addition to that there were fights between those who had chased or cornered the cat.

Marinette never chased the cat. She felt sorry for her being denied a peaceful existence just to decide someone else's fate. She wondered if Princess Cass felt the same, hunted and trapped. It must be hard to be forced into such a decision. She preferred her own quiet life.

She pushed away the rest of her lunch and laid back in the grass. She turned her head at a rustling noise. The cat crept closer, looking around before coming nearer.

"It's okay. I won't bother you," she said.

She turned and pulled the rest of her fish from the basket. She held it up to gauge interest in it before tossing it near the cat but in a place easy for her to run away from.

The cat continued forward and sniffed it but moved past it, closer to where Marinette lay. The cat snuggled right against her side. Marinette moved her hand and started scratching behind her ears. The cat moved forward and lifted her chin.

"I can scratch your chin too," she said as she moved her hand to the offered spot. "Don't worry. I'm not gonna take your key. I think the princess deserves a say in who she marries."

She jumped back as the cat suddenly transformed into Princess Cass right before her eyes. Marinette dropped her eyes to the ground. It wouldn't be proper for her to meet the gaze of royalty. Cass' hand reached out and gently tilted her head up.

"My sweet Marinette," Cass said.

"Oh, what do you need?" Marinette asked.

"You," Cass responded, handing her the key.

Tag list

@theymakeupfairies | @emjrabbitwolf | @vixen-uchiha | @trythisagainlove | @trippingovermyfeet | @tbehartoo | @izanae | @kittenmywaythrulife | @folk-ever-lore | @jayjayspixiepop | @achaoticmess1

@adrestar | @zynna | @jeminiikrystal

#ttt2022 #rare pair flair #Cassinette #cassette #boldlyanxious #maribat

[zapreportsblog]

Hello! So I had this Poly!Volturi Knights x Reader idea

Where (y/n) went to a “Red and Black ball”(you can pick the readers outfit if you want) made by the Volturi kings themselves.

And during their time at the ball they made eye contact with each of the knights as they walked pass by them

Almost like a slow motion moment Yknow😅

This is so cool I can definitely do this and I’ll even have it as each of their povs further down in this

↱ queen of the ball ↰

➘ summary : the volturi goes all out for their newest member, it’s a good thing they are hosting a ball tonight

➘ a/n : I don’t feel I did my best for this but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless :)

➘ Jane x Alec x reader x demetri x felix , volturi x reader

The grand halls of the Volturi castle were adorned with opulent decorations, a tapestry of black and red intertwining to create an ambiance of both elegance and power. The anticipation was palpable as guests from all corners of the vampire world gathered for the much-awaited black and red ball, hosted by the Volturi kings themselves.

In a secluded chamber within the castle, the newest member of the Volturi, (Y/N), stood before a full-length mirror. She was surrounded by a whirlwind of activity as skilled hands worked to transform her appearance. The dress that had been meticulously designed for her lay across a chair, a masterpiece of black silk with intricate red accents that mimicked the patterns of rose petals.

Marcus, known for his impeccable taste and eye for design, had overseen every detail of the dress's creation. He had chosen to infuse it with an air of enchantment, a nod to the fairy tales that humans so often told. The dress clung to her figure in all the right places, the red accents tracing delicate lines that emphasized her natural beauty.

Aro, with his flair for the dramatic, had arranged for a hairstylist and makeup artist to enhance (Y/N)'s features. Her (h/c) hair was woven into an intricate updo, adorned with delicate red crystals that caught the light and shimmered like stars. The makeup artist had worked magic with brushes and pigments, enhancing her eyes and lips in a way that accentuated her allure without overpowering her natural radiance.

As the finishing touches were applied, (Y/N)'s reflection stared back at her with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. This was a night of celebration, a chance for her to make her mark within the Volturi and to showcase her newfound place as a member of their family. She had been embraced by the kings, and tonight, she would step into her role with grace and poise.

With a final flourish, her reflection smiled back at her, and the transformation was complete. She turned to face the attendants, gratitude filling her eyes. "Thank you all. I never imagined I would be part of such an extraordinary event."

Caius, whose taste leaned towards luxury and indulgence, entered the room, holding a pair of red and black heels with a glass-like sheen. "To complete the ensemble," he declared, a rare hint of a smile tugging at his lips. The shoes were a work of art, a perfect match to the dress that had been crafted with such care.

Finally ready, (Y/N) took one last look in the mirror before stepping out into the bustling hallway. The whispers of admiration that followed her as she walked towards the ballroom were a testament to the effort that had been put into her transformation. The dress swirled around her with each step, the red accents catching the light and creating an ethereal glow.

As she entered the ballroom, the atmosphere shifted. All eyes turned towards her, the sea of black and red parting to make way for her presence. The Volturi kings stood at the center, their gazes filled with approval and a touch of awe. Aro's grin was infectious, and Caius's nod of approval held more weight than she could have hoped for.

Marcus approached her, his calm demeanor softened by a smile. "You look stunning, my dear. Your mates will surely love seeing you in this."

With each note of the music that filled the air, (Y/N) felt the weight of her new role lifting. She was not just a member of the Volturi; she was a part of a family that celebrated her, appreciated her, and had dressed her in a gown fit for a modern Cinderella.

Demetri's eyes were fixed on the entrance to the grand ballroom, his heart pounding with an excitement he couldn't contain. He had heard the whispers and the anticipatory hum that had swept through the castle, signaling the arrival of someone special. And then, like a vision materializing from his most fervent dreams, she appeared.

(Y/N) walked into the room, her presence captivating everyone in its wake. His breath caught in his throat as his gaze traveled down her figure, taking in the sight of the black Cinderella-like dress with its delicate red accents. The dress hugged her curves with a grace that left him momentarily speechless.

The red accents seemed to dance like flames against the darkness of the dress, creating an enchanting contrast that mirrored her captivating aura. Her (h/c) hair was elegantly styled, adorned with crimson crystals that caught the light and shimmered like stars in the night sky. The makeup that enhanced her features was a masterpiece, drawing his attention to her mesmerizing eyes and the curve of her lips.

Every step she took seemed to be guided by an otherworldly elegance, as if the very air around her recognized her significance. Demetri's heart swelled with pride as he watched her, a fierce possessiveness welling up within him. She was his mate, a beacon of beauty that had captured his heart and soul from the moment they had met.

Her eyes scanned the room, a mixture of curiosity and wonder reflecting in their depths. It was as if she was seeing the grandeur of the ballroom for the first time, and in a way, he realized, she was. This was her introduction to the world of the Volturi, and he was both honored and anxious to be a part of this pivotal moment in her life.

Demetri's thoughts raced as he continued to watch her. The way she moved, the way she interacted with the other guests—everything about her was a testament to her innate grace and charm. He knew that this was a night she would remember, a night that would etch itself into her memory just as indelibly as it would in his.

As the music swelled and couples began to dance, Demetri found himself unable to tear his gaze away from her. She was the center of attention, the embodiment of the beauty and elegance that the night represented. And in that moment, he knew that he was the luckiest man alive to have her as his mate, to witness her in all her glory as she graced the ballroom with her presence.

Jane's crimson eyes were fixed on the entrance to the ballroom, her usually impassive expression betraying a flicker of anticipation. She had heard the whispers and felt the subtle shift in the atmosphere, signaling the arrival of someone who held a special place in her heart. And then, as if stepping out of a fairy tale, (Y/N) walked into the room.

A rare warmth spread through Jane's chest as she took in the sight before her. The black Cinderella-like dress with its intricate red accents was a striking choice that perfectly complemented (Y/N)'s allure. Jane's lips curved into a small, genuine smile as she recognized the dress as a creation from Marcus's impeccable taste. It seemed that even the reserved Volturi kings could not resist the allure of such an enchanting design.

(Y/N) moved with a grace that demanded attention, her every step exuding confidence and elegance. Jane's gaze lingered on the red accents, noting how they seemed to capture the light and create a luminous effect against the dark fabric. Her (h/c) hair was styled in a way that emphasized her beauty without overpowering it, and the makeup highlighted her delicate features.

The transformation was remarkable, turning (Y/N) into a vision that was hard to ignore. Jane's heart swelled with a mixture of emotions, a potent blend of pride and possessiveness. This was her mate, someone who had captured her heart and whose presence held an undeniable significance in her life.

As (Y/N)'s gaze swept across the room, Jane couldn't help but admire the way her eyes sparkled with curiosity and wonder. She was taking in the grandeur of the ballroom, a place that was undoubtedly foreign to her. Jane felt a desire to protect (Y/N) from the attention and scrutiny that came with being a part of the Volturi, even as she recognized (Y/N)'s inner strength.

The music resonated through the air, couples twirling and dancing to its rhythm. Jane's attention, however, remained solely on (Y/N). She watched as (Y/N) interacted with the other guests, her genuine smile and the ease with which she carried herself drawing people to her like moths to a flame.

In that moment, Jane was overcome with a sense of gratitude. She knew that finding a mate was a rare and precious gift, and having (Y/N) by her side was a privilege she cherished. As the night unfolded, Jane knew that this would be a memory she would hold onto—a memory of the night she watched her mate, resplendent in a black dress with red accents, make her mark in the world of vampires and within the depths of Jane's own heart.

Alec's gaze was unwavering as he stood at the edge of the ballroom, his typically calm demeanor masking the rush of emotions that surged within him. The anticipation in the air was almost palpable, the collective excitement of the guests adding to the electric atmosphere. And then, like a beacon of elegance and beauty, (Y/N) walked into the room.

His breath caught in his throat as his eyes locked onto her figure. The black Cinderella-like dress adorned with delicate red accents clung to her form in a way that seemed almost poetic. Alec's lips curved into a rare, genuine smile as he recognized the elegance of the dress as a creation of Marcus's meticulous design.

(Y/N)'s every movement was a symphony of grace, her steps measured yet exuding a confidence that drew all eyes toward her. Alec's gaze lingered on the red accents that seemed to come alive under the light, casting a mesmerizing glow against the backdrop of the night. Her (h/c) hair, styled with a touch of understated glamour, framed her face in a way that enhanced her natural beauty.

Alec's heart swelled with a mixture of emotions as he watched her. There was a sense of pride that she was his mate, a feeling of possessiveness that he had never experienced before. Her transformation was remarkable, turning her into a vision that was both captivating and enchanting.

(Y/N) turned her head slightly, her eyes scanning the room with a mix of curiosity and wonder. Alec's heart skipped a beat as he imagined what thoughts might be passing through her mind. She was stepping into a world vastly different from her own, and he couldn't help but feel an urge to shield her from the complexities that came with their world.

The music filled the air, couples swaying to its rhythm, but Alec's focus remained solely on (Y/N). He watched as she interacted with others, her genuine smile and engaging presence drawing people to her effortlessly. He admired her strength and warmth, traits that had won him over from the moment they had met.

As the night unfolded, Alec knew that this moment would remain etched in his memory. Watching (Y/N) navigate the intricacies of their world, dressed in the black and red ensemble that mirrored her grace and beauty, was a memory he would treasure forever. She was not only a part of his world but a part of his very soul, and he couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude that fate had brought them together.

Felix's dark eyes remained fixed on the entrance to the ballroom, his usually composed demeanor betraying a subtle restlessness. He had heard the murmurs and sensed the excitement that hung in the air like static, announcing the arrival of a special guest. And then, as if emerging from the depths of his most cherished dreams, (Y/N) stepped into view.

A slow, appreciative smile tugged at the corners of his lips as his gaze traveled over her. The black Cinderella-like dress with its intricate red accents was a masterpiece that held his attention captive. Felix's usually stoic expression softened as he took in every detail—the way the dress clung to her figure, the red accents that seemed to shimmer like embers against the darkness.

(Y/N) moved with a regal grace, each step exuding a confidence that drew the eyes of everyone in the room. Felix's heart swelled with a mixture of pride and possessiveness as he watched her. This was his mate, the person who had captured his heart in a way that he had never thought possible. Her transformation was nothing short of breathtaking, a testament to the care and attention that had been poured into her appearance.

The (h/c) hair that framed her face was styled in a way that highlighted her features, enhancing her natural beauty without overpowering it. Felix's eyes lingered on the delicate details—the crimson crystals that adorned her hair, the makeup that accentuated her eyes and lips in a way that left him entranced.

As (Y/N)'s gaze swept across the room, Felix's heart skipped a beat. He admired the way she carried herself, the ease with which she engaged with the other guests. There was an air of curiosity and wonder in her eyes, as if she was seeing this world through a new lens. And in a way, she was. This was her introduction to the Volturi's grandeur, and Felix was both humbled and anxious to be a part of this pivotal moment in her life.

The music filled the air, couples swaying in time to its melody, but Felix's attention remained solely on (Y/N). He watched as she interacted with others, her presence commanding attention, her genuine smile captivating those around her.

With each passing moment, Felix felt an overwhelming surge of gratitude. This was the mate he had longed for, the one who completed him in ways he hadn't thought possible. As the night unfolded, he couldn't help but marvel at the image of (Y/N) dressed in the black and red ensemble, a representation of her beauty and the depth of their connection. This was a memory he would hold close, a moment in time that encapsulated the beginning of a new chapter in both their lives.

A sense of unity seemed to permeate the air as Alec, Jane, Felix, and Demetri exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them. Their posts were important, but this was a moment they couldn't let slip by unnoticed. As if guided by an unspoken agreement, they discreetly left their respective places and converged in a more secluded corner of the ballroom.

Alec's gaze held a soft intensity as he spoke first, his voice low and filled with genuine admiration. "You look breathtaking, (Y/N). The dress, the way you carry yourself—it's truly enchanting."

Jane's crimson eyes held a warmth that was rare for her, her lips curving into a genuine smile. "I must admit, I'm not one for compliments, but tonight you've managed to capture everyone's attention, including mine. You are a vision."

Felix's usually boisterous demeanor was replaced with a subdued reverence. "You've managed to stun even me, and that's saying something. The dress, the way you've carried yourself—it's as if you were made for this moment."

Demetri, who often wore a laid-back smile, looked at (Y/N) with a blend of fondness and pride. "You've brought a different kind of light to this event. It's like you've breathed life into the room, and I have to say, you've made quite the impression."

As (Y/N) listened to their words, her heart swelled with a mixture of happiness and gratitude. To have the attention and affection of these four individuals, each of whom was so integral to the Volturi, was a feeling that she couldn't put into words.

"Thank you," she replied, her voice filled with sincerity. "Your words mean more to me than you'll ever know."

Alec's lips curved into a small smile as he exchanged a look with the others. "We're not ones for public displays of emotion, but tonight is different. Tonight, we want you to know just how much you've enriched our lives."

Jane's gaze held a softness that spoke volumes, and Felix nodded in agreement. Demetri, always one for straightforwardness, offered a warm grin. "You're an exceptional addition to our family, and you've made this night unforgettable."

As they stood together, the Volturi guards and their mate shared a moment that transcended words—a connection forged by shared admiration and affection. And as the music played on, they returned to their respective posts, knowing that this night would forever remain etched in their memories as a testament to their unity and the strength of their bonds.

#x reader #x reader oneshot #x reader one shot #volturi imagines #the volturi #volturi imagine #volturi x reader #jane volturi #jane volturi x reader #alec volturi #alec volturi x reader #felix volturi #felix volturi x reader #demetri volturi #demetri volturi x reader #taking requests #requests #requested #twilight masterlist

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Lessons

Pairing: George Russell x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting will be blocked.

Length: 5.3K

Notes: This is just smut ¯_(ツ)_/¯

Warnings: Friends to lovers; married reader; reader isn't a virgin, but is relatively inexperienced; pining; grinding; fingering; oral sex (male receiving); vaginal sex; creampie

Summary: You were his oldest and dearest friend. He would help you where he could, but he had never expected a request like this. 

Your rushed plea was still swirling around in his mind: “I need you to teach me to please a man.” 

George wasn’t sure what to address first: your request, your nerves, or the overwhelming urge to give your husband a solid thumping. 

He didn’t move for a few moments, either, allowing his gaze to lower to his desk as he considered it. He could see you fidgeting just on the edge of his periphery, and he knew that you were likely growing more and more nervous in the silence—but it wasn’t a question that he could answer quickly, even if his acquiescence sat readily on his tongue. You were his oldest and dearest friend. He would help you where he could, but he had never expected a request like this. 

Your rushed plea was still swirling around in his mind: “I need you to teach me to please a man.” 

Your reasons had followed before he could question your first utterance: your husband showed you little affection, rare interest, and your scant physical encounters had been brief, uncomfortable, and fruitless. George had heard more than enough about your husband at his club, and knew that the man was frequently in the company of New York’s demimondaines. He was beneath you, morally and emotionally. What sort of a man left a jewel like you home alone to dally with prostitutes? 

“I should never have come.” Your sudden and weak insistence was chased with, “Pardon me, Mr. Russell.”  

He could hardly remember the last time he had been Mr. Russell to you in private. He heard the swish of your skirts and click of your heels, and was up and out of his seat in a second, just behind you as your hand rested on the doorknob. He pressed his palm to the wood, stilling the two of you. He drew in a deep breath, catching on the scent of the rose and carnation perfume that you always spritzed over your hair. 

“I haven’t given you my answer,” He reminded you. 

“Your silence was answer enough.” 

George sighed, resting his hand on your hip and using it to turn you to face him. You slouched dejectedly against the door, putting as much space between the two of you as you possibly could. 

“I was considering your request. You know me,” George dipped his head into your field of vision, frown deepening as you averted your gaze over his shoulder. “And you know that this is not a question that can be answered lightly.” 

“...I know.” 

“If it were to get out that you asked me at all—” 

“Do you think I haven’t considered that?” You snapped. George didn’t recoil as your eyes met his again, though he was stunned by the ice in your eyes. He could see now that you had considered it. Your embarrassment was all over your face, but George could see your hands balling into fists, your nerves turning to anger. At whom? Yourself, George, or that miserable lump of flesh that you called a husband? 

“And you’re willing to risk it?” He asked.

“You wouldn’t tell anyone.” 

“Servants talk.”

“Then we wouldn’t go to my home. Or yours.” 

“Where, then?” 

You glanced doggedly around George’s office, and a prickle of irritation rose. 

“This is my place of business.” 

“I know that. And that is why it’s the least suspicious. No one would lend credence to a titan of industry using his office for a…Dalliance of sorts.” 

You were trying to flatter him, and he was ashamed to say that it was almost working. 

“And when would this happen, exactly?” 

“Tonight?”

So soon. As certain as George was that he would give in to you, he hadn’t expected you to demand satisfaction so quickly.

“And if I had plans?” 

“You don’t.” 

There was the flair of flirty impertinence that he’d always loved about you. He’d seen it dimmed and quieted since your marriage, and been afraid that it would never return. As it was, he was glad to inspire it at all, and wary to refuse, lest you quiet it again. 

George raised his hands to rest on your shoulders, steadying you both. He gave you a gentle squeeze when you didn’t immediately meet his eye, and waited for you to look at him properly. 

“You’re certain that this is the best course of action?” 

“It is the only course of action.” 

“When does your husband return?” 

“At the end of the week.”

George’s thumbs swept over your shoulders as he parsed the best course of action. He could have Clay clear the office for the evening, ensure that no one returns until the morning…but there was still too much of a chance that you could be seen—or heard. 

“...Go home,” He counseled, “And pack a bag for the night. I’ll send a train ticket.” 

“Where are we going?” 

“Don’t worry about that.” 

“George.” 

“Do you trust me?” 

“Of course I do, but I need to know what to pack.” 

“We won’t go far…And you won’t need much clothing.” A devilish, warm smile curled George’s lips as you reached up, gently whacking his arm.

“Go on,” He urged, letting go of you. 

“We’ll take care of this tonight?” “Why must it be tonight?” When you didn’t answer, George sighed. “We will. You have my word.” 

You nodded, darting in to kiss his cheek before pulling away and hurrying out of the office.

— 

George didn’t try to stop you as you left, and you didn’t turn back to see if he was watching you leave. As you hurried down the stairs to the street, your lips tingled with the brush of George’s beard against your lips. You needed to go home, pack quickly…You surely couldn’t bring your ladies maid, Ann, with you, wherever you were going. 

You climbed into your carriage, knocking lightly on the ceiling and settling back as it jolted forward. 

Servants talk. 

George made a good point. For as much allegiance as your house staff had to you, your husband’s name was on their checks, not yours. It would look suspicious if you didn't bring Ann, and more suspicious still if you brought her and put her up in an inn alone somewhere—wherever you were going. 

Where were you going? 

George had told you that it wouldn’t be far. Somewhere just outside the city, perhaps? What could he be planning? He surely wouldn’t take you all the way out there just to change his mind and humiliate you. 

You leaned back in your seat, drawing in a deep, steadying breath as nerves buzzed through your body like bees. It had to happen tonight. You were certain you would lose your nerve, otherwise. You could hardly believe that you had managed to ask him at all—but you knew that it was what you had to do. Your husband had divorced two women before you for failing to give him children. You couldn’t be a third. Your life depended on wooing your husband to bed and giving him a child. What you had tried so far hadn’t worked. You were desperate to take charge, and there was only one person in your life that you knew you could trust with such a delicate matter. 

For as much as you trusted and cared for him, going to George had been no easy feat. He had been wholeheartedly against your marriage, but had sworn his support when you’d been determined in your choice. You were certain that when you told him you’d accepted your husband’s proposal, he couldn’t know that you would one day ask him such a favor. 

You looked up at your home as the carriage pulled up.

You would bring Ann, you decided. You would get her a room of her own, tell her that you had a migraine and that you didn’t want to be disturbed.

—  

The town was quaint, quiet, and so obscure that you’d never heard of it before. The inn that George had chosen to stay was only a few blocks away from where he’d made arrangements for you and Ann. He had chosen well—her room was practically palatial. You’d left her in the middle of her dinner, and you felt a guilty for tempting her with the promise of a good meal, a delicious dessert, and a night off in a comfortable bed. She’d tried to insist on coming with you twice, but relented when you insisted that you could very well manage your migraine on your own—you just needed rest.

Clay had shown you to George’s room right away. He hadn’t given you a wink, any hint of knowledge or teasing. He’d simply shown you in, told you that Mr. Russell would be with you shortly, and left. The room was nice. There was a small high-backed loveseat close to the fire, and a large, plush bed (which you had made every effort not to look at since you'd entered).

It was a little chilly, but that surely had more to do with the fact that you had arrived with nothing beneath your cloak but your nightgown and satin robe, your hood raised to hide your face from any locals that spotted you on the way in. The night clothes had been made for your wedding night, but never seen by your husband, as he'd refused to leave the reception and join you in bed. 

You shifted on the loveseat, eyeing the fire as you curled and uncurled your toes in your slippers. What could be keeping him? 

Your heart leapt into your throat as you heard the door open. You whirled around, half-rising from your seat. George took a step inside, closing the door behind himself. He waved for you to sit, and you nervously lowered yourself back down. He was similarly attired in a pale gold robe, his crisp white pajamas winking at you from beneath it as he grew closer. You forced yourself not to track his movements as he neared the loveseat. 

“Would you like a drink?” 

“Please,” You nodded. You waited patiently as he poured some wine for the both of you, taking it with a murmur of thanks as he offered it. He’d hardly had a chance to sit before you’d raised the glass to your lips and drained it. You winced slightly at the bitter tang as you lowered it, holding it out to George. You fought back a swell of nerves as he slowly lowered his glass, eyeing yours. 

“...We won’t go on like that,” He warned. 

“I was simply—” 

George silenced you with a look as he took the glass from your hand. 

“If that is how you intend this evening to be, we’ll stop now.” 

You pursed your lips in irritation, leaning away as his chastisement settled over you. 

“Don't give me that look.”

“Don't treat me like a child, George.”

He set your glasses aside, shifting closer.

“I want to help you, dearheart, but we must set terms.”

“Such as?”

“That we go into this without muddled minds, for one.”

“I would not have been muddled after two glasses of wine,” You grumbled. 

“I’m glad to hear it.” George reached out, sweeping his fingers along your jaw. “How else shall you remember what I teach you?” 

Your skin tingled with his touch, nerves sending the butterflies in your stomach whirling. You would have to rid yourself of that, and soon. 

“Is that your only qualification?” 

George’s head cocked to the side like a confused pup. 

“You haven’t any?”

“I do not, but even if I did, I wouldn’t feel right imposing them after you agreed to such an outlandish request.”

He frowned, and you felt yourself wanting to shrink between the couch cushions. 

“On the contrary,” He insisted. “While I may not have initially agreed with your…Method, I understand your concern. I want you to leave this room with whatever it is you want, and whatever it is that I can give you.”

“Is that one of your terms, too?”

“It is.”

“I agree to it. Anything else?”

“One more thing.” George took hold of one of your hands in both of his. “If we begin to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, or if you change your mind altogether, you’ll tell me.” 

You mulled it over. You were certain that nothing would steer you from this current course, save your husband storming into the room and declaring that he wanted a divorce there and then. But at the sight of George's kind concern, you couldn’t bring yourself to disagree or mock his request. You knew that it was logical, and that George had the cooler head between the two of you, given the circumstances. 

“Alright,” You nodded. George smiled, dipping his head to press a kiss to the back of your hand. You pulled in a soft, surprised breath as he turned your hand in his grip, brushing another sweet kiss across your wrist. 

“Well,” You swallowed thickly as the caress swept further up the inside of your arm,  “Where shall we begin?” 

“I think…” George lifted his head, lips brushing along the line of your jaw, “That a kiss would be an excellent place to start.”

“I’m familiar enough with that.” Your eyelids fluttered as George nosed gently against the apple of your cheek. You bit your lip, tipping your head to rest your forehead against his. His gaze tracked the shift, and he raised his hand, gently loosening the lip from your teeth, tracing along the swell. The urge to take his thumb into your mouth arose, and you fisted your fingers in the fabric of your robe, nails digging into your palms through the slip of satin. 

“Show me?” He requested. 

Show him. Did he not believe you? You tipped your chin, kissing him with a defiant firmness. Before you could lean away, ask him if you’d shown him enough, George cradled your cheek, keeping you close. His lips slipped against yours with unhurried gentleness.

For as educational as this was meant to be, you let yourself lean into him and just...savor. How long had you dreamt about this, with this very man? You had forced yourself to ignore your romantic interest in George early in your friendship, when you'd been certain that all he would ever care for was building his business, his empire, his legacy. Your family had been in dire straits, and you'd been forced to make a choice that benefited them, and damned your heart.

Now, being drawn into George's arms and kissed and cradled so sweetly made you want to cry. You hardly received any affection from your husband besides the odd peck on the cheek to keep up appearances among your peers. You had married for security, not love, and you regretted that every day.

Now, you were taking further drastic measures for safety, and you forced yourself to remember that as George curled his arm around your waist and drew you closer. He tugged you into his lap, and you settled on his thigh hesitantly. George gave you another kiss before you could second-guess yourself, teasing his tongue against your lips. You parted them, sighing as his tongue swept into your mouth. You shifted against him, stilling as you felt a stirring of feeling at the apex of your thighs. 

You could hardly focus between the way George's kisses consumed you; the slide of his hands gently smoothing your robe off of your shoulders prompted you to let go of him long enough to shake it off. You hardly had a chance to notice the chill of the room as George's hands swept warmly over your bare arms. His hands smoothed broadly over your shoulders and down your back, and as you leaned into his hands, your core brushed against his thigh again. It sent a pulse through you, and you broke your kiss with a soft gasp, your brows furrowing. 

You became more acutely aware of the way your heart was pounding in your chest, and tingle of your nipples hardening, surely growing visible beneath the sheer fabric of the nightgown. You looked at George for some understanding, some explanation, but he just slid his hands further down, grasping your hips and spurring you on. You shivered at the warring sensations: the urge to hide as George watched you, and the intrigue of the new feeling. You closed your eyes and let your head fall back, resolutely avoiding George's gaze as you let him guide you against the soft fabric of his pants. George's lips were trailing and sucking kisses along the line of your throat within seconds, his chest brushing against yours. 

You bit your lip to quell a moan as your nipples brushed against the fabric of your clothes, and the hard expanse of his muscled chest. You felt George undo the laces at the front of your nightgown, tugging it down and exposing your chest. Your hips twitched at the roughness of his beard brushing along your clavicle. A kiss followed there, chased by the feeling of him turning his head and brushing his lips against one of your breasts. You were certain it wouldn't go on, certain that nothing he was doing would be pleasurable for a man—but his tongue swirled around one of your nipples, drawing it into his mouth as your thigh shifted around his. 

You pulled in a stunned breath at the swell of his length hardening against you. He hummed in encouragement, the vibration making you tingle. Your hand seemed to lift on its own, sliding them into his neat, dark curls—as if you needed to keep him close, as if you needed to urge him on. He turned his attention to the other breast, his grip on your waist drawing you more tightly against your thigh as your hips rolled in small circles. You felt so slick and needy, a coil in your belly tightening as you chased the feeling.

"George," You warned, "I'm—Oh, god, I don't know what it is, I—"

"I know," He soothed, tipping his head up again, "It's alright."

"But you—"

"Chase it," He urged, and you gasped as you felt him tensing and pressing his thigh up against you. Your mouth fell open, unable to stop the stuttered, embarrassed moan that left you as you coil seemed to snap, sending your hips bounding down against him. Your entire body moved with it as wave after wave of sensation wracked through you. You finally came to a stop as you became more sensitive, pulling in greedy breaths as George dotted kisses along your heated neck.

"George," You mumbled. "How...How precisely does that aid me in my task?"

"If you are to give your husband pleasure, you must know where to seek yours," He murmured. You rested your head against his.

"I'm not sure that that is what he wants for me."

"It is what any good husband should want for his wife."

"It is what you would want for yours?"

"Yes."

"And it...Is something that you enjoyed?"

George chuckled softly, taking one of your hands in his and lowering them to his lap. You gasped at the warmth beneath the fabric, his length twitching beneath your palm.

"What do you feel?"

You swallowed thickly, hesitantly giving his cock a gentle squeeze, and reveling in his throaty groan.

"You," You breathed. "I feel you."

-- 

He wouldn't have you on your knees, despite the fact that you had begun to lower yourself to the floor. He wouldn't hear of it—especially not of the way that you'd heard your husband discuss a similar dalliance with a friend of his when you'd eavesdropped on them just a month ago. George had instead guided you to the bed and directed you to lay down as he undressed.

You didn't bother shying from watching him. You may as well let yourself look, to have something to think of when you were with your husband. Your gaze swept across his broad chest, his thick arms, down his waist to...Your tongue swept across your lips as your mouth grew dry, watching his hard cock bob between his thighs. He climbed into bed beside you, laying on his back and beckoning you closer. 

You shifted against his chest. He took hold of your hand again, drawing it down to his length. He was far bigger than your husband—thicker and longer. You trailed your finger hesitantly along the side of his cock. You watched George take himself in hand, grasping his foreskin and drawing it down. You shifted against him, sitting up a little to get a better look at the flushed head. You trailed your finger over the head, tracking through the bead of pearly fluid there. You glanced back at George for approval before turning back to his cock.

"You've seen your husband's, haven't you?" He asked.

"The room is usually dark."

George hummed, letting go of himself as you wrapped your fingers around him. You mimicked his movement, sliding the foreskin up and down again. You leaned closer, unable to help your curiosity, and swept your tongue across the head. He grunted softly, and when you looked at him again, expecting a warning, he nodded, murmuring, "Go on." 

You shifted, laying with your head by his hips and your feet by the headboard before lapping at his cock again. You took his head into your mouth curiously, giving his head a suck. George hissed softly, and you began to recoil, certain that you'd done something wrong.

"Keep going," He urged, wrapping his hand around yours again and guiding it over his length. You could hear his moans growing more strained as you worked his length and head in tandem, stroking steadily as you swirled your tongue along the head of his cock. He sighed as his hand fell away from yours, instead raising to rest on the nape of your neck.

"That's very good," He insisted, hips pushing up subtly into each down stroke. You could feel the tingling sensation between your thighs again, and you squeezed them together, humming gently around him as you reveled in the dull throb. 

"Take in a little more...Just like that," He groaned, the low drawl of it pulsing through you. You took more of George into your mouth, laving him with your tongue as you drew your head up. You sucked at the head, drawing off of him as you felt George shift. He smoothed his hand beneath your nightgown, fingers skimming between your thighs.

"Is this alright?" He murmured. You considered for a moment before you spread your thighs just a bit more. George smiled, smoothing his thumb along your slick folds. You leaned in, brushing a kiss to the side of his length. You began to lean up again, but went still as he carefully eased one of his thick fingers into you. Your hips shifted down toward him as you continued to stroke him. He eased his finger in and out at the same speed, letting you adjust before he pressed in another. 

You turned your head into the muscle of his thigh, trying to hide a whine against his skin, as if you could hide the sound from him. He hummed gently in turn, thumb sweeping across the sensitive bundle of nerves. The tantalizing tingling that you'd felt on the couch swept through you again, and you lifted your head in shock, only to be greeted by George's self-satisfied smile. He curled and scissored his fingers, making your thighs twitch around his arm. 

Maybe he could see the tense pull of your thighs, hear the way your toes were curling against the sheets by his head. Maybe he simply knew you well enough to know that you were doing your damndest to fight off another wave of whimpers as they bubbled up in you. He gently drew his fingers back, patting the inside of your thigh gently.

"Here," He urged, curling his hand around yours and leading you back toward the pillows. You pouted.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No, dearheart." He grasped your chin, pulling you in for a kiss. "But I think it's time that we moved on to your next lesson."

"Oh?" You shifted against him. "What is it?"

-- 

George's cock nudging against your core made you shiver, your fingers curling in the sheets. It was daunting enough to have fully stripped out of your nightgown, to be bared to this man in a room where he could fully see you, but to feel him like this was nerve wracking. 

“I’m as familiar with this as I am with a kiss,” You warned. George smiled, bracing his hands on either side of your head. 

“We’re here to make it better, aren’t we?”

You nodded, warily watching George adjust to prop your hips up with his thighs. His smile wilted a little as he smoothed his hands over your waist.

“He’s taken you this way before, hasn’t he?” 

You shook your head, and George’s gentle smugness melted to confusion. 

“From—from behind,” You clarified with a mumble. His lips pursed into a flat line before he gently patted your hip, turning you over onto your belly. You went as you were urged, relieved to hide some of your lingering nerves and embarrassment. 

“This way?” He asked. 

“Mhm.” 

You felt George shift back, and you immediately mourned the lack of heat from his body. He slid his arm around your middle, urging you up with a murmur of, “Get onto your hands and knees.” 

You did as you were told, shivering as he brushed against you again. You opened your mouth to apologize, but your jaw dropped as George pressed into you. Your fingers curled in the sheets, a shuddering breath dropping from your lips as he stretched you. You couldn’t help the way that you pulsed around him; your arms tensed, fighting to hold yourself up when you simply wanted to lay flat and take. 

But George grasped your hips again, giving them a gentle squeeze as he drew his hips back until you were clenching around the tip. 

“Push back,” He urged. Your face went hotter with embarrassment and want. For a few moments, you couldn’t move—it felt so surreal, so filthy. George’s hand smoothed up your spine, and you arched up into the touch like a kitten welcoming a stroke. 

“Do you want to stop?” 

You could. You knew that George would let you retreat, whatever that may look like—settling down and taking a break; cuddling up and helping him finish off; hurriedly dressing and darting from his room, with Clay trailing you back to your hotel, or getting you a cab to ensure that you made it back to your inn safely. 

But for as embarrassed as you felt, your growing want for George’s touch won out. You shook your head as you ground back against him. You heard George’s breath hitch as your cunt greedily pulsed around him. His hands settled on your hips, fingers flexing in your skin as he gently guided your movements. You bit your lip to hold back a whine as you adjusted to the stretch of him. 

“Roll your hips, a little.” He used his grip to guide you. It felt stilted and awkward at first, but after a few passes, you felt yourself getting the hang of it. George’s hands fell away as he urged, “Keep going.” 

You shifted your position carefully, widening your stance to find better purchase. You could just imagine George’s view—the sight of you wantonly arching back against him, your hands fisted in the sheets—

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to banish the idea from your mind. It didn’t matter. You had to focus on the task at hand—commit the movements to memory—the movement, not the comfort, or the sound, or the affection that George offered you. You gasped softly as you felt him curl over you, brushing tender kisses along your spine, as his cock grinding even deeper still. Your mouth fell open with an embarrassed moan, unable to hold it back. You were certain that he would admonish you for how loud you were, but he pressed even closer, curling his arm around your shoulders and plastering his chest against your back. Your arms shook as you fought to chase George’s cock and hold yourself and your pace consistently. 

“Lay down,” He urged. You let your arms give it, giving a relieved groan as George remained flush against you. His hands smoothed over your arms, over your forearms to grasp your hands, intertwining your fingers. His thrusts slowed to a devastating grind, his breath panting hot against your skin. You began to push back against him, but he tutted softly, shaking his head as he pulled out. 

"Enough.” 

You went still, heart leaping into your throat. Had you done something wrong—?

George wormed his hand beneath you, turning you onto your back. You hardly had a chance to reposition your legs before he curled over you again, grasping your thigh and drawing it up around his hip. The swift, filling press of his cock made your jaw drop in surprise as his body pressed flush against yours. Your hands flew up to grasp his shoulders, nails digging into the muscle there as he began to thrust and roll his hips. George pressed his face into his neck, a moan rumbling against your skin. 

“Like this,” He murmured, “He should take you like this.” 

His beard scraped against your jaw as he lifted his head, catching your lips in a heated kiss. You wound a hand into his dark curls, surrendering to the heat and press of his body against yours. You could feel the stirring sensation in your belly again, and your hips ground up against George’s, unabashedly chasing the feeling. You broke the kiss, tipping your head back against the pillows as his kisses trailed lower, brushing across the tops of your breasts. He sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, delicately teasing it with his teeth before drawing back with a slick suck. His pace slowed as you cupped your cheeks, thumbs sweeping along the apples. 

“Look at me,” He ordered. You peered up at him blearily, taking in the sight of his flushed cheeks and kiss-bruised mouth. Your lashes fluttered as he ground deeper, your eyes beginning to close as the coil in your belly wound deeper, but George gave your cheeks and gentle squeeze. 

“Don’t close your eyes, darling.” 

You moaned, twining your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“George,” You breathed, “I—I feel it again.”

“Do you?” 

“Yes. Are you—?”

“I feel it, too.” 

It was a relief to hear—and it made you feel powerful in a way that you’d never felt before. George had given you so much pleasure, but as he held your gaze, you could see him beginning to flag and falter—because of you. You slid your legs over his, squeezing his hips with your knees as you surrendered to his pace. You didn’t bother to hide your moan this time, his name falling from your lips in two broken sounds. 

You just caught sight of George’s sweet lashes fluttering as you felt the hot spill of his seed. His hips stuttered, then slowed before finally stilling. You shivered as he drew back, his flagging cock slipping from you as he settled down beside you, gently drawing the covers up to your neck. You let your eyes slide closed, drawing in steadying breaths as you settled. You could feel the heat of him dropping away, hear the rustle of sheets as he shifted. 

“Are you alright?” George murmured. 

“Yes…Are you?”

“Of course.”

“Mm.” 

“Would you like to return to your room?” 

You considered for a few moments. The return ticket that George had arranged was for the next afternoon. You had already crossed so many lines—and you were tempted to cross a few more. 

“...No,” You finally admitted. You closed your eyes, blindly rolling over and curling into George’s side. You felt his arm lift and wrap around you automatically, keeping you close. You let your hand settle over the firm thud of his heart, thumb sweeping across his dark chest hair. “Do you want me to return to my room?” 

“Not a bit.” 

You grinned, nuzzling against his chest as his grip tightened on you. 

“Could we review our lessons tomorrow?” 

“Twice, if you like.” 

Tag list: @foxilayde ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @brandyllyn ; @nominalnebula ; @kmc1989 @missredherring ; @thembosapphicclown ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft

#George Russell x Reader #George Russell x You #George Russell/Reader #George Russell/You #George Russell fic #George Russell imagine #Lessons

[writeshite]

Smart Cookie

Summary:

“Huh, impressive, Dr. Reid; you’re a smart cookie.” You hold a door open, and he passes through; confused, he turns back. “Smart cookie?” “Yeah, you know, clever, intelligent,” you explained, “a smart cookie.”

Pairings:

Spencer Reid x Male!Reader

Tags:

Fluff | Inaccurate Laws Probably | First Meetings | Tattooed Reader (Because I Don't See Enough Of That) |

Words: 3871

Author's Note:

Guess what I started watching 😂 but like seriously, I am loving Criminal Minds, and as you can see, Spencer has become my favorite, I just wanna wrap this man in a hug or something.

Next

“Love is friendship that has caught fire. It is quiet understanding, mutual confidence, sharing, and forgiving. It is loyalty through good and bad times. It settles for less than perfection and makes allowances for human weaknesses.” 

- Ann Landers

Spencer’s knowledge of romance could be put together in a mountain of anecdotes and books, labeled by theme, source, and moment of discovery - sexuality, unknown source, age 15, conclusion: gay panic. Practical experience, however, could be summed into a blurb on the back of a book and promptly thrown in a fire. Friendship was something far easier; he’d come to learn it later in life - with childhood peers who took pleasure in putting him through the worst of what the American high school hierarchy had to offer - and even now, in adulthood, there were times he would think that those around him much preferred his absence over his presence.

The BAU was a lot kinder than high school was. Still, there were moments when patience would run thin, tempers may flair, or the occasional reminder that now was not the time for a tangent or a pointless anecdote or ‘do you ever shut up?’ or anything else along those lines - he didn’t mind, not like he’d used to as a child, besides, more often than not, the comments came from outside the BAU. Bystanders, police, investigators - very rarely did Spencer feel the need to squeeze himself into a neat little box and present what was deemed desirable to others, at least not until now.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Reid.”

Change was never readily accepted by the BAU; in regards to new and retiring teammates, it was met with distaste; the change came in the form of you - a recent transfer to the team - your first case with them in Seattle, Washington. An open case, the unsub would stalk their victims and gather intel on them and their lives before attacking; victims had the murder weapons clutched in their right hand and some form of personal belonging stolen by the unsub. Trophies for his collection, his victims, all graduating students from the local university - he had access to the victim’s schedules, details of their personal lives, and used tools at the scene. 

“We’ll split up,” Gideon says, “ask around the university, staff, students, and the victim’s families.”

Spencer gets paired with you, questioning the university’s Faculty of Arts, the main focus of the unsub. The Faculty of Arts focuses on creative arts, writing, philosophy, and humanities - the liberal arts - with the campus’ main library in the area. “Wow, this is fancy,” you remark. Fancy’s an understatement; the faculty entrance was grand, with a pediment and columns overhead and the university emblem on a banner at the door. With the recent deaths, fewer students had been attending classes in person; the faculty head, Professor Jody Cunningham, was an older man with dark graying at the edges, a well-trimmed beard, and smoothed clothes.

“Professor Cunningham….” you called his attention, introducing yourself, “....and this is my colleague, Dr. Reid; we’re with the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“A pleasure; thank you for coming; we’re all devastated by the news.”

“Did you know the students?” you ask.

Professor Cunningham nods, “They’d just handed in their thesis, and I’d been making my way through before, you know….” he ran a hand down his face, “now, none of my graduates or other students are coming in.”

“The murders all connect back to one of the subjects taught here; the first was arts, the second, humanities; if he’s going by alphabetical order, then the next one should be natural sciences,” Spencer describes the first two victims, their characteristics, similarities, differences, “do you know any graduate students doing the natural sciences who fit that profile?”

“Three students I can think of, though one of them’s not in the States anymore, so it can only be the other two, Jesse Hudson and Lynn Watson. Jesse’s majoring in biology, and his thesis, I believe, was on the role of the clock gene in protection against neural and retinal degeneration; not 100% caught up on what that is yet, Lynn —”

“The clock gene is a major circadian system regulator found in mammals and fruit flies, the latter of which the transcription factors - clock and cycle - combine and stimulate the transcription of the period and timeless genes. The two proteins bind together and enter the cell nucleus, where the timeless gene then begins to degrade and the liberated period gene interacts with the clock and cycle to prevent them from activating gene expression.” His explanation comes to a stop, and he’s hoping he hasn’t managed to weird you out.

You turn to him, “What happens after?”

“What?” He’s dumbfounded, “uh…well…you want to hear me speak more?”

“It’s why I’m asking,” you reply. “If that’s ok, you don’t have to continue if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, I’d love to; I just….people usually ask me to stop talking,” he shrugs. You raise your eyebrows, and he feels giddy, beaming a little; he carries on, even after you’re finished with professor Cunningham, you don’t deter him. Head tilted to glance at him, your undivided attention. “....I read this from an old thesis in my junior year.”

“And you still remember it?” 

He nods. “I don’t forget much,” he points to his head, “eidetic memory.”

“Huh, impressive, Dr. Reid; you’re a smart cookie.” You hold a door open, and he passes through; confused, he turns back.

“Smart cookie?”

“Yeah, you know, clever, intelligent,” you explained, “a smart cookie.”

Spencer’s a smart cookie. 

He’s a smart cookie.

He’s your smart cookie. 

Well, technically, he’s not, but you’re the only one that calls him that nickname, not all the time; of course, you still call him by his name, but you also call him smart cookie. He bounces on his feet when you call him that, a little grin on his face as he turns to you, “What’s got you all happy, cookie?”

“Nothing, just happy to see you too,” he responds earnestly.

“I’d hope so; otherwise, this coffee run would’ve been for nothing,” you remark, placing his order on his desk, a smile on your face; then you go to your desk, to the left of him, and across from Morgan - kick your legs up and lean back on your chair. 

“What none for me?” Derek pouts.

“Sorry, only deliver to sweetness,” you wink at Spencer, and he grins.

Morgan fakes offense, “Oh, oh, that’s how it’s going to be, alright. Don’t expect me to play middleman with you and Nick again.”

You snort, “Doubt that’s ever going to happen again,” you tell him, “that ship has sailed.” You move your hand through the air, mimicking a wave. 

“Nick?” Spencer asks.

“Morgan’s friend, we hooked up a few times, but it never went anywhere,” you reply.

“Yeah, loverboy here did a hell of a job with him, could barely walk the next day, not that he was complaining,” Derek added on, “Said you had quite the package.”

You throw a pen at Derek, tongue stuck out at him, “TMI Derek,” Elle voiced; she’s just arrived, her own coffee in hand, chuckling while she shakes her head. 

“I’m just giving performance reviews,” Derek shrugs.

“Oh god,” you laugh. 

Spencer feels a little hot under the collar, knocking his knees lightly to keep his imagination at bay - your voice by his ear, hands roaming his body before settling on his hips, his own arms around your shoulder - he shook his head a little, eyes slightly wide as he sipped the coffee.

“You alright there, cookie?” 

“I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s with the cookie nickname?” Elle voices.

You shrug, “Spence’s a smart cookie.”

“That’s a weird name,” Derek says.

“I think it’s adorable,” Elle counters.

“Adorable name for an adorable guy,” you wink again, and Spencer looks away, flustered. 

“Well, I’m not adorable….adorableness inspires great affection or delight; you use it to describe someone or something that makes you love or like them, usually because they are….” attractive, he wants to say, but that might imply something and people didn’t like it when he implied things. He’d like you to keep liking him.

“You good there, Reid?” Derek’s voice snaps him from his thoughts, and he nods, finishing off with a lesser, more implicating adjective. Attractive, there was a 50% chance you found him attractive, but he couldn’t get all that information out of a singular nickname, let alone a few interactions - you liked his rambles and tangents, that was something, right? You’d made him an origami heart - that he kept tucked away in his journals - and called it a hint.

“No facts for me today, cookie?” You’re parked just further along the street of your target - a suburban house in Atlanta, one car in the driveway, three bedrooms, and the target of your unsub - Hotch and Gideon were on the opposite end of the street, Elle, and Derek were shacked up in the house across from it. JJ and Garcia were back at base. 

“Facts?”

You turn to him, “Yeah.” You tilt your head, and he feels something, the little fluttering in his stomach, his hair brushes by his cheek when he tilts his head as well, and before he can reach up to sweep it away, you beat him to it. 

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright….” Spencer wishes he’d stopped talking right there, that his mouth just shut or Hotch’s voice filtered through earlier before he laid down his knowledge on human touch and then proceeded to end it with the words love hormone - quite the subtle move. On the plane ride back, Reid feels every muscle in his body knot and stiffen as he goes through the interaction in the car; you’re sat beside him, dozing off with your head propped by the wall. He glances over at you every once in a while, faintly touching the side of his head you’d touched, “love hormone,” he whispers to himself.

Dr. Spencer Reid was something else; when you’d joined the BAU, it took some adjusting, your first case in Seattle was a handful, and the unsub - a student advisor - had access to his victims. He’d begun with the Faculty of Arts, and chosen graduate students from each subject, starting alphabetically; he’d only managed two before you’d caught him. You’d learned that Dr. Reid was intelligent, had an impressive memory, and “....I read this from an old thesis in my junior year.” And his voice was really nice.

He seemed to like the nickname smart cookie, bouncing on his feet and grinning when he responds; he does the same when you greet him either way. “What’s got you all happy?” you ask him after a coffee run. 

“Nothing,” he responds, “just happy to see you too.”

“I’d hope so. Otherwise, this coffee run would’ve been for nothing,” you remark, placing the warm drink on his desk. Granted, it’s not really a coffee run; you’d only gotten him coffee, mainly for the smile on his face. You turned to your desk across from Morgan.

“What, none for me?” he pouts.

“Sorry, only deliver to sweetness,” you wink at Spencer, who grins in response as Morgan fakes offense, mouth agape.

“Oh, oh, that’s how it’s going to be, alright. Don’t expect me to play middleman with you and Nick again.” 

“Nick?” Spencer asks.

Morgan’s friend Nick had been nice; you’d had a double date with Morgan, and one of his dates, then gone on a few more dates and spent a few nights together, but it hadn’t worked out - nothing personal, but that ship had sailed. 

“Yeah, loverboy here did a hell of a job with him, could barely walk the next day, not that he was complaining, said you had quite the package,” you threw a pen at Derek, groaning, as Elle regretted walking into work at this moment and hearing the tail end of that conversation. Spencer goes quiet, and his eyes dart away as he sips his drink, a blush creeping along his face.

“You alright there, cookie?” you ask him, and he turns his attention back to you with a small smile.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s with the cookie nickname?” Elle asks; she looks between you and Spencer.

You shrug, “Spence’s a smart cookie.”

“That’s a weird name,” Derek says.

“I think it���s adorable,” Elle counters.

“Adorable name for an adorable guy,” you wink again, and Spencer looks away, flustered.

“Well, I’m not adorable….adorableness inspires great affection or delight; you use it to describe someone or something that makes you love or like them, usually because they are….” he doesn’t finish right away, stalling, as you assume he gathers his words. You’re not sure what he was supposed to say, but you don’t think it was “....small.” Even after, he looks deep in thought, mind wandering away from the present.

You don’t think about it much and proceed with your day; it’s a slow day at the BAU, so paperwork seems to be the main task today, though there’s not much of it, so the majority of the day is spent idling by each other’s desks. You’ve been throwing scrunched-up paper balls at each other; Spencer had started off on the discovery of paper, then its distribution globally, and was now on its more uncommon uses. “....and you could use the paper to make worthless currency.”

“Like Monopoly money?” you question.

“Probably.”

You toss back the paper, and when he catches it this time, he unfolds it and refolds it into a swan, “You can also use it to make origami, though I wouldn’t consider that an uncommon use.”

When he hands you the swan, you take another piece of paper, fold it into a heart, you drop it in his hand, “You can also use it to leave hints,” you say, and he stares down at the heart, rosy-cheeked.

Dr. Reid was also easy to fluster.

“No facts for me today, cookie?” you ask him during surveillance; the house is empty, a decoy set in place to catch the unsub, surrounded on all sides; now all you had to do was wait. 

“Facts?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you turn to him, tucking his hair back, his eyes widen again, and a blush runs along his cheeks. You apologize, withdrawing your hand.

“No, it’s alright….touch builds up cooperative relationships and reinforces reciprocity, and studies show that it signifies safety and trust. Basic touch can calm cardiovascular stress and activate the body’s vagus nerve, which is involved with our compassionate response. A simple touch can trigger the release of oxytocin, the, uh, love hormone,” he pauses, “why did I say that?”

“We’ve got movement.” Hotch’s voice interjects before anything else can be said, and you’re both out of the car, guns drawn as you track up to the house. The unsub tries to run back through the back, but Morgan’s waiting for him, knocking him down before he can escape. You don’t stick around in Atlanta, exhausted; you all pile into the plane, and you’re out; you wake to Spencer tapping your shoulder.

You stretch your arms, “Thanks for waking me, cookie.” 

“No problem,” he responds. 

You’re out the second your head hits the pillow, and wake up uncomfortably in yesterday’s suit. The new apartment looks homier and less empty, with most of your things already set out; you toss the old clothes in the hamper and get ready - shower, teeth, breakfast, and out the door. It’s a warm morning, so you carry your jacket in your hand.

“Damn, loverboy, I didn’t know you had sleeves.” You’d bumped into Derek on the way in, and he’d been immediately drawn to the ink on your arms. 

“Oh, these old things,” you quip, “they’re nothing special.” 

He whistles, and you lightly smack his arm, “Oh, shut up.” Derek wasn’t the only one taken back by the tattoos; the others were either shocked or intrigued, gathering by your desk to gander at them.

“Never, ever, keep your sleeves down again,” Garcia pleads.

“I’ll try,” you chuckle.

Spencer walks in last and takes a double glance at you, “You have tattoos? Wow,” he pauses, “wow.”

The others soon dissipate, but Spencer lingers a bit, looking between you and the ink; he reaches out but then hesitates, you hold out your arm and nod, and he traces the imagery. “That's one of my favorites,” you comment on the one he’s tracing.

“It’s beautifully detailed,” he observes, “they all are.” 

“Thanks, I’ve had them done over the years,” you say. He traces the lines to your fingers, and when he finishes, he moves to the other arm - he gives you facts on the origins of tattoos and asks about some of your tattoos. You get lost in your own world, carrying on with the conversation as you’re called in for a briefing.

“What about this one?”

Spencer fixates on your tattoos, tracing them over and over, eyes following his fingers as they go over the lines again, “My second tattoo, got it a few months after my first one on my birthday.”

“What was your first one?” You’re going through paperwork looking for clues and hints to lead you to the unsub, “It’s a spinal tattoo,” you tell him and his eyes widen, “I can show you if you’re curious.”

He brings a folder to his face, a nervous laugh, and he looks like he’s considering it; he shrugs a little, “Only if you want,” he murmurs.

“Oh, cookie, I could eat you up,” you reply, and he makes a sound of amusement or surprise, or maybe it’s giddiness - as he kicks his legs a bit.

“Hey Morgan, how does dating work?”

Morgan slowly lowers the paper in his hand; it lays on his desk as he leans forward and glances over at Spencer. “Come again?”

“How does dating work?” Spencer repeats, “I assume you’re the most adept at this matter, I mean, I know how it works, but I’m also not…are you alright? Your face is doing —” Spencer gestures uncertainly.

“Just….just savoring this moment, " he replies, smiling, “I know something you don’t,” he cheers.

“I don’t not know about dating, I’m aware of it from societal expectations, facets, and data, but I lack the field experience.”

“Don’t,” Morgan holds his hands up, “don’t ruin the moment,” then he’s back, a smirk on his face; he asks, “Is it loverboy?” Spencer nodded; Morgan clapped his hands, a satisfied grin on his face, “I knew it!” he whispered before returning to the matter at hand, “So,” he cleared his throat, hands together on his desk, “dating.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll start simple; what do you know about dating? Not the facts, just the practical, like have you ever been on a date?”

“No, well, there was this one time I did get asked out by this girl in my class; we decided to go to the local park, but then I overheard her tell her friends it was a prank and they were going to douse me in some concoction, so I didn’t go,” he responds, “does that count?”

Derek shakes his head, “No, it does not, and are you ok?”

“Oh, yeah, it was a long time ago,” he shrugs, “so, what do I do about —” he winds his hands in a circular motion. “Is there a set of words I should say? Are there things I’m expected to do?”

“No, no, look,” Derek replied, “just, he likes you, for you, so don’t worry, just be yourself.”

“Be myself, huh? That’s the first time someone’s said I should do that,” he remarks. “Wait, how do you know he likes me?”

Derek raised an eyebrow, “He looks at you like the sun shines out of your ass,” he responded, “trust me, he likes you.” Spencer would like to believe Derek, and he does, but the little nagging voice in the recess of his mind, he starts wringing his hands a little and runs them along his pants to calm his nerves. “Hey,” Spencer glances up; Derek’s moved from his seat to his desk to his, leaning, “he likes you, ok?”

“How can you be sure?” Spencer purses his lips, twisting the strap of his bag, “He doesn’t deviate from how he acts when he interacts with all of us, he flirts with you just as much as he does with me, and Garcia, and Elle —”

“Why don’t you just ask him,” Derek points to the brief room; you’re currently standing by the door to it in deep conversation with Garcia. Spencer turns back and shakes his head.

“I think he’s busy; I —I’ll do it later.”

Later, in layman’s terms, really meant not ever. Preferably on his deathbed if he had to, but now that he’d asked Derek, any moment he’d look over, Derek would gesture to you, head tilted towards where you’d gone or were. Sometimes he’d mimic movements with his hand - one hand you, the other him, and they’d smoosh together into a kiss - then he’d groan, running a hand down his face when Spencer would shake his head frantically.

He’d like to avoid you and give a chance for the infatuation to die, but either he can’t bring himself to or doesn’t want to. He’s been playing the potential outcomes in his mind, he could confess, get turned down, and you’d remain friends, or he’d confess, get horribly rejected and then never see you again, or he could confess, and you could return the feelings. Considering all the options, he won’t be doing anything; he’ll just let this float away.

“You’re staring, cookie.” It’s the two of you in the kitchenette, no case, just tying up loose ends. “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

“A potential hypothesis,” he responds.

“Oh yeah, what about?”

“Uh….I’m not sure how to put it into words,” he responds.

“Well, that’s a first,” you laugh, turning away from the kettle heating, “come on, give it a go.”

He nervously rubs his hands together, “Actually….it might be easier if I–I demonstrated it.”

“In the kitchen?” You ask, and he nods, asking you to close your eyes; you raise an eyebrow.

“Just trust me,” he begs, “....please.”

You do so, and there’s a split second where you can hear him mutter to himself - you can do this, come on - there’s a soft push against your lips, and it takes you a moment to realize he’d kissed you, holding your wrist to balance and ground himself, and then it’s gone. Your eyes open, and Spencer’s pursing his lips, hands wrangling more intensely, “R–results?” He’s not just asking; he’s hoping, the subtle worry underneath his voice as he waits for an answer.

You take one of his hands and reel him back in with a slight tug, and he looks so terrified as if bracing himself for the worst, so you kiss him, hoping it displaces any of his fears - Spencer clings to you, even after, your bodies are flush as he hides away in your arms; drawing back every once in a while to look at you, before shying away, a frivolous laugh caught in his throat. 

“Good?” You inquire, and he nods.

“Very good.”

End Note:

I apologize profusely for using the word cookie as a nickname for Spencer, but I named the fic and got committed so you get to suffer with me. Stay Hydrated.

#spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds imagine #i spent an hour looking through quotes because big brain said 'start off fic with quote that foreshadows what you're gonna write about' #tattooed!reader #smart cookie universe :)

[misshoneyimhome]

Speaking of Italian flair, how would William react to seeing the reader wearing this outfit to one of his events. I can only imaging the thirsty comments on his feed https://www.instagram.com/wonder__jessy/?e=b7ed243f-bbad-4a92-ae30-1e0e25ba1243&g=5

Alrighty, so I wasn't entirely certain if this was intended for 「Dad!Willy x reader」 but since I’d written an Italian-inspired chapter, I thought it would be fitting to pair it with this 😉 Have we discussed how Lucas was created?

So, in my mind, I imagine that William and the reader get married somehwere between Eliot and Lucas, so in this part of the story, they'd be married.

Now, this dress speaks for itself, babe! The reader will undoubtedly turn heads and more in this outfit - and let's be honest, when she struts in looking like that, William will definitely be eager to resume the baby-making activities!

Warnings; well, baby-making activities; smut 18+; fingering, unprotected sex (obviously...), daddy!kink, mention of oral sex;

Word count; 3.3K

Credit

・✶ ｡ﾟ

That's Amore I William Nylander 🖋️⚡️🌺

Amidst the whirlwind of emotions and adjustments that came with new parenthood, you found yourself navigating a path filled with both love and uncertainty. The journey following pregnancy had been turbulent, marked by a flurry of emotions and changes as you embraced your new role as a mother. In the midst of it all, your steadfast companion, William Nylander, stood by your side, offering unwavering support in the middle of the storm.

Recognising the need for a break and rejuvenation, William had arranged a surprise that would forever alter the course of your journey together. A trip to Florence, Italy—a city steeped in history, romance, and the promise of fresh beginnings. Just the two of you, embarking on a journey of rediscovery amidst the timeless beauty of the Italian landscape.

Under the Tuscan sun, you found solace and joy in each other's company once more. Away from the pressures of daily life, William's tender gestures and constant presence helped alleviate the burden of uncertainty, allowing you to embrace your new identity with confidence and grace.

And as you bid farewell to the enchanting country that had witnessed the rekindling of your love, you returned to Toronto, your hearts filled with newfound joy and a sense of belonging. Reuniting with your son Eliot, you realised that amidst life's chaos, your true home resided in each other's arms.

**

Now almost two years had passed since Eliot's birth, and life had settled into a comforting routine once more. You found yourself back at work, stronger and more resilient than ever. However, tonight was not just another ordinary evening—it was a special occasion, one that would add a new chapter to your love story.

As you prepared for the Leafs' charity event, excitement bubbled within you, mingled with a hint of nervous anticipation. Eliot was in the care of your parents for the evening, granting you and William a rare opportunity to enjoy a night out together.

Standing in the doorframe William's reaction spoke volumes, drowning out the clamour of the fans from last night's match.

The instant you completed the final touches to your hair, makeup, and outfit for the evening's event, his jaw fell open.

"Wow, älskling…" he murmured, utterly captivated as you stood before him, stealing his breath away. You slipped on your silky black gloves, the finishing flourish to your elegant ensemble.

You had opted for a very classic, Italian-inspired dress, as black as midnight, perfectly embracing your figure and accentuating every curve. The low heart neckline revealed your décolletage while maintaining a classy look with sleeves draped over your shoulders, revealing just enough skin to exude sensuality without being overly revealing. The final touch was a pair of black and red heels, adding height and enhancing a strong, feminine expression. 

Tonight, you felt incredibly empowered.

And the sight of William's partially open mouth as he gazed at you through the mirror only fuelled the fire within you.

"You know, it's not very polite to stare and drool," you chuckled lightly as you admired your reflection, then met William's eyes in the mirror.

Shaking his head, he responded with a chuckle of his own. "Can't help it, baby, you look absolutely amazing," William grinned, taking a step closer, tenderly wrapping his arms around you, his head gently resting on your shoulder as he planted a tender kiss on your bare skin. "Min vracka kvinna."

You couldn’t help but smile at his heartfelt words.

Throughout the years you and William had been together, he consistently made you feel like the most special woman in the world. His openness and unabashed affection for you were truly wonderful. Even during your darkest moments of self-doubt, he never hesitated to remind you of your incredible worth. He would express not only your physical beauty and allure but also your strength and admirable qualities. He'd often spend hours extolling your virtues, emphasising what an exceptional mother you were to his son and insisting that you were out of his league and far too good for him.

Of course, you found such notions ridiculous. In your eyes, William was the one who was beyond compare. While you were indeed a strong and independent woman, capable of taking care of yourself and pursuing your ambitions, William always made you feel even more empowered.

His unwavering support, especially considering his demanding career, was truly remarkable. Despite the differences in your professional lives, he always found a way to be your pillar of strength during difficult times, just as you were for him.

Through every high and low in his hockey career, you stood by him as his steadfast supporter. Whether he needed a shoulder to lean on during tough times or a friend to celebrate with during triumphs, you were always there.

This mutual support and unwavering dedication had transformed your relationship from mere acquaintances to close friends, then to devoted and deeply connected lovers, and now to parents. With each passing day, your connection grew stronger and more profound. In simple terms, William was your soulmate.

And on a night like tonight, there was no doubt as you both entered the venue, dressed in coordinated Italian mafia-inspired style.

William looked dashing in his dark blue pinstriped suit, a look you always admired on him. His mane of hair was freshly washed and styled, elegantly tamed to match his rugged scruff, while his chain necklace hung perfectly, and a few masculine rings adorned his fingers along with his wedding ring. 

Together, you emitted an aura of power and sophistication.

And as the MLSE charity event unfolded, you mingled with ease, catching up with acquaintances while enjoying the delightful champagne. The atmosphere sparkled with elegance and excitement, and you couldn't help but feel that your attire was perfectly suited for the occasion.

Standing in front of the cameras, a place you still felt somewhat unfamiliar with, William held you close. Yet to your comfort, his calm demeanour rubbed off on you as he wrapped his arm around your waist, drawing you nearer.

William couldn't help but notice that you looked like you stepped straight out of the 'House of Gucci' movie – your sparkling eyes and confident posture, exuding nothing but elegance. He had to steal a moment to admire your incredible style and the effortless grace with which you posed, almost like a professional model, causing a wide smile to spread across his face as he proudly displayed the woman by his side to the flashing lights.

And as you both walked away from the scene, blinking to readjust your vision, you couldn't help but remark, "Bloody hell, I'll never get used to those flashlights," with a light chuckle. William joined in your laughter, experiencing the same white spots in his vision.

"Well, you looked stunning, babe," he complimented as you made your way back to the group of players and their significant others. "And I'm sure those cameras felt the same way when you dazzled them."

Pausing for a moment, you glanced up at your husband, who wore a proud grin, clearly pleased with his smooth remark.

"Someone's quite the smooth talker tonight," you teased, raising an eyebrow playfully, sensing a mischievous air.

And as always, William simply chuckled and pulled you closer, his hands resting on your lower back, encouraging you to wrap yours around his neck.

"You make it so easy for me, baby..." he whispered flirtatiously. "The way you look so incredibly beautiful, this dress, these gloves... and your smile, älskling, it melts my heart every time."

You found yourself slightly taken aback by his sudden outpouring of words. Typically, your husband excelled in charming you through his actions rather than verbal expressions. His love language leaned heavily towards physical affection.

However, tonight was different. Words seemed to flow effortlessly from him. Throughout the event, he whispered sweet compliments in your ear, expressing how breathtakingly beautiful you looked and how proud he was to have you by his side. And each time, he left you speechless.

William was undoubtedly aware of his actions. Over the years, he had come to understand his natural charm and ability to sweep you off your feet with smiles and touches. Yet, it wasn't until after your trip to Italy that he realised the importance of articulating his thoughts. Since then, he had been practicing putting his deep emotions into meaningful words.

You felt a swell of emotions. Your husband had been incredibly sweet all night, showcasing his gentlemanly side in public. However, you knew just as well as anyone that behind that polished exterior, William possessed a mischievous and playful streak - both in public and in private. And as soon as you rode in the cab back home, his lips were on your neck, peppering it with butterfly kisses, his arm wrapped around you while his hand subtly explored your thigh, sliding just beneath the hem of your dress.

"Mmm… can't wait to get home and take this off you," he murmured seductively against your skin, sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

Your fingers played with his semi-long locks, tugging him closer as you closed your eyes softly, surrendering to his touch. "I thought you liked the dress," you teased playfully, prompting William to pull back slightly, and your eyes opened to meet his.

"Oh baby, I love this dress… but I like you naked more," he chuckled darkly before leaning in to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. Your hands glided smoothly to his neck, pulling him closer, signalling your mutual desire as the cab navigated through the late February night in Toronto.

The atmosphere in the backseat grew almost too steamy, but before long, you arrived at your apartment building. William paid the driver, bidding him goodnight, before escorting you inside, adjusting his crotch in his trousers along the way.

It was clear that your deep yearning for each other was palpable. With a child-free evening ahead and both of you exuding true high fashion and confidence, you swiftly found yourselves entwined in each other's embrace as soon as you entered your home. A trail of William's discarded clothes—shoes, blazer, shirt, and trousers—led to the large dining table in the open kitchen.

And as you reached the end of the long mahogany table, William spun you around with your back against his chest, his hands firmly gripping your hips as he pulled your hair to one side and kissed the crook of your neck.

Leaning on the table, supported by your silky-covered arms, you surrendered yourself to his magical touch, your mind blissfully consumed by his enchantment. William's mouth worked wonders, skilfully exploring every inch of your sensitive skin below and behind your ear, leaving you utterly weak for him.

As his hands roamed over the curves of your body, his fingertips eventually found the zipper on your back. With delicate precision, he dragged it down, gradually exposing more and more of your skin, his lips never leaving you, moving around to lavish equal attention to your other side.

And as the dress fell, revealing your naked breasts and black lacy knickers, he could feel himself growing firm and hard in his boxers. 

Stepping out of the pooled fabric around your feet, you kicked it aside.

"Leave the gloves and heels on," William commanded roughly against your skin, his hands finding your breasts to offer a gentle massage as his mouth sought yours in fervent kisses.

Unable to form a coherent reply, you simply met him halfway in the heated moment, pushing your backside into his crotch, eliciting a whimper from you as you felt his hardness pressing against you.

Understanding your eager signal, William broke the kiss to remove his last piece of clothing, revealing his hard and proud shaft. His palms then caressed your buttocks as he muttered under his breath, "You're so sexy," while slowly sliding your underwear down.

You couldn't help but smile as your husband admired your body from behind you, but the desire for more of his touch was overwhelming. Stepping out of your knickers and spreading your legs a little further apart, you silently urged him on.

"So needy, baby," William huskily whispered, yet he didn't hesitate to comply. Letting his fingers slowly trace down between your cheeks, he found your heat, gently exploring your moist folds.

"Yes, Willy…" you gasped as he carefully stimulated your sensitive core. "Mmm… feels so good…"

A smirk played across William's lips as he observed your body yielding to his touch, your head tilting forward slightly, eyes shut tight. As he circled your clit, a moan slipped from your lips, your fingers lightly gripping the wood beneath you.

William knew every inch of your body intimately, knowing just how to stimulate each curve and corner to send you into ecstasy, and tonight he had every intention of doing just that. As his fingers danced over your nerves and soft moans grew louder, he sought your entrance and gently eased two digits inside.

"Oh yes!" you exclaimed, letting your head fall forward even more as William stretched your walls, pumping his fingers slowly, skilfully curving them to hit your sensitive spot. "Please, Willy," you pleaded, feeling a knot of pleasure forming in your lower stomach and your legs beginning to tremble.

"Mmm… That's it, baby… come for me, cum for daddy," he whispered, increasing the speed of his pumps, the wetness of your cunt sounding with each motion.

Your breaths became erratic as William continued to stimulate your core, bringing the orgasm closer and closer, your mind entering a euphoric state. Your fingers clenched the table, and your legs tightened as the climax approached. And with a few more pumps, you finally reached the peak, tossing your hair back and arching your back as waves of pleasure coursed through your body.

William smiled as he felt your walls clench around his fingers, your cunt pulsating with pleasure as he gently continued to stimulate you through the high. "Good girl," he praised softly before carefully withdrawing his fingers, causing juices to slowly trickle down your inner thighs.

After catching your breath once the orgasm had subsided, your anticipation for more still tingling, you watched as William gently stroked his throbbing member a few times. Using his arm to pull you back against him, he shared a sloppy kiss with you, filled with nothing but lust and desire. Amidst hungry moans and deep breaths, William's hands roamed all over your body, his throbbing cock ready for further pleasure. However, you halted him as he was about to proceed.

"Willy, we need a condom," you gasped between moans, but William simply brushed off your concern.

"Actually, älskling," he hummed against your skin, "I want to make another baby…"

Though a small part of you wanted to object, you found yourself mesmerised by his touch and kisses on your neck, the desire to bear his child again overwhelming you. Nodding in consent, you let him turn you around, sharing another passionate kiss as you sealed the deal for a new addition to the family.

The moment took a more romantic turn, yet William showed no hesitation as he lifted you onto the table, spreading your legs wide for him as he lined the tip of his cock with your entrance.

It was already dripping with pre-cum, as he gently pressed it into your tight hole, a feeling he’d been longing for a while. Not that you never had sex, but with a toddler and an NHL schedule, it wasn’t as often as it used to be. And when you had sex, he usually had to wear a condom or use his best pull out game as you weren’t on any birth control. But tonight, he could let loose.

Thrusting deeply into your warmth, your moans reverberated throughout the room in unison. Your hands instinctively found their place on the back of his neck, while he held onto your hips for support.

"Mmm... yeah, this is all mine," William moaned, his hips swaying gently as he withdrew slightly before sliding back in. And soon, he found the familiar rhythm that brought you both pleasure.

With each thrust, his hips slapped against yours, occasionally meeting your lips in fleeting moments amidst the symphony of moans. It was a passionate, intimate exchange, reflecting the depth of your connection. Locked in a gaze, your eyes conveyed everything before closing in anticipation of the impending climax.

"Oh yes, Willy... you feel so good," you moaned, your voice growing louder with each thrust. Sensing your heightened pleasure, William increased his pace, driving into you with more force, sending waves of ecstasy through your body. "Oh god!"

And as William felt his own release drawing near, he surrendered to the desire to bring you both to the peak of pleasure. His movements became more fervent, his grip on your hips tightening as he pressed his forehead against yours. "Fuck, babe... can't hold back... I need to... fill you up," he grunted deeply, lost in the throes of passion.

"Yes, Willy... I'm about to come too... fill me up," you moaned in response, and with just a few more thrusts, both of you released deep breaths and satisfied sounds as you reached climax together, your minds clouded, and your visions blurred from the ecstasy.

Basking in the warmth of your bodies, you remained connected for a few more moments, ensuring William's seed was securely planted.

Smiles adorned both your faces as you slowly disentangled, returning to reality, and relishing the intensity and beauty of the moment. Locking eyes once again, you shared a tender kiss, followed by a light chuckle.

"Can't believe we're going for baby number two," you smiled, still holding onto William's neck.

"I can," he chuckled softly. "Can't wait to see you pregnant again..."

"Easy there, tiger," you chuckled, gently stepping off the table. "I know last time happened quickly, but we might have to try several times before we succeed," you reasoned, aware that conception wasn't always as straightforward as hoped. You knew too many women who struggled to conceive despite trying tirelessly, while others seemed to fall pregnant just by looking at an erect penis.

Strolling around still sporting a grin, William gently enveloped you in his arms once more. "So, you're suggesting we might need to have sex over and over again just to ensure you actually get pregnant?" he chuckled deeply, exaggerating a mockingly puzzled expression with his playful jest.

Catching onto the banter, you chuckled in response. "Well, yes – I'm afraid we might have to repeat the process until we get it right, and perhaps even a little afterward, given that sex is beneficial during pregnancy."

"Oh, well in that case," William raised a mischievous eyebrow, "how about we hop in the shower, and I'll take special care of you before we continue with round two?"

You couldn't help but grin widely at his flirtatious remark, well aware of his proficiency with his mouth, and naturally, you couldn't refuse.

Thus, with a sensual and thoroughly enjoyable shower, you both cleaned up from the passionate sex before retiring to bed, too exhausted from the night's excitement to entertain the idea of a second round just yet. However, the following morning, before your parents returned with Eliot, William made love to you twice.

The first time was a gentle and unhurried encounter, as you both slowly awakened from your slumber, wrapped in each other's arms, delicately caressing one another, and exchanging passionate kisses.

The second round, however, occurred about an hour later, after you had enjoyed a delicious breakfast following your morning exercise, and William had seen the photos from the previous night's event.

You looked absolutely stunning in your attire, exuding strength and confidence, which ignited his desire to undress you once more and hold you close. His cock immediately twitched din his boxers as he studied the photos from the online article about the event, and thinking that everyone knew you were his, only fuelled his lust within. So, just a few minutes before your parents rang the doorbell, William opted for a quicker, more intense session, filled with passion and urgency.

#my asks #dad!willy #william nylander imagine #toronto maple leafs imagine #wn88 imagine #nhl hockey imagine

[erathene]

F*ck It (Part 1)

Summary: Strider pays a visit to the Prancing Pony where you are working as a barmaid, but all does not seem well with the wandering ranger. You do your best to fix it. 

Word count: 2.1k

Pairing: Aragorn x Female!Reader 

Warnings: LOTS of swearing and cursing, you have been warned. Intoxicated behaviour and alcohol. Mention of menstruation in a humorous manner.

AO3 Link: F*ck It

Author's note: Special thanks goes to the members of @fellowshipofthefics discord group (vamp_ress, prettea and spider__lilies) who helped me explore new ideas when my inspiration dried up 😊 Also thanks to DocFigureskaterM for being my beta reader. I tried a completely new writing style with this fic; my toddler son is starting to understand words now, and I have had to really watch my mouth around him! 😂 So this fic was born out of trying not to use curse words in front of a 16 month old haha.

Part 2 has now been posted!

..........................

The Prancing Pony was busy tonight. All of the parlours were crammed with punters, and the air that lingered around the bar was thick and heavy with sweat and drink and pipeweed smoke. 

You picked your way carefully through the crowds, collecting glasses as you went. You didn't mind bar work, but it's not like you had much choice. You couldn't shoe a horse, your needlecraft was shit, and you had fuck-all artistic flair for floristry, so that eliminated about half the jobs going in Bree. You didn't have two pennies to rub together, so that ruled out buying your own land to rear livestock or grow produce to sell. Fuck it, tavern work would do. It kept your belly full and a roof over your head, so it would do nicely. 

Barliman Butterbur, the Gaffer, ensured you were paid fairly, but it wasn't a high-earning job. It wasn't a glamorous job either; your days mostly consisted of emptying piss pots from the upstairs chambers, scrubbing the parlour floors, or wiping out the tankards ready for the evening drinkers. And drink they did. As night fell, the punters came, downing pints and pints of ale and cider and anything else that could be poured into a flagon. Some were regulars, loose-lipped locals trading gossip and louts one-upping each other in pointless contests to see who could win in an arm wrestle or a brawl out back. Some were strangers, passing through from abroad or travelling merchants wanting nothing more than a bite to eat and a soft bed for the night.

And then there was him.

You rarely traded conversation with the punters. The less they knew of you and you of them, the better. Moving mouths made idle hands, so your Mam used to say, and she was absolutely right because striking up a conversation with any punter would mean you had less time to get through all your cleaning. But you knew his name, Strider, and you knew he was a ranger. He wasn't a regular, though he frequented the Pony about once a month, and neither was he a stranger, for he knew your name and was on first name terms with the Gaffer too. He was just Strider. He was tall, towering over most men, with a mop of dark hair and curtain bangs that occasionally hid his grey eyes. Grey eyes that were never cold despite the colour. Broad shouldered, a bow and bedroll usually strapped to his back, and a large-as-fuck weapon at his belt. He wore a mottled green cloak with a hood, the type that you'd use if you wanted to fuck off into a forest and never be found again. Whenever he turned up, he had a ragged look about him, like he'd been through a bush backwards and had a good story to tell about it too. 

You would never admit it, even if you were on your fucking deathbed looking at the lord creator himself. But if you had to describe your "type", it would be Strider.

So it's no surprise when your heart stuttered for a microsecond as soon as his giant mud-soaked leather boot stepped over the threshold. He'd been gone for a while and it had been months since he was last here. Not that you were counting the days of his absence like some lovesick maiden awaiting the return of her knight in shining armour. Fuck that shit. 

Normally, Strider would ask for a half-pint of the local cider, take it to his favourite table in the corner of the bar, and settle himself comfortably, retrieving his pipe and tobacco from his travelling pack. Fuck, if there was a sign you'd worked here too long, knowing his exact routine was probably it. You readied a half-size tumbler as he approached the bar.

"An ale today, y/n" he said, placing a fistful of coins on the bar in front of you. "And make it a full pint, if you would be so kind."

That was.. odd. You did as instructed, like a good tavern girl, pouring dark amber liquid into a larger flagon. As the container filled, you noted Strider looked more roughed up than he normally did; flecks of mud clung to his skin and hair along with perhaps a fortnight's worth of grime, the filth on his palms and between his fingers would have rivalled that of any gardener, and you'd bet your last copper his clothes hadn't seen the inside of a washbasin in over a month. Placing the tankard down in front of the man, you took just one coin from his pile. "The ale's no dearer since your last visit, Strider," you commented with one eyebrow raised and a glance at his gold. But he paid you no mind whatsoever; the flagon you had handed him moments ago was almost vertical as he downed the pint. 

"Another," he croaked, planting the empty flagon on the bar beside the coins that remained. You poured another from the same barrel. The second pint disappeared almost as quickly as the first, and was soon followed by a third.

Upon ordering his fourth drink in what felt like as many minutes, you slammed your hands on the bar and looked him dead in the eye. "What the fuck's the matter with you?" you asked, not bothering with pleasantries. His grey eyes met yours for a fleeting second before he looked away. You thought you caught a look of shame in those eyes before he broke contact, as though he knew he was getting a telling-off for his behaviour but he was going to carry on anyway and fuck everyone else. Very strange indeed. This was unlike the Strider you'd had dealings with in the past, who would politely ask you to share any tales you'd heard from locals over diluted cider and a puff of pipeweed. This Strider seemed out of sorts, as though he was holding onto thoughts and feelings about fuck knows what, and all he could do to control it was to force more alcohol down his throat, to drown it and make sure it never saw the light of day. You'd seen this behaviour in other punters plenty of times before. But not in Strider. Strider was always in control, always predictable. 

You already knew you weren't getting an answer to your question. Fuck, you shouldn't have even asked in the first place. Another punter down the bar started growling loudly about the lack of service. Resisting the urge to tell the prick to pipe down and wait his turn, you quickly refilled Strider's flagon. 

For the rest of the night, your work mostly kept your attention away from the ranger. The fleeting glances you did make in his direction confirmed to you that he continued to drink, and the more he consumed the more he leaned into the bar for support. As the punters began to clear off for home or to their chambers upstairs, Strider was one of the final ones who remained. When the Gaffer called last orders, the ranger had folded his arms across the bar with his head rested upon them. You approached him slowly, ready to take away the many empty flagons that surrounded him. 

"I'll.. need a room, y/n", he said as you neared, his words slurring together.

You sighed. Fuck's sake, Strider. "We're full for the night, I'm afraid." If the fucking fool had decided that earlier rather than at last orders, he might have a bed upstairs by now.

Strider groaned in disappointment. Clearly this wasn't what he wanted to hear, but there was fuck all you could do about it. He made to rise from the bar, but his movements were completely uncoordinated, and he staggered sideways, catching himself by the edges of his fingertips on the solid bar. He glanced at you with a confused expression, probably wondering why the world was spinning and why there were six of you standing before him. You'd seen that look before in patrons who couldn't hold their drink. Seemed that Strider was one such patron.

Fuck. With every room upstairs taken, the only option for Strider would be to sleep on the street, and if he was lucky enough to find an alleyway that wasn't covered in pig shit and piss, he'd likely find himself mugged for his remaining coin or possibly worse. Bree was often subject to petty crime with so many people coming and going. Were you resolved to letting this man wonder the roadways until he collapsed in surrender to his drunken stupor? You gritted your teeth. The Gaffer would be locking up soon, he was already rearranging empty chairs and stools at the other end of the room. 

You glanced back at Strider. Actually, the street was not his only option. There was a free bed upstairs: yours. 

You moved quickly whilst the Gaffer was distracted. Yanking Strider's arm, you pulled the drunkard to his feet, catching his dead weight as he failed to remain upright. You both awkwardly shuffled to the narrow stairway that led to the upper floors of the inn. Strider was muscular and well-built, and that made him fucking heavy. Lifting and shifting barrels over the years here was paying off though as you managed to get him upstairs with only minor difficulty. As soon as you crossed the threshold into your dimly-lit and modest bed chamber, Strider doubled over and vomited violently onto the hardwood floor. 

A stream of curse words flew from your mouth, the likes of which would make your Mam turn in her grave, god rest her soul. This was one extra cleaning job you could fucking do without. Fucking Strider and his lightweight stomach, no wonder he never strayed from his fucking cider if this was how he got after one too many ales. You dropped him ungraciously onto your single bed in the corner of the room where he curled up into a ball on top of the blankets, his hands cupping his head. You took a deep breath and tried to calm your emotions. The fool was probably suffering enough right now.

"Wait here whilst I get something to clean this mess up," you instructed him. "And any more where that came from can go in there," you added, kicking an empty bucket in his direction. Strider grunted in acknowledgement, but did not move.

It took you over twenty minutes to mop up the mess and scrub the stink of bile out of the floor. On your way back downstairs to return the mop and bucket, you grabbed a couple of flagons and filled them with fresh water. Strider would probably wake up with a giant fucking hangover tomorrow and he would need liquids that were alcohol-free. Once back upstairs, you tried to hand one of the water-filled jugs to Strider, only for him to crudely bat away your hand.

"It's water, you moron. Drink." You were not in the mood for his shit. You were already facing the prospect of sleeping on your own floor and this thought left your bedside manner extremely lacking. But you tried, adding "you'll feel like utter shit tomorrow if you don't."

Strider lifted his head from your feather pillow. Taking the flagon, he uttered his thanks before drinking deeply. "I s'pose you think I'm a complete fool," he slurred  as he returned the goblet to you.

Before you could respond, there was a harsh knock at your door. "Y/n! Are you in there?"

Shit, it was the Gaffer. He was probably wondering where you had got to whilst you'd been spending time tending to the drunk fucker sprawled on your bed. You pulled a throw from your laundry heap and tossed it over Strider to hide his form, before hurrying to open the door.

"Sorry Gaffer, I was just.. changing," you said quickly. The Gaffer looked you up and down with one eyebrow raised, clearly seeing you remained in the same basic dress and apron that you'd been wearing all evening. "My underwear," you added hastily. "Y'know.. Women's problems." You flashed him a friendly smile. He wouldn't ask any more questions after that. 

It was well into the wee small hours when at last, your shift was done for the night and you were able to ascend the stairs. You pushed the door to your chamber open and found Strider exactly where you had left him, his dark head poking out from under the blanket. He was snoring softly. Peering into the bucket, you saw with satisfaction that he hadn't lost any more contents of his stomach, nor had he made any more mess anywhere else. This was good. You pulled a spare quilt from your solitary cupboard and laid it out over the floorboards. Sinking to your knees without even bothering to change clothes, you wrapped half the quilt over yourself and within minutes entered a dreamless sleep. 

#aragorn x y/n #aragorn x reader #aragorn x you #aragorn #lord of the rings #lotr fanfic #fanfiction

[hwaightme]

Long exposure

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR STAR'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist)

🔳 pairing: seonghwa x afab!reader, wooyoung x afab!reader 🔳 genre: smut, angst, dark themes, fluff if you squint 🔳 summary: as you struggle to see a future with your boyfriend, Wooyoung, and spiral into an obsession over your boss, Seonghwa, you hope to see a different world through the lens. 🔳 wordcount: 14.6k 🔳 warnings/tags: photographer!seonghwa, sculptor!wooyoung, everybody in this fic is toxic I swear (this is FICTION pls don't do this), boyfriend!wooyoung, boss!seonghwa, cheater!wooyoung, cheating on the cheater, language, hints at violence, arguments, passive aggressive behaviour, photography, art, living in black and white, unhealthy social relations, kind of edited kind of not, lmk if anything else 🔳 taglist: @doom-fics @layzfeelit @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 🔳 a/n: Hello, this has been haunting me... hope you enjoy, any reblogs, comments, likes appreciated, much love and big hugs!!

🔳 NSFW warnings/tags: slight corruption, pictophilia, fingering, masturbation (m&f), light voyeurism, deriving pleasure from taking pictures of someone with them not knowing, blowjob, wet dreams galore, perhaps cuckolding, degradation, petnames, boudoir, soft dom hwa, jealous/teaser woo, dom-ish woo, implant and pull out (irl pls wrap that before you tap that)

You were no stranger to pleasure. You watched him share it many times. Each one, an offering to the altar of hedonism. Such was his work, his vision.

Park Seonghwa was a man who dedicated his life to passion. The greatest satisfaction imaginable, on the brink of after life and illusion, the closest to heavens above that a person could ever experience. He had an eye for it, discovering its many manifestations in the smallest of things. Rarely was there a place that did not bear its traces in his magnificent, deep brown eyes. To the unenlightened, ones who had not had the honour of being in the vicinity, let alone sharing musings with this enigmatic man, this amounted to nothing more than phosphenes that they assumed had permanently corrupted his vision. But you knew better. His art was an ode to raw human nature, an address which only he would dare reveal and be capable of subjecting himself to the rolling waves of judgement that came with it.

You were not sure who you wanted to be. This was a question that plagued you every time you entered the photography studio and let yourself sink into its monochromatic elegance. Did you want to be the decor - the paraphernalia occupying the white, low shelving units off to the left from the entrance, or the potted ivy, suspended by chains that your teacher had painted with mars black acrylic, cascading to blend with the barely-there tulle? Would you turn into an object so you could spend your days in motionless awe, observing the master at work, embracing art in pure desire? Perhaps you wanted to be one of the models - the goddesses, clad in armour of lace, performing seduction through a complex sequence of motions with a ritualistic sanctity, irony leaving the beholder intoxicated. Maybe you would be willing to expose yourself down to your intricate network of capillaries, tear yourself apart to translate and immortalise pleasure with the click of the shutter, nothing more than a vessel for the artist's higher meaning. One this was certain, however. You did not want to be him. The creator. The bearer of the prodigal eye. The tormented soul curating fantasy. For that place was only ever for the Park Seonghwa as he was - his essence, his flair.

This, you had been confident in, for as long as you could remember, so, for as long as you had been dedicated to following the photographer's work. You were partial to the coiled intensity contained within each piece, and had spent many hours poring over collections, published photobooks, specials in editorial magazines. This had become a near religious act, carried out in silence, in the illusion of privacy of the tiny apartment that you shared with Wooyoung, who, acting like more of a ghost than a man, would lurk behind you to catch a glimpse of the beauties who you could never compare to. In those moments, you would choose to dissociate from the dysfunctional, cacophonic home life and tap into the memories you had with each piece. Be it the past or the present. The grayscale, interestingly enough, possessed more colour than all else you were meant to hold dear.

Tracing the curves of the bodies frozen in time, treasure maps to your personal safe haven, you traversed the avenues of your own memory: from what you had helped shoot and what was now gracing your shelves as a reminder that you were worth something to someone in your home, all the way back to the beginning. It was the triptych that you had analysed for one of your modules way back, when you barely knew anything except the basics of what was now your craft. It was a composition set in what you had later found out was Seonghwa’s secluded seaside studio down in the south, one which he used extensively in the summer months. It had been your first dive into learning of Gestalt grouping, and how easily a photographer could actually influence a viewer – a couple of miniscule tweaks, and the world was changed. Much like yours. The three pieces were terrifically entrancing in their proud solitude, but, in tandem, were a wave that covered and drowned you. The Rembrandt lighting, in contrast to the gentle waves made by white and shadow grey bedsheets, framed the centrepiece, the guideline to observation – rolling hills from waist, to hip, to the hint of a black stocking. Perhaps a person not in the know would try to argue that since the image was in monochrome, just like every other of the photographer’s works, it was not possible to infer hue, but you had the honour of knowing: Park Seonghwa lived in black and white. Floor, set, attitude – a balanced divide. The mind was loud, he had told you. If the composition needed physical colour, it would be able to complete the picture for itself. Otherwise, the colour of sensation was the underlying theme and mission.

That piece was what had started your lighthearted interest, or so you had naively called it. From mild appreciation of his works, to warm enthusiasm for the inner workings and technique, to going down the spiral to feverish adoration of all that Seonghwa captured. It was a glimpse into how he saw the world, and how he wanted to aid others in perceiving it. The initial embarrassment that had come with studying his photobooks that you had checked out from the library had subsided as you ceased to avoid the concept of eroticism. On the contrary, in some of your projects you had made attempts to emulate the master’s style, which had earned the attention of one of your professors and closest mentors. After confirming that you had not gained access to a closed early showing of the photographer’s exhibition, he had been kind enough to extend an invitation, thereby changing the course of your life.

The event had been an extension of the man, complete in the same hues, down to the very last detail. Even the guests were all a part of the scene, blurred to emphasise the subject, the creator. He was gallant, attentive, guiding you from masterpiece to masterpiece even though he had hordes of hardened professionals and eagle-eyed critics to entertain. He had made you feel central to something other than your obligations. Deserving of time and space. And left you with a business card where he had neatly added his personal mobile phone number, making you promise to consider working with him as soon as you could.

After a year of stalling on any decision, you had applied, and became his apprentice. You had discovered that Seonghwa had been keeping tabs on you, producing printouts of your own work during the informal interview he had organised, and asking you to elaborate on aspects that you had intentionally hidden away. You realised that it was impossible to hide anything from him, your mind was behind an open door. Rapidly, his world became yours, and you turned to seeing it in the beautiful black and white.

You took a sip of your hot coffee from your beloved dalmatian patterned mug cradled in one hand, scrolling through social media with the other. Checking works tagged with anything relevant to your teacher’s studio and works had become a habit for you, and as such, you continued to do it even though Seonghwa had hired a social media manager a couple of months ago. To your defence, most of their work was done remotely, so you could take pride in being the first one to see your favourite artist break out into a megawatt grin, giving you a peck on the cheek if you were lucky. In those moments, you swore you would do anything just to see and feel it all again. A smile crept onto your lips as you indulged in your fantastical daydreams, one which you tried to mask by taking another long sip.

“Your boss really should let you catch a break. This is not even intern level stuff.” You had not noticed your boyfriend’s presence behind you, and with a glance behind you noticed that he was lazily eyeing your screen. Good thing you were deep in some nature photography at least, rather than your boss’s or the studio’s page. It had been a touchy subject recently. And by recently, it meant the entirety of the time you had been hired there and had been earning a steady income from what Wooyoung had called your ‘hobby’.

“Call it market research. It is important for any artist to keep a finger on the pulse, otherwise they will be left behind, and won’t be able to innovate.” You locked your phone for good measure, placed it face down on the table and spun yourself around on the bar stool. You had insisted on having a pair at the breakfast table to be economical, seeing as the area was simply an extension of the kitchenette’s counter space. Plus, they were a wonderful snowy white and matched with your recent furniture upgrades.

Wooyoung appeared less than amused, though it was not much of a surprise to you.

“But the guy will be taking the same fap material pics anyways, so what’s the point?” he countered, running a hand through his dark hair. There was something you knew for certain about the man you had been with for the last one and a half years, and living together for nine months. He was hilariously easy to read. Past the façade of biting comments and cheeky quips, he was as good as a flyer on a posterboard at keeping things hidden from you.

“I see you have your day planned out, huh?” Your response was quick and venomous, and you noticed Wooyoung roll his eyes and trail the gaze to a print hanging on the wall to your right, in the living room. It had been a gift from your boss, a ‘less stimulating’ piece perfect for family life, as he had elaborated, making you laugh. After giving you a soft embrace, he had let his hands linger on your waist, and whispered his congratulations on your moving in with your boyfriend right against your ear, sending shivers down the spine. You were not ashamed to say that it was Park Seonghwa’s touch you had thought about during your first night, in your own apartment, together with Jung Wooyoung.

“So do you. Dolled up and ready to impress, I see?” a classic response as of late. Equal parts aggressive and accusatory, equal parts hinting at his still lingering desire for you.

Irritation. Jealousy. That was what had been fuelling your relationship since the start. Truth be told, you were surprised it had lasted as long as it did, considering how you wanted nothing more than to slam his head against the wall sometimes. That was what happened when two individuals who had sold their soul to the creative arts decided to live under the same roof, under the illusion that they had found their lifelong muse. You had been there, in the very beginning; confident that Wooyoung was the one likeminded collection of visions, the closest thing there was on this earth to a soulmate. You had melted under his touch, much like the intricate sculptures he crafted and carved away, but it only resulted in you eventually being burned and the ceramic of your heart - cracked.

Nothing gold couldn’t fix. Or, in your case, it was the hours you spent at the studio, letting yourself get carried away by the intoxicating sensuality you were tasked with capturing. If it were anyone except you who was with Wooyoung, they would have probably started a riot and confronted him, but his behaviour gave you an excuse to mentally reduce him to an abstract expressionist dot on your canvas and dedicate yourself wholly to your idol. You told yourself that you were engaging in these mind games only until your lease were to run out. Then, you would quietly not renew it – to your advantage, Wooyoung was not much of a documents man, leaving it to whoever was closest, which just so happened to be his ‘dearest’ with a vengeance. It was not a matter of taking it out on Wooyoung because you had been scorned – oh no, it was because you found it unfair that he could act this way while your conscience had deemed this to be taboo. Besides, you needed something above you, a higher legislative power, to take that final step.

But who were you kidding? Had you the ability to control the way in which you thought of Seonghwa, you would have probably had the resolve to pack up your things and go anywhere, as long as it was far away from Wooyoung. He would remember you by the pieces he had sculpted in your honour, inspired by your frame, by the fire that had burned out some time ago. But even then, say you had left, and your black suitcase with metal decal at the ready, camera lazily slung over your neck, where would you go, when your feet could only remember the route from this loveless apartment to P.SH Studio?

“Mm, you know it. Rough day today, so I will probably be back late.” Not that you would notice was left unspoken. You wanted to at least finish your coffee before the bickering started.

“Just how you like it. Isn’t it right?” He was pushing your buttons, purposefully twisting your worlds into lewd euphemism. Wooyoung enjoyed driving you up the wall – probably the closest he came to actually giving you some kind of excitement in recent weeks. Otherwise, he was perfectly satiated, and you might as well be décor, sauntering around from room to room. It was as if he took pleasure in knowing that your mind was hazy, but the distance between you concrete, and only getting larger.

You swivelled back around to face away from your boyfriend, but caught his darkened gaze at the last moment. Head lowered to make his dark hair fall slightly over his eyes, a dangerous smirk dancing on his lips, still in your vision as you stared at the bottom of the cup, thoughtlessly moving the remaining grounds that were suspended in rapidly cooling droplets. You listened to Wooyoung pushing himself off the cupboards, and step towards you, until his chin was hovering just above you shoulder, and you could count his breaths.

“Want me to give you a little pep talk?” he whispered, turning to peck your earlobe a couple of times. You gripped your mug, not wanting to satisfy Wooyoung with a reaction.

In these moments, you almost wished you were still infatuated instead of subjecting him to impersonal evaluation. The attention would have then felt special, instead of as an apology in advance for inviting his assistant over to your shared accommodation. Again, his habits and methods were very traceable and blatantly obvious. But at least it let you think of the man you were going to be spending the entire day and evening shooting with, and helped you get rid of your frustrations early, so they did not bother you as much while you watched your master with unbreaking focus. And like in long exposure photography, eventually, everything except him became a blur. It was impossible to associate your own satisfaction with anyone else, so when you felt Wooyoung’s hot, needy lips trailing from your ear to the lower jaw, and his hand snaking up your thigh, pushing your black skirt up with it, you merely shut your eyes, and thought of him.

To your delight, Wooyoung was not being vocal like he usually would as he continued to caress you, his other hand now having found its place on your waist, effectively making him wrap around you. His sturdy chest was pressing against your shoulder blade while he nipped at the sensitive skin at the base of your neck. You cursed yourself as you felt a moan threatening to escape you, and bit your lower lip. Oh, to imagine yourself as one of those models in monochrome, revealing their true nature for the first time only to him. He never touched them, at least not in front of you, but oh how they wanted to be. You understood them wholeheartedly – your imagination being the only thing to get you closer to Park Seonghwa.

The hand that you mentally removed from its owner slinked away from your thigh, completely hiking the skirt up and slipping under the band of your black panties. You liked to think that your strive to match inside and out gave you more desirability, thus enabled you to be more confident at work – a silly way of masking your subconscious intentions. Who were you trying to fool? The other slid under your shirt, and, without bothering to take it off, tugged your bra aside to reveal your shapely breasts. The sudden change in temperature proved to be stimulating, leading to your nipples increasing in sensitivity. The hand carefully, patiently brushed over the tip of its erectness. You inhaled sharply and gave a little further into the feeling. No harm done, right?

Tapping into your mind palace, it conjured an external image of what was happening to you, the subject of the moving photograph. It was a surrealist, fantastical performance, challenging the imaginary viewer with physical abstraction. You could not help but wonder if how you were unravelling right this moment would look good through the lens. What settings would be used for this shoot? You ran the numbers, and with each one, turned more and more pliable, a putty in the strong arms that had permeated into this early morning day dream. Two fingers slipped into your half open mouth, and teasing, you ran the tip of your tongue over them, wordlessly giving full access and commanding they stop teasing you any longer.

A 105mm lens would do it. Focus should be on the act, other elements fading into the background and removing any undesired presence – a mechanical fog, heightening your desire. Heat pooled to your core as you felt what could only be equivalent to sparks of electricity coursing from your exposed and stimulated breasts down to the now aching arousal. He would probably praise you for being so responsive to him – any task, no matter how small, had earned you the warmed gratitude before, so why could that not be the same here? He would give you his undivided attention, slipping those fingers, coated in saliva, down to the pleading sex, poking your inner thighs to give him better access. You obliged, visualising how a gentle, approving smile would settle on the beautiful man’s every feature, down to the slight squint of his eyes. He leaned in closer to you, his chest hitting against your back once more as he suddenly squeezed your nipple, and ran his digits over your hard clit, coaxing out a gasp.

Your molars sank into your inner cheek with such power that you thought you would draw blood, as the fingers continued to tease you, moving in painfully slow circles around the nub, making your muscle clench and inadvertently grind your hips forwards, for even a small bit more friction. The action spurred him on, and soon enough you felt a pair of soft lips trailing across from your jawline to your collarbone, occasionally stopping to pay special attention to what he knew would make you scream. Barely being able to contain yourself, you stopped preventing the sinful melody from escaping you, and moaned to a particularly precise adoration of skin on the side of your neck. Fingers, which had been mercilessly abusing your impossibly sensitive clit, slipped between your folds and glided down their length, coating them in your own arousal. You had not realised just how wet you had gotten, raw desire coating the inside of your panties.

This had to be shot in the same rush as the one you were being enveloped by – handheld, manual, shutter speed at 1/200th – it only made sense to do so. This had to be sultry, less exposed to the lamp lights. A sensuality meant to be contained in the shadows. With a final flick, which made you groan in pleasure, only begging for more, the fingers travelled down the length of your soaked pussy lips, practically hooking it in and curling themselves into you. The entry of the digits into your trembling cunt sent your thoughts into a flurry, clouding you from seeing anything except stars and the man who shared his name with the celestial apparitions.

If not for the heat building in your lower half at an astounding rate, you would have been more amused at your conclusion for best using ISO 800 for this scene – high sensitivity, indeed. How terribly you wanted to capture this intimate portrait, encapsulate the dreamlike tenderness that you were visualising for none other than Park Seonghwa. Black and white. Lustful and loving. Fast and slow. He was a man of contrasts and unthinkable combinations, he was the only one who could understand your vision.

The rhythmic, accelerating pumping of masterful fingers into your pussy was caused you to lose focus, attention span reduced to mere instinct. Writhing in the chair, you were about to fully transport yourself into the studio, forgetting to set the shutter speed for the pretend shoot, when you caught the last voice that you wanted to hear in the building of your high:

“I bet you’re thinking of him, you dirty girl.” Wooyoung hissed right into your ear, an unsaid challenge in his tone. A flash of guilt ran over you as you were caught red-minded but did not want to go through the trouble of denying that what he said was true. Blame sculptors and their skilful hands, bringing you to a certain ruin.

“Shut… up, ah!” you yelped as you felt your boyfriend’s thumb pressing against your bud, moving at an entirely different pace as it stimulated just the tip, shifting your folds further apart.

“What, don’t want to hear me in your daydreams?” he teased you, knowing full well that you would agree if you weren’t so secretive. He had clocked some time ago that you were not indifferent to your boss, however he did not realise just how far gone you were. In his mind, the claims he was throwing out were a mere improvisation, the best he could conjure to fuel his hate-driven passion towards you.

“I- mfph, said, shut-”

“Such a needy little slut for him.” You were insufferable. When you were like this, trying to regain control of the situation even though you were clay in his hands, melting under him, he was regretful that you could not be the only one in his turbulent life.

If it was not work, then it was the mood. If it was not the mood it was something he did wrong. And if, somehow, he did nothing and you confirmed that, you simply pitied him. That was the power you held. You ignited within Wooyoung a ferocious need to destroy the pedestal onto which he had elevated you in the very beginning. But as he gave you distance, toppled one platform after another, you only seemed to soar higher above him, just within reach but still, not someone he could control. He was no longer a figure of romantic authority for you – perplexed by the exact timeline, he assumed that it was simply meant to be that way. Carnal pleasure in this united destruction.

“I know you want his fingers in your tight cunt, don’t you, my darling?”

You could not respond as Wooyoung continued to pick up the pace, bringing you closer and closer to orgasm. The pet name was obviously taken from the snippets of conversation between you and Seonghwa that your boyfriend had overheard. Whenever he would have an idea for another series, or changes to some details for already planned scenes, he would run them by you, always interested in your opinions and taking them as the most valuable pieces of the creative puzzle. You really were here, getting off to the thought of being listened to, the master's hums and approvals at the forefront of ideation. You had to give it to him, Wooyoung knew how to make you come undone, even if it was by guesswork.

The vocalisation of the real source of your climb had flipped a switch, and Seonghwa flooded your mind. Wooyoung did not speak up again, and you were gone from regular consciousness, the dark lustful abyss surrounding you. Park Seonghwa was right there with you. You dashed from vision to vision, stringing them together to describe how he would feel. How it would feel for him to be the one to capture soft, supple tenderness of your throat with his enticing mouth, and how his arms would embrace your form and crush you in boundless pleasure. For the first time, he could be in front of the camera, together with you. The blur of the background disappeared as you adjusted the focus to the lewdness, the wet sounds of his outrageous rhythm. His face was now crystal clear before your eyes, his sharp features, half-lidded eyes as he brought you to your orgasm, praising you for being such an obedient little girl for him.

Your orgasm came crashing down on you with unexpected force. Overwhelmed, you let the sensation wash over you like a tempestuous ocean. Seeing only those two beloved colours, you felt for the seat beneath you to support your unsteady form. You could not yell, could not let out as much as a whisper as the etchings of the man you so desired glinted before you, lips parted in a silent proclamation of brutal, unrefined passion and obsessive adoration. Comical, how it was his manifestation amidst your sensual release that was the embodiment of love and lust, and not the man who you intentionally possessed with the role of Seonghwa.

“So fucked out, Y/N, shit. Just look at yourself.” Wooyoung chuckled as he watched you coming back to reality, trying to blink away the haze of the climax. He had remained still, wrapped around you almost in a protective gesture, his chest serving as a support for your arched body. His own arousal was frustrating him, trapped under a layer of denim, the friction only making him more impatient.

“Vulgar, as always.”

“Says you – look at this precious little mess you made, my sweet. Or can I even say ‘my’ anymore?” He demonstratively twisted you, so you were facing him, and with the hand that was attacking your breast now on his hip, he lifted the other away from your pulsating sex and lapped up the nectar that remained on his fingers, eyes lowered and scrutinising you through fluttering lashes. The bulge of his crotch commanded your gaze, albeit only for a split second. You were far from being in a Wooyoung mood. You squeezed your legs shut, feeling the soaked panties rubbing against you, and rolled your eyes.

“So, why in the world did you do that?” your nonchalance was painfully fake, airiness taking away from any impact you had intended for your question to have.

“If I told you I missed you, what would you do?” he countered, throwing the ball back in your court.

“Tell you to shove that bullshit where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“Way ahead of you there, sweetheart.” He winked, completely dispelling your sensual musings.

“Run that mouth one more time, Woo, I dare you.”

“Oh, so you want my mouth to treat you right too. How greedy. Plus, I bet you would much rather have a certain someone else do that.” He kept on going, goading you into a spat. What had previously been a joke now transformed into a hypothesis, and Wooyoung was keen to see how far you would go to keep the truth from him.

“Shut u-”

“I’ve seen the photos you have of him, sweetie. All ‘focused with tongue sticking out’, or ‘making a playful face in a selfie’. Even I can imagine as far.” He could see that he was close to cracking you.

In your vulnerable, stupefied glory, the barrier between your pursed, plump lips and cruel heart was as weak as it could be. He needed to hear that you did not love him anymore. Not because it would give him any particular relief. Mainly for minimising regret over his actions. Convincing himself that what you two had was long gone and you were stuck in a routine. He needed to hear you say it. Wooyoung needed you to utter the words, be explicit that you wanted someone else. He peered into your eyes, unwaveringly, in search for at least a hint. The rise and fall of your chest was still uneven, yet you managed to return a glare, outwardly unfeeling, unresponsive, and worst of all, indifferent. He wondered if his little act of service was actually an act of pity on your behalf.

“I’m leaving.” Silence turned to bitter disappointment. It was time to slip away, very noticed, but that was the intention. Wooyoung pulled you closer to him by pinching your collar, letting you observe how a natural grimace underwent a metamorphosis into a boyish grin, as though he genuinely wanted to wish you the best.

“Have a lovely day.”

“Have fun being a ‘hand me down’,” you mercilessly quipped, fed up with his taunts. If one were to objectively compare you and him, the answer to who was the instigator of this shipwreck was clear enough. You were confident that it was not you, since up until this point, you had remained strictly theoretical, and did not dare bring up neither his unfaithfulness nor your dissatisfactions. “Fuck, I have got to change these now…” you stated, mainly to yourself as you hopped off the stool and made a beeline for the bedroom to grab a fresh set of lingerie.

Wooyoung fell into deep contemplation, leaning back on the counter with his elbows, and letting out a soft whistle. So, you did know of his escapades, as he had assumed. He had to give it to you, you were a phenomenal actress, and all these months that he had been indulging in one temporary partner after another, you had maintained a cool demeanour, letting your own evolution and walk through life without considering him in the present nor the future. Had you really so readily accepted his dismissal of you? His disrespect? Were you not seeking… vengeance? Could you not openly hate him for his sake?

He regarded you with indignation as you rushed from room to room, intent on ignoring his presence. Had you spared him any more emotion than basal instinct, even if it was just demanding his silence with rude yells, Wooyoung would have been content. But all he had left now was to watch your silhouette, now donning that oversized shirt dress, gathered at the waist with a black leather corset which had never failed to drive him wild, disappear out of the apartment, front door shutting softly behind you and leaving him alone with his demons and the divine shapes of your body that his hands had memorised. For the first time on his own volition, he cancelled that day’s rendezvous. He would only be able to think of you, anyways.

You were late. Terribly late. And no excuses about public transport or traffic could cover for you. And like hell you were going to say to your boss that you were late because you were fantasizing about him while your cheating boyfriend fingered you. To be frank, you could mention that you could not board the trains since they were overcrowded, but you encountered the issue only because you left the house at peak commute time, like an utter fool. Shame had settled into you as you were travelling across the city, squeezed between passengers, faceless and much the same as one another. You had tried to avoid touching anything, relying on your platform shoes to give you balance - you did not want your filth to embed itself into the doors and handles. How was what you had allowed yourself to do at all appropriate? And how had you conceded to Wooyoung's accusations and teasing, accepting his conjectures as soon as he played into your darkest dreams? Stuck in this blameful loop, you had almost missed your stop and had a number of glares sent and not so kind words muttered in your address, as you lurched through the crowded carriage by sheer inertia from the train stopping, and out of the doors.

It was nearly forty minutes past the hour on which you had agreed to begin preparations today, which meant even less time until the arranged boudoir shoot with the model Seonghwa had signed to work with. Thankfully this did not require too much effort, since for the most part you and your boss had the bright idea of beginning last night: setting up the backdrops, readying the series of props and leaving the clothing rack with pre-selected outfits out by the set. But the fact that you broke a promise that you had made to your boss, the master, was what aggravated your brooding.

Once you flew up the stairs that led from the entrance to the main part of the studio, you crept into the space nearly folded over. Bowing repeatedly in apology, you could barely see where you were going, and instead of making an uneventful entrance, were halted by a hand on either one of your shoulders, grinding you to a halt and making you straighten out.

“Woah there, beautiful, don’t run me over.”

You went pale as you came face to face with none other than your boss. The one who you had just been thinking about in less than professional ways. You grinned at him sheepishly, lowering your head and choosing to focus on his outfit. Black Oxfords, slacks and shirt, black hair in the elegant 4:6 parting… of course he would be embodying this timeless hue. He had explained to you before: the reason why he was dedicated to the monochromatic palette was because if one were to consider its formulation, black was the most ‘colourful’. Seonghwa was enamoured with everything around him, and thought its predominant use to be the optimal method of honouring nature.

“Hey, my eyes are up here.” He chuckled, while adjusting the top of the dress from invisible creases, giving you a discreet onceover. It was impossible for you to remain composed, and an indecipherable amalgamation of ‘sorry’s and haphazardly mashed elaborations that all amounted to nervous white noise began to pour.

You were cute when you were shy, he concluded to himself as he took in your presently meek form, cooing that you need not worry. Though the illusion was broken as soon as he spotted what was, unmistakably, a fresh hickey that was only just gaining prominence on your delicate neck. A playful smirk threatened his lips as he raised an eyebrow and cut your monologue short.

"A kiss from your boyfriend wishing you a good day at work, my love?" The odd combination of words sent your heart ablaze. It was like Wooyoung's existence did not matter one bit to him, he was above it.

"Huh? What, sorry?"

"Your neck." You were caught off-guard by the handsome brunette pointing at his own neck, and then tilting his head towards you. An unreadable smile was on his lips as he watched your checks heat up and you stuttering out a barely audible curse. It was endearing, watching how you, normally unphased and professional, crumbling at the slightest mention of something even the tiniest bit suggestive if it was related to you.

Did you want to appear 'pure' in front of him? Unaffected and innocent? Whilst it was admirable that you had been holding out for so long, be it because of your so-called commitments or something darker, it was the not-so-subtle glances you sent in his direction that drove him to the brink of insanity, igniting a demonic creativity that led him to shoot one masterpiece after the other. Your hesitation blended with an undeniable desire was his strange addiction.

When Seonghwa had met you at his exhibition all that time ago, within you he saw a sophisticated fragility, like that of a precious artwork, or of a spring flower. At the beginning of your journey as a photographer but showing much promise, the sparkle in your eyes left him dizzy. There was something about you that reminded him of a cherub, a sweet creature untainted by misery and heartbreak. Or so was his initial perception that had given him the push to take a deeper interest in you. As he observed your rise in the circle, be it through his extensive web of connections or his own eyes, he noticed your expressions morph into showcasing a grotesque chiaroscuro. A daunting heaviness of your portrait miniseries for a class, where you had placed every pore, every wrinkle of your subjects under scrutiny in the stark light, left an inkling of fear and concern in Seonghwa's heart. This was work done in passing, an experiment for a module where you had to present your interpretation of an assigned theme, with yours being 'heartbreak'. He had found out about it by accident while catching up over a coffee with your professor for that class. And yet, it was this collection that demolished any doubts that he might have had about your future as an artist. You lived through each portrait. Your soul was shared with the model, and immortalised. A collection of portraits of people who had lost love.

You had a story to tell, and what better way to do it than through photography? Any description of his joy when you had asked if his offer of mentorship and fulltime work was still standing would be an understatement. He wanted to play a part in your development. To help you harness the immeasurable talent you had and give you the opportunity and resources necessary for a newcomer to the otherwise cruel industry. Seonghwa felt the urge to be your protector, someone who you could turn to and rely on. While you two maintained a professional relationship, he could not help but treat you with extra care and affection – it came naturally. And it only increased once he found out that, apparently, you had an excuse for a significant other. What little rationality he had left when it came to you proclaimed he should distance himself, but by a risk-hungry democracy, he only inched closer to the fire. Although you were always hesitant to share anything about your partner, he managed to piece the facts together. You were hanging on by a thread, and Seonghwa wanted to cut it and be there to catch you.

He felt it tighten once again as you dashed for the full length mirror standing in the corner of the room, inspecting the bruised skin, mortified. If only he could have the key to that gorgeous mind of yours to know just what you were recalling as you stared into the mirror and attempted to raise the collar of your dress to cover it, but to no avail. The corset – a neat contraption with a convenient zip at the back, highlighting your graceful features, was holding the article stubbornly in place. As you began to search in your bag for the concealer which you just so happened to forget due to the disturbance of your routine this morning, Seonghwa stalked towards you, raising his hand to place it over yours, reducing agitation to mere shock. The surprise on your face as he guided you into a more relaxed stance accelerated the pace of his heart to unprecedented heights.

“Do not worry about it, hey, look at me, Y/N, are you okay?” you had refrained from lifting your head.

Everything was going wrong, and you were the only one to blame. Automatically, you moved to cover the hickey, pressing a palm against it. Did Wooyoung do this on purpose, to send some sick message to you and your boss? Claim ownership over someone who was, emotionally, already lightyears away? How you despised that man, but even more, how you despised yourself for the utter lack of control you had. Splitting into thousands of pieces, you offered too many parts to the one and a half years of an illusion, clearly not having enough left to make a concrete decision and dare to spread your wings. Even if you were to be burned by the sun, you would give up anything for the smallest chance to not be plagued by the conundrum and would soar. The ghost of a touch that Seonghwa applied to your knuckles sparked your internal pleas, and again you availed yourself of safe formality, and let apologies overflow.

Confused, Seonghwa let the weight of his hand become more noticeable as he turned you a little more towards him, meeting you half way with a side step. Taking the purse out of your hand and setting it down on a painted bench set right by the mirror, he was about to pull you even closer but hesitated.

“Sorry, may I put my hands on your upper arms?” you glanced up to meet Seonghwa’s earnest expression, “Would it be alright with you?” only once you nodded did he let himself do just as he had explained, and lightly squeezed the muscle. “Y/N, what happened, talk to me.”

This man was going to be the death of you. Asking for permission over things Wooyoung did not even consider. Ever. Not even when he was just trying to ‘woo’ you, for the lack of a better word. If your heart had not melted before, it sure did now, as Seonghwa continued whispering phrases of reassurance, concerned but not pushing you to reveal more than you wanted. Presenting himself as your safe haven. He was normally open about physical affection with those close to him, but respect was an even higher priority.

“Seonghwa, I-… I am not sure I can talk about it… at least right now.” You mumbled, dropping your arm to your side.

“I get that. Sure. You okay to do the shoot? If you need to go home-”

“Anything but home! Uh, I mean, yeah. I am okay. I just need to cover this… thing… thank you for spotting it. And again, I am so sorry you had to set all of this up and I am a mess and-”

“Ma belle, what you need to cover is your responsibilities. So, if you’re sorry, get to it.” The sudden sternness snapped you out of your mental drift, and you widened your eyes. His finger dug into your skin, not quite as strong as to leave marks, but enough to make the temperature begin rising. Voice dropped into a whisper, but still bearing traces of near maternal attentiveness, he explained:

“The make up artist will be here in about fifteen minutes, but I assume you don’t want anyone to see it, so if you don’t mind, I have an accessory for you to try on.” He moved away to stride to a cabinet on the other side of the room and retrieved an item from one of the drawers.

Upon closer inspection, you recognised the item to be a thick black leather collar, with a circular silver detail at the front. This was a prop from one of the shoots you had collaborated on a couple of months ago – a series that took inspiration from dominatrix culture and bondage. Your cheeks began to heat up as Seonghwa raised it closer to eye level, and smiled sweetly, as if he did not have the same association with the object as you did.

“This should do it. And if not, you know we have some items with more… substantial coverage,” you hummed in agreement, unsure of how to proceed. Seonghwa was expectant, motioning for you to let him help with the choker.

Not finding any reason to disagree with the proposition, you lifted your hair, while he walked behind you and slid the item around your neck, positioning and fastening it in such a way that the bruise was fully concealed. As he worked on the miniature buckle, a strong sense of déjà vu overtook you, making you even more sensitive to his proximity. This was too close to what you had been playing in your head; a couple of steps going south, and it would be a re-enactment. You bit your lip nervously, listening to every breath.

When Seonghwa requested that you show the now completed outfit to him, the intensity with which he was affected by it was unforeseeable. He barely managed to utter a compliment, clenching his fist to suppress an urge to ruin the beauty. Here stood the one who he had been searching for in his art. The one who he had subconsciously been dedicating work to. The Aphrodite, and at the same time, the visionary and his partner in crime. And in that pretty collar, there was no longer any reminder that you should be off limits. The forbidden fruit. To hell with common courtesy-

Seonghwa dipped his head towards you, and once millimetres away, shut his eyes and sank into the feeling of his lips locking with yours. Just as he had thought, you were a sweet paradise, leading him into a paralysis - all he could ponder was how far he could go. You did not push away, joining him in the passionate abyss and getting drunk off his delicious and soft lips. In unison you were satiating your hunger, the current proximity simply not enough. To deepen the long-awaited kiss, you ran your fingers through his hair and gently tugged at the back, causing him to break away momentarily, revealing darkened, carnivorous orbs. He stepped even closer to you, his hips almost touching yours as hands travelled to your waist and pulled you in. Perhaps it was good that you had as little control as you did – or were just this willing when it came to this dazzling man.

There was no good reason for this to be happening. In fact, had your life been a show, most of the audience would likely say you were to blame, that you were a cheater, a whore living two lives, but to you even these seconds, turning to minutes, were worth it. With each caress you were erasing your memories of early morning, and of the fiend who, undoubtedly had organised his own fun. Didn’t a girl deserve to smile too?

Nothing felt real. Floating, life forever altered, relishing in the fact that there was no turning back. Finally, the thread snapped. A precious little bird, freed from the confines of losing oneself, day in, day out. Seonghwa noticed how you entered a flow state, hypnotised by the taste of your personal heaven. The Birth of Venus, your vibrancy brought to light by none other than him – couldn’t the other man see that you could not be carved nor moulded? You needed the spark, the energy, the worship. For that, you would go to the end of the world, but now, Seonghwa was the only one who had the power to choose if you did.

A sharp ringing of a phone interrupted your dizzying sensuality, making Seonghwa groan as he took out the vexing device from his pocket, flipping it to answer. As he talked, however, it was as though the moment still continued, with him not taking his eyes off you a single time, only motion being his mouth outlining the contours of your jawline, moving to your reddened lips to wipe away smudged lipstick. You could not move, fixated on his mellifluous low tone as he continued to admire you. Like you were his magnum opus.

“My darling, our time to shine. The whole crew will be here in five.” He covered the speaker, sharing with you what the manager on the other end of the line had stated. Unwillingly, he had to part from you, but was halted by your nimble hands cupping his face and returning the favour, clearing his face of any traces of your makeup. As a way of thanks, he turned to give your fingers a peck, a brief amused chuckle escaping him as you raised your eyebrows.

Though it was customary for Seonghwa to be a little more physically affectionate than most when it came to working in a professional environment, the significance of his attention towards you had changed drastically and did not go unnoticed by either of you. Each lingering caress held a universe, and served as silent reassurance, communication of the ongoing symbiosis between you and him. As he would reach over to grab a different lens, he would just so happen to brush past you, and send you, just you, a smile. While his hands were pressing all the right buttons, and he was uttering the right commands that the manager was translating to the model – as it turned out she did not speak a word of Korean nor any of the languages Seonghwa had picked up during his travels, and generally preferred to remain void of emotion, his thoughts were entirely on you. As he guided the model from one position to another, directed the feeling that she was supposed to be embodying, but ultimately failing, his only salvation was pretending what it would be like if you were on that chaise longue sofa, clad in elegant lingerie.

Far too many long, gruelling hours had passed by, and Seonghwa had shown far too much patience with the solemn, rigid woman on the set. The sun had already gone down, so he was trying his best to retake some of the shots, with you running from reflector to studio light, endlessly readjusting. Both you and him were winded, exhausted both physically and mentally as you, the model and the manager were the only ones left working – upon Seonghwa’s request, you had dismissed the stylist and makeup artist, agreeing that if any last touch ups were needed due to the heat from the lights, you would figure it out. Art school had taught you how to improvise in times of crisis.

At this stage, it would be better to simply wrap up for the day and pick up again tomorrow; it could be that the ‘energy’ for the shoot was off for someone, or everyone. Could be that there simply was dissonance between certain people on set. But it could not be any worse than what you had waiting for you at home, so, in some ways the long shoot was a blessing in disguise. With the new dynamic between you and Seonghwa to explore, you had almost forgotten about the fact that you had a significant other, at least until your phone began to ring incessantly in your bag, forcing you into a run across the room. As soon as you checked the caller id, your blood ran cold, and with a hardened expression, you swiped to answer.

“Y/N, hello there, sweetheart!”

“Hi.” You could not remember the last time Wooyoung had called you out of the blue. You thought that such behaviour had remained in the flirting stage for him.

“You sound stressed. Hard day at work?”

“Yes. It isn’t over yet, so I need to go.”

“Aw… And here I was, about to ask you what you would like for dinner.” He elaborated. You could hear the pout that he was undoubtedly wearing, along with some shuffling.

“Back so soon? No fun at work?” you remarked, implicitly jibing.

“Yes… terribly uneventful. Was thinking about you all day, replaying this morning…” he was acting too sweet for your liking, and for his present character. Had he been conversing with anyone else and you were listening in, you could have made more sense of it. But this made your skin crawl.

As he babbled away, your focus drifted. Never before had the man on the call felt so foreign – more distant than a stranger. It was like the dull words being uttered were entirely inaccessible, nothing more than the ghost of lost meaning, thrown into a gust of wind. His efforts were lost on you, for you had no heart to tolerate Wooyoung anymore. With an unprecedented tranquility, a conclusion had been reached, and it felt right to step away. That decision, that snap that you had been seeking had finally happened, and you were observing him while pretending to listen to the incessant chatter. The dream, the fresh start, the possibility. Seonghwa had captured your heart long before you had even met Wooyoung – so, maybe, it was you who had been unfair. Getting into a relationship when you had been simply fooling yourself.

A conversation between your boss and the manager, which had previously been level and measured out, was growing more heated by the second. You perked up at the elevated volume, and pulled the phone away from your ear to tune in.

“…I can’t work with her when she is not even trying to work with me!” Seonghwa exclaimed, clearly upset as a familiar southern lilt had seeped into the phrase, naturally deepening his voice and leaving his interlocutor taken aback. But not for long enough, as they recovered and snapped back:

“She’s pretty, isn’t she? Making her look good in a frame is your job, so, do it.”

Eyes wide, you whispered some excuse to Wooyoung, cutting him off mid-sentence. You wished you felt bad, to preserve some social dignity, but it was liberating to finally be the one to elicit shock.

"Honey, what did you say? I'm worried."

The fingers of your free hand curled into a fist as you registered the urgency in his voice. A drastic change from even a mere couple of minutes. You fell silent, processing your reaction. Why did you freeze? Why could you not just... leave?

"Y/N, darling, are you there? Do you need any help? I'll be right there if you need me..." he continued, concern growing with every syllable as you began to dig your nails into the soft flesh of your palm.

Part of you was still attached, it seemed. Some subconscious element that had been thoroughly trained by none other than Wooyoung, trained to believe him and only him. That toxic portion was still confident that he wished for nothing more except for you to be well and in a blissful harmony. In his shadow. A gifted sculptor, whispering watered down droplets of affection, softening up the clay of your innocent heart until he could leave his permanent mark. Wooyoung was here. Wooyoung wanted to be your creator. But the magic trick ceased to be impressive as soon as you realised, and now could take the risk to fight back.

"I'm okay, I'll... I'll see you later." You wanted to conclude the conversation as soon as possible, seeing as you could see that Seonghwa was beginning to lose his patience. It was a rare occurrence but unpleasant enough to avoid... at all costs.

"Is he hurting you?" A sharp jab, out of the blue, right into the arguments that you had been collecting against the man on the phone. He? Was Wooyoung really accusing Seonghwa of something you could not even begin to imagine him doing?

"What?" You mumbled, so quietly that it could have been to yourself.

"I can hear the shouting, Y/N. Not only is he overworking you, but... resorting to violence? Who does he think he is?"

Your eyes darted to the black-haired angel on the other side of the studio, about to hang his halo on a clothing rack in the strive to prove a point to a person who did not want to listen. Surely, that was an appropriate reaction? And was he not the one who gave you what you swore to be your first love-filled kiss?

"Sweetheart, just say the word... do you need to go home?"

Wooyoung was your boyfriend still, wasn't he? Many promises and commitments later, many months as one whole. He couldn't recommend something downright outrageous, since he would have to face your wrath in close proximity. Yes, you were still safe there. Home. Not perfect, but a home nonetheless. What did Seonghwa promise? Do? You were a colleague to him, a subordinate. An inexperienced photographer who barely graduated from being a pure amateur. Maybe you would be doing him a favour if you went home right now. Home to the person who had officially called you his.

"I..."

"Mm?"

"Y/N! Can you give me a hand?" You winced at the question turned command that Seonghwa boomed. It did little to dispel your assumption that Wooyoung might be right in saying you should leave, but at the same time, cleared your head just enough to realise that here you were again. Falling into the same pattern of blind obedience.

"Was it him? Say no!"

"Sorry what? Can't hear you I think you are breaking the connection is so bad so sorry I really did not understand bye-" you stuttered out, ending the call, and letting out a sigh of relief.

You felt dizzy. Exhausted. The brief conversation with Wooyoung had drained you more than the photoshoot, leaving you numb and dreading the end of the workday. Just how much strength would it take to cut all ties? You had not noticed that you had been absent-mindedly playing with the choker, and only when Seonghwa had sent a glare in your direction did you fall from your musings in a cold flash and followed his pointing gestures.

He was turning livid, his expression darkening. You slipped into the background, approaching the model, and gestured for her to follow you. Seeing as she was bored to be here, she was more than happy to follow you to the neatly folded pile of her clothes, paying no mind to the standoff occurring a mere couple of metres away. You cowered as the manager leered at you slyly, and dismissed yet another one of Seonghwa's rational suggestions for how to switch up the shoot to take at least couple of salvaging shots. As the model took her time to get ready, not having heard from her supervisor whether it was time to go or not, you saw Seonghwa's eyes bleed into a ghoulish abyss, barely containing what would be the foundation for a catastrophe.

“How about this, I can find another model, and you can find another photographer to complete this lady’s portfolio. I think both of us would be satisfied with that outcome.” he hissed, refraining from stooping so low so as to use informal language, even though the other man had been disregarding the common principle for the better, or worse, half of the day.

"Who, this... girl?" All eyes were on you, and you could not feel any smaller than you did at that moment. The manager gave you a wry side glance and crossed his arms. "Can she even model?"

"I'd say my co-creator and muse can model. Yes. And better than... many." Seonghwa bit back the offences that had accumulated, but the weight of his words was enough to hint at the lack of welcome. He nodded at you in an attempt to subtly share some comfort, but could not find your eyes, which were tracing lines between the white floorboards.

Muse. The title he had given you with such ease and pride. The title that no artist dared to use lightly out of fear of cursing their inspiration. A warmth spread over your body as the notion ate away at the embedded agitation, washing over the soul and taking, with each wave, the rotting floatation left behind by the person who wanted to sculpt your fate. A muse. And there was no better place for a muse than in a place of art and innovation. Wooyoung could enjoy his dinner by himself.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, it is late, and I don't think this should continue for any longer." The manager broke the silence, though nothing except his indignant utterance littered the ambience.

"Adieu."

The duo had departed, thankfully, in a hurry, with the manager practically pushing the lady with the stony face out of the door. As soon as Seonghwa, from his position by the window, having lifted the tulle away from it with two fingers, saw the pair appear on the street and start in the direction of the busier road that was in the studio’s vicinity, he let out a low, exasperated groan and ruffled his hair. The camera, which had weighed down on his neck not dissimilarly to a ball and chain, had found home on a high stool, while the photographer stormed towards the main set, and crashed onto the chaise longue.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you took in the sight. His right arm was grazing the floor, while the other, palm pointed outwards, was pressing into the bridge of his nose with the wrist. One leg slightly bent, the other fully lying on the plush material, he had landed in a threateningly sensual position that set you ablaze. It was impossible to tell whether this was purposeful or not, but at that moment you began to question why this ethereal man had never made an official appearance in front of the camera. The lights gave him a mystical sheen, only further enhancing the dreamlike quality Seonghwa possessed. You took a tiny step closer, careful to not produce a sound with the thick rubber soles of your boots.

He was worn out. It was painted, clear as day, across his face, and yet he still retained a regal quality, his profile – a timeless elegance. He would not hurt you. It had to be a crude lie said in egoistic anguish. The magnificent individual before you was a healing luminescence, filling up the room, embodying it, spreading the monochrome across your universe until you were hesitant to even consider external matters. This had to be immortalised. You raised your mobile phone, swiping to remove the notifications of messages that Wooyoung had apparently sent you, instead switching to the camera. The angle was not perfect, since you were on the side, the outskirts, but with a careful zoom and some manual finetuning to the settings, you could see the opportunity for a shot. Steadying yourself, you adjusted your hold on the device, and snapped away.

An unfamiliar sensation began to course through you as you focused on Seonghwa’s every detail, eyes devouring him and guiding your secret shoot. The thrill of acting on your own accord, capturing an intimate moment for yourself only was leaving you feverish. Enraptured by his slightly parted lips, you went for an extreme close up, leaning further forward and adjusting the settings once again to drop the ISO to 280 and adjusting the shutter speed to a 1/750th. Through the lens you could witness divinity embraced by pitch black, broken only by his grace. One click. Another. You were losing rationality. Snapping away, hypnotised.

“Use the proper camera. It’ll be good practice.” You froze as you were met with Seonghwa’s smouldering gaze, sent right into the lens. With a gasp, you locked your phone and shuddered, flaring up in embarrassment.

“I-I am s-so sorry, I didn’t even a-ask-”

“Apologising to me an awful lot today, aren’t you?” you could not respond, and merely followed Seonghwa’s movements as he raised himself back up and, while still on the sofa, spun to sit facing you. Legs slightly spread apar, he positioned his elbows at the knees, and intently studied you with a smug grin. “A photographer’s calling is to capture beauty as they see it, so if anything, I am honoured, my love.”

A knot began to form in your stomach as you regarded the man. How could he treat your actions so lightly? Should he not be mad? Where was the enraged Seonghwa, who had been on the verge of letting hell break loose? His unreadable nature only proved to elevate your excitement, and you eagerly approached him as he beckoned you:

“Would you show me the photos, darling?” you nodded, taking a seat to his left and unlocking your phone.

Careful not to scroll up, nor to hit any buttons to unleash the guilty pictographic altar that was the candid photographs you had taken at earlier times, you clicked on the first one you had taken this evening and tilted the screen towards the interested man. Prior consideration of your actions as only adorable rapidly evaporated as he inspected the work, astonished by its quality. You had managed to surpass the awkward positioning of the equipment from where you had been standing and made the phone work with you. Seonghwa manoeuvred to be pressed against you, thigh to thigh, and used your startled state to fish your phone out of your hands and scrutinise the pictures freely.

Judging by the reluctance to let go, he could sense that you were hiding something from him. You were heavily interested in where and how he was swiping, and one of your hands was hovering next to his. It was his duty, and his pleasure, to find out what the fuss was about. There was something unequivocally compelling about your transfixion – no dispassionate photographer would be so loving and involved in any image. Even his own works, on occasion, exhibited the ‘technically perfect, and yet far removed’ quality. Seonghwa had a sneaking suspicion about what kinds of pictures you had, but did not want to show how the sheer idea affected him. As he indulged in your reflection on the screen, your trepidation proving irresistible, a spontaneous ruse spawned in his mind, and was rolling off the tip of his tongue in an instant.

“Y/N, could you get me my camera, please? This shot reminded me of one I had taken…”

Waiting for the moment you were outside of arm’s reach, making a beeline to the requested object, he pressed on the back arrow, and within a couple of clicks and scrolls, his guesses were confirmed. A hidden album containing only him. Bursts of his profile, his physique, occupying your gallery. You appeared to be quite selective in when you took the photos, too. More often than not, you emulated Rembrandt style lighting, and the pictures you had favourited were those that reminded him of ancient Greek etchings and sculptures. When did you have the time to do this? How had he not discovered this before? He could not wipe the smirk off his face in time as he saw your shadow fall over him. Far from innocent, weren’t you? The grasp over the camera grew slack, only saved by the habit you had formed of wrapping the strap around your hand to not let it hang loose. With a victorious raising of the eyebrows, Seonghwa turned the phone to you, showcasing what he had ‘just so happened to stumble upon’, and declared:

“I think we have a lot to discuss here, love. Take a seat.” Just when you were about to stiffly settle in the same place, he roughly pulled you to him and onto his lap, grunting as you collided with his powerful thighs. One arm immediately found your waist, fingers toying with the base of the corset, while the other, phone on display, rested like a guard over your legs.

“Now, let’s see… what a collection! How long has it been?” he scrolled slowly, making sure to elevate your sense of shame, though judging by your facial expressions, you were more than happy to be treated how you were at that moment. Eyes half shut, ragged breaths, you were alert and in anticipation. “You kissed me, so you can tell me.” He emphasised, raising up the phone to poke you lightly under the chin.

“A… about seven months…”

“Wow… and how long have you been together with mister Jung Wooyoung?”

“A year and a half…”

“And how long has he been… not satisfying you?” you gaped at Seonghwa in shock. He locked your mobile and set it aside, choosing to play with the metal loop attached to the choker he had picked for you, and tugging just enough for the pressure to build.

“What?”

“Well, evidently there is something that is not there anymore… and these hickeys don’t count, my love. So tell me, what is it?”

“Cheating. He is cheating...” It was challenging to muster up the courage to say the words out loud. It was the first time you openly acknowledged the act for what it was. No euphemisms, no bent truths. It was almost too much for you, as that lump in your throat that had formed during your last conversation with your boyfriend made an irksome return.

“How long?”

“I have had my suspicions for… eight months, confident for… three.”

“I see. I am so sorry, darling I-”

“Now who’s the one apologising?” You joked, a small smile returning to you as you let Seonghwa take the camera from your hands, his chuckle making you shiver.

“Then I hope you won’t need one from me when I do this,” Seonghwa’s voice dropped into a sultry tone before he traced your jawline with his fingers and closed the minimal space between you.

Hands roaming your body, gentle, barely there, treating you like you were a priceless centrepiece made of glass. Compared to the first you had shared, this kiss was an ocean, commencing with a series of lulling waves – a reminder that you need not worry about anything except yourself and what you desired. A crescendo with a building breeze, awakening you from a forlornness and leading you into a glowing, rekindled wanting. The climb towards the crashing tsunami, consuming you as, finally, you felt wholly acknowledged, adored, affirmed.

Your yelp was stifled as he deepened the kiss and let you down slowly onto the velvet fabric of the chaise longue, making sure that your head was lying on the miniature pillow in the corner of the seat by protectively cradling you. Once your back was against the material, Seonghwa hovered over you, a hand on either side while his right knee positioned itself between your legs, with it pushing your dress upwards. His tongue pressed against your teeth, begging for entrance which you readily allowed, and sighed at the feeling of it filling your senses, Seonghwa quickly becoming the only thing you ever wanted to taste. With a tilt of the head, it moved even deeper, while his body was radiating an immeasurable longing for you, its friction against yours nearly making you question your own sanity.

Once you broke apart for gasps of sweet oxygen, sharing the hot air and watching a lewd string of saliva stretch and break between you, you mumbled out a breathy question, which you knew to be your last as you were growing more and more desperate for this man’s heavenly touch.

“Seonghwa… but why?”

“You can only see me. I can only see you. It simply makes sense, no?” he responded, giving you a quick peck on your reddened lips, followed by a couple more on your cheek, until he was right by your ear, “Let me show you that you deserve so much more, darling. Let me show you worship. May I, my love?” his beautiful, dark eyes staring into yours as he awaited your agreement.

“Yes.”

“Très bien.”

With that, the choker flew off you in one swift swipe, and, suddenly, your neck was exposed to him. Hungry orbs trained on the mark that your boyfriend had left, and soon enough Seonghwa’s lips were abusing the same sensitive spot, teasing the skin. After giving it his love and special attention, he moved to another area right beside it, repeating the action, while his knee moved higher for more support, accidentally brushing against your clothed core. You could not help but use the opportunity to buck your hips a little to add to the pooling desire. Unfortunately for you, Seonghwa had caught on too fast, and with satisfied lick, rose up and pushed himself off the chaise longue.

He regarded you through half-lidded eyes, his own arousal starting to build. No longer were there traces of the other man on you. You were free to choose whomever, and you chose him – Seonghwa. This moment had to become timeless.

“Darling, as much as I would love to ravish you right here right now, we have some photos to retake.” He could barely contain himself as you whimpered with frustration, rubbing your thighs together. He reached over to grab the camera and your phone, and added a request for you to undress. Completely.

Erection rubbing against him as he ambled towards the stand, Seonghwa heard a zip, followed by a series of rustles. “You can throw them off set for now, I do not mind.” He called out, his back still to you. A thump, and quietude. Finally at his rightful place as photographer, he let himself retrain on the scene, and felt his heat rise to unprecedented heights. He realised – this was exactly what he had been imagining every time he had a model work with him. Every time he had anybody over, this was what had been guiding his vision. You. Only you. Sat patiently, waiting for his direction.

You heard the clicking of the aperture, and took in Seonghwa’s black-clad form on the stool behind the camera. It was easy enough to guess why it was uncomfortable to remain in one place, but you were not about to ruin the photoshoot. You were a professional, after all.

“Do you think you can show me how you touch yourself?” he asked, readying his camera. You were still a little shy, so he urged you on: “You have so many photos of me, darling, show me how you get off to them. I know you do, my love.” Blushing, you finally acted, and Seonghwa could not believe it.

Sliding a finger between your slick folds, you wetted it with your own arousal and began to rub slow circles over your sensitive clit, head tilting back.

“Legs a little wider for me,” a flash, “that’s it, well done. What are you thinking of, ma belle?”

“Ah… y-you…” the sinful mumble was electrifying, and one of Seonghwa’s hands drifted towards his bulge, which had grown even larger, starting to become problematic for his concentration.

“What specifically, Y/N?”

“H-how you could take me, right here.”

“Take you? Elaborate, tell me everything. And yes, just like that, beautiful.”

Your hand began to move faster, flicking the nub, while the fingers of your other hand took to producing unimaginable sounds as they curled to stimulate the clit even further and progress to glide into your pussy with ease. A course of flashes and clicks signified that Seonghwa particularly enjoyed this course, so you did not hold back and let yourself moan, whispering his name as your high started to approach.

“How you could- ah! Make me come. In any way- AH, Hwa, I’m close-” beloved fantasies floated before you as you continued your performance.

“You are gorgeous, Y/N, I’ll make you come, not to worry, darling, just one more shot, okay?” he cooed as he continued to palm himself through his trousers, watching you bring yourself to a euphoric ruin.

“I- I am n-not sure I’ll la-ast-” you cried out, the orgasm imminent.

“That’s perfect, Y/N, show me.” His finger hovered over the button, like a panther lying in wait to capture its next kill.

“S-Seonghwa!”

“Yes-”

A flurry of shots surrounded you as you shut your eyes and were hit by a satisfying climax that caused you to sink back into the sofa and left your sex pulsing, hot juices trickling out and coaxing Seonghwa out of his digital hiding. It was virtually impossible for him to contain himself any longer, so with a few quick changes to settings, he set an automatic interval timer, for the camera to continue capturing the intimacy, but now with him in the second starring role.

Not taking his gaze off you, Seonghwa slipped out of his Oxfords, and neatly folded his button up and trousers, while having been reduced to a miniscule tremor due to the never-ending pressure on his trapped member, which had already leaked precum onto his boxers. Another flash, and he was walking towards you, ablaze from how you studied him, so alluringly dishevelled and dedicated to him.

A real life Adonis, a mortal blessing seeking you out and yearning for your caress. His equally well shaped cock twitched as he stood off to one side of you, at an impeccable ninety degrees from the camera to capture his length and salaciousness of the scene. Having recovered from your high, you were enthusiastic to please and dropped to your knees as Seonghwa gave the member a couple of pumps. Crawling forward, you innocently opened your mouth, lolling your tongue out. A perfect picture, you knew it.

“Care to prepare me before I make you feel good, ma belle?” he did not need to ask twice.

As soon as he let his hand fall to his side, you replaced it with your own, and with the other massaged his balls, attentive to every flex of muscle, every groan he held back. Now, that was not acceptable. You wanted to hear this man say your name at least once if he truly held you in his heart. You shot him a quick look, and upon seeing that he had bit his lower lip and he was already hazy, took his tip in your mouth, circling it with your tongue and giving it a couple of light sucks. A gasp promoted your continuation, and you teased his hole while not ceasing to give his base thorough focus.

Shaken, Seonghwa could only manage a low, guttural moan as you moved to take in half of his length, still keeping up the intoxicating patterns with your tongue. He gingerly pushed a lock of hair out of your face, unable to utter anything when you gazed up with curiosity. With that, you took a quick breath, and by pulling yourself forward using Seonghwa’s legs, you took him in until the cock hit the back of your throat and caused tiny tears to well up.

“Ah- Y/N, you- mfph-” nothing had ever sounded better than this you leaned back, with only the tip remaining between your lips, and then slid back down,  speeding up as you listened to Seonghwa’s sinful vocalisations.

Feeling his member harden, you were about to pick up the pace even more, but your endeavour was cut short by Seonghwa placing his palm on your crown, and tapping you with his index finger a couple of times.

“Th-thank you, love, now I want to make you feel good.” A loud pop resounded as you removed yourself, resulting in the man fighting back a shudder. “Ah, but I don’t have-”

“I have the implant, and you don’t have to come inside.”

“Wasn’t planning to, love, I want to paint over you, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

Seonghwa sat on the chaise longue, much as he had done at the very beginning while still clothed, and reached out to take your hand and walk you to him. Only you existed to him, a realisation that turned to fact as he sped up your movements, roaming your body and helping you lower yourself onto his throbbing dick. Prior to giving him the full pleasure, however, you ran the soaked pussy lips, softened by a climax and yearning for more, across it, to coat and lubricate it with your nectar. And finally, you sank onto the member, the dizzying feeling of fullness making your walls clench around it, and Seonghwa’s nails dig into your waist.

He let you remain motionless to get used to him, and to have the camera do its magic, but was ecstatic once you rose again, and began to ride him while lazily rolling your hips. You were now moaning without inhibition, Seonghwa’s name sounding simply right. When you cried out, his cock hitting at just the right spot, he rushed to soothe you by stroking circles over your pelvis, but the concern quickly dissipated as you uttered, much to his delight:

“Seonghwa, this is so-so good…”

“You’re perfect, my love. So perfect for me.” He mumbled back, kissing your shoulder blades.

Only fate could have brought him to you, or you to him. It was as though you had been made for one another, fluid and communicating through exquisite body language. A flash. Another. A priceless collection marking yours and Seonghwa’s evolution into a divine creative partnership. Undefined by standards, understood by inspiration and artistry.

“Mm, love how you fill me up so well, Hwa, please-” the knot in your stomach continued to grow as you grinded on his dick.

“So amazing, my darling, my muse.”

Seonghwa reached over and stimulated your clit while your breathing turned shallower, and you attempted to speed up. The action proved difficult, as with your climax fast approaching, your movements became more disjointed and dysrhythmic. Clearly, they became so uncontrollable, that he decided to take matters into his own hands. Melting into his touch, you followed as he stood up, careful to keep his member inside of you, and told you to bend over, keeping your ass up in the air.

Arranging for the best angle, he checked the camera, and, once confirming that the shot was going to be ideal, inhaled and glided his length into you, progressively picking up the speed until what had been a slow exploration was now him pounding into you, skin on skin, slapping against one another. You let out the uncontainable yelps of pleasure, tuning into a higher and higher pitch until your comments were mere incoherent babble. Thoughts clouded over, you could only focus on Seonghwa and your state on the verge of orgasm.

“AH…ah… Please… Hwa… don’t stop- I’m about to-”

Your yell was interrupted by him increasing the pace to an unprecedented level, accelerating you into an unthinkable crash as you shook with your climax. The way in which you enveloped him, and how you reacted to his demands and touch was becoming too much, and a bead of sweat was threatening to roll down his face as he prayed he would not come while your pussy clenched around him, the walls mercilessly pulsating as he built himself up to his high, which came sooner rather than later, and only just in time did he manage to pull his member out, and watch as strings of cum decorated your lower back and buttocks.

You collapsed on the floor, while Seonghwa fell onto the chaise longue, the back hitting his, and the two of you silently rejoiced in a shared ideal, illuminated by the continuing flashes.

“My love?”

“Mm?” you hummed, listening to Seonghwa stepping around you and shutting off the camera, only to approach you again.

“May I pick you up? Let’s go get cleaned up.” Sleepily, you raised your arms and let him lift you up, first to stand, and next to pick you up bridal style, making you giggle. “Off to the showers we go! Oh, the benefits of having a guest room at work.” He rambled light-heartedly, pecking you on the cheek, grinning, and disappearing into a dark corridor.

For the first time in a while, you felt, as Seonghwa had said, satisfied. Nothing could be more right.

You had insisted that you still needed to go home, even though it was long past midnight. But you did promise that, on that exact morning, you were going to break the news that you were leaving your soon to be ex. Life was looking brighter, and the taxi driver had already called you and Seonghwa a couple, which both of you had actively welcomed.

“I am going to Europe. In two weeks.” The brilliant young man stated as he held your hands in his while standing by the taxi, at the entrance to your apartment building.

“Oh… uhm… where?” you tried to conceal your disappointment, failing miserably.

“Brussels.” The cheeriness in his voice confused you, but as you tried to pry yourself away and mumble a “Bon… voyage?”, he beamed and embraced you.

“Two tickets, darling. You are coming with me. And I won’t accept no for an answer.”

“Then I won’t say no. All the more motivation for me, Hwa.” You snuggled into his trench coat, memorising the aroma so it could help you last the next few hours in that damned apartment.

“Let me know how it goes, okay?” his concern did not fail to make your heart flutter, and you hugged him tighter.

“If you see me at your doorstep in these same clothes, you’ll know it went… supremely well.”

“That’s why you have your good luck collar on.” Seonghwa joked, freeing one arm to poke your leather-covered neck.

“Ha, sure. Well, I’ll be off and see you soon.”

Sharing one final kiss, you departed into what you were looking forward to no longer call your home.

Upon entry, you needed a moment to adjust to the darkness. Assuming Wooyoung was asleep, you decided against entering the bedroom and occupying the sofa. If you were to breakup, it was better to start hyping yourself up early by separating yourself. There was no emotion attached to the walls, to the rooms, to him anymore. You just wanted out. As soon as possible. There was no place for you here, not when Seonghwa was waiting.

You lied down on the couch, exhausted, and what you had assumed to be five minutes of shuteye quickly turned into a deep slumber, recounting the beautiful revelations and your destined happiness. If only the man who was blankly staring at the ceiling, felt the same way. But it was impossible to, after he had spent the entire day lost in memories of you and him, of how you had been before he had gone astray and found temporary fun.

He had prepared an elaborate dinner in an attempt to impress you, only for it to be stuffed into plastic boxes to grow cold and inedible in the refrigerator. Had grown sick with worry over your disappearances and ignorance of his emotional state. And then, the final straw. You, and him, revoltingly enamoured, sharing saliva right under his damn windows. Wooyoung had vowed, today, to change, so who had allowed you to do what he had done? Were you not better than that?

Wooyoung crept out of the bedroom to at least catch a glimpse of you, and there you were a sleeping beauty. He had never seen you smiling in your sleep before. It was because of him, wasn’t it? That bastard, stealing what was not his. Or were you just so ready to give yourself away? Were you not the epitome of loyalty, standing by Wooyoung’s side no matter what? Who gave you the right? No, this could not be. This was wrong on all levels. This was not you, this was an impostor. A possessed version of you, about to do something you would regret. How could he prevent you from leaving, he wondered, toying with the clay-cutting wire in his hands.

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