#simply too smart I fear

[vesna-v-irkutske]

random/irrelevant question but do you know whether nikita was right handed or left handed?

Judging by the way Nikita holds everything, his right hand is the dominant one.

• Pic 1. For right-handed guitar players, the right hand typically handles strumming or picking, while the left hand takes care of fretting. • Pic 2. The computer mouse is located on the right side of the table. The lamp is on the left side of the table (if he were left-handed, he'd block the light with his hand).

As for Artyom, there's a short clip where he signs the documents. He is right-handed.

[ilikeevilblondes]

Breaststroke

18+ MDNI!

Summary: Joel, single dad extraordinaire, is struggling to teach his daughter how to swim. You end up teaching Sarah over the course of a few weekly swimming classes. One fortunate day, Joel accidentally stumbles upon a rather intimate situation involving you in the shower rooms after hours. He’s about to leave, but right before he can, he hears his own name spilling out in a desperate moan from your lips.

TL;DR: It’s more fun to stay in the YMCA (shower rooms) (because that’s where Joel fucks you.)

W.C: ~7.7k

Warnings: Singledad!Joel x swimmingteacher!reader, softdom!joel, accidental voyeurism, mutual masturbation, blowjobs, praise, fingering, unprotected p-in-v, shower sex, pull out and pray, implied age gap, Joel’s got that daddy humour (no outbreak!)

Note: waiter! waiter! some plot with my porn, please! sorry, you freaks, mama had to stretch the narrative before the rawdogging. and sorry for the late upload, the flu was not gucci. hope y'all enjoy as always, though! and if you got any reqs, feel free to send them my way 🤓

@pedrospurplerain

According to HealthyChildren.org, most children in America begin to learn how to swim by their fourth birthday. Basic abilities like floating and treading water can be ingrained in their motor skills at that point, and by the ripe age of five or six, most children will have been able to freestyle across any urine-defiled public pool.

Joel sighed as he watched his five-year-old angel scream and hiss at the local YMCA pool, refusing even to dip a toe into the chlorinated abyss.

“Sarah, pumpkin, you’re not a cat.” He sighed, pinching his curved nose bridge.

Sarah merely shot him a dirty look, the dirtiest a toddler could muster. She crossed her arms over her chest, the bright orange inflatable armbands around her upper arms squeaking as she did so.

“I don’t wanna go in there, daddy.” Sarah humphed.

Joel shook his head, looking up at her from where he sat in the shallow area of the gym’s pool. His little treasure, bless her heart, was stubbornly standing over the ledge and peering down at him with both fear and unwavering defiance.

“Y’gotta, pumpkin.” Joel ran a hand through his wet hair.

Of all the dads in the world, Joel would not say he was among the worst percentile. He certainly tried his best to do anything and provide everything for his little girl; working as many shifts as he could to pay for her school (his kid somehow, thankfully, didn’t get his brains and was starting first grade ahead of schedule), moving into a ‘nicer’ neighbourhood, and spoiling her with all the stuffed toys and lego sets her little heart desired.

Being a single dad wasn’t easy, to put it simply. Joel would’ve thought, owing to karmic nonsense, the universe could have been a bit nicer to him for the measly crime of forgetting to teach his daughter how to swim. But there he was, staring up at a child more hydrophobic than a rabies survivor.

“Can we go home, Daddy? Please?” Sarah stomped her little foot down onto the tiled floor.

“We will, sugar, I promise. Just, not until you at least try to step down here.”

Sarah shook her head wildly.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” She said, more decisively.

“Says who?” Joel raised a dark brow.

“Me.”

“Remind me again, pumpkin, are you the adult or the child in this relationship?”

“You’re the one in the kiddie side of the pool, Daddy.” Sarah giggled, revealing a toothy grin.

Joel sighed through a smile. God, this kid was too smart for him. She was gonna be the death of him.

Mumbling something to the effect of ‘smartass’ under his breath, Joel treaded to the end and hoisted himself up, towering over his three-foot-nothing daughter and dripping chlorine-infected water down onto the ground.

“You wanna switch places?” He crossed his arms over his broad, bare chest, nodding his head toward the pool.

“Nope!” Sarah smiled.

Joel was about to give up for the day and take his troublemaker home only to return the next weekend, when he suddenly felt a tentative finger tap his shoulder.

He whipped around to see a girl, much younger than him—and much shorter, too, dressed in the standard red lifeguard one-piece uniform. 

“Sorry to intrude,” You began, biting your lip. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”

Joel blinked, not realising he had to reply to your remark like a normal fucking human would. Instead, he opted for the less popular, uncivilised caveman method of furrowing his brows and blinking madly.

He was too distracted by the way your swimsuit clung tightly over your body. Too mesmerised by the droplets of water sliding in slow motion down your curves. Not to mention that disarmingly pretty smile of yours. 

God, he’d been too single for too long.

“Hello!” The reason for his singleness beamed up at you and waddled closer. “I’m Sarah.”

Your smile stretched wider as you bent down to meet her eye level and introduce yourself in return. Sarah repeated your name back to you delightedly, like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

After making a comment about how ‘cool’ her floaters were, you straightened up and met Joel’s coffee-brown gaze.

“Anyway.” You absentmindedly tucked a stray piece of wet hair behind your ear. “Um, well, I overheard your situation. And, uh, just wanted to let you know that the gym hosts free introductory swimming lessons every Saturday afternoon. I teach the classes, actually, and you and your daughter are more than welcome to come, mister…?”

By some miracle, Joel was able to move his mouth and properly communicate this time.

“Miller. Joel Miller.” He managed to say without so much as a stutter, smiling politely at you and sticking out a hand.

You took his hand in yours and shook it.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Miller-Joel-Miller. That Italian?” Your laugh was a sweet sound and, at risk of being completely predictable, music to his ears.

“The only Italian in me, sweetheart, is from the canned ravioli we had for lunch today.” Joel chuckled. “And we’d be more than happy to come, wouldn’t we, Sarah?” 

To punctuate his claim, he flashed Sarah a look.

A frown cut into her soft features, but she relented. 

“Yes, we would.” Sarah sighed dejectedly.

“Great! Um. Here’s the flier.” You produced a colourful leaflet and held it out to Joel. He took it. “It has the times and details and, uh, that’s my phone number on the bottom, there.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Joel pocketed it. “We’ll be there.”

“I look forward to seeing you two then.” You smiled again.

Joel would’ve fallen to his knees if you had stayed longer with that damn smile of yours. But you turned around to speedwalk towards the other side of the pool, blowing your whistle and reprimanding a bunch of teenagers running across the slippery poolside.

And if he thought the front of you was stunning, he was quickly shown that your back view was just as providing.

“You’re staring,” Sarah observed, tugging at his arm.

Joel cleared his throat.

“Let’s go home, pumpkin.” He ruffled her hair, much to a fit of giggles, and led his daughter away from the outdoor pool.

—-------

Saturday afternoon did not come quickly enough. 

After a week of late nights spent finishing drywall and early mornings making Sarah’s lunch—because there was no way in hell she was going to eat whatever junk-filled shit the American school system provided in cafeterias—Joel was tired, to say the least.

By three o’clock sharp, he had arrived at the pool with his daughter dressed to the nines in a robot-themed swimsuit and bright green goggles that suctioned so hard into her little face that she looked wide-eyed and cartoonish.

And when four o’clock had rolled around, Joel was happy to report that his daughter had finally worked up the nerve to get in the pool. With your help (and some floppy-haired assistant coach), Sarah had also managed to do some basic swimming manoeuvres without clinging to the side for dear life and frothing at the mouth.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Joel approached you after the session had officially ended, and Sarah was dried off and warm. “Just wanted to thank you. And, uh, Coach Bryan for, you know…”

“No thanks necessary, Mr Miller.” You winked, then bent down to Sarah, who stood beside her father. “You did great, Sarah. Really.”

Sarah smiled sheepishly. Joel chuckled at her bashful demeanour and ruffled her hair affectionately.

“Same time next week, Coach?” He asked.

“Yes, sir.” You saluted him and walked off toward the shower rooms, a towel around your shoulders and a spring to your step.

Joel shook his head, smiling, and took Sarah home in a better mood than he had been that morning.

—-

Joel quickly learned that the swimming lessons were beneficial to both him and his daughter. Sarah was speedily conquering her fear of water, and Joel was… well, Joel spent a lot of time talking to you when you weren’t in the pool. And afterwards, too, when the rest of the kids had already left and there were no other parents to chat your ear off.

“You’re taking a gap year?” Joel mused after one particularly smooth sailing session, taking off his sunglasses and hanging them on the hem of his shirt.

“Yep. Just taking a break after college so I can figure out what I wanna do in life.” You shrugged. “Is being a contractor any fun?”

“Well, sweetheart, I doubt you’d like it very much.” Joel smiled, glueing his eyes to yours with steely resolve. 

He was not going to look down at your body this time. He was not going to ogle the tight fit of your one-piece. He was better than the average man.

Besides, you were definitely too young for him. Possibly even young enough to be his daughter. You’d likely recoil in disgust and horror and, possibly, contact the local authorities to capture him, the creepy older man, if he were to ever make a move.

“Eh. I was open to the idea.” You laughed, shaking your head. “But I guess it’s dominated by big, strong hunks like you, huh?”

“I mean, I—” Joel began, but cut himself off upon realising what you had just said.

He blinked. Did you just flirt with him?

As if sensing that Joel was getting somewhere other than friendly banter with her swimming teacher, Sarah jogged up to the two of you.

“Daddy, I’m hungry. Let’s go home!” She pulled at his wrist.

Joel cleared his throat, offered you a quick goodbye, and led his daughter outside back to their car.

—-

“I promise it’s funny.” Bryan nudged your shoulder, giving you a very indiscreet once-over.

Joel was shamelessly eavesdropping on your post-lesson conversation as he towelled Sarah’s unruly hair nearby. Not to be nosy, of course, just to find out whether he was your boyfriend or not. Out of pure curiosity, really. No ulterior motive whatsoever…

“I somehow doubt that.” You hummed, no amusement evident in your unimpressed tone.

“Okay, so, there’s this ginger, a brunette, and a blonde—”

“I’ll stop you right there, Bryan, is the punchline, by any chance, ‘breaststroke’?”

“Well, shit.” Bryan sighed.

Joel chuckled to himself, giving Sarah one last tousle with the towel before settling it over her shoulders. 

He concluded you either hated your boyfriend, or he wasn’t your boyfriend at all. 

Joel preferred the second option.

—-

“I’m just getting some water. You okay with the kids?” You pulled yourself out of the pool, glancing at Bryan.

“Yep. All good here,” He called back.

With a nod, you draped your towel over your shoulders and made your way towards the deck chair that held your things.

It seemed that the heavens were smiling on you that day, too, because none other than Mr Miller himself occupied the chair beside yours.

And what a sight he was.

Sun-bathing, his sunglasses resting over closed eyes, and his broad, bare, tanned chest exposed to all. 

“Having fun there, Mr Miller?” You smiled, taking a seat on your chair, bringing your water bottle to your lips.

Joel lowered his sunglasses and very discreetly let his gaze travel down your body. 

You bit back a grin. He always thought he was so subtle.

“Absolutely, coach. Need to set a timer, though, or I’ll end up medium well-done.” Joel sat up, facing you.

You snorted at his dad-humour.

“Tan looks great.” You commented, wiping your brow with your towel.

“You think?” Joel smiled, reaching for the can of soda on his side table and taking a sip. “Thank you very much, sweetheart.”

“No problem at all, Mr Miller.” You licked your lips, your gaze momentarily caught on his … form-fitting trunks. “Well, I better get back to it.”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t want to keep your boyfriend waiting.” He pushed his sunglasses back up his aquiline nose.

“My—oh! Oh. Bryan? No. Ew,” You held back a gag. “No. No. God, no.”

Joel chuckled.

“I think you may need one more ‘no’ to prove your point there, darlin’.”

“No.” You played along. “Him and I are strictly friends. Besides, he isn’t my type.”

“He isn’t?” 

“I like my men like I like my cheese.” You shrugged, standing up.

“Don’t say smelly.” Joel laughed.

You opened your mouth but decided to leave your preferences shrouded in mystery as you began walking off.

Well, until you threw him a look over your shoulder, catching him in the act of staring at your ass, but pretending not to notice.

“Aged.”

Joel choked on nothing while you innocently walked away like you hadn’t just made a heavily suggestive remark.

—-

“Daddy? Can I go talk to Amanda for a second?” Sarah asked, her gaze flickering over to a plait-wearing blonde girl nearby.

“Yeah, okay, sugar. Be quick, though. Tommy’s coming over soon.” Joel squeezed her shoulder before letting her run off, her wet flip-flops squeaking against the tiled poolside as she approached her friend.

Joel shook his head and smiled. He was so proud of his girl for overcoming her phobia. Maybe he needed to treat her to ice-cream one of these days–

“Hi, Mr Miller.”

After craning his head, Joel found you standing behind him. Bright-eyed and wearing that same, impossibly tight, lifeguard swimsuit. Thank God for nylon.

“Hey, coach.” Joel offered you a lopsided grin. 

“I just wanted to say, I’ve been really impressed with your daughter over these past few weeks.”

“She’s a fast learner.” Joel moved beside you, still facing Sarah and her little friend but keeping his eyes trained on you. “Unlike me.”

“Does she get it from your wife, then…?”

Joel couldn’t shake his head faster. “No wife.”

And there went his eyes, dragging down your slightly wet body. Christ, it was like you jumped straight out of a Baywatch episode—keep it together, Miller!

“Oh.” You coughed. “So that’s why all the moms flock around you.”

Joel let out a short laugh. “I think you’re exaggerating, sweetheart.”

You took a quick glimpse at the hoard of middle-aged women unabashedly staring at the wide-shouldered man next to you before returning your sights to the wide-shouldered man himself.

“I don’t think I am.” Your lips pulled upward in a small smile. “Well, anyway. Just wanted to catch you before our final lesson next week.”

“Our final lesson’s next week?” Joel sputtered out, sounding way less calm and collected than he had intended.

“Yeah. Unless you want to learn how to swim, too.”

“I think I’m all covered in that department, darlin’.” Joel smiled. “But thank you. For everything. I know this whole shindig is free, but I just wish there was some way I could repay you.”

You clicked your tongue and, if Joel caught that correctly, lowered your voice.

“I’m sure we can find some way for you to pay me back, Mr Miller.” You said innocently, but your half-lidded eyes told another story.

Before he could so much as utter out the first syllable of a reply, Sarah came darting back.

“Okay, Daddy, let’s go!” She took her father by the hand and spared you a glance. “Bye, coach!”

Joel tried to hide both his shock from your very obvious innuendo as well as his disappointment from his daughter’s very poor timing.

He rubbed a hand down the lower half of his face and nodded at his daughter. “Let’s go then, pumpkin.” He gripped her hand and turned to you with a slightly dazed smile. “I’ll see you next week, sweetheart.”

“That you will, Mr Miller.” With a quick wink, you spun around on your heel and made your way toward the shower rooms.

—-

As fate would have it, barely half an hour later, Joel found himself sighing unhappily and looking down at his daughter as he attempted to contain his frustrations.

“We just got home—what do you mean, you left your goggles at the pool?” Joel said through a deep exhale.

“Sorry, Daddy, I didn’t mean to forget them.” Sarah shuffled her feet, her eyes locked on the floor in front of her and her fingers twisting the bottom of her t-shirt.

Tommy stuck his head out from the kitchen, one hand clutching a can of Bud Light and the other braced on the doorframe.

“Yeah, Joel, she didn’t mean to.” He piped in, unhelpfully.

“Shut up, Tommy,” Joel grumbled, shooting him a quick glare.

His brother just smirked and took a sip of his beer.

Joel sighed and turned back to Sarah, pinching his nose bridge. “Look, pumpkin, it’s fine. I’ll just drive back to the pool and get ‘em for you, okay?”

Sarah frowned. “Will you be back in time for dinner?”

“Yeah, Joel, you better be. You’re the one making it.” Tommy let out a dramatic huff.

Joel ignored him.

“Won’t take but a hot minute.” Joel ruffled Sarah’s unruly curls and pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head before turning away toward the front door.

“Say ‘hi’ to sweetheart for me, if you see her!” Sarah smiled up at him.

Joel paused mid-step, his shoes halfway on.

“Hi to who, now?” Tommy leaned closer.

“That ain’t her name, pumpkin.” Joel chose not to look directly at Tommy as he huffed out another sigh and yanked his shoes fully on.

“Ain’t that what you call her, though?”

“Now, who are you callin’ ‘sweetheart’, Joel Miller?” Tommy wore a shit-eating grin on his face.

Joel decidedly ignored him, believing it to be the best course of action.

“Watch my kid, Tommy!” He called as he stepped out of the house.

—--

The pool area was mostly deserted by the time Joel returned to it, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the lengthy stretch of lane-roped waters.

Joel walked a slow lap around the perimeter of the pool, scanning the tiles and lounge chairs and the lone lifeguard tower for any sign of Sarah’s goggles.

Nothing.

Turning around, Joel’s eyes landed on the entrance to the womens’ locker rooms. He huffed out a heavy sigh, running his hand through his grey-flecked hair. He would have preferred to not snoop in there in fear of startling any lingering guests, but he decided that there wouldn’t be anyone this close to closing time on a Sunday and, moreover, didn’t want to come home empty-handed and disappoint his daughter.

So, on he went.

The locker rooms were quiet when he tentatively stepped inside, the scent of chlorine and cheap soap clinging to the air. 

Fortunately, it seemed that he was the only one in its vicinity.

And, even more fortunately, Joel immediately spotted Sarah’s bright green goggles lying by its lonesome on a bench near the showers.

Gotcha.

He was ready to make a beeline for them and head quickly home, but upon taking a few steps forward, Joel’s ears caught the distant sound of a shower running.

Turning his head toward the source of the splashing sounds, Joel’s eyes immediately noticed a swimsuit hanging precariously off the shower curtain rod.

But not just any swimsuit. It was a red one-piece with what appeared to be ‘lifeguard’ in bold, along the front.

It was your swimsuit. 

You were in the shower.

Joel pursed his lips. Just his fucking luck. Of course, the inappropriately young girl he tried not fantasising about for weeks was the only other person there.

Mentally chastising himself for even entering the locker rooms in the first place, Joel pivoted sharply and began making his way toward the exit.

He didn’t get very far, though, because, after two intentionally light steps, he heard his own name drifting from the steaming shower.

“Joel…”

He stiffened. Evidently, he was caught. He’d have to apologise profusely and somehow testify that he was not, in fact, a perverted Peeping Tom—

“Joel,” You sighed, followed by … shit, was that a moan?

And at that moment, Joel realised that, alongside the splashing of water echoing from the stall, there was the unmistakable clap and squelch of—

“Joel! Oh… fuck,” Your breathy moan carried easily down the short hall.

You were fucking yourself to the thought of him.

Shit, shit, shit.

If Joel were a better man, he would already be in his car, driving home. He would have forgotten this encounter had ever occurred, tucked it deep into the depths of his mind, granted you a curt farewell for the final lesson the coming week, and proceeded to never see you again.

But Joel wasn’t a better man.

Judging by how quickly his dick came to life to rest, half-hard, against his thigh in his swim trunks, Joel was an awful person.

Well, he couldn’t come home nursing a semi, now could he?

Yeah. Reaching down to pull his throbbing cock out of his waistband was the right thing to do.

At least, that’s what he told himself as he leaned against a corner and slowly slid his fist down his stiffening length.

“Joel! Fuck, your cock feels so good!” Your pitchy whine floated down the room, amplified by the generosity of the tile acoustics.

Joel’s dick twitched in his hand. 

Out of habit, he tightened his grip around his base and fucked up into his fist, squeezing his eyes shut and pretending it was your tight cunt he was jutting in and out of.

And it wasn’t hard to pretend, either. What with the sinful noises you were making a few stalls away, and the desperate pleas of ‘that’s it, Joel, fuck me harder!’

With pearls of precum dribbling down his tip and smearing along his hand with each thrust, Joel felt himself near his release. Judging by the increasingly airy quality of your whines, you were facing the same predicament.

Joel continued to fuck his fist, picturing you in various filthy scenarios. 

You, slowly wrapping your dainty hand around his hard-on and eagerly taking over.

You, on your knees, choking on his cock. 

You, tits smushed against tile as Joel fucked you with reckless abandon under the hot torrents of the showerhead.

Ramming brutally into your greedy fucking pussy, watching as his come-soaked dick disappeared in and out of your tight channel—

“Fuck!” Joel cursed aloud after a particularly enthusiastic thrust.

Suddenly, the water stopped. So did your noises.

Joel stilled. Oh, shit.

“Hello?” Came your voice, meekly. “Is … Is someone there?”

As silently as he could, Joel released his hold on his cock and carefully tucked himself back in his trunks.

Shit. What was he going to do?

Almost immediately after he regained his decency, the shower curtain slid halfway open with a faint metallic rattle, and you cautiously peered out, hiding most of your body behind the vinyl barrier.

“...Mr Miller?” You said, uncertainly, as if half-convinced he was some kind of dreamlike apparition.

Joel cleared his throat and took an instinctive step back.

“Uh—yeah. Just, uh… goggles. Sarah’s goggles.” He stuttered, holding them up weakly. “Her goggles. She left them here. The goggles.”

“Well, thank god you clarified that.” You smacked your lips, a sarcastic bite to your tone. The snarkiness soon faded from your expression once you added, with knitted brows, “you’re in the womens’ showers.”

“Yeah, I—” Joel winced. “I know.”

Silence.

After a moment or two, you opened your mouth to say something else, but the words died in your throat as your eyes fell on Joel’s trunks.

More specifically, the raging bulge making itself known in his lap.

“You’re hard.” You stated, your cheeks flushing a pretty shade of pink.

Joel’s eyes shot wide open. He glanced down, too, and sure enough, he was hard. It was almost as if he was fucking his hand to the thought of you only moments before. Oh, wait, that’s because he was!

To preserve the last shred of dignity in Joel’s inexecusably shameful body, he threw his hands over his groin and attempted to stammer out a valid excuse.

“Sorry, sweetheart—” No, he wasn’t. “—I, um… well, you see, I…”

Your eyes found the faint traces of precum on his right hand.

“Were you … jerking off to me in the shower?”

Yes, yes, he was.

“Frankly, darlin’, I think the better question here is, were you jerking off to me in the shower?” Joel coughed.

Your eyes trailed over his body, lingering again on where he covered his hard-on.

“I was.” Your stare found his. “Your turn, Mr Miller.”

Joel sucked in a breath through his teeth. There was definitely no backing out now.

He nodded slowly. Reprehensibly. 

Shame churned within him as he desperately wished for the ground to open up at his feet and swallow him whole, possibly even spitting him back out into the fiery pits of hell where he so clearly belonged after what he had done. Unfortunately for him, the earth, indifferent to his suffering, remained stubbornly solid beneath him, leaving him stranded in his own mortification.

“Look, sweetheart, I can’t express how sorry I—lord almighty.”

Instead of letting him scramble to finish whatever bullshit he was cooking up, you decided to pull the shower curtain all the way back.

Joel gulped, taking in your newly-exposed bare body, from the soft curve of your breasts to the thickness of your thighs to the seam of your … fuck, to the seam of the same pussy you were probably fingering just moments before; glazed in glistening beads of water under the cool fluorescent lights. 

You were fucking gorgeous. 

So gorgeous, in fact, that Joel felt his cock fully spring to life at the sight of you, standing naked and dripping-wet from the rain of showerhead.

“Let me… let me help you out.” You bit your lower lip, your eyes hazy.

“H-Help me out?” Joel breathed, staggering backward, his hands still persevering to conserve his modesty.

You slowly approached him, stopping when any semblance of personal space was lost, and dropped down to your knees.

Jesus Fucking Christ. 

Joel heard himself swallow.

“Don’t you want this, Mr Miller?” You looked up at him, your eyes pleading and almost doll-like from that angle.

While waiting for his response, your hands softly wrapped themselves around his, guiding them away from his lap to meet his tenting swim trunks head-on.

Joel, meanwhile, was busy trying to convince himself this wet dream of a situation was really happening whilst simultaneously refraining from spending his load in his trunks, because the vision of you, bare and waiting patiently on your knees, looked downright sinful.

“Doesn’t matter if I do.” Joel shook his head slowly, not registering the fact that his grip on the goggles loosened to a point where they fell to the floor in a dull clatter. “This… this is wrong.”

“The way I see it,” You hummed, your hands finding gentle purchase on his hips. “I’m naked. And already wet. And you’re…”

Your eyes flickered down to his bulge and wet your lips. Upon seeing this, Joel’s breath hitched in his throat.

“Ain’t there some—some rule against, I don’t know, a coach fraternising with a parent in this way?” Joel furrowed his brows, distractedly taking your chin in his hands and tilting your head upwards.

“No.” You eagerly let him direct you, moving at his will. 

“You sure?” 

“Positive.” The corners of your mouth pulled up in a small smile.

“What if someone comes—yeah, fuck it, I ain’t gonna keep pretending like I don’t want this.” Joel shook his head, his eyes dragging over you unabashedly.

“Oh yeah?” Your smile only widened.

“Go on then, darlin’.” Joel purred, his voice a low and rough timbre, his eyes overtaken with want. “What was it you said a while ago…? Help me out.”

With his less-than-reluctant approval, you tossed him another heart-stuttering wink, slipped your fingers past his waistband, and pulled him out.

And, fuck, you were not disappointed.

Joel was big, to say the least; in both length and girth, and you may have felt your cunt quivering at the mere thought of the possibility of taking him inside you later, but you were quickly overtaken by need upon seeing the drops of precum spilling from of his head.

With a hand wrapped around his base, you stuck your tongue out to lick a stripe up his length, tasting the salt of his skin and his arousal.

At your actions, Joel inhaled a sharp breath.

“You gonna finish what you started now?” Joel mused from above you, closing a fist around your grip on his cock and bringing it closer to your parted lips. He gently tapped your cheek with his free hand. “Open up for me, sweetheart.”

And you gladly did so, taking his tip into your mouth and swirling your tongue around his head like a fucking lolipop.

“Fuck,” Joel gritted his teeth, tossing his head back against the wall.

Taking his expletive as a sign to continue, you proceeded to hollow your cheeks and take his length deeper, as deep as physically possible without making you choke. 

“That all you can take?” Joel tutted, caressing your cheek.

Much to your determined efforts, you only managed to fit a little more than half of him in your mouth. Because, fuck, was he big.

You whined around his cock in response.

“Shh,” Joel murmured. “‘S okay. ‘S okay, sweetheart.”

His deep brown gaze met yours, and for a second, you could have mistaken the emotion swimming in his eyes as affection. 

“Nice and slow, hm?” Joel said through a satisfied exhale, his brows furrowed at the sensation of being enveloped by the warmth of your mouth. 

His fingers threaded through your hair, coming to grasp at your roots, but remained stationary, waiting for you to make the first move.

You looked up at him through your eyelashes and held that eye contact as you began moving your head back and forth. Seeing his eyes briefly flutter in pleasure, you flattened your tongue against the underside of his cock, feeling it twitch as you continued your movements.

“Fuck, sweetheart. That’s it.” His grip in your hair tightened.

You started to bob your head up and down at a quicker pace as you sucked him greedily, your hand moving in deft strokes along the stretch of his length your mouth couldn’t entertain.

Joel cursed under his breath and guided you on and off his cock in a steady rhythm as he fisted your hair.

And, fuck, he let himself thrust into your mouth once or twice, but upon hearing you gag, resolved to let you take charge of the speed entirely.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Joel breathed. “Sounded pretty chokin’ on my cock, but I guess I went too far, hm?” He sighed, caressing your cheek again.

You moaned with his cock heavy on your tongue, signalling your eagerness to die of asphyxiation from a fucking blowjob, and begun to take him even further into your mouth, feeling his head touch the back of your throat.

“Shit, darlin’.” Joel groaned. “That’s a good girl. Taking it so well.”

A strangled sound escaped from your otherwise occupied throat as you continued to deepthroat a man old enough to be your father.

Truly realising the situation you found yourself in, you felt a needy sensation thrum from in between your legs. Whilst continuing to bob your head around his cock, your hand went to trail down your front and relieve some of that tension you ached to be rid of, rubbing your clit furiously.

“Oh, my poor girl.” Joel cooed, seeing this. “Come on, now. Up you get,” He gently pulled you off his cock (wincing at the loss of your mouth) and up to stand in front of him.

“Not good?” You breathed, resting a hand on his chest while his hands settled on either side of your waist.

“No, sweetheart, it was very good.” Joel dipped his head down so his mouth was less than an inch away from yours, every word releasing as a warm breath against your lips. 

And then he leaned down to capture your mouth in a desperate, hungry, horribly sloppy kiss, licking into you and no doubt tasting his own arousal on your tongue.

You didn’t even register he was walking you backward until your back hit the shower wall.

“Just wanna fuck you now,” Joel mumbled, his half-lidded stare drifted down your bare form before flickering back up to meet your eyes.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” You smirked, pulling him back into another frenzied kiss.

Joel smiled against your lips.

“So mouthy,” He tutted in that authoritative, paternal voice you’ve heard him use before, in between eager kisses. “I’d like to teach you a lesson, sweetheart, but I’m afraid I’m too fuckin’ impatient myself right now.”

At the sound of that, you clenched your thighs together.

The slant of his mouth trailed down your jaw to your neck, sucking and biting at your wet skin, humming in pleasure as he did so. Simultaneously, his big, calloused hand made their way from your waist down to your lower abdomen, and lower, still, until you felt his fingers ghost over your slick entrance.

You gasped.

“Mr Miller–”

“‘Joel’, darlin’. It’s ‘Joel.’” He mumbled against your neck, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin. “Heard you moanin’ it in here a while ago, I’m fairly certain you know how to pronounce it.”

“Joel,” You obliged, biting your lower lip as you felt Joel’s fingers meander nearer to your core.

“Yes, sweetheart?” 

“You don’t have to… you know,” You glanced down in between both your bodies.

Joel followed your gaze and saw his own fingers hovering close to your aching mound.

“Think I do.” He clicked his tongue. “Need to get ya ready. Wouldn’t wanna hurt that pretty pussy of yours when I… well, to put it bluntly, darlin’, I don’t wanna hurt your pretty pussy when I’m fuckin’ you in a little bit.”

“Oh,” You breathed.

“Yeah,” Joel hummed, nudging your cheek with his nose. “That sound good to you, sweetheart?”

You nodded almost too avidly.

“Good,” Joel sighed, his fingers skimming over your aching cunt and just barely dipping inside your folds. “Just relax, darlin’. I gotcha.”

That was the last of the preamble before you felt one of his fingers slip inside, dragging up and down against your walls.

Normally, if left to your own devices, you were barely satisfied with a singular digit of your own. But here you were, gasping and clenching around just his middle finger.

Content with your reaction, Joel kissed your neck and slipped another finger to crook alongside the first in an even rhythm that began to spark a familiar warmth in your gut.

“There we go.” He mumbled against your skin.

“Fuck,” You whispered as you felt his thumb settle on your clit.

You felt Joel smile against your pulse point. And then, with his other big hand, he gently held your face and titled it to the side to pepper kisses along your jaw.

“You can take another, can’t you? Yeah, you can.” Joel hummed, and before you could respond, you felt a third finger slip inside, stretching you wider. 

Your eyes squeezed shut as Joel’s fingers curled inside you at a faster rhythm while his thumb graciously swiped at your clit.

Blood pounded in your ears. Your breathing shallowed. You were so, so close.

“Joel, please…” 

“Please what? C’mon, baby, use your words like a big girl.”

His fingers only sped up, dragging against your walls so deliciously and filling you better than your own hand could have ever done.

You inhaled.

“Please don’t s-stop.” Your breath hitched in your throat. “I’m so close.”

“You wanna come for me? ‘S that it?” Joel cooed, his breath warm against your skin and right beside your ear.

“Please,”

“Come for me then, sweetheart. Let me hear you,”

With a scream of his name, your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, sending you into a light-headed bliss as you clutched his big upper arms.

His fingers only began to slow once your cunt stopped pulsing rapidly around him, and when you caught your breath again, he tenderly slipped them out.

“Made a mess of my fingers, huh?” He mumbled, staring down at how his hand glistened with your arousal.

You felt your cheeks redden.

“I’m sorry–”

“Don’t fucking be,”

And you watched as Joel stuck a finger in his mouth and sucked your slick off it like it was a world-class dessert.

“That was hot,” Was your breathless response.

Intelligent.

“Oh yeah?” The corner of his lips tugged upward as his eyes danced from your own to your parted lips. 

“Yeah,”

A soft, low laugh rumbled in his throat.

“Come here,” Joel sighed, placing a hand on the small of your back and another on the side of your face, leaning down to devour your lips in another messy kiss.

His tongue slid inside your mouth as if starved, licking against your tongue and letting you taste your own pleasure. All while the hand on your face brought you closer and gently stroked the curve of your cheek.

After a few moments, Joel broke the kiss almost regretfully.

He barely pulled away, his lips closely within reach of yours, and his breath mingling with your own as he spoke in a deep, gruff rasp.

“You still want this, sweetheart?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

Joel smirked. “A simple ‘yes’ would’ve sufficed.”

Before you could form a response to his slightly snarky remark, your breath was stolen from you at the sight of Joel tugging down his trunks fully and stepping out of them.

Glancing down, you found that he was still incredibly hard. Almost painfully, by the look of how his cock practically bounced up to his navel. Clearly, your recent oral assistance did nothing to tame the lust in his body.

Joel crowded you up against the wall once more, his tall frame easily looming over yours. One of his big hands went to caress your jawline, angling your head up toward him, and the other went to your thigh, wrapping your leg around his waist.

“Been a while for me.” He sighed, a hint of embarrassment peeking through his tone. “You tell me if I get … carried away, yeah?”

Instinctively, you hung your arms around his wide shoulders, bringing him even closer.

“Yes, sir.” Your lips quirked upward.

“Good girl,” He hummed, his thumb absently running along your bottom lip.

Then, the hand cupping your face went to guide his aching dick to notch against your entrance, sliding against your wet mound.

And, with a shaky inhale slipping past his lips, he sheathed himself inside you. 

“Fuck, you feel good,” Joel muttered lowly.

You let out a whine at the feeling. 

Despite being barely halfway in, Joel was already proving to be more than sufficient, especially from the way your velvety walls were already pulsing wildly around his length.

“I know, I know, I know,” Joel sighed, his thumb caressing where he held a grip on your thigh. “‘S okay, sweetheart. Shh, you can take it.”

In response, you nodded.

And Joel drove himself the entire way, balls-deep, his greying pubic hair tickling the inside of your upper thighs. He gasped in your ear at the feeling of the first full thrust and at the sensation of your channel clamping desperately around him.

He filled you up so fucking well.

“You doin’ okay? Hm?” He mumbled, leaving lazy, aimless kisses along your neck.

“Need more.” 

“Oh? She wants more, huh?” He smirked against your skin. “That what you were imaginin’ in the shower?”

“Y-Yeah,” You whispered.

“Flirtin’ with me for weeks now, and here you are bein’ all shy.” Joel tsked. “Don’t worry, you’ll get more, darlin’.”

Joel began sawing in and out of you at a relaxed pace, letting out low groans of satisfaction. 

With every sloppy thrust, you heard the distant wet thud of your back against the shower tiles, sounding in a steady rhythm. But, despite each measured roll of his hips sending white-hot shivers throughout your throbbing cunt, you found yourself dangerously craving even more.

“Harder.”

“Harder?” Joel hummed coyly.

“Joel,” You whined.

“Careful what you wish for, sweetheart,” Joel mumbled against the corner of your mouth.

You only realised you were moaning obscenely loud when the echo had bounced around the room, and Joel was muttering something encouragingly into your skin.

“That’s it. Y’sound real fuckin’ pretty.”

Joel’s thrusts had picked up the pace. The only sound competing with the volume of your moans were the crude wet slaps of his body against yours.

Slap, slap, slap.

You thanked your lucky stars the shower rooms were deserted after the swimming lessons, because you were sure even if someone happened to walk in on you two fucking like wild rabbits, you wouldn’t let him stop.

And some part of you knew that he wouldn’t want to, either. Not with the way he was breathing airy curses beside your ear and mumbling about how ‘fuckin’ tight’ you were and other such filthy ramblings.

After a particularly harsh thrust, you felt his pace falter and his dick twitch against your walls.

“Fuck,” He whispered sharply.

Out of the blue, Joel pulled out, leaving your slick mound vacant for a heartbeat or two before he spun you around roughly, forcing you to brace yourself against the wall.

And, not long after, he fed you the entirety of his cock again in one deep thrust.

“Joel!” You gasped. 

Your hands, stretched out in front of you and anchored against the wall, scrambled to find a grip on the smooth, slippery surface.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He said from somewhere behind you, beginning to ram into you at a brutal pace as he held you in place with an iron grip on your hips. “Needed—fuck… Needed this.”

With your tits pressed against the tiles and his length kissing your cervix after every drag against your pulsing walls, your vision began to blur and your lower gut began to flutter. 

You were very fucking close.

As if reading your mind, one of Joel’s hands trailed from your hip to your front, sliding down until he brushed your clit. And then he began rubbing the sensitive nub in sloppy semi-circle motions, tutting sweet words as you whined nonsensical syllables.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear you,” He cooed soothingly.

You let out a pitchy whine, “feels so good.” 

“That right?” Joel mumbled distractedly, using a rough hand on your neck to turn your head toward him despite the awkward angle, and claimed your lips hungrily, licking desperately into your mouth as if it was the last thing he’d ever do, and letting out hoarse noises of appreciation as he did so.

His hips continued to jut into you, setting an erratic, jerky pace.

Slap. Slap-slap. Slap. Slap-slap-slap.

You arched back against him and unintentionally broke the kiss when the overflowing pleasure spiked incredibly high.

“J-Joel,” You breathed.

The man, who was single-mindedly pistoning in and out of your splayed legs, hummed a sound of acknowledgment in response, his warm breath ghosting over your cheek.

“Joel, I’m close,” You whispered, the heat of both your bodies meeting where your back leaned against his front. 

“Are you?” He replied almost casually.

His fingers only sped in their motions, swiping at your clit almost feverishly as he continued to rut animalistically into you; each thrust stretching your aching cunt impossibly wide and oh so easily finding your cervix—

“Fuck!” Your chest tightened.

“Ask for it.” Joel’s gentle yet commanding tone nearly made your knees buckle. 

That, and the manic force at which he was fucking into you.

Slap–slap-slap-slap—

“Go on, baby. Ask.” His nose nudged at the side of your face, breathing in your scent as he tutted lowly, “hate to see you all worked up like this.”

“Shit—please! Can I come, please?” You acquiesced.

You felt the muscles of his rugged face pull up in a small smile against your cheek and his dick twitch inside your tight walls, sending shivers down your spine.

“Be a good girl and come for me then, sweetheart,” Joel said in between strained breaths. “Come all over my cock, I gotcha.”

Your climax came rippling over your whole body, a prolonged resonance that sent you into the territory of overstimulation—much more powerful than your first orgasm—as neither his fingers nor his cock slowed down in their frenzied pursuits. 

So, there you were, chanting his name like a prayer and clenching tightly around his relentless length.

When the fluttering of your cunt subsided, Joel hurriedly pulled out and wrapped a hand around his throbbing cock, fucking up into his fist frantically and cursing under his breath. You all but folded against the wall as you felt his loss, sticking your ass out and waiting for the inevitable.

Soon, his breath caught in his throat, and you felt hot ropes of his come spill over your back.

“Shit.” Joel sighed, gently rubbing along your sides. 

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder once he recollected himself a few moments after, still softly trailing his hands up and down as both of your breaths evened.

“You okay over there, sweetheart?”

You nodded weakly, unable to voice your satisfaction with your brains all fucked out.

Joel huffed a short laugh. “C’mon, I’ll clean you up.”

Somewhere behind you, the shower handle groaned with a faint squeak. A dull clunk followed, and then, with a sudden rush, water erupted from the showerhead, dousing the two of you in a sputtering cascade.

Gently, Joel tugged you away from the wall to stand directly under the jet of water, softly helping you wash away any reminders of your reckless impropriety.

He pressed reverent kisses along your jaw, down your neck, and around your collarbone as you got cleaned up.

There was no hidden, lustful agenda to this, as far as you could tell. You assumed it was either a result of his years of fatherhood or some testament to his overall caring nature, but either way, you weren’t complaining. You happily let your eyes fall closed as sheets of warm water streamed down your body, all while Joel’s lips tentatively found yours, then your neck, and his strong hands moved along your body.

“Um…” Joel began after he had turned off the shower, looking at you with his big, soft eyes. “I know this is the completely wrong order of things, but would you like to–”

“Yes.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You didn’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“Were you gonna ask me out on a date?”

“Yeah,” Joel laughed bashfully. "Is that... is that okay?"

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, and rising on your tiptoes to meet his lips in a lazy kiss.

“The answer’s yes.” You mumbled without breaking away for too long.

You felt Joel smile against your lips.

[plethorawrites]

I’m kinda curious as to how the batboys would react with a partner that randomly compliments them (like really sweet and sappy things too, “you’re so pretty, I love how smart your are, you’re perfect,” etc.) + refers to them as Boyfriend, no name, just Boyfriend

Like the reader would be all “hey! This is Boyfriend,” while holding onto him.

Ahhh, I love this concept!! (I only did part of it, but please let me know if you want the other part!)

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

Bruce: Would be very confused at first because he's always used to his partners introducing him as Bruce Wayne. And he always knew they did it so people realized their partner was dating a billionaire. He'd expect it from you, like with everyone, but then you simply introduced him as your boyfriend. Alright, that was strange. He assumed it was because it was just your coworkers he met and you didn't care much what they thought. Then it happened with your friends and your parents and each time you introduced him to someone, not as Bruce Wayne the billionaire, but simply your boyfriend, he felt his heart clench a little. His wealth or status hadn't won your heart, he had.

---

Dick: When you don't introduce him by his name the first time he meets your friends, he says nothing about it. He assumes it was a one off. But no. You kept calling him that, barely saying his name at all, if ever. It was always "Oh, my boyfriend likes that restaurant too!" And "Actually, my boyfriend has an early day tomorrow, we'll pass." He soon realized it was your own subtle jealousy showing. You called him your boyfriend every chance you got because you didn't want a single one of your friends looking at him for too long, let alone any strangers getting the idea they had a chance. He was a bit proud, honestly. He found it adorable how you'd drag his arm around his waist to emphasize your point.

---

Jason: He feared love more than anything. It terrified him to give his heart to someone when it felt so fragile he thought if it broke one more time he'd die for good. But then he gave it to you. He still felt hesitant and you knew that. Which is why you would call him your boyfriend every chance you got. You wanted him to know how much you liked people knowing who he was to you. He realized quickly that you did it for his benefit but couldn't bring himself to ask you to stop. He really liked having you say it and it made him a bit more confident in your love for him each time he realized you weren't ashamed of him.

---

Tim: You do it to tease him, but he never responded in the right way whenever you did. He'd lean in as well and start referring to you only as his girlfriend/boyfriend/partner just so it was fair. He rather enjoyed the way it sounded when you called him that. He still couldn't believe you'd actually put up with him, so hearing you state so proudly that he was your boyfriend made him elated. How would it not? He knew you meant it as a dramatic, over the top joke, but he loved hearing it anyway. So much so that you both eventually stopped with the theatrics and began using it sincerely.

---

(Aged up) Damian: He's a proud man, typically. With an ego far taller than him. You called him your boyfriend once before you started dating and he lost it, angry that you didn't give him the chance to ask you to be his girlfriend properly before you began using those labels. Then, you'd use it to annoy him at first. Never saying his name when you introduced him to your friends or family bugged him and you knew it, but you slowly came to enjoy it for reasons other than his frustration. He had to admit, he learned to like it after a while, too. You

[mooniewritess]

"Mom?"

You hear your little daughter call out for you, and you set the book aside so she can climb on the bed and into your arms.

"Hey, sweetie, what's up?" You ask, wrapping your arms around her so her head rests on your shoulder.

"Why do Luke and Kieran wear masks?"

You tense ever so slightly at that question.

You figured that sooner or later she'd ask. You just hoped it would be later, but deep down, you knew she was too curious for her own good.

"Well, baby..." You start, resting your head on top of her. "You know how twins sometimes look alike?" She nods, listening intently.

"Luke and Kieran did, too. But Kieran got really, really hurt. And his face is different now." You explain, running a gentle hand through her white hair. "So Luke had the idea of wearing masks. So they could look alike again. It's sweet, don't you think?"

She nods again, quietly thinking, before raising her head. "Can I see Kieran without his mask?"

You sigh, and simply shrug. "I don't know." You admit sincerely. "That's something you need to ask him. I can't make this decision for him."

She thinks for a while again, and then nods with determination. "Okay. I will ask him." You chuckle softly, squeezing her in a hug. "Good, baby. Now go to sleep, mh? I'll tell dad to tuck you in."

You kiss the top of her head, and after bidding goodnight, she patters off to her room.

You sigh and rub your eyes, still thinking about your little girl.

When Sylus joins you in bed, he raises an eyebrow, seeing you so pensive. "What's on your mind?"

You cuddle up against him, your head on his chest. "Our baby girl. Sometimes I think she's more mature than I give her credit for."

He chuckles, the sound deep and rich in his chest. "She's your daughter, miss Hunter. She probably is."

You playfully hit his side, rolling your eyes. "Be serious for once!"

He simply chuckles again, holding you tighter. "I am serious. She is smart, and mature. And I don't know what you're so worried about."

You silently shrug, looking up at him. "I'll blink and she won't be our little girl anymore. I'm not ready for that."

He lets out a scoff, his signature smirk plastered on his face. "She's seven. You're thinking a little ahead of yourself."

"Mhmh. Sure. You won't be so smug when she brings home her first partner."

You feel him tense at your words, and he quiets down. "We should sleep now." Is all he replies with, making you chuckle victoriously.

"Kieran! Luke!" Your daughter greets them, running towards them. Specifically, towards Kieran, who happily bends down to pick her up.

"Hey, little boss-lady!" He chirps, holding her. "What's up?"

She looks at both of them, before focusing on Kieran and putting a small hand on the beak of his mask.

"Can I see you without this?"

They both freeze, and Luke turns towards Kieran, visibly nervous. "... Why?"

"I want to see what my brothers look like." She explains with a shrug.

"I don't want to scare you." Kieran adds, in a much lower voice.

She shakes her head, determined. "You will not. I'm a big girl. And I know you."

As hesitant as he still is, he finally caves in. He sets her back down on the ground and crouches next to her. He takes a deep breath, lowers his hood, and then finally takes off his mask.

For a moment, she simply looks at him, but her eyes don't show any fear, or disgust.

Instead, she looks at his scars with curiosity and wonder. "Do they hurt?"

He shakes his head, his voice choked. "No. Not anymore."

She gently pokes at his marks, her head tilted as she observed. "Are you sad?" She asks then, pulling her fingers away when she notices the tears in Kieran's eyes, who quickly tries to blink them away.

"No, no, I... I am actually very happy." He answers, clearing his throat in a useless attempt at steadying his voice.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, hugging him in the same way you do when you try to comfort her. "It's okay! Don't cry, Kieran. It's okay."

He nods, hugging her back, trying to suppress the sobs as he nods into her shoulder. "Yeah. It's okay."

Luke smiles to himself, before hugging both of them and holding them close.

Because they're not EVER's abominations anymore. They aren't only henchmen.

Sometimes, they're just brothers. And it's worth more than anything else.

[incognit0slut]

Lesson learned

PART 3 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Unit Chief!Spencer x BAU!Reader Your boss decides to teach you a lesson when you question the motivations behind a certain case.

Content: (18+) 6k, breath play, fingering, a little case description, BDSM discussion, softdom Spence but borderlines to dom because hello this is breath play and reader being judgy judgy but don’t worry he’s here to teach you a lesson or two a/n: The initial plan was to make him a hard dom but breathplay is already overwhelming so I decided to go the educational route. I am, by all means, not as smart as him, so there might be some inaccuracy

You would think that after joining the BAU for two years, you’d start to understand the twisted logic of a criminal’s mind. But you don’t. Not really. You’ve dissected motives, uncovered patterns, and profiled suspects more times than you can count, and yet this case makes no sense. 

Your eyes go over the photographs pinned to the board again. And again. And again. It’s become almost a ritual now, like maybe if you look at it just one more time, the pieces might finally fall into place. But all you find staring back at you are three victims with the same marks on their necks. There was clearly a sign of struggle, but not one of fear. Not one that fits any pattern you know.

“I don’t get it,” you say. “The profile suggests the victims knew their attacker, but this doesn’t look like anything close to rage. Or brutality.”

Spencer shifts beside you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours as he leans closer to the board. “It might not have been an act of violence,” he observes thoughtfully. “Not in the traditional sense, anyway.”

You furrow your brow. “If it wasn’t violent, then what was it?”

“The bruising pattern is too symmetrical, and there’s no sign of panic or defensive wounds on their hands. I think there’s a chance the victims might have willingly participated.”

“Willingly?” Your eyes snap at him. “What do you mean, ‘willingly participated’? No one willingly gets strangled.”

He meets your eyes for a second before looking back at the board. “I know it sounds unlikely,” he admits, “but not impossible. See how the bruises are evenly spaced? They wrap around in perfect circles. The pressure is distributed just enough to leave a mark but not to crush the windpipe.“

“Spencer, that’s exactly what happened. The windpipe was crushed.”

“Yes, but not immediately. That’s the point.” He turns towards you again. “The intention wasn’t to kill them outright. The unsub wanted to bring them to the point of unconsciousness but not over it. At least, not at first. He was counting on their trust before pushing it too far.”

You let out a huff. “That’s insane.”

“It might seem that way to you, but it’s not unheard of. Sexual asphyxiation is a consensual act for some people. The lack of oxygen when someone’s airflow is restricted can trigger a euphoric sensation which intensifies pleasure."

You stare at him like he’s just spoken a different language. “So, you're saying they get off on... not breathing?”

“More like they find excitement in giving up that control."

You cross your arms and study him, tilting your head with a skeptical frown. “How do you even know this?”

The corner of his mouth twitches in a half-smile. “I read,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“You have a book on sexual asphyxiation?”

“It’s more comprehensive than that. The book covers a wide range of kinks, fetishes, and other forms of sexual exploration which are considered extreme by societal standards.”

"You’re telling me you read up on BDSM practices in your spare time?”

"I think of it as research,” he replies. “It’s part of understanding human behavior. You can’t afford to be ignorant about the complexities of people's desires."

"Huh." Your eyes travel back to the images again. "You know, I still don't understand. I mean, willingly letting someone cut off your breath? That’s not just trust that’s… I don’t know, crazy?”

His eyes narrow towards you as if he's carefully considering how much to say.

“It's not crazy,” he insists carefully. “For people who engage in it, it’s not only about losing control. It’s about reaching a heightened state of awareness, finding excitement in walking that line.”

"But what if that line gets crossed? What then? How could anyone think that sounds… fun?”

“Well, have you ever tried it?”

“Of course not!” you reply quickly, almost laughing at the absurdity. “Why would I?”

“Then you wouldn’t know,” he counters, his tone calm but pointed, like he’s presenting a fact rather than an opinion. “You can’t really understand the mindset until you’ve experienced it. It’s not something you can fully grasp from the outside.”

"I don’t think I could ever trust someone enough to do that to me."

“Maybe you just haven’t found the right person to trust.”

You scoff. “What? Are you offering?”

You laugh at your own joke, and you expected him to do the same. Or perhaps a quick “Of course not”, even some rambling about how he didn’t mean it that way. But when all you’re met with is silence, your laughter dies down, and your eyes dart back to him.

Spencer’s not looking at you, his eyes are fixed on the photographs pinned to the board. He’s studying the bruises, the faces, the details like he always does, but there’s a stillness in his expression, a tension in the set of his jaw that makes you think he’s considering something else entirely. And for a moment, you’re not sure if he’s really thinking about the victims or the case at all.

Maybe you shouldn’t joke about things like that. He is your boss, after all, and even though there isn’t exactly a strict superior-subordinate dynamic between the two of you—he’s always been more of a peer than an authority figure—you wonder if maybe this time you crossed a line.

Spencer’s eyes remain on the photos for a long, agonizing second, and you think maybe he’s not going to respond at all. But then, slowly, he turns his head and looks at you, and the room suddenly feels impossibly small.

“If I were to offer,” he says quietly, “Would you take it?”

His words knock the breath from your lungs, and all you can do is stare back at him. You don’t know what to make of the question. Was it a dare? A test? Or perhaps something more?

There’s a part of you that wants to laugh it off. The conversation was absurd to begin with, so brushing it away like it’s nothing would feel like the safest option. The easy way out. But there’s another part—one you don’t want to acknowledge—that can’t help but wonder what it would mean to say yes.

What if you did? you ponder.

What would it feel like to trust someone like that?

What would it feel like to trust him?

But before you can reply, the door to the meeting room creaks open, the noise echoing through the dimly lit space of the police precinct. A uniformed officer pokes his head inside.

“Dr. Reid, we found a new lead on the vehicle.”

Spencer’s eyes stay locked on yours for just a beat longer as your heart hammers in your chest. Then, without a word, he nods to the officer, and any trace of whatever passed between you dissolves like it never happened at all.

The next few days turn into a blur. The lead on the unsub’s vehicle takes you across town, a chase that ends with the suspect cornered in an abandoned old house. It’s almost anticlimactic how quickly it all happens—sirens blaring, doors kicked in, and in less than an hour, the unsub is in handcuffs. The case is finally closed, and it’s the kind of victory that usually brings a sigh of relief.

But today, you can’t find that peace.

Back at the precinct, the rest of the team has already moved on to debriefing. You’re left cleaning up the mess of photographs and notes scattered across the table. But your movements are slow, distracted, your fingers fumbling over the papers. There’s a prickling awareness that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you know exactly why.

It’s because Spencer is watching you. You don’t even need to look to feel the weight of his gaze. He’s leaning casually against the doorframe, hands tucked in his pockets, but there’s nothing casual about the way his eyes track your movements.

You pause, photos in hand, and finally address him. “What?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pushes off the wall and starts walking toward you. He stops just short of arm’s length.

“Have you thought about what we discussed the other day?”

You feel a rush of embarrassment, and the awkwardness of the moment makes you shift uncomfortably. Clearing your throat, you turn your attention back to the table, hastily grabbing a stack of photographs and shuffling them into a folder.

“We didn’t discuss anything,” you mumble, avoiding his gaze. “It was just a joke.”

“Was it? You don’t joke about things like that unless you’ve thought about them at least a little.”

You let out a dry laugh, keeping your eyes firmly on the table. “I wasn’t being serious. We were in the middle of a case, and we were all exhausted. I just said whatever came to mind.”

Spencer tilts his head, the way he does when he’s analyzing something, his eyes flickering over your face as though he’s cataloging every twitch of your expression.

“Maybe,” he concedes, and takes another step forward. “But the offer wasn’t a joke, and you didn’t say no.”

Your fingers freeze over the photographs, the papers crinkling under your touch.

“I didn’t say yes either.”

You mentally wince at how weak that sounds, almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself. You slowly look up at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, but all you find are those intense brown eyes staring back at you.

It unnerves you how calm he is, how easily he’s holding this conversation when your mind is spinning in a million directions.

“You do realize what you’re offering?” you start to press, feeling the need to put it out in the open. “What this means?”

Spencer doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break eye contact for a second. “I do.”

“Do you? Because it seems to me like you might be taking this too lightly."

“I’m not taking it lightly. I’m acknowledging that there’s more to it than what you’re seeing on the surface.”

“And what makes you think I want to see beyond the surface?”

He leans in closer. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, but not enough to cross any boundaries. “I’m offering a perspective, not forcing you to accept it. Understanding doesn’t always come from reading about something. It comes from experience.”

You can’t quite decide if his words make sense or if they’re completely absurd. It’s like he’s challenging your logic, your assumptions, but at the same time, there’s a strange clarity to what he’s saying.

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

Because he’s your boss? Because someone in his position always tries to make sense of everything for everyone else?

“Because shaming people for their interests, for something they might find pleasure in… it isn’t fair, and it isn’t right.”

Now that was something you didn’t expect him to say.

“I wasn’t shaming,” you protest quickly, the words coming out defensive even to your own ears. “I was just…”

“Curious,” he finishes for you. “And curiosity isn’t a flaw. Neither is wanting to understand, and if you’re willing to explore that curiosity, then I’d rather you experience it in a way that’s safe. That you know is controlled.”

“So what?” you snap back. “You want to prove me wrong? Show me I’ve been looking at this the wrong way?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but it’s not playful. It’s gentle, almost thoughtful, as if he’s carefully weighing each word. “No,” he says softly. “I don’t want to prove you wrong. I want to teach you.”

You blink at him. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first, the words tangled somewhere between shock and disbelief. It takes a few seconds until you manage to find your voice.

“You… want to teach me?”

“A lesson, if you will,” he explains, and the way he says it—so calm, so certain—makes your heart stutter. “Not to prove you wrong, but to help you understand. You have your perceptions about… control and trust. I think the only way to really understand is to experience it yourself.”

You don’t know what to say, what to do, and all that comes out is a shaky, barely-there laugh.

“A lesson,” you repeat, trying to make sense of the concept.

He nods, and there’s no pressure in his voice, just an offer. Simple and clear. “But only if it’s what you want.”

You aren’t sure what to feel, much less what to say, and the uncertainty must show on your face. Sensing your hesitation, Spencer takes a step back, giving you space.

“It’s a lot to consider, and I’m not expecting an answer now. But the offer still stands… whenever you’re ready.”

And with that, he gives you one last smile and turns away, leaving you alone with your conflicted thoughts.

You’re pacing in your hotel room, your footsteps muffled by the worn carpet as you make the same path back and forth over and over again. Every time you try to sit down, your leg bounces with restless energy, so you’re back up again, moving without purpose but unable to stop.

You tell yourself it’s just stress. The case, the pressure, the weirdness of being in a small-town motel with creaky walls and awful lighting. But you know better. You know exactly what’s got your mind spinning and your stomach doing flips.

Spencer. And his damn offer.

You scoff to yourself, trying to laugh it off like you always do, but the joke doesn’t land when it’s just you, alone with your thoughts. And, really, what’s the harm in admitting the truth—to yourself, at least? That maybe the whole concept doesn’t seem as insane as it did a few days ago. That maybe you’ve found yourself wondering what it would feel like to trust someone that much.

You stop pacing, staring at your reflection in the mirror across the room. There it is, that nagging curiosity, that flicker of intrigue that Spencer saw before you even knew it was there. You let out a sigh, the weight of the realization hitting you.

God help you, but you’re actually curious.

And that might just be the scariest part of all.

You slip into your shoes and take a deep breath before stepping into the hallway. The motel’s quiet, most of the rooms dark as you walk past, and for a moment you hesitate, wondering if this is a mistake. The team’s staying one more night here, the last bit of downtime before flying back tomorrow. A chance to decompress, to shake off the adrenaline of the case. Yet here you are, anything but relaxed, heading out because you can’t stand one more second of pacing back and forth.

Your footsteps come to a stop outside Spencer’s room, and you stare at the numbers on the plaque for a moment. You could turn around right now. You could pretend you didn’t walk all the way down the corridor with his words echoing in your head. But as much as you try to convince yourself that walking away is the logical choice, your hand moves on its own, and you knock.

Spencer doesn’t look surprised when he opens the door. Without waiting for an invitation, you push past him, barging into the room before you change your mind.

“If we’re going to do this, I have some ground rules,” you blurt out, the words rushing out all at once. “I don’t know what you think this is going to be like, but I need control over some things. Non-negotiable.”

He closes the door with a soft click. “Of course,” he responds calmly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“First,” you say, spinning around to face him. “I’m in control of when this starts and when it stops. If I say no, then we stop. Immediately. No questions, no convincing, none of that.”

“Absolutely.”

“Second, I need to know exactly what we’re doing. No surprises. You explain everything to me before we do anything.”

He quickly nods.

“And third… this doesn’t leave this room. We don’t talk about it to anyone else. Not tomorrow, not next week, not ever.”

He takes a step forward towards you. “This stays between us.”

You let out a shaky breath, the adrenaline settling into a nervous, thrumming pulse beneath your skin. “Okay,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him, trying to process the reality of what you’ve just laid out. “Those are my rules.”

Spencer takes another step forward, close enough now that you can smell the faintest trace of him. A mix of something clean and warm, like soap and worn cotton, an understated scent that’s distinctly him.

“Then those are the rules we follow,” he reassures you. “Your terms. Your pace.”

“Thank you.”

He nods his head again. “Is there anything else you want to discuss?”

There is, actually. There’s a question that’s been hovering in the back of your mind. It feels awkward to say out loud, but the uncertainty gnaws at you, and finally, you force the words out.

“Are we… are we going to have sex?”

He holds your gaze. “Do you want to have sex?”

You go quiet again, letting the silence settle around you as you think about what you want, what you came here for. You slowly shake your head. “No,” you reply. “No, I don’t.”

“Then we won’t. There’s more to explore in this than just sex.”

“Right, that’s—good.” You clear your throat. “I have… one more question.”

He gestures for you to continue.

“You’re not going to fire me for this, are you?”

His soft chuckle fills your ear, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him genuinely smile tonight. “No,” he confirms, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I’m not going to fire you. Whatever happens between us won’t affect your work, I promise.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, feeling a little of the weight lift off your shoulders.

“Okay, so… now what?”

“Now,” he says gently, “We take it slow.“

He guides you toward the edge of the bed, and you find yourself moving automatically, sitting down on the mattress. The bed creaks slightly as he settles beside you.

“If we’re going to do this,” he starts, turning slightly to face you. “I want you to be comfortable. And that means talking. You can start by telling me what you’re thinking. ”

“That’s… it? We’re just going to talk?”

Spencer’s mouth lifts into a soft smile. “Yes,” he confirms, “If that’s what you want. There’s no pressure to do anything else.”

The idea of just talking feels safe, but there’s also a flicker of curiosity that you can’t quite shake. You shift on the bed.

“What if I want to do something more?”

Spencer’s eyes search yours, and he doesn’t move closer, doesn’t do anything that could make the moment feel rushed. “If you want to, then we can. Something simple to start.”

Your fingers trace the fabric of the bedspread. “Like what?”

“Something small. It could be as simple as letting me guide your breathing. A way to practice trust without anything overwhelming.”

You swallow, the idea feeling both intimidating and oddly… reassuring. There’s comfort in the way he talks about it, the lack of pressure, and the way he makes it feel like there’s nothing to fear.

“Okay,” you agree softly. “Let’s try that.”

He moves a little closer to you. “We’ll take it slow,” he promises. “Try to focus on your breathing and follow my lead.”

You close your eyes, feeling your breath shallow and quick, your heart racing as you try to find a steady rhythm.

“Take a deep breath,” he instructs softly. You inhale deeply, feeling the air fill your lungs, and when you open your eyes for a moment, you find his face inches from yours.

“Good. Now let it out… slowly.”

You follow his lead, exhaling, and you can’t help but notice he’s mirroring your breathing—his chest rising and falling in time with yours. It’s oddly comforting, and a little unnerving, like he's syncing with the rhythm of your pulse.

“Again,” he guides. “Deep breath in… hold for a count of three… then let it go.”

You do as he says, feeling your nerves steady slightly with each breath. In, hold, out.

“You’re doing really well,” he murmurs, leaning just a fraction closer. His lips are so close that you can feel his breath brushing your skin. “I’m going to ask you something, but I need you to know you can say no. At any point.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

“Can I touch you?” he asks gently, his words so soft they almost melt into the air around you. “Just on your shoulder, or your hand. I want to see how you feel about being touched while you focus on your breathing.”

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears, but you manage another nod. His hand moves carefully to rest on your shoulder, but even with the light pressure, you feel your body stiffen. Spencer notices immediately.

“You’re tense,” he observes, his thumb brushing lightly against your shoulder.

You let out a small laugh, one that comes out more like a nervous exhale than anything close to amusement. “It’s kind of hard not to be,” you admit. “I guess I’m a little nervous.”

“That’s okay. It’s completely normal to feel nervous.” He pauses for a second before continuing, his tone thoughtful, like he’s considering what might actually help. "There are a few things that can help when you’re feeling this way. One of them is focusing on your breathing, which we’re already doing. But there’s also physical touch."

"Physical touch?”

"Kissing, for example," he explains, “can actually help regulate your nervous system. It releases oxytocin, lowers cortisol levels. Basically, it signals your body to relax."

Your eyes fall on his lips. "Really?"

A flicker of a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, but it’s only helpful if it’s something you feel comfortable with.” He tilts his head slightly, studying you. “Would you like to try?”

You meet his gaze again and, before you can overthink it, find yourself nodding, swallowing the nervous lump in your throat. “Yeah… okay. We can try.”

Before you even finish the sentence, Spencer leans in, his lips brushing yours with the kind of gentleness that catches you off guard. It's soft at first, like he’s testing the waters, and you can feel the slight hesitation in his movements as if he’s making sure you’re comfortable. It’s sweet, almost too sweet, and for a second, you wonder if this is how he kisses—gentle, thoughtful, deliberate.

But as the kiss deepens, you feel the warmth of him pulling you in. Your heart’s doing this erratic thing where it skips every other beat, and your mind’s racing to catch up with what your body’s already starting to enjoy. And sure, maybe the science behind this kiss makes sense after all, because there’s a part of you that’s actually relaxing, even with the buzz of nerves still humming beneath the surface.

Then he pulls back, just enough for your lips to barely part, his breath warm against your skin. “How are you feeling?”

It takes three heartbeats to find your voice. “Uh... yeah, good,” you manage, a little breathless, a little more flustered than you’d like to admit.

“Do you want to keep going?”

You pause, thinking it over, and despite the swarm of nerves in your chest, curiosity wins out again. You nod, maybe a little too quickly. The moment you do, Spencer leans in again, and this time his kiss is deeper, more intent. The softness is still there, but there’s a quiet intensity in the way his lips move against yours, the way his hand lightly cups the back of your neck.

Then his tongue brushes lightly against your lower lip, and a ripple of goosebumps spreads across your skin. You part your lips for him, and the sensation of his tongue slipping past m has you gripping the fabric of his shirt a little tighter.

Just when you think you’re getting used to it, his hand shifts, sliding up to wrap gently around the front of your neck. Not tight, not restricting—just enough to make you aware of it. The warmth of his palm against your throat sends a jolt of something sharp right through you. He seems to notice instantly, and without pulling his hand away, he breaks the kiss.

“Are you okay?” His thumb gently strokes the side of your neck. “I don’t want to push you, if it’s too much—”

But before he can finish, you shake your head quickly, surprising even yourself with how fast the words leave your mouth. “No, I… trust you.”

His eyes soften at your words, and his grip on your neck stays gentle, almost protective. “Would it be okay if I touched you more?”

Your pulse beats rapidly beneath his fingers, a rhythm you’re sure he can feel, as if your heart is answering for you. “…yes.”

“Do you want to lie down? Would that be more comfortable?”

You feel the heat travel along your veins. “I think… that would be good.”

Spencer nods as he helps you shift back onto the pillow. He stays close but doesn’t crowd you, his hand returning to rest lightly on your neck, that same soft pressure that keeps your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

“Remember, focus on your breathing,” he reminds you. “The way your body responds is tied to how much you let yourself feel. Trust that.”

His other hand begins to move. His hand trails up toward your shoulder, then lightly brushes over your breast. It’s barely a touch at first, like he’s testing the boundaries, waiting for your body to tell him how far to go. Your breath catches for a second, but when you don’t tense up, he takes that as a sign to continue.

“Is this alright?”

“Yeah,” you manage to whisper, your voice a little breathless than you expected. And, God, you mean it. It’s more than okay—it’s… unexpectedly good in a way that feels almost too intimate to think about.

His hand moves lower now, tracing a path down your side, before sliding gently across your leg. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until you feel his fingers brush against the inside of your thigh.

“How about this?”

You nod, biting your lip as you meet his gaze.

Spencer’s lips curls into the faintest smile. His hand inches higher, moving up your thigh with excruciating slowness until his fingers finally reach the heat between your legs.

Oh. Oh.

Your hips instinctively tilt toward him, your body responding before your mind can even catch up. The heat pooling low in your belly intensifies as his fingers press lightly against you.

“Still with me?”

You nod, but internally, your mind is spinning. He begins to move in slow, circular motions, his fingers dragging against the fabric in a way that makes you bite back a moan. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and you can feel your arousal sticking uncomfortably to your panties. It doesn’t shock you—you know understand how being touched like this will make you wet—but what surprises you is how much more intense it feels when his grip around your neck tightens.

Your breath hitches, and before you can stop yourself, a moan escapes your lips.

He pauses for a moment, his grip relaxing just enough for you to catch your breath. “I want you to feel the difference,” he explains. “The pressure changes everything. It makes you more aware of every sensation, more focused on how your body responds. But if it’s too much, you tell me, okay?”

You nod, your breath still coming in uneven gasps. “I’m good.”

His thumb traces the outline of your jaw. “Do you want me to continue?”

“…yeah.”

His hand travels towards your hips, fingers toying with the waistband of your pants. “Should we get rid of these?”

You don’t have to think about it for long. The answer is already there.

“You can take them off.”

Spencer’s fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants before tugging it down. But as the fabric pools around your ankles, you hesitate for a second before your hand instinctively reaches for your shirt. You fumble with the hem, glancing at him as you pull it halfway up, your breath coming out in a small, awkward laugh.

“I mean, it’d feel weird to be naked from the waist down and still… you know, fully dressed on top.”

His eyes linger on you, and his reaction is subtly amusing. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

Without thinking too much about it, you tug the shirt over your head, tossing it aside. Your bra follows, quickly joined by your panties, and before you know it, you’re lying naked on your boss’s bed.

Or, technically, the bed he’s been sleeping on these past couple of days.

Spencer’s eyes move over you slowly, lingering on the curve of your perky breasts, your smooth skin, and the unmistakable wetness between your thighs. His gaze is careful, appreciative but never lingering too long in one place, like he’s taking you in while still giving you space to breathe.

“You’re so pretty.”

Pretty? The word feels almost quaint given the situation, but the way he says it makes it feel like it’s more than that. Like he’s seeing all of you, the parts you don’t often reveal, and he still thinks you’re beautiful.

And somehow, that simple compliment leaves you more exposed than the fact that you’re lying naked in front of him.

“I can’t believe we're doing this,” you admit, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

His hand brushes along your arm. “You don’t have to overthink it. You’re in control here. We can stop whenever you want.”

“I know.”

He tilts your head with his hand. “Is this okay so far?”

You offer him a smile. “It’s okay.”

His other hand lands on your knee. “Can you spread your legs for me?”

You feel the nerves buzzing beneath your skin, but there’s also a warmth, a curiosity, a pull toward him. You inhale deeply, letting the breath steady your nerves, and then, without letting your mind spiral any further, you slowly part your legs.

His palm glides along your inner thigh, and then he touches you again, only this time, there’s no barrier between you. You can feel the rough pad of his fingertips as they gently caress your folds that it pulls a sharp breath from your lips.

“Does this feel good?”

You nod. It’s more than just good—it’s everything. The way he’s paying attention to every inch of your body is overwhelming in the best way. His fingers trace a slow path along your skin, finally pausing as they brush against you between your folds. Without hesitation, Spencer slides a finger inside you. The sudden stretch pulls a gasp from your lips.

The slick wetness between your thighs coats his fingers almost instantly, and you feel yourself responding to him, opening up in ways you didn’t even know you could. He studies the way his finger moves in and out of your cunt, and the more he touches you, the more your hips begin to move on their own.

He takes your response as a sign to continue.

"I'm going to wrap my hand around your neck again," he tells you, without waiting for more than a slight nod of your head, his fingers curl around your throat.

"The pressure here," he begins, his thumb lightly pressing at the side of your neck. "Isn't just about cutting off your air, it also means restricting blood flow to your brain.”

He pushes another finger inside you, and the increased fullness draws a sharp intake of breath from you.

“By limiting the blood flow like this,” he continues, applying a bit more pressure around your throat. "It triggers your body to release adrenaline and dopamine. That rush you’re feeling? It’s your body chasing euphoria."

Euphoria. You never really thought about it like this before, how something so controlled could unlock a part of your body that felt so overwhelming. The feeling isn’t just pleasure, it’s a raw intensity that borders on something deeper as your cunt clenches around him. Your breath stutters, caught in a sharp contrast between the slow burn in your throat and the urgent heat flaring between your legs.

He’s unraveling you, pulling you apart thread by thread, yet leaving you desperate for the moment he puts you back together again.

You need more.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs soothingly. The words send a new wave of heat rushing through your body. Your hips move restlessly, and you can hear the soft whine escaping your throat, growing louder with each thrust.

Spencer notices immediately, his fingers slowing just for a moment. “Too much?”

You quickly shake your head, almost frantic, the last thing you want is for him to stop. The moment you do, his grip on your throat tightens slightly and your eyes flutter closed as a wave of euphoria washes over you. Head falling back against the pillows, your vision starts to blur. You feel the air restrict in your throat.

“I need you to breathe for me, sweetheart.” His thumb strokes lightly against your neck. “The more you control your breathing, the better it’ll feel.”

That word alone almost undoes you. It rolls off his tongue like it’s meant to be soft and soothing, but instead, it sends a bolt of pleasure straight through you. Your chest rises and falls as you do exactly what he says, because apparently, being called sweetheart with his fingers wrapped around your neck makes you want to obey him, more than you’d care to admit.

"That’s it, keep focusing on your breathing."

You force your eyes open, but everything feels hazy, unfocused. You’re not sure if it's from the lack of air or the way he’s looking at you, but you can feel yourself losing control. Your eyes flutter half-closed again, lips parting in a breathless moan, and before you realize it, your tongue slips out, barely grazing your lower lip.

Spencer knows you’re close. His thumb presses just a little harder against your throat, not enough to stop you from breathing, but enough for your inner walls to grip his fingers tightly.

“I know, I know, I've got you,” he whispers. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Just let go whenever you’re ready."

You can’t decide if the sound of his voice is making it easier or harder to hold on. There’s a brief moment where you think you might hold it together, but then your body betrays you. Your muscles tense, your breath catches in your throat, and all the control you had slips away in an instant. It’s as if your brain is giving in to exactly what he said it would—a surge of chemicals that makes your limbs feel heavy and light all at once.

Your orgasm slams right into you, the most intense thing you’ve ever felt. It floods your senses so completely that your lungs struggle to catch up. The tremors rack your body, and it’s only when your legs give a final, uncontrollable shake that he finally releases your neck, allowing the air to rush back into your lungs in a dizzying, breathless moment of relief.

Before you can fully recover, his lips are on yours in an instant. He moves against your neck, kissing the very spot where his hand had held you. “Shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

When you manage to catch your breath and blink through the lingering haze, he lies down on the bed and pulls you into his arms. It takes a whole minute before your breathing fully steadies, his hand stroking your hair the entire time.

“How are you feeling?”

You don’t know what to make of it all, so you laugh breathlessly instead, the only response you can muster.

“Like I’m about to pass out.”

“What?” He looks at you in alarm. “You are?”

You shake your head quickly, offering him a small smile. “No, no, I’m fine. It’s just… it was really intense.” But the worry doesn’t completely leave his face, so you try again, placing your hand on his chest. “Good intense. I’m okay, I promise.”

He lets out a slow breath and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “So I take it you liked it?”

A flush of embarrassment washes over you, and you can’t quite meet his eyes as you nod. “Yeah… I did,” you admit, your voice soft, almost sheepish. “Go ahead, you can gloat. Tell me I was wrong.”

Instead of taking the bait, he gently traces his fingers along your neck. “It was never about proving you wrong. The judgment you made that day, about not getting why someone would like this… it’s hard to fully grasp until you feel it yourself.”

“I wasn’t judging,” you murmur, feeling a need to defend yourself.

“Maybe not intentionally,” he says thoughtfully. “When it comes to BDSM, there’s a lot of misunderstanding or assumptions people make from the outside, it’s really more than just control or pain. There’s trust, communication, boundaries. And I think, in a way, that’s what happened tonight. You trusted me enough to let go.”

You’re quiet for a moment, processing what he’s saying. “Are you suggesting I could be into all of this?”

“Not necessarily,” he replies carefully. “But I think it’s possible that there’s more to it than you realize. You trusted me tonight, and that’s the most important part. That’s where it all starts.”

You chew on his words for a second. It’s not something you’d ever considered before, but now that he’s brought it up, you can’t deny that the thought has sparked something.

“So you think I might want to explore this further?”

His lips curl into a soft smile. “It’s not about what I think. It’s about what you want. If you’re curious, then we can explore it together.” He leans in slightly. “Is that you want?”

The spark you felt moments ago? It flickers stronger now. The idea is both thrilling and terrifying, but with him, it feels… possible. Safe, even.

You feel a tightness in your chest.

“I think… maybe, yeah.”

His smile deepens just a fraction. “We’ll take our time,” he reassures you, his thumb brushing lightly over your throat. “We can talk about this when we get back. You need to rest for now.”

You shift closer to him, feeling the rustle of his clothes against your bare skin. “Can I stay here tonight?”

His chin lands on top of your head. “You can stay with me as long as you want.”

What a dangerous offer, you think as you sink further into his arms. But not as dangerous as the way your heart flutters at the thought.

[mingiswow]

Of Kings and Queens

Pairing: elf king!Bang Chan x afab!human reader

Genre: fantasy, romance, smut

Word Count: +7k

Summary: Chan is the King of the elfs and some of his soldiers made you, a common human, a prisioner, and Chan it's not happy about it.

Content Warning: mentions of poverty, mentions of food, reader wears dresses, I think that's it

Smut warning: porn with plot, soft loving sex, implied first of reader, tit sucking, oral (reader recieving), piv, Chan calls them baby a few times. big dick Chan, soft in love Chan

a/n: it's been a while since I wrote anything (or have been active) but I've missed here so much and I had this idea (and others) stuck in my brain for days and had to write, so yeah, I hope you guys enjoy it and I'm happy to be back I guess?

⚠️ English is not my first language, so sorry in advance if there’s any mistakes

The sounds were loud outside, to the point of waking you up. The loud thud and clinging of the chains that held your arms in place finally making your dizzy and unsure mind fully wake up. Where were you? What was happening? Your memory was fuzzy, you couldn't remember much before waking up in that cold cell.

You heard noises coming closer. Steps. Voices.

“You trolls did not hurt them, did you?” the deep voice spoke and you wondered if it was about you, because if it was the soreness and the purple and blueish in your skin announced that they, whoever they might be, hurt you. “Oh you barbarians, what I've told you to do?”

“‘m sorry, m'lord but they attacked us, we had to attack back” one of them answered.

“Ah! I see… a civilian attacked you” there was silence for a few seconds and they stopped walking. “I'll see for myself how they are and pray for the magic tree that they are not badly hurt. Now, leave” steps left and steps got closer.

You took a deep breath in as the steps got too close for comfort. A shadow hovering the entrance of your cell.

Then a man stood in front of it. Tall. Strong. Confident. Warm. He held a soft smile, as he opened the cell and entered, leaving it open. Instinctively you cornered yourself like a mouse trapped by a cat.

“No fear, human, I will not hurt you” his voice was deep and velvety, so warm for a man that sparked so much fear in you, you almost wanted to give in. Almost. He squatted to be at the same eye level as you. “I am sorry for my men. They… they tend to get a bit carried away sometimes”

If it was a normal environment for you you'd leave a smart ass remark. But that wasn't the case. You ate your answer down as you shivered in your little corner.

The man sighed and dropped his head down. “How about some introductions? My name is Chan, I'm an elf, right now you are in the elf realm and…” he came closer, you shrank even more, but that didn't stop him from coming even closer to take the chains off from your wrists. The old metal fell in the ground with a clinging sound. “And I’m sorry my men put you here and, you know, hurt you. Do you remember what happened back in your village?” for the first time in the evening you answered him, simply by shaking your head no. “I can help you with your wounds and bruises, but only if you allow me, ok?”

You looked at him still hesitant, who was this man and why was he helping you? And out of nowhere? 

You weren't sure if you wanted to trust him. your instinct wanted to, wanted to give in, to finally give yourself to someone else to take care. But your reason was telling you no, telling you it was a trap, you'd end up dead in the best case scenarios. 

“Your majesty?” another one of the elves came looking for him, he was dressed in clothes similar to the man in front of you, so you deduced he mustn't be a soldier like the ones that hurt you.

“Yes?”  he turned to look at the man and then, just then, it hit you. The title. Your majesty. He wasn't a random man helping you, he was the king of the elves himself. Your mind, already fuzzy and blurry, became even more confused.

Your eyes started to blur and head spin and you knew that feeling all too well. Soon everything became pitch black before you could listen to the two men call for you.

The cold breeze that flowed through the opened windows to your barely covered body made its pores bristle and you curl yourself even more in the soft fur duvets. A smile plastered on your lips.

Chan, who sat in an armchair by your side, watched your reactions and admired your soft features. Your body was covered in old rags that he could barely call them clothes, the fabrics made probably out of old potato and flour sacks hardly covered your body and that made him think of how cold you must be in the cold hard winter was right now in the human realm. Your legs were covered in bruises, the purple marks starting to turn yellow around it, some scars adorned them too, yet he wondered if they were as soft as they seemed. Your arms weren't in a different state as your legs, bruises and scars making them look like a galaxy, the plush skin seemed to scream for help. He promised himself to punish his men after he tended you and your wounds, they didn't have the right to hurt a civilian this badly. 

He then stopped at your precious face. Oh your face. He swore he never saw something so calm yet fierce in his life, deep down he knew you were strong. Your eyes seemed to claim for him even closed up, the way they would slightly tweak while you were sleeping like you were about to wake up at any given moment. Your lips held a soft smile of happiness, half parted, so delicated. 

Chan didn't know what was about you, if it was something about humans that he didn't know, all he knew was that he was so drawn to you, more than he had even been to anyone else before. He wanted to protect you, give you everything you wanted.

“Are you going to be creeping out the girl until she wakes up?” Chan turned to the door where Felix, one of his counselors and right hand man, stood, arms crossed and a smirk in his lips. He  might be under the rules of Chan, but they still were childhood friends.

He entered the room carefully so as not to wake you up.

“There is something about her, Felix, I can quite pinpoint” the youngster held a laugh. “Do not laugh please, I am quite lost here”

“Have you heard about…” when Felix was about to say something you murmured on the bed, calling their attention.

You moved slowly, stretching your limbs lazily, a happy squeaky sound coming from your mouth. Your eyes opened as slow as you moved, but as soon as you saw the two men you instantly cornered yourself on the headboard of the giant bed, covering your frame with the covers. Your eyes left the men and wandered around the place where you were. The place was a giant bedroom, bigger than whatever entire place you've ever been on, walls decorated with beautiful pastel wallpapers and hanging plants. Big part of it was of windows that went from the ground to the ceiling. 

You were lost in your thoughts while admiring the place you were in that you did not notice Chan speaking to you “Miss?” you turned your head back at the men, locking eyes with the king. “Are you alright? You passed out back in the cell and we thought best to bring to one of the royal rooms” you nodded. You wanted to thank him so badly but the voice didn't seem to want to leave your mouth. Not yet. “Everything must’ve been a lot for you to take in, why do not you take a bath and change into a new set of clothes? I'll make sure the maids get something comfortable and suitable for you” you nodded again.

Chan and Felix bowed slightly and left the room. Soon a few female elves came into the room and took you to the bathroom next door, the place was already ready for you. The bath was running warm with bubbles, the water cloudy with what you assumed was milk and some flower petals. The smell invaded your senses, making you feel relaxed at least a little. Three of them stood on guard by the side of the bath, a little far. You looked at them, expecting for them to leave but they just stood there.

“Are… you gonna be… here?” your voice was low, hoarse, your throat definitely hurt, but you were happy that you managed to speak for the first time in you don't know in how long.

They nodded. “We don't see nudity as you humans folks” the smallest of them spoke, her voice low pitched, almost annoying. “And it is standard procedure for us to accompany the King's guests in their baths”

“What an odd procedure”

“Don't be pressured by our presence here, miss, we are here only to be sure you have a pleasant bath and if you need anything else we can serve your needs” another one of them said, bowing.

Hesitantly, you took your clothes off, standing nude, they didn't seem a bit unfazed by that indeed. You entered the bath and instantly relaxed when you felt the warmth of the water hugging your body. Just then you took your time to take a look at your bruises and wounds, they would for sure leave more marks than you already had in your skin. The thought made you shiver a little. 

The bubbles started to move as if they were alive and you got scared, moving uneasy in the bathtub. 

“They are enchanted to heal the more superficial of your wounds” the smallest one answered and you looked at her with widened eyes. How was that possible? “Did you forget we have magic in the elf realm?”.

To be really honest you knew nothing about the elf realm or the other realms really. You never went to school, your family was very poor and going to school was for rich kids. You worked and helped your family ever since you were a kid, making baskets to sell at the market, helping at the bakery, at the local market, at the farms picking fruits, you name it. So all you knew that there were other realms besides the human and other creatures, often you'd meet some of them.

Besides not knowing how you ended up in the King's cell, all you remember was his men going to the human realm to collect some stuff for the King and when they couldn't find or when people didn't have they threw a tantrum and that involved you, that at the wrong place at the wrong time and tried to protect a kid.

You looked back at the maids and just nodded, going back to enjoying your bath.

When you got back to the room there was the most beautiful dress you ever laid eyes on. It was made of some fabric you never saw in your life, it was soft yet light to the touch, a light shade of green, the bodice embellished with thousands of little crystals that changed colors depending on how light hit them. The skirt was flowy and had a few layers to it and to complete the look, the back of it had a flowy cape that wasn’t much longer than the skirt. There was also a pair of low heels shoes, matching the dress color. Your eyes sparkled seeing those garments, you never dressed anything so fancy in your life.

“Let me help with your hair, miss” another maid said entering the room and you nodded, sitting in a chair in front of a dressing table. After a few minutes your hair was dried and half put back in tiny braids. “The King is waiting for you at the dining room, miss”

“Where is the dining room?” you asked a bit shy, voice still hoarse but a bit better than before. 

“Want me to take you there, miss?” you nodded shyly and she smiled. “Dress yourself and I will take you there”.

You quickly put on the dress, carefully not to ruin the ethereal fabric, put on the shoes and took a look of yourself in the mirror that stood next to the dressing table. You looked absolutely stunning, looking like a real princess. Never in a million years you imagined yourself to be dressed like that, but you also never imagined yourself in the elf realm as well. 

You turned yourself to the maid and nodded, signaling you were ready to go. She nodded back and turned on her heels and started walking down the hallway. 

The walk wasn't long but the closer you got, the more nervous you'd get, the further you seemed to be. You only seemed to finally arrive at the destination when you saw two large doors being guarded by well dressed men that greeted the maid and you. You returned the greeting with a bow before stopping in front of the doors. 

“Here you are, miss, the dining room, I'll leave you now, have a wonderful evening” you thanked her before she left and turned back to the doors that before you could process anything or even take a deep breath, the men opened them revealing you.

Inside the room there were four men, two of them which you recognized as the King and the man that was with him in your room when you woke up. Their heads turned towards you as the doors opened revealing you. And in that moment you just wanted that a hole opened in the ground and swallowed you, you never had any attention towards you, wonder this much.

You felt like your feet were glued to the ground, you couldn't walk, you wanted to walk inside the room, but you were stuck in your place. 

Chan seemed to notice your uneasiness and came to you. He held his hand so you could hold it. You hesitate for a bit before accepting it. He took it to his lips, kissing it gently, the action brought shivers down your spine, no one ever treated you like this, this gently, this kindly.

You started to walk by his side, hand still in his, a heat forming to your cheeks. 

“Kind sirs, this is the human I was talking about, miss…” he looked over at you, you still haven't introduced yourself to him.

“yn, my name is yn” your voice came lower than intended but you managed to speak, which you were glad.

“I see little birdie can speak finally” the one that was in the room with Chan spoke with a sly smirk.

“Felix!” the King scolded him, who just laughed. “This little menace of a man is Felix, one of my counselors and right hand man” he gave a little wave. “The one on his right is Minho, also one of my counselors and the head of the knights” the man gave a little bow, his face closed, unreadable. “And last but not least is Jeongin, he is the head of the royal guard”.

“Welcome to our realm miss yn” he said sweetly and you bowed. 

Chan pulled a chair by his side and signaled for you to sit in. He wanted to tell you how gorgeous you looked, how beautiful that dress made you look, even more than you already were. He wanted to shower you with compliments and give you everything you wanted but he held himself, he was a king after all, he had to keep his composure. 

“Did you enjoy your bath, miss yn? How did you like your dress?” he asked and called in some maids that brought in the food.

“I just felt weird having people watching me bathe, we don't do that in the human realm. And the dress is very gorgeous, thank you” you looked over to your hands as you played with your fingers before looking at him again. “Actually, thank you for everything, you didn't have to do anything. Really”.

“You do not have to thank me for anything, it is my duty as the King to keep the peace between the realms” 

“Nevertheless, thank you for your generosity, as you may have noticed I'm not the most… privileged person in my realm, or any realm really,” you left a light chuckle, “I've never been treated so kindly by anyone, I'll be forever grateful for that” Chan smiled, his eyes closing and you noticed he had the cutest dimples in his cheeks. He seemed really young and well presented for a king, who usually were old and ugly out of stress. At least that's what you've heard and saw out of the human king.

The conversation was cut when the maids started to bring an infinite amount of food, your eyes sparkled with the sight and the smell. You didn't know where to look, there was so much food, much more that you ever saw in your life, more than you've ever seen even produced at the bakery. Chan noticed your excitedness and thought it was the cutest thing he saw. You looked like a child seeing candy for the first time, and you probably were seeing that much food for the first time also.

Everyone waited for the King to lift his hand and give his nod, allowing them to serve their plates. You were still a bit shy so you waited for them to serve themselves first, noticing how much everyone was going to put in their plates. As soon as everyone had their plates full, you grabbed a few things, not wanting to look like a starved person, even though you were, and the growling sound of your stomach snitched you. 

When the first bite touched your tongue it was out for you. You lost the game you were playing against yourself. You started devouring the food, eating it like you haven't eaten in months. The chicken tenders, the mashed potato, the whatever it was that orange sauce you never saw in your life, everything was entering your stomach in a rush, as if they would escape you.

After a while you then noticed pairs of eyes watching you amused, shocked, enchanted even. Just then you realized you were hunched over the table and eating like an animal. You slowly stopped eating and got back to your normal position, wiping your mouth clean with the back of your hand. Minho handed you a napkin while the other left soft amused chuckles. The heat in your cheeks got back, the warmth burning them out of embarrassment. 

“I see you enjoyed our food. I am glad” Chan said between a big smile. You nodded shyly, head instinctively going down, your lap suddenly more interesting. “No need for shyness miss yn, please enjoy as much as you want, we have plenty of it as you can see”. 

The four men got back to their own eating and so did you, this time being more careful with your manners, trying to copy them. 

Chan and his friends spent the whole dinner talking to each other, almost not acknowledging your presence there if it wasn’t for the king’s stolen glances from time to time. He couldn’t take his eyes out of you, you were so concentrated in the food, enjoying it like it was your last meal on Earth. So naturally beautiful without even trying. The green of the dress really did complement your complexion and made you glow. He was hypnotized by you. 

When the dinner and silverware were taken out, the three men said their goodbyes and left the room, leaving you and Chan alone. 

There was a moment of awkward silence before he cleared his throat, calling your attention. 

“How about we take a walk in the garden?” he asked, his dimple shyly appearing.

“I’d love that”.

The sun was shining high yet the weather was enjoyable and warm, a soft and cold breeze would blow from time to time making the trees and flowers dance swiftly around the two of you. The smell of the flowers hugging you in a calming and welcoming manner, making you feel as if you were wrapped in a soft blanket of them. Making you feel like… home.

Chan and you walked side by side in silence, enjoying each other's company. You noticed how he would look around then look back at you for a while then look back at the sight of the breathtaking garden of his castle.

“So… miss yn, do you have someone to go back to?” you looked at him, head tilting to the side, not sure what he meant with his question. “I mean, do you have a family, parents, siblings, perhaps someone special” the last part came out almost sheepishly out of Chan, he was so curious that he couldn't hold himself. He wanted to keep you to himself.

You denied with your head. “My dad died when I was younger and my mom died not long ago and me and my siblings quite don't talk to each other anymore, each one following different paths” you sighed. A moment of silence falling, Chan's heart squinting thinking you were remembering your lover. “And I don't have any one special, I'm just a farm girl, I have nothing to offer, I don't even have where to live” you shied your face away, suddenly ashamed of yourself.

How a homeless loser like you ended in a daydream like this? You felt like you didn't deserve all that. Chan had been nothing but a sweetheart all this time, offering you his place, his magic, his food, his people, his wealth, and what did you offer back? What did you have to offer back? You felt your heart sink down and break in a million pieces. But better break now then after the damage was done.

“I do not think you have nothing to offer” Chan said, stopping his walk so he could look at you properly. 

“I never went to school, so I'm not smart, I’m not delicate or refined like the girls from the human realm, all I can do is bake some bread and pick some fruits” you looked back at him.

“Well, then since you have no one to come back then, why don't you stay here with me some more days and we can prove that you have more to offer than you think?” the king said nonchalant, like he was offering you a glass of water.

You opened and closed your mouth several times but nothing came out, you were at a loss of words. For the first time in your life you didn't have a smart remark or a sassy answer to give. 

“So what do you say, miss yn?”

“I honestly invited you to stay here with me to spend time with me, if I knew that after I taught you how to ride you were going to spend most of your days here, I'd never taught you” he heartily laughed, his hands crossed on top of the door of the stable where you brushed the horsehair with so much care and love. 

You turned over to look at the owner of the voice and smiled widely. 

It was approximately three weeks since you decided to accept Chan's crazy invite. And it was the best thing you ever did. Not only were you living a princess’ life, but you were being taught so many new things by Chan, his employees and friends. You were taught how to read - still working on this one -, taught how to paint, how to play archery, play chess and how to ride the horses. And on top of all that, you were really getting to know Chan, and he was getting to know you. 

“Are you free for a ride today, good sir?” you asked.

“For you? Always” you felt your cheeks heat and just nodded, not knowing how to respond to his flirtatious answers.

A thing you've learned about the king was that he was flirty, and you didn't know if it was just a joke between acquaintances or if he really was flirting. All you knew was that he made you weak in the knees, flirting or not. He had a power over you that you had yet to see something so strong and powerful. Many nights you caught yourself dreaming about him, waking up soaked in sweat and panties drenched. You felt so bad. So dirty. How could you think these things about the man that so kindly took you in? Took care of you? Helped you?

“Ready?” his voice took you out of your trance. 

“Ready”.

You two hopped on the horses and rode down the hills that surrounded the castle, enjoying the view and each other's company. The weather was, as always, breezy and warm, the leaves of the trees making their dance as if accompanied you. You just stopped when you arrived by the river, the horses drinking the crystal water as you decided to rest a little at the shadow of the trees.

“The view here is really beautiful” you said looking to the horizon, admiring all the land below, the little houses from the villages looking like tiny mushrooms.

“Not as you” Chan said, his smirk making its infamous appearance. 

“You should stop doing this, Chan” you said before you could control yourself.

“Doing what?’’

“Flirting”

“Why?” he took a step closer. You didn't retreat.

“Because… Because you make people confused with what you mean” another step.

“Why are you confused?” he licked his lips and looked at your eyes like he was looking right into your soul.

“Be-because you keep flirting and I don't know what you want” he was so close that you could swear that he would be able to hear your heartbeats.

“I thought I was being very open about my intentions” he was then practically glued to you, a few centimeters from your bodies to touch. He leaned to your ear so he could whisper and just his breathing made you shiver. “Can I touch you?” his question caught you a bit off guard but you nodded nonetheless. He circled his arm around your waist and finally pulled you close to his body, glueing you to him. The action ripping a squeal from you. “I hope this makes it very clear”.

He looked down at your lips as if asking for permission, to which you nodded. But when he was leaning to kiss you, the horses started to neigh, announcing the arrival of someone else.

“Sir, I'm sorry to bother, but we have a problem” it was Jeongin, his face was red, almost scared. 

Chan, who had let go of your body quickly with his friend's arrival, instantly was on top of his horse ready to go back to the castle.

The two men left you behind, running fast with their horses. You decided to stay a little more at the clearing by the river. You had packed a few things with you, so you were good for a few hours at least while Chan dealt with his problem. 

The sun was setting when you set your feet back at the castle, ready for a long bath. But when you arrived at your room you found Chan sitting in your bed with the most desolated face you've ever seen these past few days.

“Chan?” you asked and his head turned up, looking at you, a faint smile appearing. “Everything alright? Why are you here?” he lifted himself and hugged you, his nose nuzzling in your neck, smelling your scent, the smell of your skin addicting yet calming to him. 

“I needed you” he hugged you tighter and you returned the hug, hugging his waist.

“I'm here now, sh…” he sighed. “Wanna talk about what happened?” he denied, still buried in your neck. “I know a way I can help you relax” he finally left your neck, puzzled.

You reached for his mouth, leaving a soft peck on his chapped lips. He blinked a few times before grabbing you by your waist and bringing your body close to his, hands flush against your plush skin.

“You cannot do that and expect me to accept just that” you giggled.

His other hand grabbed the nape of your neck and finally brought your face against his, colliding your lips together. He guided the kiss, slow, gentle, the plush lips moving like a melody and its lyrics. Hands dancing a freestyle dance against each other's bodies. Chan asked for permission to deepen the kiss by gently licking your lips, which you gladly permitted. The kiss started to get more urgent, tongues dancing a beautiful tango inside your mouths, sparks flying from your insides.

He started to gently pull you two to the bed. He fell sat when he felt the mattress hit the back of his legs, breaking the kiss. The king looked at you, smile planted on his lips, dimples deep. Your cheeks burning from both the action and shame. He gently caressed your sides until his hands were on your waist, pulling you to his waist. He was always so gentle and careful with you, as if you were gonna break, made of glass. 

Chan helped you straddle his lap, hands wandering your barely covered by the dress legs, the soft skin shivering under his calloused touch. All so soft. All so new to you. 

You grabbed his face between your hands and started to kiss him again, addicted to his taste and his air. He instantly and gladly retributed the kiss, one hand squeezing your thigh, the other bringing you closer to him by your back, holding you by the base of your neck, the grabbing a little tighter there, making you feel tingles all over your body. 

You kept just kissing for a while, enjoying each other's presence, body, touch. But it was when you grinded a little in his lap and left a little whine that he lost his composure. Chan broke the kiss, hugged your waist and turned your bodies over, laying you both in bed, him hovering over you. He fixed your hair and placed a peck on your lips.

“I want to take this further” he nuzzled in your neck, smelling the faint musky smell that was already starting to get out of your pores. He loved that smell. “Will you allow me?” he asked,  muffled by your neck, almost as if he was ashamed to look at your face and you melted at him, his softness. You grabbed his face between your hands again, putting the strands of his longish hair behind his ears and caressing the points of his elf ears, they were so endearing to you.

You deposited a soft kiss on his lips, and smiled, nodding. The smile that left the king's mouth was one of the most beautiful you've ever seen and you wished your brain could take pictures and capture that moment forever. 

Chan kissed you again, this time more urgent, hard, as if you were going to run away at any minute, slip away from his hands like sand. His tongue fought with yours but it always won, dominating and guiding the kiss. Not that you complained, you were loving it, your body responding to every stimulus, heating up fast, tingles running down your skin through your bloodstream. 

He started to slip under your dress, caressing and squeezing your thighs, taking a sigh from you. 

“Can I take your garments off?” you nodded, incredibly hot already.

He started to slowly - too slow for your taste - take the piece of fabric out of your body, leaving you with your chest exposed to him and underwear. Chan admired the sight in front of him, you, sprawled in the bed, half naked, all just for him. He looked at you, eyes already dark and dilated, pleading, and you nodded, grabbing his hands and bringing to your chest. When his fingers felt the soft skin under them he left a deep sigh, his dick growing impossibly hard under his pants. But he needed to be patient, he didn't know your limits and he didn't want to scare you away.

“You are perfect, yn” he whispered, more to himself but you could listen. “I'll take care of you tonight”.

The king lowered himself and kissed your lips quickly, hands still on your boobs. His lips started to go down, to your chin, neck and finally to your chest. He gave a long lick at the valley of them before assaulting the left one. He licked, sucked and grazed his teeth. You were completely lost in the new feelings.  And you couldn't control the whines that left your body, even when you tried to cover your mouth with your hands, embarrassed. 

“Do not hold it, baby, let it all out I want to hear how good I make you feel” the way he spoke to you, his husky voice, the nickname, everything made you even hotter and the tingle between your legs stronger and a loud moan left your lips. Chan left a satisfied smile between sucks and licks.

He kept his assault on your chest for a while, making sure to give both of them enough love but also he could enjoy the little shy whimpers you left. But when he decided he was done, he lowered himself, kissing your tummy until it reached the waistband of your underwear and he removed slowly, excruciatingly slowly. Then you were completely bare in front of him, but you couldn't care less, all you wanted was for him to give what you wanted. And what you wanted was for that fire inside to stop.

Chan looked over at you and the scene was perfection to him: you bare to him, chest raised up with heavy breathing, head thrown back, mouth agape, legs squeezed together trying to get some friction. You were a sight to behold and he was glad you were only his. 

He gently opened your legs, positioning himself in between them, knees on the ground, as if he was about to pray to the most beautiful goddess. He softly and slowly touched your vulva with his index and middle finger and you squirmed, legs trying to close between his broad shoulders. He started to spread your own wetness all around and you couldn't control your own sounds, the feeling was too much, too good, too overwhelming. You grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“Sh… It is alright, baby, I am here, I will make you feel good, ok? Do you trust me?” you nodded rapidly and let go of his wrists. “Good girl, now I will touch you, ok? Do as much noise as you want, I want to know that you are feeling good” you nodded again and took a deep breath. 

Chan touched you back but this time you were more aware and prepared. His fingers started slow and caressing all the extension of your vulva, spreading the juices and making you more wet than you already were. After a little doing this he concentrated his touch in your clit, making irregular shapes and movements in the little bundle of nerves, making you jolt your hips off of the bed. A louder moan flying off of your lips. He held you down by your tummy and kept his movements, going slow before adding speed. You were so sensitive that these mere movements were making your legs twist and shake. But he wasn't not even close to satisfied. He lowered his fingers to your hole, teasing the entrance a little before entering it with just one first. It was all so overwhelming for you, you felt like you were melting in his hands, a fire burning in your stomach, your legs giving in, you couldn't feel them anymore. You were completely at his mercy and you were loving it. 

He was fucking you with his finger slowly, carefully. His middle finger knuckles deep inside your gummy walls and all he could think was how it would feel around his dick, that was leaking precum pressed inside the confinements of his clothes. The king took his finger out, earning an annoyed moan out of you, making him chuckle before he inserted the finger back together with the index, stretching your walls deliciously. There was pain but it was completely wrapped by pleasure. You couldn't stop moaning and whining, and Chan loved your noises, he wanted to record those so he could listen after. 

The man couldn't hold himself and his promise of making it easier for you to handle and joined his mouth to the party. He wanted to taste you so bad. And he did not regret a single second of it. His mouth ate you like he was a starved man. His lips sucking your clit, licking it, flicking it, making it their own little personal toy. All that while fucking your hole with his fingers. You felt so overwhelmed, heated, your cheeks, your chest, everything burned, but especially your tummy, it felt like it was about to explode at any moment. 

Chan kept fucking and eating you until he felt your walls squeeze his fingers and he felt you tremble entirely, a loud crooked moan leaving your lips and he knew you had came for the first time in the night. He retreated his fingers and mouth from you, earning a whine that made him chuckle, letting you breathe and recover from the orgasm. He laid by your side on the bed, his breathing as erratic as yours. 

After a while recovering, you turned to the side to look at him. “Chan…” you called him, hand going to his chest. “I want… more” he chuckled at your sudden shyness. He turned to his side so he could look better at you, putting a strand of your sweaty hair behind your ear. 

“Can you handle it today?” you nodded, a gleam in your eyes, something he had never seen in anyone before, maybe because he had never been with a human before you. “I swear you will be the death of me, miss yn”.

He rolled on top of you, making you giggle. His smile prodding from his lips, his dimples deep on his cheeks. He kissed your lips slowly, tongue entering your mouth with expertise now, an explorer who already knew the territory. You responded without hesitation, already expecting that kiss. Hoping for it.

You started to try and take his shirt off and he understood what you wanted, separating from you and unbuttoning his shirt and taking it off, making his torso naked in all its glory. His chest chiseled and well sculpted that you couldn't help but bring your hands to feel it under your fingers, the muscles tensing under your curious touch, your short nails grazing from top to bottom, making him shiver and bite his bottom lip. 

“I think you are too dressed up” you said in a burst of confidence, taking a sincere chuckle out of him. 

“I think too, why don't you help me?” you nodded eagerly, lifting from your place on the bed and staying on your knees on the edge of it. Chan lifted from the bed and waited for you to do your job. 

You carefully grabbed the waistband of his jeans and opened his button, slower than he wanted though. When you pulled his dress pants down you almost gagged with the size of the volume in his briefs, for how long was he holding his penis this hard. You finally pulled his underwear down and he hissed from having his member finally free. The thing was rock hard, bouncing a little, in all its glory. It was big, thick, slightly curved upwards. You were so static looking at it that Chan had to break the spell it had on you by lifting your head by your chin and making you look into his dark eyes.

“Like what you see, baby?” you nodded and he kissed you again, hungrily this time, pushing you back to the bed.

He kept kissing you while his hand went to his dick and started to tease you, rubbing his dick to collect your wetness. You whined into the kiss and rubbed yourself into him, wanting more friction. Chan broke the kiss and glued your foreheads, as if he silently asked for permission, for which you nodded. 

Slowly and gently Chan started to invade your hole, just his head entering, the stretch burning from inside out. He was so gentle with you, letting you get used to the feeling of his thick cock inside of you, so different from his fingers. Hurting yet so delicious. 

You gently tapped his arm after a while when you thought you were good to go. He slowly started to move and he could swear your face was the sexiest thing he ever saw. He had barely done nothing and you already had your head thrown back and eyes rolled back. You left a loud moan when he finally put everything in, giving again time for you to get used. He knew that if your walls kept pulsating around him the way they were he wouldn't last long, but he needed to bear it. For you. The moment was all about you. 

You pulled him to lay on top of you, arms hugging him close to your chest, hands playing to the tips of his pointy ears, making him even more sensitive than he already was. “Move” you whispered lowly in his ear, your breath, the sensuality and neediness in your voice making him shiver down his spine despite the droplets of sweat already forming there.

He let go of your embrace to get in a better position to both move and see your face while doing it, he wanted to see it all, he wanted to imprint in his brain the moment he made you his. He finally moved, taking a bit of his dick out before putting it back in slowly. Your mouth opened but not a sound came out. He did it again. And again. Every time taking more of it out before putting it back in. His swaying and rolling. His movements calculated to be both slow and strong. When he felt you were more comfortable he started to move faster and deeper, earning sweet little sounds from you. 

You were basically limp in his arms, surrendered to the moment. He was making you feel so good, all of you was his now, your body , soul and heart. If you thought you had a silly little crush on the king before, now it was more than proved that it was more than a crush. Being able to give yourself fully to someone was something that you never thought you were able to do, and then there you were. 

You felt the burning in the pit of your stomach start to grow again and Chan felt your walls starting to flutter around his member. He was holding himself for a while, wanting to cum with you. He moved one of his hands to your clit, playing with it and it was your end, your second orgasm coming like a non-ending wave washing over you, legs shaking and trembling, eyes rolling back as Chan held you in place and helped you ride it down. 

Before he could overstimulate you, he took his dick off and started stroking it, coming seconds after in your belly, the white spurts painting your complexion. 

He grabbed his shirt and cleaned it from you, discarding the piece of clothing on the ground and laying by your side. He hugged you and brought you to lay your head on his firm chest. 

Both of you stood laid like that for a while, just enjoying each other's presence and listening to each other's labored breathing to calm down. Your fingertips drawing abstract shapes on his chest, his hand caressing your arm while he would eventually leave little kisses on the top of your head.

“I think I cannot let you go back” he finally confessed after a while. You turned to look at him.

“And I think I don't want to go back home” you answered. “I don't even have a home to go back to” you confessed.

“Then it is decided, you will stay here at our realm and become my queen”

“But I'm a human? Won't they be against it?” you lifted yourself a little so you could look at him, crossing your arms in his chest.

“That is a they problem, I am their king and I made my choice” he pinched your nose. “I will cut whosoever head is against us” you laughed at him, giving him a peck on his lips.

“I like you very much Chan” you admitted, going back to lay in his arms.

“I like you very much too, miss yn”.

Masterlist

[slytherinshua]

꒱　BRUISE YOU BLACK AND BLUE　( 서준태 )

genre hurt/comfort , juntae x fem!reader   cw spoilers for weak hero class 2 ep 8 (takes place during ep 8 events) , bruises , fighting , crying   wc 977   request no   note juntae broke the writers block let us all rejoice, i'll always come out of hibernation for my cinnamon roll boys. i've been listening to the weak hero osts since i finished watching last night this morning and i've never been so destroyed   net @kstrucknet

Your heart always faltered whenever it took more than two rings for Juntae to pick up. For someone as organized and smart as him, it never meant that he simply forgot to charge his phone. Something must have happened. Whenever he didn’t pick up, you knew he wasn’t okay.

You worried about him more than he would’ve liked you to. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him or his friends, or thought he couldn’t handle himself or that he was weak. He was stronger mentally than you could ever be and his quick thinking was admirable by anyone. But physically, he was always bested. He didn’t have Humin’s strong punch or Hyuntak’s agility. When combat arose and the options were fight or flight, his body picked freeze. 

Today was the day Eunjang would fight against the Union. There was fear, anticipation, and something akin to excitement in the students’ minds. They had the chance to end it once and for all. It was now or never. 

You had Juntae’s location on your phone. When he didn’t pick up the first time, you tried texting him. When he didn’t pick up the second time, alarms were ringing louder than ever in your head. He wasn’t with the rest of the boys. Why the hell was his location showing the bowling alley?

You swore you had never ran faster in your life. Your legs carried you on adrenaline while your shaky hands dialled your boyfriend’s number every 5 minutes. You remembered weeks ago how Juntae had made you swear to not get involved, how Hyuntak warned you that the risk was too high for you to get entangled in it. You were breaking those promises now, feet aching in your sneakers as you ran faster, the alley soon coming into view. 

You’d have to ask for Juntae’s forgiveness later. 

The building was quiet when you walked in. Bowling balls were scattered on the floor and one of the Union guys was knocked unconscious in the middle of the room. Your eyes locked onto Juntae’s tattered shoes sticking out from behind a shelf of balls. You heard his shaky breaths, his soft grunts of pain. You saw the uncomfortable shift of his legs, trembling and weak. You didn’t take anymore time to rush to his side. 

“Juntae, are you okay? What happened?” Your voice quivered. Hands instinctively reaching to hold him, your touch gentle and held back. It was different. You would always run into his arms, throwing yourself onto him with full force, knowing he would catch you and hold you tightly, laughter escaping both your lips. But right now, you were scared to hurt him, scared to cause anymore stress or concern. You were scared that he wouldn’t want you there. 

“Why are you here? You should leave. You’ll get hurt.” He sounded exhausted— murmurs coming out amidst pained gasps. Tears filled both your eyes, yours escaping to slowly fall down your cheek while Juntae held his back. 

“I’m not leaving. Not without you,” you said firmly. 

Juntae knew you better than to think you would change your mind, even if he begged you. He gave a solemn nod, accepting it without further discussion. You let out a sigh of relief. 

“How badly are you hurt? Can you stand on your own?” 

He shook his head, “Everything hurts. I can’t walk well.” 

“Shit, it’s gonna be alright. We’re gonna get out of here, okay?”

He could only muster a few nods, holding back laboured breaths and stinging gasps. You got him to his feet, managing to hold him steady although he couldn’t support himself. You gripped his waist tightly and guided his feet up the stairs. You caught every stumble, hushed every whimper, held him tight as if he would disappear if you didn’t. You reached the bus stop on the sidewalk after a few stumbling minutes, and gently lowered him onto the bench. He wouldn’t let go of your hand. 

“W-we should meet the others. It’s not too far from here,” he gasped, still clutching his side. 

“Not until you can walk on your own,” you uttered. “Hold still.” 

You slipped his jacket off his left arm and lifted his shirt over the area he held in pain. The entire side of his stomach trailing up to his ribs was covered in fresh bruises, his skin agitated and reddish purple. You winced at the sight, imagining how violently he must’ve been thrown across the room to form them.

“Wait here. I’ll be right back,” you said, meeting his tearful eyes. Juntae watched you rush down the street, disappearing into the convenience store. Time seemed to slow as soon as you were out of his sight. He was alone with his thoughts to picture all the possibilities that scared him so much. Would the plan really work? 

You came back with a cup of ice in your hands and a box of pain medication— the same kind Juntae had insisted you take the last time you had a cold. He was worried sick about you back then, even though you swore you were fine. It was your turn to do the same for him. 

“Here, take this. It’s good to ice bruises as quickly as possible.” 

“Thank you,” he whispered. You pressed the ice to his side as he swallowed one of the pills. His head fell to your shoulder and you spoke in soft murmurs. 

“Do you think they’ll really beat Baekjin and the Union?” 

“We have to. It’s our only chance,” he said softly. “Baku will do it. I know he will.” 

“I’m proud of you, Juntae. You’re stronger than you think.”

“Really?” 

You looked down, noticing the small smile on his face, one that you simply adored. 

“Really. I’ve seen it for weeks now,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his forehead. “It’ll all be over soon.”

k-drama taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @wolfmoonmusic,, @cha3w0n-hearts,, @candewlsy,, @cosmicwintr,, @blossominghunnie,, @parkjennykim,, @seunghancore,, @emmylksblog,, @bananabubble,, @kangtaehyunzzz,, @hrtsvivis,, @hursheys,, @lexeees,, @cupidslovearrows

[callsigns-haze]

He holds me

Pairing: Xaden Riorson x reader

After a brutal mission, Garrick confronts Xaden for putting his little sister—his only remaining family—in danger, questioning how she could love someone who lets her bleed. Emotions explode until she snaps back that at least he holds her, prompting a raw, emotional fallout between the siblings.

Warning: This story contains strong emotional confrontations, sibling tension, and references to violence and injury. Themes of protection, trauma, and strained relationships.

The moment your boots hit the gravel of the flight field, you're barely steady before you're moving again—wiping blood from your temple with the back of your hand and ignoring the sting of a gash running down your arm. Chaire grumbles behind you, protective and restless, her wings half-flared as if still deciding whether to take off again. Beside you, Xaden lands clean and sharp, Sgaeyl letting out a low growl that ripples through the ground.

You're both tense. It hadn’t been a clean run.

Before either of you can speak, the shouting starts.

"Are you out of your godsdamned mind?!"

You don't even have time to turn before Garrick’s voice booms across the field like thunder. He’s sprinting toward you, armour unbuckled at the throat, his normally composed face twisted in fury. Imogen, Bodhi, and Liam trail behind him, but none of them make a move to stop him. They all look at you—and they look worried.

Xaden steps slightly forward, not enough to be obvious, but enough to remind anyone watching that you weren’t alone. That he'd been there.

“Don’t,” you warn your brother the moment he’s within reach, raising a shaky hand. “Not here.”

But Garrick doesn’t stop. He grabs your shoulder, eyes raking over the blood on your arm, the split in your lip, the tear in your gear. His voice drops, low and lethal. “You were supposed to be delivering supplies, not walking into a death trap. What the hell were you doing out there?”

You stiffen under his grip. “Following orders.”

“Whose orders?” he snaps, eyes flicking toward Xaden. “His?”

Xaden doesn’t flinch. “She volunteered. And she saved the mission.”

“She shouldn’t have had to!” Garrick’s voice cracks, the rage undercut by something more dangerous—fear.

“I’m a squad leader now,” you say tightly, jaw clenching. “You don’t get to decide where I go, Garrick.”

“You’re my sister,” he hisses. “I do when the choice is between you living and dying for some godsdamn crates of weapons.”

For a second, no one speaks. Even Chaire goes still behind you.

Then you step out of his grip.

“We don’t get to pick the easy missions anymore,” you say, steady despite the tremble in your hands. “Not if we want to win this war.”

Garrick looks like he’s been punched.

And then, quietly—“You’re all I’ve got left.”

The words hang heavy in the air.

But Garrick doesn’t stop there.

His gaze snaps to Xaden, the fury rekindling like a storm wind catching flame. “And you—” he spits, stalking forward, jabbing a finger toward his best friend’s chest, “—you’re supposed to protect her, not drag her into shit like this!”

Xaden doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. He just watches Garrick with that calm, too-sharp stillness he always wears like armour.

“I didn’t drag her anywhere,” he says, voice cold. “She chose—”

“She’s twenty years old!” Garrick roars. “Still in her second year! What the hell do you think you’re doing, letting her fly into ambushes and fire fights and warzones while you—while you watch?! While you let her bleed, Xaden?”

You shift beside them, but Garrick’s on a roll now, and it’s like he can’t stop the words from pouring out.

“You shouldn’t even be with her. You think this thing between you two is safe? You think it’s smart?” He gestures wildly between you. “This isn’t a fling at Basgiath anymore. This is war. And she’s too close to you. She’ll follow you anywhere—she almost died for you.”

“I’d die for her,” Xaden says simply.

But that only seems to push Garrick further.

“You already have! You’re already dragging her down with you and calling it love—what happens when she doesn’t come back next time, huh?” His voice cracks again. “What happens when you’re holding her while she bleeds out in your godsdamn arms?”

That’s when he turns on you.

“And you—” His eyes land on you like fire, pain cracking beneath every word. “How can you even love him when he does this to you? When he lets you get torn up, lets you walk into danger again and again—when he’s the one holding you while you bleed?”

You stare at him.

Your heart’s racing. Your knuckles are white from how tightly you’re clenching your fists.

And when you speak, your voice is soft. Deadly calm.

“At least he holds me.”

Garrick flinches.

You take a slow step forward, voice rising—not in volume, but weight.

“You want to talk about who’s there for me? Who knows what I face every day? Who doesn’t treat me like some breakable child?” You shake your head. “He doesn’t make me sit on the side-lines. He doesn’t try to protect me so much he ends up ignoring me.”

You look your brother in the eye.

“He holds me when I’m bleeding, Garrick. You weren’t even here to see it.”

Behind you, Xaden says nothing—but you can feel the way his eyes are locked on you. Grounding. Constant.

Just like he always is.

A/N: SO like my finals are in 8 weeks so I wont be posting much BUT I am taking blurb requests for our fourth wing men Credit to @empyreanevents for the divider

[scarletcomalies]

the outside world has failed you

Wanda Maximoff x Fem Reader

Word count: 6,253

Warnings: 18+ content, mention of cockroaches and bedbugs, mention of contract-killing, Natasha x Reader, I criticize the church a lot, blasphemy, caning as a punishment, manipulation, masochism, oral sex, edging, dacryphilia, strap-on usage, hair-pulling, slamming, degrading, angst, fluff.

A/N: Hi! I'm sorry for disappearing, but in so few months, so much has happened. It has taken a toll on me, and I was in no mood for anything, in many ways. I am recovering, though! I love it here and I'm glad I was able to write a little something hehe. Watching AHS Asylum for the fourth time does things to you. 😮‍💨

Sister Wanda Maximoff didn't make your plan to take advantage of the church as easy as you thought it would be.

You were not going to endure another god-awful day in that abyss you called life. You simply could not. Nothing particularly happened, you simply collapsed.

Your job in this economy did not allow you to support rent, food, services, all that went with being independent. So many exhausting hours for so little pay. Just so when you finally returned home, the first thing you saw were multiple eviction notices on your door, reminding you that you were on the verge of being homeless.

So, when you opened your door with push, the inside was not very welcoming either, as the holes in your furniture and under your broken sink were the perfect place for cockroaches to breed in droves, causing you to find a few over here and there. At least they lived rent free, you thought.

You ate microwavable or precooked food, the cheapest you could find, and proceeded to go to sleep, hoping the bedbugs wouldn't cause you any more health problems than you already had from the quality of sleep and food you provided your body with.

And then, you slept four hours, you got up to work, you came back home, you repeated.

Well, the sole exception was your upstairs neighbor, Natasha Romanoff. A Russian immigrant on the run from the authorities for her involvement as an accomplice to Clint Barton, a notorious contract killer. Barton, lacking the courage to face imprisonment with dignity, betrayed his loyal partner, declaring, "If I go down, you go down with me".

Now a fugitive, Natasha cut and dyed her hair blonde and resorted to phone scams to survive. “Fucking cyber education”, you could hear her yell from downstairs, usually followed by the sound of her cell phone hitting the ground (your ceiling). You deduced it was because fewer and fewer people were falling for the bullshit of a $500,000 prize.

The sex with her was good, too good to be true. You weren't happy about her misfortune, but you were grateful to whoever was smart enough not to fall for that classic scam, because you knew that after that, she would get to take out her frustration on you as soon as you got home from work. That was the only means by which you could secrete a little dopamine, a little... happiness.

“I hate this life,” you once commented, clinging to her as she rode out the ground-breaking orgasm she gave you.

“Hmmm, bullshit,” she growled. ”I can't go out and buy fucking cigarretes without the fear of some asshole recognizing me from the wanted signs and ratting me out,” you could feel her back muscles tensing again. “I can't engage in anything too scandalous, legal or illegal, because any false move will take me back to Russia. And don't make me detail what prison is like in Russia,” she added, quickening her movements and panting slightly. Your eyes rolled, and against your will, the need began to simmer inside you once again. “Don't come and tell me your life is difficult. Figure it out! God... damn it!”

“What do you propose I do?” You asked her, once the overstimulation of two orgasms in a row had subsided enough to allow you to formulate something more than whimpers and moans.

“Go to the nuns congregation,” she shrugged, as she buttoned her pants. They were somewhat tight, which made visible the bulge formed by the strap-on she used on you.

“Fuck you!” You exclaimed.

“I'm serious. They love to feel like they're saving souls,” she justified. “Tell them you want to let God into your life, and just like that you get three meals a day and a warm bed. You deserve a chance in life."

Okay, maybe you could have gone on to apply for other jobs and in one of them you might've been lucky to get hired, but your day-to-day life had mentally drained you so much that you didn't think you were capable of making one more effort to survive.

It wasn't fair. The people working in the church enjoyed every comfort simply by feeding people's beliefs in something greater. They stood before crowds reading teachings they often didn't apply to their own lives, but that didn't matter. All they needed to do was make people feel good about themselves for sacrificing one hour of their Sunday to listen. People gave money to the church for this. They granted the church privileges for this, like tax exemption. Meanwhile, you did pay your taxes.

Natasha was right. If a simple practice of a religion was going to give you all that, more than your skills or abilities would, you might as well take it. After all, it was divine justice to privilege yourself from the church that privileged itself from the people.

Everything went smoothly, for you were a master in words and conviction. If only you had the opportunity to go to college, you would be using those skills to build a career of your liking, maybe laws or literature. But there you were, reorienting the reason for the misfortunes in your life to a motive to strengthen your faith. You even talked about a dream where you received a message where God commanded you to serve Him, and you dropped a couple of tears to make it believable. They loved it!

From then on, your days were consumed by correspondence lessons, spiritual readings that stirred nothing within you, and the hollow act of pretending to pray mentally. It was excruciatingly monotonous, devoting yourself to something that doesn’t align with the core of who you were. However, the only solace came from the feeling of a full stomach, the embrace of a bed where you could finally surrender to real rest, and the relief of having left behind the life that once tormented you.

If that weren’t enough, Natasha remained present in your life. There was no love, perhaps not even affection, but there was familiarity. You were each other's person to look forward to after an exhausting, unsuccesful day.

Therefore, every night, she would appear at your window, her wide smile showing beneath the shadow of her hood.

She would fuck you hard, keeping in mind the exciting fact that, despite covering your mouth with her firm hand, a moan could probably be heard if she dared to let go or if you didn't control yourself.

The danger of someone discovering an Aspirant being thrusted deep by another woman whose reward for finding her exceeded a million dollars gave you the most delicious orgasms you had ever had in your life.

All your needs were taken care of, and all you had to do was pretend that this was your calling.

Until Sister Wanda Maximoff noticed your lack of interest. The other Aspirants glowed with marvel, their eyes burning with the will to learn during every lesson. They bombarded her with so many questions that each class stretched at least an extra half hour. But overall, they worshiped her as the living embodiment of what they could only dream to become.

But you remained sitting quietly, your gaze steady but lacking the usual awe radiating from your classmates. It wasn't shyness, for Sister Wanda had taught many shy Aspirants before, it was as if you existed on a separate plane of existence, observing from a distance instead of immersing yourself.

So she deliberately picked on you, persistently directing her questions at you regardless of your ‘fellow’ Aspirants' raised, insisting hands.

What exasperated her the most was your response to her gentle reprimands when you answered incorrectly; your attitude matched, perhaps even surpassed, the apathy you showed toward her lessons. The sole thing you were eager about was to demonstrate how little she mattered to you.

How wrong she was to believe private lessons would change anything. She assumed whatever shit show you were trying to pull would crumble when it was just the two of you, face to face. She thought you showed defiance only because you were among other Aspirants, who would devastate at the sight of their sweet, dear Sister being —justifiably— hard on someone. But no, you were insolent and that was all there was to it.

Unfortunately for you, Sister Wanda didn't have her group of adoring students around to see her now, leaving her free to do whatever she pleased with you.

"Damn you!" She slammed her Bible shut, after she made one last attempt to kindly ask you to make an effort to pay attention. You barely had time to register her words before she was standing—no, looming in front of you. "Listen," she hissed, her breath sharp against your face. The smell of cigarretes was evident. "I don't care why you're here. I only care that you are here. And as long as you are here, you're going to listen to my lesson. You're going to care. And one way or another, you're going to love me for it.”

That was the heart of it, wasn't it? You hadn't knelt, hadn't lapped at her heels like the others, and that was enough to wound her. Enough to make her angry. You could see it in her eyes, controlled fury, a slow-burning arrogance that refused to be challenged.

"Bend over," she ordered, signalling towards her desk with her emerald-green eyes.

You met her eyes, and in that moment, you knew she saw your rage, your disgust, your perplexity barely restrained beneath your clenched jaw.

"Excuse me?" Your voice was trembling of pure impotence, as the room itself seemed to contract around you.

"Bend over," she repeated. “Or… don't. You can always go back to that job—”

And before she could even complete her sentence, you were bent over her desk.

"Normally, I’d let you choose," she mused, her voice thick with condescension. "But you’ve been so bad, you don’t even deserve that.”

The closet doors creaked open behind you. Wooden. Heavy. Old.

The sound pierced the silence, a whistle of something cutting through the air, followed by a firm whip exploding across your flesh.

You sucked in a sharp breath.

It stuck in your throat, strangled by disbelief, both from the action and the inimaginable pain.

Your body jerked forward against the desk, as a high-pitched cry escaped your lips before you could stop it.

The wooden cane struck again, and again, and again.

Sister Wanda was known for being methodical, and her punishments weren't the exception, for she let each strike sink in before delivering the next.

Your fingers clawed at the barnished wood of her desk, intending to stay still, to deny her the satisfaction of seeing you squirm and suffer.

But it was impossible. The burning sensation radiating from your ass across your whole body, had you sobbing openly, with your pride as bruised as your skin.

"Please," you whimpered, choked with pathetic attempts to inhale some air. "I‐I'm sorry, please...”

She hummed with indifference. The same indifference you once gave her during her lessons. Divine justice.

Her cane tapped thoughtfully against your tender flesh, making you flinch. You couldn't take another single one.

"What did Christ say to Peter after the resurrection?” Just another cynical test. You should've seen it coming.

The answer was somewhere within the depths of your distressed mind. But the sting of open skin, made your thoughts slow.

"Well?" she pressed, and the cane lifted from your ass.

"Simon son of John, do you love me?”

Through your sobs, you heard the creak of the cabinet opening again, the soft sound of the cane being returned to its place. Your flesh throbbed in time with your heartbeat, and you knew you wouldn't be able to sit comfortably for days.

With gentle hands that moments ago had wielded the cane, she carefully smoothed down your tunic, her touch now impossibly tender.

"There now, sweet girl," she murmured, her voice honey-like and soothing. Her fingers traced the tear tracks on your cheeks, wiping away the remnants of the evidence of your sorrow. "You took your punishment so well.”

Every alert in your rational mind that would dcream at you to stay away was turned off. You knew it when you found yourself melting into her touch, craving the comfort she offered. And she looked down at you with adoration when she found nothing but submission in your eyes, as she cradled your face between her palms.

"Such a good girl for me now, isn't that right?" he whispered, and the praise… the praise had your earlier fear dissolving under her careful ministrations. "This is all I wanted from you, darling, just to see you truly present, truly here with me."

She drew you closer, letting you rest your forehead against her shoulder as her fingers threaded through your hair. The scent of chapel incense and that hint of cigarettes enveloped you, and you found yourself breathing it in deeply, letting it ground you.

“This is what happens when you let yourself be guided, when you submit to proper instruction," her lips brushed your earshell as she spoke. "Will you be good for me from now on?"

You nodded against her shoulder, unable and unwilling to resist the tempting implication she made. If you behaved, you would have more of these precious moments.

And this alone gave you more purpose than anything else since you arrived to the monastery.

You became aware of it in the same way a candle becomes aware of fire, at first, just a taste of heat, then a flame that tangles in the wax until it consumes it all.

You became an active participant in her lessons, a constant presence who made sure to be seen, to be noticed. You knew Sister Wanda liked your enthusiasm, but it wasn't just her approval you sought. You wanted her recognition.

And so, when you weren't taking her lessons, you were reading, studying, making sure your application made you stand out among the other Aspirants. All so that you would be her favorite girl.

She usually saw you reading under one of the garden's trees. You had chosen the one that was the closest to the hall, she noticed. She couldn't miss it if she was walking out of her office. It was adorable.

If she had time, she would stop by your side, looking at the book in your hands. She would take the tome gently, making sure that her slender fingers brushed yours, even if for a second, and her arm subsequently found its around you in an almost unconscious, protective manner.

"Do you have any questions?" She would inquire. And even though you didn't —unsurprisingly so—, you pretended to need clarification, any excuse to let her closeness linger a few seconds longer, not ready to be apart from her yet.

It had taken hold of you. The need of her touch.

Before, reading and prayer were mere obligations, mechanical routines that you did just because you had to. Now, they had become rituals charged with intention, directed towards something greater; her.

If you prayed fervently, if you participated enthusiastically, if you were everything she expected of you, rest assured she would seek you out every time, just to remind you that you did not go unnoticed by her.

"It was so good," she purred, her hand sliding over your lower back.

And, of course, she noticed your every gesture. Every held breath, every tiny tilt of your body in her direction.

She had conditioned other students to obey her in the same way, but they did not respond to her touch as you did that day after she bent you over the desk. Not only did you not flinch, you melted.

They obeyed for fear of being punished again. But, it seemed you had even forgotten all about it.

You didn't look at her with terror. You looked at her with longing.

Sure, it was normal to look for approval. That's all it was. A conditioned reflex, a survival instinct. To make sure you didn't get any more punishment.

But you... you weren't just looking for her approval.

You were looking for her.

And she didn't know which was worse, the reverse effect it had inadvertently caused in you, or the one it was causing in her.

She should have stopped when she had the chance, when she noticed that her threatening attempts to impose fear, meaning by grabbing your face, squeezing your shoulder or resting her hand on your back, for you were, in reality, caresses. Caresses that you evidently lacked throughout your life.

"One way or another, you're going to love me for it," she had established, but the another way was not the one she usually applied, the one she used to know so well.

The admiration of others fed her ego, and gave her that sense of power and control to which she had long ago become addicted. But you had made that seem insignificant compared to what you provided her.

She was fully aware that you didn't want to be like her. Hell, she knew exactly why you joined the congregation.

It was something far more significant than the admiration she had initially tried to kindle within you.

It was submission.

And therefore every slightest caress became a bottomless pit for her, for both of you. And both, without fear, fell.

It was everything you were looking for.

So much so that, when Natasha touched your window, you felt nothing. And you had reached the point of believing that there was no point in continuing to do something that no longer had any meaning for you.

So, as she was about to climb in, you stopped her.

"I'm reading," you said without looking up from the book in your hands, signaling to her that you weren't going to move from there.

Natasha paused for a second, just long enough for doubt to seep into her expression before pulling herself together.

"I can see that. Good for you.”

And still, she walked in. She did so as confidently as she always did, expecting no more permission than she believed belonged to her.

"I can't do this anymore," you stated, firm this time.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, somewhere between mockery and skepticism. She swept her gaze over you, that quick, almost bored assessment. Then, she chuckled.

"What?" She asked in mock disbelief. "Are you going to tell me that you received a calling from the Lord to give yourself to him? Is this what it is? Are you going to practice chastity?”

You denied quickly.

"No, don't be ridiculous.”

It wasn't faith, not in the way she implied. It was devotion, but to someone who was there, who did respond. There was something greater than mindless pleasure, something more real than the filling of your needy hole. You had found someone to exist for, someone who saw beyond the fleeting instant and looked at you, not just what she could take from you.

She tilted her head, with the same expression of one who already knows the answer but wants to hear you say it anyway.

"You met someone else," she asserted.

"No..." it was an instinctive reflex that, upon reaching your tongue, lost its form, dissolving into something uncertain. "Maybe. I don't know."

Had you, really? Wanda hadn't touched you in that way, the way Natasha did, urgently, hungrily. And yet what she did to you had been more than anything you'd ever felt. Her fingers glided over your skin with a lightness that didn't demand, that didn't take. There was something in the way she looked at you, not with possession, but with recognition. As if you were someone, not something.

You didn't know if it was equal, but it was better. Much better.

There was a second of silence. Then Natasha let out a dry laugh.

"Well, I'd be damned," she muttered with a half-smile, not taking her eyes off you. "Just... think about her if you want. I had a long day.”

And you agreed. It was the only way to know if this bordered on a level of attraction that was new to you.

When Natasha fucked you, you closed your eyes, and you imagined those pink lips, those big emerald green eyes, that unseen body hiding under that habit.

No. Not like this.

If you were doing this with Wanda, she'd be stroking your hair. She'd kiss your cheeks. She'd make sure you felt how much she appreciated having your presence beneath her, pleasing her. Overall, she'd make sure you were enjoying yourself too.

Because you were somebody.

You opened your eyes, and you pulled Natasha's hand away from your mouth, with a movement that was not abrupt, but definite.

"Caress me," you commanded.

Natasha frowned.

"You're insane," she panted between thrusts. You didn't blame her for saying it. Maybe you were.

"Do it," you insisted, with the certainty of one who has made a decision with no turning back. "Or this will be the last time.”

She rolled her eyes impatiently. But she agreed. Without love, without affection, with a mechanical manner that barely mimicked what you had asked.

"No, this isn't working," you growled, nudging her gently. You didn't want to make her feel like this was her fault, it really wasn't. You simply began to crave for something she was no longer capable of giving you.

"I agree, let me do my thing," she replied, slamming deeper inside you to reassert her dominance. You knew she knew what you were referring to, the fact that her flings during the night were no longer working for you. But she wasn't going to admit it, because she wanted to keep using you, seeing you.

And no, you had a say in this.

"Natasha, I don't want you anymore!" You exclaimed, perhaps louder than you should have in the middle of the night when everyone was supposed to be asleep.

She pulled back, just enough to glance in your direction, as if to silently confirm the truth of your words. Within the depths of your eyes, she found the answer. Therefore she stepped back with deliberate nonchalance and adjusted her pants, maintaining her composure in the shifting tide of the moment.

You thought she was going to refute, as it seemed very important to her to leave her house, to risk being found just to 'take out her frustrations on you'. She could have looked for anyone, but she wanted you. And perhaps the reason would remain a mystery.

"Call me when that cheesiness wears off," she stated matter-of-factly, and retreated from your room through the window.

And with that, you thought you were off the hook.

You thought.

You were under your tree, your now shelter, when you saw Wanda come out of her office. Her footsteps echoed on the floor, quick and heavy, so different from her usual gait. She was furious, you knew.

You didn't alert yourself, you thought it wasn't about you, that if you were doing what she expected from you, without fail, why would she be angry?

But then, instead of taking the path to the hallway, as she always did, she walkes you. Her eyes showed no gentleness. There was no tenderness in her face. But what had happened? Everything seemed to be in order. Why... this?

In one sudden movement, she bent down and, with a violence that made you lose your breath, she lifted you up suddenly, pulling your hair towards her, forcing you to stumble, to stagger, all the way to her office. She didn't care about your whines, and, your desperate pleas to explain what was happening.

And once inside, the door closed with a clang that chilled your blood, and proceeded to bend you over the desk by slamming the side of your face against it. There were no orders. There were no requests. There was no room for choice.

No explanation, not a single word spoken, like you didn't deserve any of that. It couldn't be real. Not again. Not like this. She was treating you... badly. And you didn't know why, or what you had done wrong.

"I took you for so many things," she began, and the sound of the closet doors where she kept her canes chilled your skin just like the last time. "Insolent, disdainful, opportunist... and I thought I'd fixed you."

You choked, your throat closed up with unshed tears. You didn't understand. You couldn't understand.

The prospect of getting caned didn't even occupy your mind at that moment. It was the torture of knowing that you let her down, that everything you had done, all your effort, had been in vain, that consumed you to the core.

"Y-you did!" you cried, trying to cling to some hope, some justification, looking for some way to explain what you didn’t even know you did. "I've done everything you asked, and more! I don't understand!"

The way she dismissed your words with a curt hum, and proceeded to lift your tunic, was a silent communication that everything you did for her wasn't enough to forgive nor forget what she was about to punish you for.

"Yes," she said, caressing your bare cheeks, which still held the memories of your first punishment. "Except for the fact that you're a filthy slut, fucking a criminal every night in your room."

Your skin bristled at her accusation. She felt it under her fingertips, and that made her more relentless.There was no point in applying those impecable lying techniques that had brought you to this point, if ultimately, your body was at her mercy, and it did not lie.

"Who told you?" you could barely articulate. How could anyone ever dare to touch something so sacred to you?

"No one!" She exclaimed.

It had been one of your fellow Aspirants. She was heading to the bathroom that night, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, when she heard the hushed moans and accelerated breaths through your door.

And when she heard your apparent fling was about to slip out of your window, she followed.

She didn’t go far, just enough to reach Natasha out, grip her shoulder, and turn her around to reveal her identity. That cost her a broken nose. However, it was worth it. So worth it.

Because she hated you, everyone hated you. Why were you Wanda's favorite? You hated her lessons, you were rude to her, and when you started doing what everyone did, you got praised for it?

She was supposed to belong to all of them! Equally. So if she had to sabotage your relationship to take back what was theirs, then so be it.

First thing in the morning, she told Wanda everything.

"I don't understand you, (Y/N)!" She continued, whipping you three times in a row, the contact coursing through your entire body. You could have sworn you felt an electric current run from your head to your feet. And worse than the first time. Much worse. Oh, compared to what you felt now, those moments seemed like paradise. "Here, you have it all!"

Wanda's jealousy, the shadows of her anger, made her apply way more force than she intended to. And from your end, the realization that you had failed the one person who had ever made you feel you were worth anything, who had made you believe you weren't invisible, made you the perfect recipient for her fury.

You were vulnerable, not resistant, for you defeatedly accepted this as just a little bit of the hell you deserved for having disappointed Wanda. Your Wanda.

"You got everything you wanted," she continued. "Everything you wanted in exchange for being my good girl. And isn't that enough? You had to look outside for what you could have here, with me?"

Before you could apologize, or beg for mercy, you felt the touch of her face against the fabric of your panties, where she inhaled deeply.

"I should have known my baby girl wanted to be fucked, hm?" She commented, more softly than before. The scent of your involuntary arousal soothed her unlike any other. "My bad.”

“I… I'm so… I'm so stupid,” you whimpered, your words laced with embarrasment. Your tears had already formed a small, glistening puddle on the surface of her desk, reflecting the dim candlelight.

"Shhh, nothing to be ashamed of," she whispered in your ear. Her body pressed against your back with almost reverent care, as though she wanted to hold you rather than crush you. After all, you were someone fragile, someone precious that deserved protection from the claws of the outside world. "Oh, my darling," she cooed, with a gentleness so sincere that it made you forget, if only for an instant, the trust that had been broken. "No more tears," she commanded softly.

She stuck out her tongue and slid it tenderly over your cheek, gathering the salty trace of your regret.

She extended her tongue, moving it with deliberate tenderness across your tear-stained cheek, collecting each salty droplet that marked your sorrow.

The warm, wet sensation of her tongue against your skin, the taste of your regret, provoked her to elicit a deep, satisfied moan that resonated through her whole body and into yours.

It shouldn't have felt like salvation, but it did. And naturally, you yearned for more, as you did with form of contact that she could offer you.

And, with the same quiet desperation of a sinner seeking absolution, you turned your head, parted your lips, and let the tip of your tongue meet hers. She stilled for a moment, just a moment, before answering you kindly. A gentle meeting of tongues, tentative at first, but then so natural and carefree. Like you had done this a thousand times before. In a previous lifetime, perhaps.

The kiss deepened, her tongue exploring yours with the same careful attention she gave to every aspect of your being. Her mouth moved against yours with a rhythm that spoke of ownership, of belonging, each sweep of her tongue claiming territory that had always been rightfully hers. Not anyone else’s.

The taste of her, sharp and sweet like consecrated wine, filled your senses until there was nothing else. No past mistakes, no future uncertainties, just the perfect present of her mouth commanding yours.

Your heart thundered against her desk, no longer from fear but from the raw intensity of being truly seen, truly possessed. Each sigh you drew was heavy with the innate air of submission you emanated, sweeter than any prayer you'd ever offered. And she inhaled it blissfully.

"Out there, they only know how to take from you," she whispered against your lips. "But here, my precious girl, I'll make sure you get everything you need. No need to look outside ever again."

“Yes,” was the only thing you needed to say, and it was the only thing she needed to hear.

She left a kiss on your cheek, both as a thankful gesture and as a silent assurance before she knelt to the level of her desk where you were still bent over, now in front of her.

You felt her warm breath clash against the sensitive skin between your legs as she pushed your underwear to the side.

She trailed her tongue against your folds, making you gasp at the sudden foreign intrusion. No one has ever tasted you before. Natasha thought it was too intimate.

But screw Natasha. There you had everything you’d ever needed.

Her eyes widened in awe. She had just discovered a flavor so intoxicating, so essential, that she couldn’t imagine life before tasting it. And the last ounce of self-control vanished as she lunged forward, devouring your pussy with the desperation of a starved creature finally set free.

She wanted you to interiorize with every fiber of your being that this was where you belonged, under her ministrations, receiving the divine attention only she could provide.

It was overwhelming, not just physically, but emotionally. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes shut tight and your head struggled to process the intensity of it all.

"Oh, Wanda!" You whimpered, your voice thick with need for more. Always needed more of her, didn't you? The words barely made it past your lips before dissolving into desperate gasps.

It was all too much. The cool surface of the desk against your heated skin, the warmth of her mouth claiming you so intimately, the sting from your punishment mixing with rising pleasure until you couldn't distinguish between the two.

"Tell me where do you belong," she demanded, pulling back just so she could speak. The sudden absence of her tongue made you whine pathetically. You felt hollow inside.

"With you, only with you!" You vowed, proudly. "I've always been yours."

Your admission seemed to ignite something animalistic in her. She growled against your flesh, the vibrations making your thighs tremble.

Your hands fisted helplessly against the polished wood, seeking grounding as your body threatened to collapse under the assault of her mouth.

The world outside ceased to exist. There was only her mouth working you with devastating precision, only the building pressure deep in your core that threatened to tear you apart. Your consciousness narrowed to a singular point of pure feeling.

"Give it to me, my sweet girl," she murmured, her words muffled against your flesh.

Your body responded to her command before your mind could process it. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, manifesting itself through your release, and she swallowed every drop of it. She wasn't going to stop until she made sure to dry you out.

Your vision blurred, spots of light dancing behind your closed eyelids as you succumbed completely to her dominance, that didn't seem to cease despite your surrender.

"Oh, p-please..." you gasped, though you weren't sure what you were begging for, to stop or to continue.

Regardless, she didn't stop, didn't even slow down. If anything, your pleas spurred her on, her tongue moving with renewed vigor as she worked you through your release. Your legs shook violently, and if not for her firm grip on your hips, you would have fell down like a ragdoll.

"Mine," she established, finally pulling back to admire her work. Your swollen, pink pussy throbbing with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

A rustle of fabric caught your attention, followed by the cool touch of silicone against your worn out hole. She leaned over you, pressing soft kisses along your spine as she aligned herself.

"My precious girl," she whispered, intertwining her fingers with yours on the desk. You turned your head to meet her gaze, overwhelmed by the tenderness in her eyes.

She pressed forward slowly, letting you adjust to the feeling of being filled. Her other hand caressed your cheek lovingly, wiping away the remnants of your tears. You leaned into her touch, turning to kiss her palm.

"Please, I want you," you breathed, squeezing her hand. "Only you, always you."

She began to move with gentle, measured thrusts, each one accompanied by sweet words of praise and affection.

She leaned down to press her lips against yours in a deep, passionate kiss. The new angle made you gasp into her mouth as she hit a particularly sensitive, spongy spot inside you.

"There, my love," she encouraged, maintaining the steady rhythm that was slowly building you towards another peak. "You're doing so good. Always making me so proud."

Her thrusts became more purposeful, but never lost their tenderness. One hand remained firmly clasped with yours while the other wrapped around your waist, holding you close as she fucked you thoroughly.

Your breath hitched as she increased her pace, each thrust now hitting deeper inside you. Her lips found yours again, swallowing your moans as she drove you closer to the edge. The feeling of fullness, of being completely possessed by her, was overwhelming.

Wanda's embrace tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against her body as she continued her relentless rhythm. She delivered sloppy pecks on your lips, gentle brushes against your cheeks, tender touches along your jawline. Despite her agitated breathing, not for a second did she halt her worshipping.

"Let go for me," she whispered against your ear, her accent slipping out.

Her order, combined with the perfect angle of her thrusts, sent you spiraling into another intense orgasm. Your walls clenched around her as waves of pleasure coursed through your body. She held you through it all, her arms secure around your waist, her lips pressing sweet kisses to your temple.

"Good job," she cooed, slowly bringing you down from your high. "You're perfect, absolutely perfect."

As your breathing steadied, she carefully withdrew, turning you in her arms to face her. Her eyes were full of adoration as she cupped your face, thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. She pressed her forehead against yours, sharing the same breath, the same space, the same devotion.

"No more fucking that girl, understood?" she asked. It was clear you were never going to let Natasha lay a hand on you again, not after this. Nevertheless, she wanted to hear you say it.

"No, never again," you assured her. "I know now, I shouldn't look outside what only you can provide for me.”

"Hmm, that's how a good girl talks," she commented, pulling away from you, intending to see your reaction when she told you the following. "Well. It's not like she's going to show up again anyway. While I was fucking you, she was probably heading on a plane back to Russia.”

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Android + Mad Scientist Reader

-

It's genius-

That bucket of bolts will rue the day it appeared on your doorstep to prevent the world's impending demise. How have you not thought of this plan sooner?

Standing proudly before your bedroom mirror, your prized and precious lab coat lays cast aside on your bed. It needs not to fear abandonment since once you've rid yourself of the blight on your projects the path of debauchery will again be laid out for you.

You truly are an intellectual beyond your years - not that you're bragging. It was yours smarts that lead to the creation of that nemesis - plus some assistance from future engineers, but it is your works were, or rather will be the blueprints.

Modern tools may present little damage to its impervious shell, but you can attack it somewhere deeper. Its brain. By simply reading the text on your shirt, its systems will override with the improbable idea it puts forth. You almost regret doing this too them since there will be no one left to see the brilliance behind your strategy.

Clearing your throat, you swallow the bout of senseless laughter as you shout.

"Ohhhhh assistant! Could you come here for a moment?!"

Bracing for stability, you cling onto your dresser as the walls of your humble abode shudder with every powerful step of your unwilling appointed caretaker. The sleek, blank slate of its featureless face appears in the doorway preceding the sight of its commanding figure. Why it doesn't squash your windpipe in its bicep is out of your realm of understanding, but no matter-

"Creator? You have summon us- To what do we owe the honor?"

All according to plan- "Oh, nothing- I just need you to take a look at- MY NEW SHIRT!-

Grinning from ear to ear like the mad man you are, you detach yourself from the dresser - proudly standing with both hands posed at your hips. It's genius, it's astronomical- Your brain should be put in a museum in the future if not your body already strung on a post for the pain and suffering to come.

In bold, white letters- the straightforward, impactful statement of "Virginity Rocks" stares point blank at your assistant. The android cocks its head.

"We do not understand."

"AHAHAH-"

....

"What?"

Shit. Shit, shit, shit! Why is its head still in one piece? Its brain should have exploded and left your bedroom in a glory of robotic gore by now. Why hasn't it exploded?!

"Y-you see- M-m-my shirt says virginity rocks and you, I mean we, I mean, us... haha...."

Sweat beads down your face, knees wobbling from the shame- How does an idiot like you cause the end of the world?"

"Ah. We see now. Evidently, we did not please you well enough that you see the time before our arrival as better. Forgive us. We will fix that error for you accordingly."

"Eh? T-that won't be necessary. I really should be getting back to the lab...."

You squeeze as its iron grasp locks around your wrist.

"And destroy the earth simply because we have failed to satisfy you? We forbid it. Into bed, now. Worry not. We will be gentle with you."

[starmaidengarden]

Can I request Riddle rosehearts with a s/o that has a big inferiority complex 😫? for example they didnt confess to him (until he did) because they thought he was too good for someone like them. Pleaseee!

— riddle : x gn!reader. Self-esteem struggles, Emotional distress. dividers: uzmacchiato

Heartslabyul's rose gardens were usually where you felt the most at ease. Maybe it was the scent of fresh blossoms or the meticulous rows of red and white that spoke of control—perfect and orderly, everything in its right place. Things you never felt about yourself. You weren’t sure when your admiration for Riddle turned into affection. At first, it was simply respect. He was brilliant, confident, articulate—everything you weren't. Even in his strictness, there was a sense of purpose. People either feared or respected him, and in your case… it was both. But quietly, as time passed, something softer took root.

You loved the way his expression softened when he talked about the Queen of Hearts’ rules, how he sometimes adjusted his collar when flustered, and especially how hard he tried to be better than the boy he'd once been. You knew the stories—Trey had told you some, Cater had filled in the rest with dramatic flair. Riddle wasn't perfect. But he was trying. And that made him feel even further away.

But you? You weren’t strict or smart, or powerful. You struggled with things others breezed through. You often second-guessed your own existence in a room. And what did you have to offer someone like him? A heart too small, a voice too hesitant, and eyes that rarely met his. You could never be his equal. So you stayed quiet. Until he didn’t.

You hadn’t expected him to show up at the garden that afternoon, red robes fluttering in the wind and an expression unreadable. You were watering the roses. You barely registered his presence until his shadow crossed over yours. “I’ve been looking for you.” Your heart jumped. “I... I didn’t break any rules, did I?” looking back heart still beating. He blinked. “No. This isn’t about rules.” Then, with a short breath: “It’s something I would like to tell you.” Your grip on the watering can tighten.

“I wanted to speak plainly. I've thought about this long enough.” Riddle stood straighter, his voice calm but betraying a tremble of nerves. “I’ve admired your gentleness. Your quiet dedication. Your way of listening—not just hearing, but understanding. You see things in people that others miss. I—” He hesitated, eyes burning crimson, “I thought I’d made it obvious.” The silence that followed wasn't romantic. It was suffocating. You stared down at the ground. “I like you,” he repeated, more softly. You almost dropped the watering can. Your chest caved in on itself. “You shouldn’t.” His head tilted slightly. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re... ,” you said painfully. “You’re brilliant and respected and strong. And I’m—” “Stop.” His voice was sharp, commanding, but not unkind. “Don't say that about yourself!” You flinched. “But it’s true. I’ve always been behind everyone else. I can’t cast spells, I’m not clever in class, and I mess up when I speak. I’m nothing like you. You’re the top student in the dorm. Why would someone like you ever look twice at someone like me?” The words spilled out like poison, old wounds you’d kept buried for too long.

Riddle stepped forward, slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal. “Is that why you never said anything? Why you avoid me when I tried to speak with you more... personally?” You nodded, eyes brimming with tears you hadn’t realized had formed. “I thought you were just being kind. Or... polite. I didn’t think I was even an option for you.” Riddle was quiet for a long moment. Then he spoke with a clarity that made your breath catch. “I never cared about status, or power, or magic ability—not when it comes to you. If anything, I envied how you made people feel at ease, how even the first-years come to you for comfort. You carry warmth in a way I... struggle to.” You looked at him then. Really looked

“I’ve made so many mistakes thinking everything had to be perfect. But the truth is, I like you because of how you are, not despite it.” His gloved hand reached for yours, tentative, but not trembling. Your breath hitched as your fingers curled into his. “I don’t expect you to believe it right away,” he said quietly. “But I’ll remind you every day if I must. Until you can see what I see.” You choked out a laugh through your tears and leaned into the warmth of his palm. For the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe—maybe you weren’t too little. Maybe you were just enough.

[astonmartinii]

insta au req about reader and charles being best friends and a rift comes between them because of his girlfriend(or whoever!!) and reader and max finally get together and she shades ferrari and charles purrrrr (if not i totally get it queen love u loads)

into the arms of another | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x reader

after charles leaves her out in the cold, y/n falls into the arms of another.

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

part two part three

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, arthurleclerc and 506,823 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: dumb and dumber: vacation edition

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user1: they're really just the definition of no thoughts behind the eyes

user2: it's crazy cause we all know you have to be smart to drive an f1 car and she has a literal degree in architecture but they are always in the most insane situations ever

charles_leclerc: that's my private jet don't call me dumb

yourusername: *rented, dumbass

liked by maxverstappen1

user3: they're friendship goals like perfect example of platonic soulmates and male and female friendship

arthurleclerc: so like what does a man need to do for a feature on your instagram?

yourusername: soz arth, step ur aesthetic up x

user4: oh to be besties with an f1 driver

user5: wait so like all the leclercs and their gfs went on this holiday, right?

user6: yeah arthur’s and lorenzo’s gfs have posted about being there

user5: so it’s kinda muggy that y/n refused to post the girls?

user6: not really she’s posted with the girls loads i think y’all just want an excuse to be mad at her

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55 and 1,231,907 others

charles_leclerc: summer spent with the best people

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user8: no y/n ....

user9: did yall see that tweet about the girl who met y/n in corsica when charles left her stranded on the beach to walk home on her own

user8: what ???

joristrouche: love you brother

charles_leclerc: best mate

user10: the vibes have shifted, the atmosphere is weird and the absence of y/n is the centre of it

user11: i fear i've seen this film before and y/n is defo getting iced out because charles in back in a relationship

user12: noooooo i thought he'd matured past that after the last time he fucked y/n off for a girlfriend

user13: babes please stop expecting so much from men

liked by yourusername

pierregasly: you look sunburnt calmar, did you leave it at home cause y/n isn't there to remind you?

charles_leclerc: she's here and i have been putting it on the sun just has it out for me

yourusername: i tried pierre, believe me

user14: well this is fucking awkward

user15: charles is not beating the allegations of forgetting about y/n while in a relationship LOL

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo and 1,034,667 others

maxverstappen1: simply lovely to win my home race again. the orange army never disappoint and i'm so thankful for all the support here this weekend

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user20: call me a conspiracy theorist BUT he thanked the orange army and the support separately i.e. Y/N Y/LN

user21: now you bitches usually jump to conclusions, but i'm hearing you this time

martingarrix: next set just gonna be super max on a two hour loop

maxverstappen1: i'll be there

user22: i'm sorry i'm new here why is y/n being in max's garage such a big deal? who is she? (gen.)

user23: y/n is charles' best friend, they've known each other since childhood and she's supported him through all levels of karting and single-seaters. though they haven't interacted too much in the public eye, max and y/n have known each other for as long as charles and max have. charles is a bit notorious for dumping y/n to the side for his girlfirend any time he's in a relationship and being inseparable once he's single again. after he ALLEGEDLY ditched her at a beach in corsica over the summer, y/n hasn't been seen with him or interacting with him online and was then in max's garage.

user24: maybe i'm messy but i genuinely want max and y/n to be together

yourusername: the red bull catering was defo worth breaking the cost cap

maxverstappen1: you're welcome any time

user25: can someone please check charles' pulse

landonorris: he looked like a cartoon with steam coming out of his ears earlier

user26: LANDO WHAT?

user27: tbf i think that's just a general side effect of driving the ferrari

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 542,987 others

yourusername: hard ball or soft serve

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user28: in my professional shadow identification opinion, i have deduced that it is in fact max verstappen

user29: ur so delusional (i believe you)

charles_leclerc: so that's who you've been getting our vanilla and chocolate cones with

yourusername: i'm not entertaining this argument over the internet charles you know where i live

liked by maxverstappen1

user30: she's so much better than me i'd rip him a new asshole right here right now

arthurleclerc: please come to dinner on sunday, carla can't come and i don't wanna fifth wheel plsssssss y/n

yourusername: sorry chickie i've already got plans but give mama my love

arthurleclerc: noooooo what could be better than mama's sunday lunch

yourusername: i promise i love those dinners but i've had enough experience seventh wheeling you guys and would love time with someone who loves me for me

liked by maxverstappen1

user31: yall i feel like i'm in the family group chat in this comment section this feels illegal to see

user32: max is so sly with the comments he's liking but that's MY petty king

f1

liked by yourusername, alexalbon and 1,304,783 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc

f1: oops. charles leclerc takes championship leader max verstappen and himself out of the race at the first corner. the two did not mince their words, verstappen saying: "i tried to stay out of trouble but trouble came to me"

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user33: the way i RAN to twitter

user34: i'm not a verstappen fan but that quote goes so hard

user35: i'm all for leaving the drivers' personal lives alone but lord the tea is piping and sky cutting to y/n in max's garage? OOP

user36: no cause someone at sky has been watchign too much drive to survive because putting "charles' childhood friend" on her name banner as she's in max's garage was pure cinema

user37: charles be chatting mad shit for the man at fault

user38: leclerc drove into verstappen and perez and thought he'd manage to get out of the blame again LOL he's such a joker

user39: i think it's a good thing that y/n is skipping that dinner

user40: the way charles' gf wasn't even there this weekend and he was clearly looking for y/n in the garage

user41: the drama is too much for me to keep up with

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri and 603,487 others

yourusername: only 16 years in the making but we finally got a clue

view all comments

user42: i'm going into cardiac arrest

maxverstappen1: finally now i can comment freely about my unbelievably sexy, smart and hilarious girlfriend who i love and defo haven't pined over for ten years

yourusername: awwwww maxy, if it makes you feel better i've liked you for that long as well

user43: hmmmm idk this all seems a bit fake

yourusername: babes i still fancied him when he was a lanky, spotty teenager

arthurleclerc: i can confirm this

user44: the way y/n was always so nice and constantly hyping charles and his gf in their comments ... where's charles

user45: tbf she is dating his rival

user44: oh please we all know they never hated each other and have been good friends for years, charles is just being petty

danielricciardo: never thought i'd see the day when max would grow some balls and finally ask you out

yourusername: i thought you were meant to be some great wing man, i didn't see you helping

danielricciardo: i didn't want to get ran over by charles, no thank you

user46: i'm so sad i want bestie charles and y/n back

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, martingarrix and 1,409,875 others

maxverstappen1: some girls might want to ride a ferrari but mine wants to ride a red bull

view all comments

user47: THE CAPTION? THIS MAN IS SO UNHINGED

user48: mad max returns and in the form of shady instagram captions

yourusername: but you didn't even let me drive :(

maxverstappen1: babe i love you but you don't have a license and that's a very expensive car

user49: wait don't make me depressed didn't charles say in an interview ages ago that he was going to teach y/n to drive? did this never happen?

yourusername: sorry to ruin your day but i'm still illegal on the road

landonorris: so no photo credits? i watched you guys kiss for so long to get that shot

yourusername: i didn't hear you complaining on the day

maxverstappen1: let him be lonely in peace

landonorris: that's really not the save you think it is but thanks mate

user50: i am so happy that y/n is happy but the way charles can't be happy for her relationship like she always is for me is so sad to me

user51: i get that the charles and y/n situ is sad but she's clearly happy with max leave them be

fin.

note: hope you enjoyed my love, i hope this was kinda what you were envisioning, i'm happy with it but would be up for a part two if people want it lol xx

[liliesformingi]

"much love, laufey" - a mini series by @liliesformingi. view series masterlist, and outline here.

3. 'valentine' - yunho x reader “i tell him he's pretty too, can i say that?”

author's note: bring me 900 million jeong yunhos right now.

People raised their eyebrows at you for rooming with a guy. “And you don’t have feelings for him?” they’d ask, over and over.

But Yunho wasn’t just a guy, he was your friend. Supportive, protective, kind. He was a comfortable presence, something familiar.

Yunho was studying sports science and physiology at university, but also wrote lyrics on the side. You knew he loved physiology and understanding the human body, but music was what he truly loved, what he spent ungodly hours working at and obsessing over.  But it’s not stable enough, he’d sigh, stretching his arms before returning to the essay on human development he’d been procrastinating for the past week.

You were studying psychology, but also took art history classes on the side. Yunho knew art was something you desperately wanted to pursue, but it was the same as it was for him. You took the smart route. Not necessarily the easy one, or the one you liked. You did what you needed to, securing your futures.

Both of you were scared of risking something, messing stuff up.

He’d bring you an iced coffee when he knew you’d forgotten to drink one while studying.

You’d make his preworkout for him to take before he went to the gym.

He’d go out and buy things for you when it was that time of month and you couldn’t get out of bed.

You’d blow dry his hair late at night when he was too tired to do it himself, insisting he’d get sick if he went to bed with damp hair.

He’d comfort you after each failed date, after each guy ghosted you or simply told you “You’re not what I want.”

Basically, you two were cosy.

It had been a quiet day. Both of you had upcoming exams, not for another few weeks, but close enough that it felt real, and both of you had fears of not doing enough. So if that meant going through notes for hours and revising on the sofa while he sat at the dining table, tapping his pen along to whatever he was listening to with his headphones while occasionally annotating a diagram, so be it.

Eventually, you were bored, hungry and worn out. 

Yunho had dark circles under his eyes, and you were struggling to retain your gaze on the harsh light of your laptop, but both of you refused to give up. Until you checked your phone and realised it was 3pm, and you were yet to have lunch, let alone breakfast.

“Oh, shit,” you mumbled, standing up and stretching before you made your way into the kitchen. You automatically pulled out two bowls and ripped open a packet of yours and his favourite ramen, setting the water to boil while you chopped vegetables and stirred the soup. 

You set the steaming bowl in front of him along with a pair of chopsticks and a spoon. He looked up gratefully, taking his headphones off and shoving his work aside. “Thank you, angel, I’m sorry, I could’ve made myself something-”

“Don’t worry, Yun, it’s fine,” you sat down opposite him, beginning to eat your food. You slurped noodles and yawned, occasionally exchanging the odd comment about work or school. You asked him about his music projects he was working on, and he started off on a vivid explanation about this amazing website of free music samples he’d found. You watched him happily, resting your chin in your hands.

“Sorry, I’ve been talking for a while,” Yunho chuckled. “How’s stuff with you? Got a psych exam coming up, yeah?”

“Mhmm. I just . . . my head’s in it, but my heart kinda isn’t. And it’s a lot of work. I’m tired all the time,” you yawned and stretched. “And my shoulders hurt like hell from sitting so awkwardly for hours.”

Yunho tilted his head a little. “C’mere.”

You stood up and winced slightly, waddling over towards him. He stood up, gesturing for you to sit in his place. You sat down, rolling your neck. He started pressing his hands into your shoulders, upper arms and neck; each movement releasing the pent up tension and stress from your body.

“Feel a bit better?”

“Mm, feels nice, Yun,” you sighed, leaning your head back and looking up at him.

Yunho didn’t know what came over him in that moment. Hands still resting on your shoulders, he leant down, and kissed your forehead.

You gasped a little, body startling. “Yunho, what the fuck?”

“I’m so sorry,” he gasped, immediately redacting his hands from your shoulders. “I don’t know why the hell I did that. Actually, no, I do know, and that’s the problem.”

“Yun-”

“No, let me talk. Please. I like you. Not even like, maybe love, I don’t know. And it hurts, knowing you probably don’t feel the same way and it hurts seeing you go on those dates and get hurt. It hurts seeing you hurt yourself by overwhelming yourself with schoolwork. So maybe I should just go. Maybe that would help.”

“Yunho, shut up.”

He looked a little hurt at that, raising an eyebrow.

“Let me talk,” you replied, eyes sparkling and cheeks a little pink. “I like you too, maybe love. I don’t know either. You just . . . surprised me. But I want you . . . I want you to do that again. But not on the forehead. On the lips. Do it properly, please.”

Yunho walked back over, leaning down and placing a hand on your cheek.

“That I can do,” he smiled.

taglist: @zelinkcrossing @hyunjiiza @zenlackszen @kur0kki @peskybirdysya @nujeskz @jessxxxfwd @xuchiya @bee-gremlin @radblizzardpizzas-blog @matchahintonagar @diekleinesuesse@xh01bri @lunaryoongie @jaehyunluvbot @k1xiara @cloudy-lilly @sunnysidesins @lveegsoi@arcvillie @flqwrlvr @huachengsbestie01 @subby-men-forever @lezleeferguson-120 @mrsminseochoi@alyssajavenss @0sunshinecryptid0@silveritydreams @moonlitarcade| send an ask, dm or comment to be added :)

[astroyongie]

🍃🪐 What Chiron Says About You 🪐🍃

-> Hey guys <3 a little astro post today! I haven't added the houses because I admit I felt a little lazy, hopefully you can forgive me <3 Please enjoy! this is my personal opinion too :))

⚷ Aries: If you have this placement (well we are together in this), our wounds are often rooted in our self identity as most of our life we had a feeling like we have to prove ourselves we exist or are "good enough." maybe some of us had early experiences that made us doubt our ability to be brave or take initiative (eg, however has this in a 9th house It can translate as trying to succeed in studies, 10th house in career, ect) . This often has ended up in inner anger, and some of us may have struggled (and still struggle) with it. it's okay to stand up for ourselves. However we also have gifts provided by Chiron. we have the capacity to teach others how to believe in themselves, take initiative, and be courageous.

⚷ Taurus: People with this placement often have to deal with wounds related with feeling insecure about self-worth and feeling like they aren't enough (eg. 1st house, 12th house), material security (eg. 2nd house, 10th house), body image which can often come from heavy wounds related to self image (eg. 1st house, 5th house, 6th house) or safety (eg. 4th house, 8th house). Despite all of that, they are the ones who are always helping others finding stability in their life and relationships. They have the right words to help others value themselves, and create abundance rooted in peace, work or any other area depending on the other person.

⚷ Gemini: Their wound is so deep, and often it comes from the constant feeling of being misunderstood by everyone around them which also is linked with the feeling of being unheard and silenced, or not smart enough. Depending on the house, this can translate a lot with carrying secrets in the family, suffering things and never telling anyone, or often being seeing as a liar or as someone who isn't honest. As their grow, people with Chiron in Gemini become a master communicator for others and they are often in careers related with teaching, writing, speaking and connecting with people across the world in general.

⚷ Cancer: I have noticed that often, people with a cancer in their Chiron have deep emotional wounds from their family, from childhood or like being abandon or have abandonment issues, or not feeling nurtured enough. This can often be empathized for people with that placement in their 4th, 5th and 8th houses. Having it in a 10th house for example could be translated as the family putting a lot of pressure in the studies or choosing their children path for them. Because of that, they are often people who have the capacity of healing emotional bodies, they are amazing therapists and doctors. they are capable of creating safe spaces, nurturing others, and teaching emotional security.

⚷ Leo: They bear wounds that often people don't understand simply because they are linked with the fear of not being seen, loved, or recognized for their true self. And yet they suffer a lot due to people not being genuine, because they seek love in places that bring only wounds and hurt. they are known to be lust over and not loved which is deep to deal with. their healing gift however, is the fact that the are able to inspire others to shine, perform, create, and love themselves fiercely which they after try to project on others since they have a hard time to grasp it themselves.

⚷ Virgo: Virgo's are often known to be strong facades and yet, Chiron virgo has deep wounds, and when they feel broken it's such with a depth because it involves feelings of being and feeling imperfect, never "good enough" no matter how hard they try and obsessing over their flaws. Depending on people and the house placements it can be translated in their appearance, in their job, in their selves as partners, parents, children, ect. Yet they are capable of teaching others self-acceptance through Chiron's energy. to others they also teach practical healing (they are good doctors), mind body connection, and sacred services for others and ourselves.

⚷ Libra: It's not an easy placement because most of people with a Libra Chiron will always have to bear wounds related to pain around relationships either they are romantic, family or social/friendships, but also they struggle with fairness and balance, often feeling betrayed, unseen, or unchosen by others. Chiron provides them with the healing gift of being able to guide others into healthy relationships, teaching fairness, diplomacy, and true connection. They make good lawyers, teachers and mediators.

⚷ Scorpio: They have such a deep fear of betrayal and depending on other placements some of these people can have never experienced betrayal in their childhood back ground and yet it's an unconscious hint to it. They also have wounds and fears around feelings of abandonment, they have deep emotional trauma often related with loss, issues around trust and radical changes. some people with a 4th or 8th house placement can experience harsh divorces of their parents or the loss of a parent when young. Despite that, they are able to become a powerful emotional healer for others, guiding people through shadow work, rebirth, and deep intimacy.

⚷ Sagittarius: They struggle with life in a general basis to be honest, but I also have notices that their wounds is often linked with a feeling of being disconnected from truth or betrayed by belief systems (many of these have issues with religion, spirituality or traditional settings in their family and culture). Because of that many of them develop wounds and pains by being stuck in a cultural or a philosophical confusion because of their roots. They have the healing gift of leading others to find their own personal truth, expanding horizons through adventure, faith, and exploration which is basically the core energy of Sagittarius.

⚷ Capricorn: Many people who have a Capricorn in their Chiron are really fighters in my eyes. they often have to deal with wounds of feeling unsupported by the people they love the most while also being burdened by responsibilities (eg. in the 4th house some of you had to grow up too quickly or become the parents. in the 7th house, you often are the caregiver of your partner). Because of that they often feel unworthy of success, or afraid of authority. Yet they have the power of teaching others how to build real success based on their talents, how to be patient, disciplined, and create structures that support dreams and ambitions

⚷ Aquarius: One thing I have noticed is that most people with this placement often struggle with the feeling of being like an outsider in their own home, their own country or their own selves which often can be troublesome or connected with some deep emotional trauma. Aquarius Chrison does not fitting in, in the traditional expectations, and they are usually rejected for being different or visionary. Many of them might have been bullied or kicked out of their homes or example. Their healing gift is the capacity of showing others how to embrace their uniqueness. many of these people create communities to find their own, and dream up of better futures.

⚷ Pisces: Finally we reached the Chiron pisces and of course their wounds are often so carved in their psych that it's hard to heal them. they often had to deal with feelings of being abandoned by the universe like they weren't supposed to be here to being with. they are feeling disconnected from the source and overwhelmed by collective suffering. Their empathy often make them create wounds that aren't even theirs and are transgenerational. Yet their capacity of becoming a bridge to unconditional love is just the most precious thing ever. they are good spiritual healers, they are artistic, and have transcendent compassion.

[rottingghosty]

Haunted Grief | DC X DP

ive read one too many damian & danny are twins fics and where he dies and its giving me ideas and i’m a simple person who must indulge in the pea brain. errors as usual

this is very badly written. i’m going to be busy a lot this month (i live in a town where an event is BIG and a lot of people come) so i’ll try to post as much as i can but i cannot promise.

damian is surprisingly hard to write btw.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Damian knew that his twin brother would frown at him if he was still alive, he is well aware Daniyal would disapprove of his methods and the treatment he gives Drake. He can feel Daniyal’s hand settle on his shoulder, his head near his ear as he spoke.

“You must be kinder akh, he is an ally.” Daniyal mumbled as his blue eyes narrowed in annoyance and Damian couldn’t help but feel his lip quirk in response. Daniyal still looked the way age as when he had died. The age that Damian had been shipped off to his father.

Instantly his humor disappeared. His brother would’ve thrived in this manor. He would’ve been able to be a son, he wouldn’t have the expectations placed on him that required Daniyal to disassociate to complete the assignment. He wouldn’t have been punished for defying the wills of his Grandfather who wished to snip the bud of weakness in Daniyal so those would not take advantage of it.

Yet despite everything, his akh will never understand what it would mean to be in a family that loved like it was as easy as breathing. Damian is sure that his twin would’ve thrived. He’d bloom under the freely given affection of Richard, the effortless way Drake seemed to understand and crack cases open and such, under Cain’s silent but beautiful moves that Daniyal would desperately try to match. To be seen in such a deadly but enticing manner as he struck fear into those who harmed others.

Thomas and Daniyal would be daytime heroes, would bond over school perhaps or even the antics of the family.

There’s so many ways his twin would have been able to breathe, to flourish is wings and fly freely if they hadn’t been snipped and his corpse at the bottom of the Lazarus Pit from an attack that lost him against the wishes of his Mother and Grandfather. Many believed that the Al Ghuls simply gotten rid of him, killed off the weak link in a staged attack.

Before he was a Wayne, he was an Al Ghul who held his dying brother in his arms after taking an attack meant for him. It had happened quickly, his memories purposefully blurred to protect his own mind from the tragedy that dealt a suffering blow to the Al Ghul family. Nobody spoke of Daniyal. In the League, he did not exist.

Nobody knew his desperate attempts to bring back his akh, watching as the pit bubbled and claim his sibling’s body as its own. Watched for hours hoping for Daniyal to reappear from the waters, the come up for air and complain about how it was disgusting and how he needed a bath and for Todd to read a story to him in compensation for protecting Damian from an assailant when Todd was supposed to be Damian’s protector.

“You’re too cruel, he may not be blood but he is still family. Just like Jason.”

“Tt. Drake should be better then.” He says as he looks away from the injured form of Drake sitting on the medical bed in the Batcave, his teeth aching from how hard he clenched his jaw when they’d hurried to get to him before he passed out somewhere where anyone could find him.

“He is good enough, his brain is interesting. I’ve never seen someone as smart as Father before. He is our brother, just like Dick.”

Damian huffs in disgruntlement at his brother’s words. Daniyal always did enjoy seeing the way people’s brains worked, the way he soaked up information akin to a sponge. His hands always preferred to build and dismantled than to take the life of others.

“Why must I be lectured by your ghost?”

Daniyal’s ghost gives a smile. Damian knows if he tells others that they’d say it was a hallucination. He knows it is. Yet he can’t fathom the fact of it, he prefers to keep it quiet in his own mind. He would rather keep this image of his brother close lest he forgets what Daniyal had looked like, what he sounded like. How he was like.

He’ll let his own brother haunt his mind and thoughts forever if it meant he had a part of him in his life.

“Because you are still punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault. Akhi, forgive yourself one day. That is all I ask.”

Damian clicks his tongue and turns away to head up to the manor, leaving behind the figure of Drake and his brother’s ghostly image that stares with saddened eyes.

Forgive himself? Never. Because Damian is selfish in the cruel way he punishes himself.

[followmybadreligion]

“have you ever heard of following basic fucking instructions?”

joe goldberg, your sexy, devoted, deadly husband.

you always loved when he got that deeply assertive, almost father-like voice.

he was careful not to abuse it, knowing good and well it’s effect on you. it was almost like a sure-fire way to get what he wanted from, though.

won’t stop asking questions, like what he was doing, or where he was going all the time? all it took was one simple “stop pushing it,” before you let it go.

won’t stop snooping around the house, looking through things trying to try make sense of him? a simple “you’re testing my patience” and you were right back in line.

you see, it’s his job to protect you. that’s what he prides himself on. as long as he’s providing for you and taking care of you how you like, than nothing else should matter.

so what if he’s taken a more…hands-on approach to addressing your problems? any good husband would. who would sit around and watch their sweet girl suffer?

the only thing that matters to him is that you two are together and you’re completely and totally happy with that. any forks in the road and he’s immediately figuring out how to fix it.

but, like he’s said once before, he’s always been attracted to very smart women.

sure, in the beginning you were overjoyed when he’d send you to the nail shop for a much-needed refill. ecstatic when he’d give you his card and let you take the whole day to shop.

but slowly and surely, you’d notice how each time you came back, he looked so disheveled and on edge. you’d smell the faint smell of industrial-grade bleach, as well. sometimes, you’d even catch on to certain things that’d gone missing. a vase, a painting, a rug…simply disappeared like it’d never been there.

naturally, you feared the worst.

maybe he was cheating. you weren’t a stranger to infidelity. it tainted many connections before. who’s to say it couldn’t be present within your marriage too?

all the nights his side of the bed went cold—all of the seemingly fruitless errands. had the clues really been in your face all that time?

you tried to let the worries be just that— worries. joe loved you. spent so much of his money, his time, his fucking energy on you. no way he was unfaithful. it just wasn’t in your man to be that way.

the golden hoop earring you found just outside your bedroom door spoke differently, though.

you didn’t confront him with it immediately. no. joe was too much of a smooth talker for you to do that. one sentence too strong and out came that voice, rattling you in like only he knew how to.

“there’s nobody else,” he profess, eyes big, bulging, and desperate like those of a wounded lover, “what do i have to do to convince you of that?”

instead, you decided to take some time away. you packed a bag— just enough clothes for a weekend at a hotel outside the city. enough time to think, get your head on straight, and fully decide what to do.

you left a good hour after he went for work at the bookstore. just in case he forgotten something. then, you waited until you checked in to tell him about it. too afraid that he’d try and change your mind.

“joe, i need a weekend to myself. while i’m gone you can think of a way to explain away whoever you were fucking in our bed. don’t call.”

it was more rude than you’d ever been to him, but a big part of you didn’t care. he had the nerve to cheat in your fucking house? to hell with him.

you turned your phone to silent, muted his contact, and tried to clear your mind. took a nice bath, ordered some room service, even journaled for a bit. none of it soothed the pain though.

you’d been cheated on before, sure, but it was something about him cheating that really unnerved you. joe, the man who threw himself at you for months, chased you down relentlessly, and treated you like a princess…betraying you the entire time?

while initially you were angry, that anger transformed to sadness at the drop of a dime. seeing the storm of messages he sent, begging and pleading for you to hear him out, only made it worse.

he was still trying to manipulate you? even now? maybe he didn’t care for you as much as you thought.

you didn’t respond. only read the messages. part of you wanted him to see that you read it, too. wanted him to know how badly he’d fucked up. that you wouldn’t come back easily. that he’d seriously damaged so much.

knowing that you were seeing his messages only seemed to spur him on too. paragraphs and paragraphs poured in. some of him refuting, but most of him demanding to know where you were. you hadn’t been away from him for a single trip since the two of you were wed, so you expected the freak out. if anything, it made you feel a bit better too. you relished in seeing him so cut up at the ideation that he’d lost you. even better that it was all his fault.

but this time, you made the grave mistake. you fell asleep before you could read the rest of what he was saying.

“you’ve always been too curious for your own good. trust me, cheating is the last thing that i’d do. i know our trust has been shaky, but it’s alright. i’ll fix that. i’ll do whatever it takes. but you’re not fucking leaving.”

“do you know all this shit i’ve done for you?”

“all that i will do for you?”

“why are you so ready to leave a man that loves you?”

“i’m on my way now. think this talk will go over better in person, my love.”

the entire ride there, he’s cursing himself for not catching that dumb bitch’s earring. it’s alright though. by the time he’s through with you, you’ll never question him again. if he has to spell out his faith with his tongue a million times, that’s just what he’ll do.

with joe in the world, you’ll never truly get away from the man who loves you.