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thinkinonsense · 3 days

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i just listened to sabrina's new album and oh my god the song slim pickins is such a song that was written from daydreaming about lumberjack!logan, oh and the recent fic that you reblogged was just so yummy and perfect for that song especially the lyrics "a boy who's jacked and nice" like god having to settle down for less because nobody can be him 😭😭😭 need him expeditiously im afraid

it's slim pickins

lumberjack!logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: yearning!! fluff, tiny nsfw conversation (nothing graphic)

a/n: this request couldn't have come in at a better time because i'm seeing sabrina on opening night of her tour tomorrow night!! <3

masterlist

"am i just destined to be alone forever?"

another friday night in the hole in the wall bar outside of town. another date gone horribly wrong. your question hangs heavy in the air as you gossip to your best friend who's bartending tonight.

"you keep picking douche bags." she answers without missing a beat.

"well, that's fuckin' rude." you slur slightly, sipping on your third fruity drink tonight.

"well, it's fuckin' true." she smiles, looking over your shoulder at a group of men that walked in. "why don't you go talk to one of them? they look hot."

you spin around in your stool to see a group of lumberjack workers. these were the men that you worked with, you can't flirt with them.

"i work with those guys!" you hiss.

"sooo...?" she smirks.

both of you quickly end the conversation with the five guys approach the bar. the last thing you needed was for these guys to see the desperate and pathetic look on your face. quickly, you rummage through your purse for some cash to put down.

"what are you doing here, doll face?" a familiar voice asks.

you look up and see the most handsome of the men, in front of you; logan. twice your size, buff, toned, tan... god, you had such a crush on him. never in a million years would you go after him though, he's too good to want a girl like you. you were just a friend. he make small talk with you, laughed at your jokes, calls you little nicknames, and refills the coffee pot for you but thats what friends do, right?

"oh... um, i'm just-"

"she's been sitting here moaning and bitching to me all night about her horrible date." your best friend smiles then introduces herself to logan with a handshake.

"thanks asshole." you mumble under your breath at her, making logan chuckle.

"tough night?" he asks, looking down at you in a way that makes heat rises up your face.

"kinda, but i'll save you all the gory details." you admit, sliding off the tall stool a little ungracefully. "have a good night, logan."

"wait, doll face." he says, grabbing your arm to balance you. "wanna talk about it? i'm sure your friend here is busy."

the alcohol let him take you to one of the booths. all the other men noticed logan and you sitting together, definitely making mental notes to tease you both on monday.

"so, what's on your mind?" logan asks, taking a swig of his beer.

"it's nothing really..." your mouth says one thing but your phone says another; practically buzzing off the table.

"you sure?" he raises a brow.

"uh... yeah?" you sound confused as you peak at the notification. an annoyed groan falls from your lips as you slam the phone back down and sink into the booth. "why? why? why?"

"why what?" he squints.

"be honest, do i have dumbass written on my forehead?" you sigh, hazily looking over at logan. the question threw him off guard; unsure if you're joking or not.

"no." he answers.

" well, i sure feel like one. every guy i've gone out with is either the most obnoxious asshole i've ever met who's still hung up on his ex or he's absolutely perfect but he's just not ready for a commitment right now? what the fuck does that even mean?"

all of your drunk rambling surprised logan. at work, he's only seen your shy personality as you scribble down numbers and log them into spreadsheets. this was a completely different side of you.

"i know what you're thinking, 'why not just try dating a woman?'. well, i fucking would if this town wasn't stuck in the 50's, except the men aren't going to war in order to get away from you, instead they just run back in between their ex's thighs and pull that 'it's not you, it's me' bullshit."

it was getting harder for logan not to crack at your silly yet, adorable expressions as you rant.

"and the worst part is that they can't even get a woman to orgasm." you say a little quieter. logan stores that quote in his pocket for another time. "a few weeks ago, i literally had a man in my bed who didn't know the difference between their, there, and they're! i don't know who's stupider, him for not knowing or me for letting him give me the worst head in my life."

if you were even a little sober, this would be mortifying. sitting in front of your work crush and spilling pathetic details of your love life to him. if you were even a little sober, you would have notice his eyes turn dark and lustful under the dim bar lighting. logan couldn’t fathom that you were having trouble in your love life.

"sounds like it's slim pickins out there."

"you have no idea." you sigh.

"if it makes you feel any better, i don't think that you're stupid."

"you're just saying that to be polite. trust me, everyone thinks i'm an idiot for taking these guys back every time. im just like my mom, my sisters, my friends, and every other girl i know. we make up excuses for their shitty behavior because we are afraid to be alone."

logan could see tears forming in your waterline, about to roll down your cheek. it hurt him to see you so heartbroken over these losers. everyday at work, you came in like a ray of fucking sunshine. you didn't deserve to be treated like this.

"it's not your fault that those asshole don't know how to treat a woman." he sighs, leaning forward in an attempt to comfort you.

"i know, i know..." your voice was cracking and you didn't want logan to see you so vulnerable. suddenly, you rise from the booth. "thanks for listening, logan."

"where do you think you're going, doll face?" he asks, following you out the door.

"should head home." you mumble, pulling up the number of a car service about twenty minutes out.

"let me give you a ride home." he offers. "you've been drinking too much."

it's late, you're exhausted and heartbroken so, you let him help you into his truck. it's kinda old but full of character, like logan.

"what's going on in that pretty head of yours?" logan asks, breaking the silence in the car. "still sad?"

you shrug. "think i'm just going to become a nun."

he tried, he really did, but he had to laugh.

"sweetheart, there's no need to become a nun."

"well, i'm never going to find the man i'm looking for so, might as well join the sisterhood."

"what are you looking for in this dream man?"

logan's question has your eyes wondering over to where his left hand sets on the wheel and his right on thigh. the images of what his hands could do flood your fuzzy mind.

"j-just a good guy who's um, who's kind, jacked... respectful, good with his hands...."

it was shameless, your staring that is. logan worried you might get drool on the car seat, not that he would mind.

"hm... those seem like simple requirements there."

"apparently not." you giggle. "it's fine, though. i'm sure the nuns will be friendly."

"still thinking about joining the 'sisterhood'?" he asks, pulling up to your drive way.

"maybe... i'll give it twenty-four hours and if he doesn't come knocking on my door, i'll just buy a chasity belt and go off the grid with the nuns." your smile warmed his cold bitter heart. "thanks for the ride, lo. i'll see you monday."

as logan watches you fumble with your keys and make your way inside, he fights an internal battle over his feelings. he has had a crush on you since the day the two of you first met. by the end of the week, you had baked him some cupcakes, babbling about how you do this for all the new employees, which was far from the truth he later learned.

you captured his heart. even when he tried to burry his feelings for you, when logan looked at you, his world stood still for a moment. he looked forward to all your silly jokes in the break room or the ridiculous gossip you would tell him when he lingered outside of your office door. he couldn't let you slip away into the arms of another asshole who didn't deserve you.

before logan could comprehend what he was doing, his feet lead him up to your door, knocking twice. the wooden door opened and he knew he made the right decision.

there you were in your light blue and grey plaid pajamas with a cupcake in your hand and vanilla frosting on your bottom lip. logan had never seen you look prettier.

"hey? did i leave something in the–"

in the blink of an eye, logan’s hands reach up to caress your jaw, leaning in until his mouth engulfs yours. the taste of vanilla and alcohol surrounded both of you. forgetting the cupcake in your hand, dropping it to reach up and pull logan closer. kissing him was like drinking a glass of wine after a long day. no more stress or anxiety over anyone else’s bullshit. the two of you gasp against each others lips, catching your breath.

“i could be the good guy, you know?” logan pants, now forever addicted to your taste. “i could be the good guy for you.”

your heart fluttered as you stared up at his pretty hazel eyes, twirling a piece of his hair around your finger. this had to be a very realistic dream, thats the only answer to this.

“you would do that for me, logan?” your delicate voice could bring him to his knees, worshiping the ground you walk on.

“i would do anything for you, honey.” he whispers, leaning back in to kiss you again. maybe your dream guy wasn't as far away as you thought?

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martiniluvr · 7 months

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18+ minors dni

warnings: lil bit of voyeurism 🤏

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

you haven’t seen jason todd in almost three days, and he hasn’t fucked you in twice as long; you know it’s not up to him when duty calls, but you’re starting to lose your patience. nevertheless, you’re not one to sit around and mope—you’ve decided to make the best out of a bad situation and practice a little self-care, putting to use the dainty pink vibrator you ordered for nights just like this.

your back arches off the mattress at the steady pulsations on your clit, and you bite your lip as an orgasm starts to build deep in your abdomen. you need something more to get you there, so you turn to your mental catalogue of fantasies and memories of jason. after all, with a boyfriend like him, who needs something as pedestrian as porn? you settle on a new idea—something you and he haven’t tried before—and feel a smile spreading on your face.

you imagine jason sitting across from you on the bed, his legs splayed out between yours as he watches you pleasure yourself. you think about the way his green eyes would roam your half-naked body, and the words he’d say as you tease yourself. fuck, look at that pretty pussy. you gonna show me what you do when I’m not here? c’mon, put on a show for me, ma.

you imagine him stroking himself to the sight of you, his fist moving slowly along his hard cock, and you let out a whine. you picture his eyes trained on your wet cunt as he pumps himself faster, and you moan again as your walls clench harshly. jason’s voice continues to echo in your head as you insert a digit into your tight entrance; feels good, huh? you like showin’ off, don’t you, princess? look at you, spreadin’ for me like this. you visualise his parted lips and lust-blown pupils as he stares. cum for me, baby, c’mon.

you whimper at the thought of his furrowed brows and contracting abdomen as he chases his own release, his fist working his sensitive tip while his eyes take in the way you fuck yourself. your legs widen as your climax draws near, and you dial up the speed one more time, your hips bucking against your vibrator. with a lewd cry of his name, your orgasm pulses through you, fluids leaking onto your hand as you cum hard around your finger.

your chest heaves as you switch off the vibrator and drop it somewhere in the sheets, your other hand spreading your release over your tender pussy. your heartbeat pounds in your ears, and you let out a contented sigh, still absently teasing yourself.

you’re so dazed that you barely hear your bedroom door click shut.

“finished already?” shit.

“jay!” you gasp. heat pools in your cheeks as you sit up, your legs clasping shut. fuck, how long has he been there? he steps close to the bed, the dim lamplight catching his features; by the smug expression on his face, you know he’s seen more than enough.

“don’t get shy on me now,” jason coos, his tone cocky. he drops his red hood mask onto the floor with a thud, stepping toward you as his eyes rake over you hungrily. he towers over your frame, and you take note of the prominent bulge in his pants. “c’mon, ma,” he coaxes with a wicked grin. “why don’t you show me that again?”

#this came to me in a vision and I had to share #jason todd #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood #red hood smut #red hood x reader #red hood x you #dc comics #batman

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harryspet · 29 days

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well kept [3] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, emotional/mental manipulation, DUBCON, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: Pls reblog and let me know what you think! Thank you so much for all the feedback so far :)

word count: 4.5k

In which it's your first day working from home with Rafe and you have a new lesson to learn.

well kept masterlist

The Cameron residence was fifteen minutes outside of downtown Charlotte and situated in a large neighborhood where hills and huge oak trees hid all the houses. You didn’t really see his house, only what you could tell was large pond, until the driver was at the end of the mile-long driveway. When you did, you felt woefully underdressed. Assuming that being inside all day meant you could opt for something casual, you’d chosen a cream knit dress.

Following Rafe’s instructions, you sent him photos of each outfit you tried on, but he hadn’t told you which ones you could return. It was another blow to your confidence. You began to doubt whether he’d even been serious, but the fear that he might mention it the next day kept you from taking any chances.

Stepping out of the black Escalade, your eyes widened as you took in the architectural masterpiece before you. The house was a striking blend of traditional and modern styles, with a light-colored exterior contrasted by dark shutters framing the windows. A stone chimney rose from the roof, and the three-car garage with wooden doors added a rustic touch.

After your car drove away, a tall and impeccably dressed staff member named Anthony guided you up the stone-paved driveway. From your cheat sheet, you recalled that he was the House Manager. Rafe required a full team: Anthony, two housekeepers, a private chef, a driver, a gardener, and now you—his personal assistant. The inside of the house was as intimidating as the exterior. The expansive foyer featured high ceilings and a grand staircase that curved up to the second floor. To the left, you caught a glimpse of the formal dining room. Each room you passed was more impressive than the last. Anthony informed you that there were six bedrooms and eight bathrooms.

“I don’t usually work on Fridays but Mr. Cameron wanted me to give you a tour of the house and show you the ropes of house management. It’ll be important for you to be able to oversee the staff when I’m absent and understand the scheduling.”

Once again, it was all too much to take in. Today was your fifth day working for Rafe, and you’d barely survived until now.

“I want to clarify that what happened yesterday stays between us. That includes Eleanor. Okay?”

That was all he said about his outburst. There was no apology for groping you, for pinning you down on his office couch, or for taking your virginity. If you were to tell the story, you’d have to mention how your body had betrayed you—not once, but twice. But you had said no. You didn’t want to use the word that described what happened to you. You didn’t want to think about it at all.

And it didn’t happen again—not over the next three days. He continued to be harsh, forcing you to apologize for every small mistake, even those you weren’t aware of.

As you followed Anthony through the expansive kitchen, you couldn't help but marvel at its sheer size and sophistication. The kitchen was a chef's dream, with gleaming marble countertops that seemed to stretch endlessly, state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances, and custom cabinetry in a rich, dark wood finish. An oversized island dominated the center of the room.

At the far end of the kitchen, massive glass-paneled doors stood, offering a glimpse of the world beyond. The porch was furnished with elegant wicker seating with plush cushions. The space was perfect for elegant parties, with enough room to accommodate at least a dozen guests.

Beyond the porch was a stunning infinity pool stretched out towards the horizon. As you walked closer, to the right, you took notice of a garden. You spotted the gardener, Tyler, who Anthony had mentioned earlier. In simple clothes, the young man blended easily into the scenery.

“This is where Mr. Cameron will typically entertain his guests,” Anthony said,

The beauty of the outdoor space was undeniable, but so was the control that permeated every aspect of it. You wondered what hand Rafe played in how spotless it looked. You could almost picture him, his jaw clenched and eyes blazing with a harsh intensity, if even the smallest detail were out of place. It was easy to imagine him demanding that every leaf, every petal, every stone be exactly where it belonged.

Did his staff ever make mistakes? Did he make them beg him forgiveness like he did with you?

“Shall I show you the study? It’s approaching seven-thirty.”

You nodded, a small smile on your lips. He was kind but part of you didn’t want him to hear your voice shake or your face contort into an uncomfortable position as you struggled to get your words out.

There would be enough struggling today, you knew that.

Surprisingly, Rafe’s home office was more quaint than you expected. Dark wood panneling decorated the walls as well as floor-to-celing bookshelves. As you made your way around the room, you took note of the picture frames containing images of what you believed to be his family. Here, it seemed he had a heart. The four of them stood on a dock, sun shining down, and his arms were wrapped a young girl with dark brown hair. His smile was genuine and there was darkness lingering in the blues of his eyes.

Other than the bookshelves, the room only contained his desk, a set of leather couches and a coffee table. The smaller room still managed to exude sophistication but it was far less imposing than you expected.

The room almost felt intimate as sunlight trickled in through light colored curtains. You were standing behind his desk, glancing out his office window which faced towards the nearby pond. Beside it, sat a gazebo, although you couldn’t imagine Rafe enjoying it. You wondered if he lived here alone as you saw no traces of the other three people in his family photo.

“Boo,” You yelped as you heard Rafe’s deep voice.

You placed a hand over your beating heart as you looked toward where he stood in the doorway. Having been deep in thought, you hadn’t heard the door opened. He knew that much which explained the amused look in his eye.

Everything flooded back at the sight of him. The air had already left your lungs. You felt his body pressing down on yours, warm breath against your ears, and that pain between your legs.

The door clicked shut, making you flinch.

“Good morning,” he said, his gaze fixed on you.

It hit you then, you hadn’t greeted him like you were supposed to.

You were taken aback by his appearance. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a plain navy t-shirt, a stark contrast to your heels and carefully applied makeup. You weren’t sure why you were expected to dress up, especially when he looked so casual.

“G-Good morning, Sir,” You crossed the room, his eyes locked on yours. You remembered where he liked you, near the door, ready to greet him and present yourself to him. You hated how your voice always betrayed you, how weak it made you sound. Your only saving grace was that you’d already memorized his schedule for the day, having spent the entire commute looking at your laptop. You recited it to him, including the midday Zoom call he had with Kelce and Topper.

Topper, you had learned, was Eleanor’s husband. Rafe hadn’t ever touched her but the way Eleanor always answered your questions with vague responses made you suspect that her relationship with Topper mirrored your own with Rafe. She hadn’t warned you but now you were suspecting that was because Rafe seemed to always get what he wanted, no matter who got hurt in the process.

You froze the moment his hand reached out to touch you. His fingers curled around your side, hovering just above your stomach but dangerously close to your breasts. His grip was surprisingly gentle as his thumb grazed over the fabric of your dress. You stiffened as his other hand mirrored the first, sliding across to the opposite side of your body. “Eleanor picked this,” he murmured, his brows knitting together as his gaze slowly traveled down your figure. A jolt shot through you as his thumb brushed over your nipple, sending a wave of panic coursing through you.

“Y-You don’t like it?” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

He clicked his tongue, “Turn around for me.”

You did as he said, “Doesn’t do enough for your figure,” Your heart panged in your chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious of your own shape, “Are you wearing the panties I sent you?”

All you could do was nod. Rafe never commanded you to wear the panties everyday to work but you didn’t risk it. Luckily, they were all comfortable despite the lace and cheekiness.

“Pull up your dress,” He said next.

You’d spent the last three days in a fog, trying to make sense of the situation, trying to understand why your body betrayed you. When you were younger, you always asked the universe why you couldn’t speak like the way all your friends at school did. Now you asked the universe why Rafe’s voice made you want to clench your thighs together. Why you had felt empty ever since he’d finished inside of you. Why you wanted to try again, to experience that intimacy again without so much fear. Your life was so simple before but now it felt like it was too late to turn back.

Your thoughts were too jumbled. Rafe cleared his throat and you realized you were just staring back, “I’m not gonna fuck you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Please-”

He rolled his eyes, “Don’t make me ask again.”

You squared your shoulders. “I’m nnn-nn-not comfortable—”

“Just do it.”

You reached down to the edges of your dress, slowly pulling the fabric to your waist. It was nothing he hadn’t already seen and yet you were shaking, “Turn around. Face the other way.” Like a robot, you obeyed. You’d chosen a light pink color today.

“Good,” You felt him against you. He pulled your hair back over your shoulder and leaned down against your ear, “Maybe I should make you walk around naked while you’re here, hmm?”

You bit down on your lip, wanting to contain the protest that was about to leave your mouth. You wanted to lean into his touch, to embrace the comfort that would accompany the torture. He brushed past you just as you tilted your head back, “Go make me a coffee,” He commanded.

He made his way behind his desk and you reached down to move your dress, “Did I say to pull your dress down?”

“N-No, Sir,” You moved your hands quickly to your sides.

“I could make you walk around like that, couldn’t I?” He asked, leaning back in his chair.

He tilted his head and you realized you needed to answer. You gave him a painful look. You could say no but what would it cost you, “I . . . I don’t know,” He wasn’t satisfied by your answer, clearly. It was torture to force the words out, “Y-Yes.”

“Right answer,” He said, “Pull down your dress, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help but see the irony in the fact that despite that you upgraded to a salaried job, you were still making coffee for the rich and spoiled. The opulent kitchen had an even fancier coffee machine than his office. Your movements as you prepared his steaming mug of coffee were precise despite the turmoil in your mind.

Searching for solutions, your mind landed on the idea of trying to assert your competence. Sure, you could make a great cup of coffee but the whole point of getting a real job was so that you could have real skills to market yourself. You could be perfect at this job, anticipate his every need, and you could more than an object to look at.

You re-entered his office quietly after realizing he’d begun his first meeting of the day. Carefully, you set his coffee down on the edge of his desk. He was always so intense, so completely absorbed in his work, and that unwavering focus made you even more anxious. Maybe that’s how you should be, more composed, projecting an air of confidence.

Unsure of where you should settle, you made yourself comfortable on one of the leather couches. You checked your email on your laptop, finding several reminders from Eleanor. You found yourself frustrated by how she picked and chose what information to share with you but you balanced those feelings with the fact that she was often your saving grace.

She gave you a list of tasks including arranging for a delivery of documents that needed to be signed by Rafe, confirming his dinner reservations for the night, and proofreading the notes you took from yesterday’s meetings. You told yourself by the end of the next week, you’d be able to handle things by yourself, and you wouldn’t have to lean on her so much. You’d have a day, eventually, where Rafe didn’t point out anything you did wrong.

“I was thinking-” Rafe’s voice cut through the silence. You were so focused that you hand’t realized his meeting had ended. He folded his hands over each other, his eyes on you, “From now on, I want you to wear what I pick for you each day.”

“How …y-you’re not happy with what I’ve been choosing?”

“It’s not about not being happy. Now I have more of an idea of what I like on you,” His voice was smooth and authoritative, “You want to reflect my taste, my standards, yeah?”

You mustered the courage to ask your next question, “Can I-I dress a l-little less … formally when I work at home with you?”

“Less formally?” He tasted the words on his tongue, “You mean, like more casual?”

“Yes, Sss-sir. Like more comfortable.”

“We could experiment with that,” His tone was deceptively light, “On my terms though. Yeah?”

You nodded and were grateful that he hadn’t reacted lightly. He seemed to enjoy that you were asking him for permission.

“You’ll have to wear something different tonight though, for dinner. Eleanor is coming by towards the end of the day to bring you your outfit and take you to get your nails done.”

“Oh,” Your eyes opened wide, “I-I thh-thhought it was more of a personal-”

“I won’t keep you out forever,” He said, “You got plans or something?”

You shook your head quickly, “No, Sir.”

Rafe worked through lunchtime, so you brought him the meal prepared by his chef, Stevie—an elegant older woman with blonde hair. She had made a pesto pasta salad that looked like it belonged in a gourmet magazine, despite your protests and insistence on eating your own packed lunch. Only after delivering the meal did Rafe grant you permission to take your break elsewhere.

You settled on the outdoor patio by the pool, enjoying the peacefulness of the space despite the distant, steady hum of a lawnmower. For a moment, you didn’t feel out of place. Your dress, though apparently unflattering to your figure, was worth a small fortune, and the gourmet lunch you were now enjoying was a far cry from the PB&J you’d packed.

Thirty minutes later, after finishing your lunch and enjoying a lengthy chat with Stevie, you reluctantly headed back upstairs. Hearing Rafe still on the phone, you decided to explore a bit more. His office was situated in the private wing of his house, and as you meandered through opulent corridors, you couldn’t resist sneaking a glance into the master bedroom. It was cozier than you had anticipated, with tall gray walls that gave it a masculine feel and a plush bed draped in navy linen blanket that created a snug, cocoon-like atmosphere.

Rafe ended his call a minute later and the afternoon wore on. You settled into a rhythm, completing the various tasks that you’d added to your own to do lists and ones he’d assigned to you. You spent some time organizing files in his office. His gaze burned into you, even more when you were turned around, and surprisingly, you were starting to get used to that unnerving feeling.

He waited for you to make a mistake but you used a hundred-percent of your effort to make sure that didn’t happen.

The clock inched towards the evening, and the day grew even more quieter, more intimate. “I was looking over your notes from yesterday’s meeting with the board members. I highlighted some sections for you to read back to me,” He waved you over, his voice gruff after a long day of talking. You joined him behind his desk and you moved to lean over and get closer look, but he placed a hand on your hip. The gesture was firm, possessive, leaving no room for hesitation. With effortless strength, like a wolf guiding its prey, he maneuvered you onto his lap, settling you on his thigh. You felt the power in his grip, the unspoken control, and all you could do was comply.

“Rafe–” You started, an desperate attempt at a protest.

“Start with the first section,” He commanded, his grip tightening.

“I’ve been working on proofreading them–”

“Sweetheart,” He warned, not needing to add that you were making him angry. You could feel it, the heat coming off of him.

You took a deep breath and slowly tried to read each sentence. Even if you didn’t have a sentence with a small typo, you still stammered over several of your words. He slid the chair closer to the desk and you yelped.

“See right here,” He pointed to the screen but that only pressed him into you. You breathed slowly, trying not to hyperventilate, “This whole section needs more detail. I don’t want to have to ask more information.”

You were taken aback when Rafe actually began to instruct you on what you were meant to do. He spent at least ten minutes walking you through each sentence, explaining how to word your report, and deleted all the unnecessary details you added. He was surprisingly patient.

“Now, your turn,” he said finally, leaning back in the chair. For a moment, you thought he was letting you up, but the pressure of his hand on your waist told you otherwise. “Fix it.”

You swallowed, hesitating as your fingers hovered over the keys. Ever keystroke was amplified in the quiet room. Doing your best to actually use your brain, you carefully made the changes he suggested. He watched you closely, his hands first placed on your hips but soon one wandered between your thighs.

“Good,” He said. You could do it again, you thought, and not be so scared. His touch was teasing, a reminder of what he could do to you, all the pressure that built inside of you a spilled over. You could impress him, you could be beautiful, and not turn into a crying mess when he was inside of you. You could be more than a fragile thing to be broken.

Each word was a small victory. It was a battle you thought you could win until his fingers slipped inside your panties and his other hand grabbed a handful of one of your breasts. It was unbearable, and as he made small circles, you found your fingers slipping clumsily over the keys.

You pressed your palms into his desk, your body tilting forward. A frustrated sigh left your lips, you couldn’t contain it, and Rafe’s chuckle rumbled from behind you, “Do you ever touch yourself like this? Be honest with me this time.”

“Y-Yes,” You whispered.

“How do you do it?” He pulled you away from the desk, pulling your torso against his, “You use a toy?”

“J-Just my fff-fingers,” You admitted.

“Like this? How do you like it?” Carefully, he switched between different approaches. He rubbed circles over your clit, smaller ones and then slower, bigger ones. Then he stroked you up and down, fingers slipping easily into your warm hole as he wandered lower, “You put those little fingers inside of you?”

“Rafe, please.”

“Tell me,” He kissed the side of your neck, “Or I’ll stop.”

"I-I don't usually put them inside… ," you confessed, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I always use my pillow…”

He hummed against your ear. "See how much better this is when you cooperate? You can be such a good little assistant when you try."

You nodded, unable to speak, and let the feeling consume you. He brought you right to the edge, you were seconds away coming undone, but his movements slowed. Before you could register the feeling as disappointment, Rafe was hoisting you off of his lap.

Moving with sudden determination, your feet were suddenly off the ground and Rafe was carrying you out of the room in his strong arms, “Rafe!” You clutched his shoulders as he carried you down the hall.

You turned your head as he nudged the bedroom door open with his foot, the heavy thud of the door slamming shut reverberating through the room. With a swift motion, he laid you gently on the bed. The softness beneath you was just as you had imagined, but the thought barely registered. You shot him an incredulous look, your face flushed with a mix of pleasure and frustration.

He leaned over you, grabbing a pillow from behind you and placing it in front of you, “Show me.”

You shook your head instantly and moved to crawl away. Somehow, you could let all of his other sleazy behavior slide by but this was an insane boundary for him to try to cross. He’d already been inside you and yet this was a thousand times more intimate.

He grabbed ahold of your thigh, “You’re so close, sweetheart. I know you want it,” He challenged you, “Probably feels like you need it.”

“Please,” You tried, your voice threatening to crack. His hands found your hips again, slowly positionin you over the pillow. The soft fabric brushed against your most sensitive spot, the familiar sensation making you bite down on your bottom lip, “Rafe.”

“You saying my name like that just makes me want it more,” Balancing on his knees, he grabbed ahold of your face and leaned in to kiss you. You felt the intensity of his desire, how much he wanted this, and it left you dizzy.

When he pulled back, he looked over you. Your hips started moving in a familiar motion despite your embarrassment. You trembled from the vulnerability, the pounding in your chest, but you chased that high he gave you. It ignited your fire again, and since you didn’t have the full force of his touch anymore, you focused your eyes on him, “Good girl,” He said again and you whimpered, “Look at me just like that.”

You rolled your hips harder, faster, imagining his kiss, his touch, as the tension coiled tighter inside you. His gaze never left yours, his words a constant stream of encouragement and control.

“Doesn’t that feel good?”

His words all jumbled together.

“Just let it happen.”

“I want to see your face when you cum, sweetheart.”

“You look so desperate.”

“So needy.”

“You’re gonna make yourself cum, huh?”

“Just because I told you too.”

“Such a good girl.”

“Look at you.”

The words pushed you over the edge, finally, and you were able to let go. He watched as you rode out that wave of pleasure and his hands found your body again, his grip grounding you. “Fuck,” You heard him say but you couldn’t respond.

You were too overwhelmed to respond, your mind unable to fully process what had just happened. All you knew was that you felt good, embarrassed, and strangely satisfied that you'd pleased him, all at once.

When you manage to look at him again, the doorbell rang.

Eleanor navigated through the upscale nail salon, a palace of white and silvers, with ease, like she was a regular, and this was just an extension of her universe. You imagined this place as an escape for her, from both Rafe and Topper. She secured side-by-side seats near the back of the salon and you followed her lead as she set down her purse and removed her sandals. Her movements were fluid and assured.

“Have you thought about what color you want?”

“Oh, um, n-no,” You tried to make yourself comfortable in the pedicure chair, “What d-do you think Rafe would like?”

“Maybe something pastel. You can’t go wrong with a soft pink.”

“Is that what you’re getting?” You asked, unassured, as you glanced around the luxurious setting. It wasns’t like other nail salons you’d been to where the technicians and customers talked at whatever volume they liked. It was quiet and each technician wore matching black uniforms.

“I’ll tell them you want ballet slipper on your nails and white on your toes.”

You nodded, grateful for her guidance, “Thank you.”

As your pedicures began, the warm lavender-scented water soaking your feet, two technicians took their places by your sides, working silently as they filed your nails.

“How are you holding up?” Eleanor asked.

“Fff-fine,” You said, “I’m trying to . . . t-to understand him, I guess.”

“You’ll go crazy doing that,” She laughed lightly, flashing a look that said “poor you”.

“How d-did you meet Topper?” Her face tightened at your question, “I mean, y-you didn’t say.”

“I’m from the same town as them, Rafe and Topper. Not really the same town, my parents didn’t have money growing up. But I worked at the country club they all went to. That’s how I met Topper.”

“And you started dating?”

“Something like that,” She made a small shrug, “I owe everything I have to them.”

You nodded, sensing the weight of her words despite the lack of detail. Another piece to the puzzle you were trying to put together. Maybe the two of them had an attraction to girls struggling to get by.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” She asked and it made you pause.

Your instinct was to mirror her shrug, but you hesitated, wondering if you could trust her with your thoughts. If anyone could understand what you were going through, it had to be Eleanor. “I-I just ffff-ffeel like I’m doing everything wrong.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve only heard good things.”

“A-About me?” She nodded and your lips parted in shock.

“Yes. I know you feel uncertain right now, but I think you'll be glad if you can stick it out. Topper… he’s a bastard, but he takes care of me. Rafe likes you too. Maybe he doesn’t know how to show it, but…” She paused, her eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “He’s filthy rich. That would be enough for me.”

In that moment, her brutal honesty felt almost like reassurance. You weren’t sure if Eleanor truly grasped the extent of Rafe’s inability to show affection, that his pleasure came from humiliating you, from making you cry. Just as you couldn’t fully know what she endured with Topper. Her words weren't necessarily comforting but at least they felt real.

Please reblog WITH your thoughts on the chapter to be added to the taglist for the story :)

#dark fic #well kept #rafe cameron #black!reader #rafe cameron x black!reader #outer banks smut #rafe cameron smut #rafe obx #rafe x reader #topper thornton #billionaire au #billionaire!rafe #ceo au

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forgeofthenine · 10 months

Note

Omg in the last few posts you were talking about heat as in temperature but my brain registered it as something COMPLETELY different and it got me thinking…

What if tieflings had some kind of a heat cycle and they get extra sensitive and desperate because of it?? I can imagine Zevlor and Rolan being super embarrassed or nervous to bring it up, maybe Dammon’s more chill about it but still extra needy

So, this has absolutely been a passing thought in my mind and as soon as this request came in I knew I just had to push it to the front of my request queue, purely for my own mental health lol

Gotta admit, I'm a fan of omegaverse dynamics and I actually looked a little into irl animal biology and mating behaviour to get a better feel for what I think tieflings would be the most like. So this has both general headcanons and some NSFW headcanons for the individual bachelors

You probably didn't expect quite this much (over a thousand words of tief content) when requesting but this had me in a chokehold, I hope everyone enjoys <3

TW: NSFW under the cut, very heavy breeding kink, overstimulation, alpha/omega adjacent dynamics

Tiefling NSFW heat and rut headcanons

General

So, I feel like once all tiefs reach sexual maturity they'll start to either have heats or ruts, depending on their biology

Anyone with female biology will have a heat, and I feel like they'd have heats similar to cats but with a slightly longer time between heats

So generally they'd have a heat every two to three months or so unless they're pregnant or have other health issues

For the ones with male biology they'd definitely have a rut

They'd follow similar patterns to the women, but it's not unusual for some tieflings to have longer stretches between their ruts if they don't have a partner

A single tiefling that isn't particularly sexually active might only go into rut once or twice a year

I do think a male tiefling could prematurely go into rut if exposed to a females heat, and couples that have been together for a while will sync up

They have pretty typical heat and rut behaviours with nesting, possessiveness, and a pretty undeniable breeding kink

Nesting, possessiveness, and general mood shifts tend to start setting in during pre-heats and pre-ruts

Pre-heats and pre-ruts can last two to five days, and a full heat and rut can last anywhere from two days to a full week depending on the individual

In saying that, having a partner can definitely shorten both heats and ruts, so single tieflings working through things by themselves will have longer heats or ruts

Heats and ruts can also become more painful the longer they go on without the relief of a sexual partner

Tieflings can tell when others are in heat and rut mostly through pheromones, but a female tieflings tail will also involuntarily lift when she's in pre-heat/heat and around a male

I wonder if I should go so far as to headcanon that they have knots, I did already give them all ridged dicks

Dammon

If you and Dammon aren't dating then he'll be much more shy about his ruts

He basically disappears from his forge and the public for a few days and then comes back as if nothing happened

Once you start dating him is when you find out why he pulls the disappearing act

Dammon is actually very open about it now you're both together and have already been intimate

Blushes slightly while trying to explain some of the more physical, primal aspects

Would flush even more if you tell him you find the whole thing incredibly attractive

The next time he has his rut, you're the only person allowed to see him, and he really is a sight

Naked and tangled in his sheets, all flushed and tense, undeniably hard as he palms himself while looking over at you

Even the way he strips you of your clothing is different, he just about rips it off you as he kisses and nips down your neck and chest

While Dammon is usually one to take his time with making you feel good when he's in rut the only thing on his mind is getting to cum

Though even in his hazy mind frame he still makes sure you're comfortable the whole time

Even a near sex crazed and highly hormonal Dammon is still a very caring partner

You know he's going to bend you in half as he fucks you, he just loves how good you look underneath him like that

Breeding kink go brrrr

This man always fucks like he's trying to breed you but it's off the charts when he's in rut

I hope you're ready to be fucked within an inch of your life because his refractory period ceases to exist

Absolutely watches as he pulls out of you and some of him cum leaks out because he's stuffed you so full

Dammon praises you so well too, you can not shut up this man and his dirty talk

"That's it gorgeous, you take my cock so well."

"You gonna make me a daddy, darling? 'm gonna knock you up, full you up with my cum."

Once his rut dies down enough, he'll scoop you up for a bath

There is no way you could stand after the way this man just wrecked you-

Dammon takes very good care of you, and then you do it all again the next day

Zevlor

Whether you're dating Zevlor or not, he's your personal wealth of knowledge on everything tiefling

So what do you do when a book you read mentions 'the times of year and conditions unique to tieflings' and doesn't explain it?

You go and find your favourite paladin

Zevlor is so embarrassed, dating or not, explaining to you how tiefling heats and ruts work

Can't even keep his eyes on you

When you two are dating and you realise you didn't see him at all yesterday, it's time to go hunting for the man

You have an idea of what might be going on but nothing prepares you for what you find

Much like Dammon, you find him tangled in his bed sheets desperately trying to get himself off

He lets out the sexiest groan when he sees you standing there

He's the gentlest of the three while working through his rut

Even then, Zevlor is noticeably rougher with you than usual

Has you in a missionary position, his whole body pressed to yours as he pants in your ear and thrusts into you

Zevlor can't keep his hands off you when he's in rut, they're all over your hips and chest and giving light tugs to your hair

He gives into the primal need to mark you too, it's the only time he'll give you hickeys

Breeding kink: the sequel

Absolutely tells you he's going to breed you, and fucks you like he means it

Doesn't even think as he uses his hands and tail to spread your legs so he can fuck you deeper

Zevlor loves to look at the way you tremble every time he fills you with cum, using his fingers to help you get off at the same time

Even while he's trying to find his own relief, he makes sure to make you cum so many times you end up overstimulated and about to cry from the pleasure

Definitely has you cockwarm him as the two of rest, the thought of you keeping his seed so deep in you until it takes just gets him going again

You'll know he's ready for another round when Zevlor starts grinding himself into you again

When the worst of his rut is over he gives you the best massages

Apologises so profusely too the first few times you help him through his rut, even if you tell him how much you like it

Rolan

There is no way Rolan is ever telling you anything about heats and ruts

Absolutely forbidd his siblings from mentioning it too, he's just way too embarrassed for you to know

Even when you guys are dating he just locks himself away in his tower for a week while he works through it and recovers

This man will not tell you anything

And then he forgets to lock the door

As soon as you open it you're met with the sight of a whiney, teary eyed Rolan trying to get off by grinding against a pillow in desperation

Unlike with the other two, there's no clear 'top' when you're with Rolan during his rut

He loves having you ride him until he sees stars just as much as he wants to bend you over his desk until everyone else in Ramaziths tower can hear you scream

Rolan loves hearing you when he's in rut

Yell his name, tell him that you belong to him, tell him how good he fucks you, say he looks so pretty when you ride him-

He loves all of it so much

He's also the one that bites you the hardest, expect him to draw at least a little bit of blood by accident

Breeding kink: the trilogy

Rolan isn't letting you leave the room unless he's knocked you up

Absolutely puts a fertility spell on you by brushing his hand over your lower belly and murmuring the words

He also refuses to pull out unless it's to change positions, and if any cum leaks out of you he'll push it back in with his fingers

Overstimulation is the name of the game with Rolan, he wants you both overstimulated and crying and completely fucked out

This man believes in equality and we love him for it

The youngest of the tiefling bachelors and definitely the most pent up, it'll take all day before he calms down enough for the two of you to rest

When things do calm down, after he makes sure you're both clean and fed, Rolan wraps you up with him in his bed and will read to you

It's his own personal flavour of aftercare, cuddling and reading your favourite book as he makes sure you're comfortable and happy

And it all starts over when you wake up the next morning with him hard as a rock against your ass

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eff4freddie · 4 months

Text

Privates

Joel Miller AU x Javier Pena x AFAB Reader/You

Word count: 9k

Joel takes a second job at the local strip club, hoping to cover Sarah's fees for her fancy new private school. He just has to make sure no one's gettin' too rowdy, and watch out for the girls. It would be really simple. If it weren't for you.

Warnings: porn with plot, this is a Joel Miller story but it's about a strip club so obviously Javi is there, reader is a stripper, no shame get your dollars ladies, MMF, Oral (f receiving), slow burn then smut, also a couple of other cameos, reader has limited physical descriptions other than in reference to her lady parts, this is really filthy even for me, pining while Joel really trying to hang on to some semblance of morals, Javi says maybe two words? Explicit. Minors DNI.

He thought his hearing was bad before he took the job, that years of construction work; drilling, hammering, screaming at Tommy for fucking up the A-frame, would be the thing that robbed him of one of his more essential senses. But it turned out it wasn’t that, it was the incessant bass, the thrum of the sub-woofer reverberating around his skull. The way he felt it jolt his spine, Mikey the DJ hell-bent on obliterating the patron’s ability to think straight with sound alone, as if the watered down booze wasn’t toxic enough to cloud their judgement.

But Sarah needed to go to the fancy school, the one with the uniforms and the shiny brochures, and he hadn’t figured it would be all that mentally taxing. He could do without the late nights at his age, but he got paid after-hours rates to basically walk around and look menacing, and only once or twice a night did he have to actually step in and boot a guy. Sarah had just joined the debate team. Like she needed any help with arguin’.

He'd only told a handful of friends, Tommy so that he knew if he was late to a job it wasn’t because he was on a bender but just because he was working late, a couple of the guys at poker night because he thought they might get a kick out of it. They had, immediately asking him to get them in without the cover charge. He’d refused, but in a good-natured way, and so far they’d steered clear of the place.

He wasn’t sure why he was shy about it, if that’s what it was. Giving the air of authority, trying to be respectful while the girls did their work. He mostly ignored the stage, felt his cheeks burn if he happened to look up to see a girl bent over, thong waving in a guy’s face. He scanned the floor, walked the halls outside the privates, kept his eye on the clock and the bar, waited for his break so he could take a load off and get away from the kick drum assaulting his temples.

The guys kept telling him he’d won the lottery, lucked out on a dream job. And he would agree, except for you.

He’d met you on his third shift, right when he was allowed to walk the floor without a supervisor. He was already learning how to read the floor, how to pick up on cues from the girls that a guy was trouble, was figuring out that just standing with a scowl on his face and his black shirt on in a darkened room was often times enough to keep a blowhard in line. He was getting used to the girls tipping him at the end of a shift, although it felt weird to take their money when he’d just seen how they made it. He was getting used to the dull ache in his knees, in the soles of his feet, reminding himself not to complain when he saw the six-inch plastic heels the girls traded in.

He was learning that each girl picked their music, that often times the songs they chose reflected their dance personas, the girls dancing to pop songs going for the cutesy vibe, the girls dancing to heavy guitar riffs and shouty lyrics dressed up in black and red lace, dangerous and menacing. He was getting used to the way the room shifted in response to whatever was going on stage, was noticing he needed to pay more attention when the younger-looking girls, the blondes in pigtails, took to the stage.

He felt the room go quiet, a kind of hush when your name was called. The shift was enough to make him pause, mid-stride, moving his gaze from a man trying to buy a drink for a girl he suspected was under 21, to the stage. The heavy bass hit him in the chest, the stage lights purple and red, when you emerged, thigh first, from behind the tatty little red curtain. You were all hips and cleavage, all gentle curves and smooth lines, skin glowing and buttery soft under the stage lights. You moved slowly, your hands ghosting over your breasts, as you made eye contact with every patron in the room, your red painted lips curling into a knowing smile as you regarded them, as you took purchase of them, as you measured them and found them all wanting. You were selecting your prey, he could see it in your eyes, and he was fully prepared for your gaze to skip over him, to see his outfit of black and his number around his neck and know that he was a non-starter, except that as soon as your eyes landed on him they stared there, and he could swear you added an extra little wiggle in your hips for him, an exaggerated dip as you held the pole to you and swivelled around it, as you winked at him, fucking winked right there in public like it wasn’t the most obscene thing you could have done in this environment, and he felt it then, that the two of you were in it together, that you had let him in on the grift, that if you were his Bonnie he would do everything he could to be your Clyde.

He turned as you got busy, gave you the privacy he felt you deserved as you shimmied your skirt down, and he found he had no idea where to look now, had forgotten his rotation, had been thrown completely from his rounds. He wanted a shot of hard whiskey, the proper shit that they kept for the high-rollers, he wanted to go out the back to the employee bathroom and dunk his head into the sink. He wanted to march up that stage and pull you off it, bundle you into his car and disappear with you into the night, his fingers nestled in your wet, wanting cunt as he drove, claiming it back from all the men you’d ever shown it to.

He balled up his fist, wondering what exactly had just fuckin’ happened to him, lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye he could see you revolving around the pole, your legs curling into the air in front of you so that, if he were to look, he would get a perfect view of Eden between your thighs.

He figured he should check the back room. It had probably been a while since anyone had.

You weren’t there every night. From askin’ around, none too subtly he suspected, he’d learned you were studying your master’s degree, taking classes in the daytime then coming by to work some shifts. You’d been there for a while, degrees are long and hard to get, and you mostly kept to yourself. Sometimes on slow nights you read your textbook in the dressing room until someone dropping cash came by. He felt his pulse quicken at this, at the earnestness of it, the innocence in it, and he resolved then that it would go no further. He would stop. He wouldn’t check the roster to see which nights you were working, wouldn’t watch the back door until he saw you appear, bundled up in a winter jacket and a heavy bag over your shoulder, in sneakers and jeans and somehow all the sexier for it, wouldn’t make shitty mistakes on the job site because he was distracted, waiting for your next shift to roll around, wouldn’t stalk the floor sullen and moody on the nights you weren’t in. He would do none of that, because he was too old for a schoolboy crush, because you were both working professionals, colleagues even, because it could never go anywhere without some sort of destruction, because Sarah was doing so damn well in her new school.

He watched out for you. That was his job, to watch out for all the girls. He watched out for you when you started to approach a guy who was already four drinks deep and threatening to get handsy, stepping in before you got to him to redirect him to a glass of water, then the door. He watched out for you when another girl got too drunk or too high and started causing a scene right beside where you were standing at the bar, pulling her away gently by the biceps before she could shatter a bottle and ricochet any glass into your general direction. He watched your back when you were in the privates, kept a respectable distance outside the open doorway, the little U-shaped couches meaning often times all he could see were the guy’s legs, sometimes the cream of your thighs as they dangled over his, the curve of your calf easing into the point of your heel. He watched out for you as you retreated to the dressing room for a break, kept an eye on the door to make sure no patrons tried to slip in while you were resting. He steered clear of the dressing room itself. That was your private space, you and all the girls. He had a little office back there, but he would just make sure to take everything he needed with him at the start of his shift, take his breaks in the back room amongst the toilet rolls and broken sound equipment.

He watched out for you when he wouldn’t let you tip him, figuring you needed it for school, gently pushing your hand away when you tried to pass him a twenty at the end of every shift.

Sunday nights were dead. Most of the girls never worked it, preferring instead the busier nights, the bucks’ parties and the bigger crowds. There was only a small subset of girls who worked the Sundays, the ones who tended to have regulars come in to visit them, the ones who liked the chilled-out vibe a little more, who used the downtime to practice new tricks on the pole or discuss hair removal and boob jobs right there on the floor. Those were the nights when he felt everyone was a little more themselves, that the grift was a little lesser, when the patrons were generally more well behaved so the girls could let their guards down. No one felt like getting up to all that much bullshit on a Sunday.

But his feet didn’t know any of that, protesting all the same despite the more relaxed vibes, and he was hovering behind one of the booths on the floor resting his hip on it to ease the pressure off one foot for a moment, before shifting his weight to the other. This little method meant he could stay standing, more or less in the same position, for sometimes up to an hour. But on the quiet nights, with so many empty booths around, it was all the harder to resist just sinking down into the cushions and stopping the blood pooling in his shoes.

Candy Jane was on stage, shifting her hips without much conviction, a couple of regulars already with their girls. He could see you, propped up in a corner booth, your eyes on the stage but unmoving. He thought you looked tired, wondered if your feet were hurting as much as his were, and he thought long and hard about sliding in beside you, pulling you into his lap and nudging your head onto his shoulder.

You looked up, then, swivelling your eyes to him and he felt his stomach drop. He was about to start another round of the privates just for something to do but you were getting up on your feet, strolling over to him, the singles and twenties strapped to your thigh by your garter.

‘Joel,’ you said, grabbing his hand and pushing him into a booth behind him. ‘Come sit by me, I’m bored.’

He had seen you flirt with the patrons, a kind of hyper-sexualised bunny thing that promised them every sexual desire they could ask for without ever actually delivering, the art of the tease so acute in you that none of them seemed to even realise they’d been played. He marvelled at that, always kind of admired it, at the street smarts of the girls extracting money from the men who thought they had any power in the situation. He looked at you now, sitting an arm’s length away from him, and felt almost entirely under your spell.

‘Not s’posed to sit on the floor when I’m workin,’ he said, almost apologetic, and you shrugged your shoulders at him.

‘It’s dead, Joel-y,’ you said, and you weren’t flirting with him now, you were just yourself, and he liked you all the better this way, all the more for the earnestness of you, for this version of you none of the other men ever got to see.

‘Just don’t be offended if I have’ta get up and leave quick,’ he said, and you smiled at him.

‘I don’t think you could ever do anything offensive,’ you said, and you were kind of teasing him but also really meant it, and you watched him blush, shifting his body in his chair to face a little further from the stage. ‘Why don’t you watch?’ you asked, rolling your ankles and feeling the tendons stretch. You were hoping your regular would show up soon so you could finally earn something, the house fee already putting you in the red.

‘S’not right to watch, not here for my…jollies,’ he finished, and you grinned at him.

‘Your jollies?’ you teased. He huffed out a shy laugh, looking down at his lap.

‘Y’know what I mean,’ he went on. ‘M’workin’, we’re all workin’.

‘You aren’t curious to take a peek?’ you asked, leaning closer to him. If he was a better man, he would have been able to resist the urge to peak down the top of your dress, the silly little spandex straps barely holding you in, your tits heaving with your breath and with how heavily you were teasing him.

‘Course I am,’ he confessed, almost hissing it out over the bass thumping through his body.

‘A man of principles,’ you appraised, moving back to give him a little break, wondering if he was hard yet. You knew he watched you closely, knew that he lingered outside the doorway for you more than any other girl when you were in a private, knew that he was going out of his way not to look at you when you danced on stage, and the innocence of it, the thrill of it when you had everyone else’s attention except his, it fascinated and annoyed and scolded you, tickled you around the collarbone. You watched as he scratched at the salt and pepper patches dotting his jaw, at how he swallowed so hard his muscle ticked and strained under the force of it.

‘Why don’t you take my tips?’ you asked. Candy’s dance slot was nearly over, and you were waiting to see Destiny. She’d promised to show you one of her new pole tricks hanging inverted, and even after all this time you still hadn’t worked up the courage to do that.

‘You need to save ‘em up, get your degree,’ he answered, without thinking, finding it so hard to think through the want for you, for the proximity of you, now that he could smell your perfume and feel your body heat along his side.

‘You know about that?’ you asked, surprised.

Oh shit, he thought. Just like that he’d fucked it.

‘One of the other guards, he mentioned it. Said he saw you reading a textbook one time,’ he covered, as quickly as he could given the circumstances. You nodded at him, as if this satisfied you, but he wasn’t sure if he’d actually pulled it off. His throat was dry, and it was so hot in the club, was it always this hot in the damn club? First chance he got he was gonna call his HVAC guy.

‘What are you studying?’ he asked, but you were smiling then, eyes bright and over his shoulder.

‘Hey, Javi!’ you squealed, giggling and rising from the booth, pushing your chest out and wiggling towards the man Joel had come to recognise as your regular. The lucky bastard always wore aviators, his jeans so tight Joel was surprised he didn’t burst a button when he got a hard on, his moustache quirking up in greeting to you. Joel wondered if you would ever squeal and rush towards him like that, not caring for one second that it was just part of the grift.

You’re not on shift, haven’t been on shift for a week, and his bones itch under his skin, his feet pacing up and down the carpet outside the privates, patrolling the floor like it insulted him. He hates that he checks the roster at the start of every shift and doesn’t see your name listed, hates that he’s worried about you; that you’re sick, that you’re hurt, that you’ve fucking left. He’s useless at his real job, nearly degloving his entire hand with a band saw he was so distracted wondering if he’d see you that night. This can’t go on, and he knows that, but he just needs to know what happened to you, just needs to know that you’re OK, and then he can get back to being dead inside.

Because that’s what you’ve done to him, he realises. You’ve made him feel alive. He can’t resent you for it, you didn’t know it was what you’d done, but it sets his teeth on edge and it unnerves him in a way that makes him consider quitting, finding another club, maybe not a titty-bar, maybe something he can actually put on his resume. He considers it while simultaneously knowing he won’t do it, would never do it, that he’s too far gone even while he can’t go any further.

He stops checking the roster. It hurts in a way he can’t quite get his head around, a pain he doesn’t have any room to accommodate sitting tight and hot in his chest. He keeps his eyes on the patrons and the clock. He takes his breaks in the back room. He feels tired down to the bone.

Two weeks after he’d last seen you, he starts his shift the way he always does, going into the back before too many girls arrive to put his bag in his locker and fill his pockets with whatever he’ll need for the rest of the night. He’s busy trying to put a protein bar in his pocket in such a way that it doesn’t look like he has a hard on when he hears footsteps behind him.

‘Joel-y’, you say, and he swings his head towards the sound so hard he thinks he hears something snap. You’re smiling at him, dressed in your jeans and a Fleetwood Mac tee, and he has to consciously remind his heart to keep beating. You’re holding one of your enormous heels in your hand.

‘Where have you been?’ he blurts out, not caring that he sounds needy. You blink at him, surprised.

‘You missed me?’ you ask, and you’re teasing him but he doesn’t care, because he’s glad all over that you’re back and he’ll take all the sass in the world from you if you just stay there.

‘You didn’t…’ Didn’t what, he thinks. Didn’t check in with me? Say goodbye? There’s no reason why you would have. Didn’t promise you weren’t grossed out by him, that he’d made you so uncomfortable you’d gone to work at another club? ‘You didn’t mention you were taking a break,’ he said, eventually.

‘Oh, I had mid-terms,’ you say, breezily. He’s stepping out of his little office now, trying to put space between you before he says something else blatantly insane and stupid, hoping to go back to just looking at you from dark corners while he furtively hopes you don’t see.

‘Wait,’ you say to him, grabbing him by the arm. You hold your shoe up, and he can see where the strap has come away from the base. He takes it from you, feels the brush of your fingertips as he does it, tries to ignore the little flip in his tummy.

‘Leave it with me,’ he says, stepping towards the backroom where he knows there’s superglue. ‘You got another pair?’

‘Yeah, but those are my favourites,’ you say, looking up at him carefully, watching his face for something. You haven’t got your heavy stage make-up on yet, haven’t curled your hair into gentle waves, and you’re so beautiful like this, he thinks, when he can see the actual colour of your lips, your cheeks.

‘Twenty minutes,’ he says. You smile at him. He wonders if you’ll put your hand on his arm again. You turn away.

In the backroom he sits on an upturned milk crate, holding the strap to the base so the superglue will affix to it. If he had his tools he would try and nail it down, but there’s a chance he could shatter the base and these heels seem expensive for something that makes all you girls look so darn cheap.

Your shoes are so small in his hands, and he imagines just for a second its your foot he’s cradling in his lap. He has the presence of mind just enough to wonder what fucked up version of Cinderella he’s trying to live.

He checks the strap, pulls hard on it three times, before he’s satisfied enough to give it back to you.

He realises his error, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. He had mentioned to the guys at poker that Sundays were the quiet ones, that the music was just low enough to be able to think, that the girls mostly entertained themselves while their regulars paid them to chat, sometimes to dance. Where you could always get a seat at the tipping rail, could even swing a three song dance out of a twenty if the girl was bored enough.

He feels the drop in his stomach when he sees them, approaching the bar en masse. He can’t remember where you are, he’d lost sight of you between the booths on the floor and the privates, and he tries to remember what time your stage slot was, having checked the roster again despite swearing black and blue he wouldn’t. They haven’t seen him yet, and he wonders if he can just slip out the back and make a break for it, tell them he was sick so he wasn’t working, and they need to fucking call him first. He knows them, knows that they’re not bad guys, that they’re here to keep him company and maybe see some butt while they’re at it. But it stirs in him a deep panic, that they will see you, that they’ll get their eyes on you before he’s really even let himself have a chance to, before he can make you all his own.

A silly little delirious part of him, right at the back of his skull, whispers that it’ll make your wedding really awkward. He shoos it away like an errant mosquito.

Benny sees him, then, is waving him over.

‘Joel, we made it!’ he yells over the music, the guys turning to him to welcome him into the circle. Tommy is already at the bar ordering the beers, but he nods to his big brother. Joel worries for a second that you’ll like his brother better, before he remembers you don’t even like him at all.

He stalks over to him, his jaw aching from the strain, while he looks through the darkness to try and find you. He’ll just have to run interference for a while, keep them busy while you work the floor, try and bundle them back out into the cold before your stage slot.

‘Gentlemen,’ he says, laced with irony, and they’re slapping him on the back, welcoming him in. He reminds himself these guys are mostly Tommy’s friends. Wouldn’t be that sad if he never saw them again.

Frankie tries to hand him a beer but he pushes it away. ‘Workin’.’ He says, simply.

‘More f’me,’ Frankie grins from under his cap.

‘So where’s the best place to sit?’ Benny asks, surveying the room. There are a couple of girls walking the floor, Amber on the stage twisting her hips to the music while staring out over all of their heads.

‘You gotta tip if you sit on the rail,’ Joel says, simply, and Benny nods.

‘I got singles!’ Pope says, ever the responsible one, always the one planning. ‘Sorry, hermano, not enough for you.’ Joel grins at him. Pope can stay, he thinks. Pope will keep his mouth shut.

‘Look, you sit in that booth there,’ Joel says, pointing them to the centre of the room, ‘you can see the stage perfect. You wanna tip a girl though, you gotta get up onta the rail, make sure they know about it.’ He leans in a little, like he’s sharing a secret. ‘These girls work real hard. Make sure you treat ‘em right, ok? They’re good girls. Smart girls. You don’t come here just to look and not sling ‘em some hard earned.’

‘Yes sir,’ Pope says, making a salute that Joel considers might actually be real. He can’t be sure. Tommy was the one who spent a few years in the army with them, not him.

‘Vamos!’ Pope calls, rounding them up and shoving them down onto the cushions. Now Joel just needs to figure out where you are.

You keep fuckin’ evading him. One minute you’re in a private, the next you’re at the bar chatting to a patron, trying to get him to buy off the top shelf. Electra is on the stage, and Tommy is entranced by her, the bills practically falling out of his hands while she bends to pick them up with her teeth. It’s distracting Joel, trying to keep an eye on them while also trying to keep distance between you, and the boys are inviting girls over to them, beckoning to them from the stage to come sit by them, and he knows it’s not long before your dance slot is up, knows that as soon as they see you they’ll want you, that they’ll beckon you over, that you’ll fuckin’ go.

He can’t be everywhere, can’t keep doing his job while also trying to manage this situation, has to keep pacing the privates to keep the other patrons in line. He never thought there’d be a time that he wished that fuckin’ Javi guy would show up just to keep you out of sight for a while.

They keep calling to him, too, trying to get him to come over and sit down no matter how many times he explains to them he’s working, that the girls need him to keep an eye on things. Will’s trying to keep a straight face but he’s snickering up at him, and Joel wonders what’s so damn funny.

‘Bet you do keep an eye on things,’ he grins, a little shit-eating thing that makes Joel’s hand curl into a fist. He shakes it loose, the music making it so hard to think, jarring his nervous system. He’s about to say something, about to find a reason to throw the lot of them out, when your name gets called over the loudspeaker. You’re being called to the stage. You’re up next. On the stage.

He has approximately thirty seconds to do something. He is completely rooted to the spot. At the tipping rail his little brother is waiting, dollars in hand. He thinks he might pass out or puke, possibly both and not in that order. His head is swimming. ‘Not like this,’ he thinks. He just doesn’t want you to meet his friends like this.

‘Holy shit,’ he hears Pope say, and he turns to the stage. Your thigh is appearing around the curtain, the shoe he fixed for you running up and down its raggedy edge. You’re all swagger and tits tonight, your hair swept over one eye, and he’s transfixed for a second, completely unable to move, as you shimmy up to the centre of the stage, take the pole in your hand and swivel, kicking your legs out behind you so that you corkscrew down to your knees. Pope is moving to the tipping rail, Benny following close behind. Tommy is leaning forward on his elbows, pulled in by you almost on instinct, and you’ve clocked him now, crawling on your hands and knees towards him.

For a second, Joel sees you pause, studying Tommy’s face, before you search for him in the crowd. You’ve noticed the family connection, and he freezes, terrified of your reaction. Are you going to be angry? Feel betrayed? Hurt that he’s brought his friends here to ogle you, to watch your hips shimmy and your tits bounce? Has he broken some kind of professional code, could he get fuckin’ fired for this, will you never speak to him again? He tries to communicate to you with his eyes that he didn’t bring them here, that he doesn’t want this, that whatever the fuck’s going on with these guys he wants no part in it. He wants you to know he sees you, you in jeans and a tee shirt, that it’s that you he wants.

For a long moment you stare at each other, Joel’s pulse heavy and thick in his ears. You lean back, rear up so that all your weight is on your knees. You run your hand up your side and into your mouth where you bite down on your index finger. You keep your eyes fixed right on his. You wink.

So, this is what its like to have a heart attack, Joel thinks. It’s slower than he expected. It’s been hours, and the guys are still here, and by some stroke of divinity or possible the opposite, so is he.

The number of times he’s reminded the guys they have work in the morning. How he’s complained that the music is giving him a headache, and man that pounding base makes it hard to think, and wouldn’t it be fun if they all went to a sports bar, see if the replay of the Knicks game is on? But they can’t leave yet, won’t leave, because they want to see you on stage again, want one last look at your creamy thighs and your bucking hips before they go home and jerk off thinking of their tongues in your cunt. He’s going to have an aneurysm right here on the goddamn floor of this fuckin’ strip club. Sarah’s gonna find out where he’s been workin’ all this time.

The one thing his brother has done for him, the one thing Tommy has done right in his life, is to lay down a rule before they got there that they can’t get any private dances.

‘Didn’t come out here to see ya’ll with hard-ons’, he reminds them, and they snicker but begrudgingly agree, and Joel won’t lie that he feels a surge of pride in his fuckin’ idiot baby brother and his one good idea.

Joel knows the girls are on a roughly two-hour rotation, that by the end of the night all of them will have been on stage about three times. The only problem is that if a girl’s in a private she gets skipped until she’s ready, so sometimes some girls might even need to do more. It seems especially cruel to him that if a girl’s having a bad night, not reeling anything in, not making any money on her own that she gets paraded out even more to the baying crowds of disinterested patrons. He’s seen a few girls with tears in their eyes on the way to the dressing room, complaining of an off night. He’s been around long enough to know that these happen, that there’s no rhyme or reason to them really, just that sometimes that particular girl just isn’t flavour of the night. He’s never seen it with you, though. Never seen you fail to take a man by the hand and lead him down the dark corridor to the u-shaped couches if you deem him worthy. It burns him up with jealousy and also he’s proud of you for it. His good girl taking no prisoners.

He wonders if he can tell the DJ to take you off the rotation, if you’ll notice if you just don’t get called again, but he also knows it would be messing with your money, that Pope and Benny and Will are making good on their promise to tip well. That you’ve got bills and a college degree to earn, that the fact that he’s sick in the guts with a jealous want doesn’t matter, should never be part of the equation when it comes to you.

He does another round, still hoping to see you, still hoping to find you in a private somewhere, but you’ve made yourself scarce and he wonders if it’s because of him, because of his friends being here, worries that he’s embarrassed you. There’s only one other place you could be, tucked away in the dressing room hiding out, unless you’ve just got dressed and left completely, not even bothering with the attempt to tip him tonight.

He shouldn’t but also he needs to, knocks hard on the door and calls out that it’s him before he pushes it open. With all the lights on around the mirrors the place has a warm glow, and he scans quickly to make sure he’s alone before he pushes himself into the room. You’re not here, either, which means he doesn’t know where you are, and he feels a little flare of panic in his sternum. He rests his hand on it, trying to steady his catching breath. He should check the roster. Maybe you had an early finish.

He nearly steps on you when he rounds the corner into his little office. You’re lying flat on your back on the floor, headphones over your ears. For a terrible second he thinks you’ve passed out in here before he realises you’re tapping your feet, your head swaying back and forth to the music only you can hear. He leans down and pushes, gentle, at your shoulder. Your eyes snap open and you startle, pulling the headphones free.

‘Jesus,’ you say, and he steps back again, hangs around the door.

‘Sorry,’ he says, hands up in appeasement. ‘Didn’t mean to scare ya.’

‘No, no, I’m sorry,’ you say, scrambling to stand. Your heels are catching on the carpet and you waver, Joel coming forward to steady you. ‘Sometimes I come by here and stretch out my back a little, the heels are…hard work,’ you say, and he realises you’re blushing, that you think he’s mad. He shakes his head at you, brows saddled.

‘S’ok,’ he says, not letting go of your arm.

‘You’re just not normally in here,’ you say, and you look up at him then, fixing your eyes on his.

‘You can come here any time you like,’ he says. Wants to add that everything you ever wanted he will get for you, that anything you ever asked he would do.

‘-nks,’ you say, feeling shy all of a sudden, realising the size of his hands for the first time.

‘I didn’t know they were comin’,’ he says, trying to keep his voice steady, and you blink for a second, trying to understand. ‘I didn’t invite ‘em, they just showed up.’

‘So, he is your brother,’ you say, smiling now. Joel nods his head at you, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

‘He’s cute,’ you say. ‘Runs in the family.’

Joel grunts at this, can’t quite believe he’s heard it, tries really hard to think straight. You’re wearing practically nothing in his little office on a quiet Sunday night while his brother and four of his friends throw dollars at random half-naked women. It’s a lot to take in.

‘They’re not getting dances,’ you observe, and Joel shakes his head.

‘Their decision, outta respect or somethin’, I guess.’

‘Respect for you?’ you clarify.

‘Each other, I think.’

‘Oh, that’s silly,’ you say. He feels the heat up his neck, a bloom of something worrisome in his tummy. ‘That’s like going to Disneyland and not getting on any of the rides.’

‘I’m gonna have to beg you to rephrase that,’ Joel says, and you grin at him. He can see that flirty sex bunny emerging in you again, can see that you’re up to somethin’, his brain too addled with the smell of you in his office to figure what.

You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you smile, your little dimple on your right cheek popping up when you’re thinking of something sneaky. He wants to kiss it every morning in the warm light of dawn. Wants you wrapped up in his sheets, hair stretched over his pillow, his hands on your tummy and your breast while he eases his fingers between your thighs.

‘Breaks over then, I guess,’ you say, and you’re practically bouncing out of the room now, his brain working just enough to remind him to follow you. He’s three or four paces behind, alarmed at how fast you can go with those heels on, and he sees it now, that you’re making a beeline for them, that you’re a woman on a mission to finally tip him over the edge, to send him right to his grave.

He can only watch, helplessly, trying to figure which one you’ll reach for. Prays it’s not Tommy. Or Will. Or Benny. Or fuckin’ Frankie. For some reason he thinks Pope might be OK. He watches, his pulse hard and racing in his throat, as you approach, six paces from them, then four, then three. Tommy’s noticed you, is pushing back his chair.

And right before you get to them, right before you’re within grasping reach of his brother, you turn, pivot on your heel to the bar, where fuckin’ Javi is waiting for you, cigarette hanging out of his mouth and beer in hand, one knee cocked to the side. You melt into his arms, resting your head on his shoulder, and somehow Joel is relieved and also it’s so much fucking worse then he could ever imagine, burns him brighter than if you had chosen one of his friends, knows that it’s both a lifeline and a spool of barbed wire you’ve thrown him, knows that he’s latched onto it anyway, can feel the tug and tear of his skin.

He's hovering outside the privates. His friends have finally packed it in, it’s nearing 1 AM, and in all the commotion he’d forgotten that his feet are killing him, and they’re really crying for his attention now. But he ain’t leavin’ you alone with that Javi guy, doesn’t trust the way his shirts never fuckin’ fit.

He’s so tired, the adrenaline of the night leaking out of him just to leave him wavering and empty, and he feels like he’s on his last nerve, the stress of the evening, the strangeness of it, wearing him down to the stub. But your little shoe sat right in the palm of his hand, but you went to this office to relax when you thought he wouldn’t know about it, but you fuckin’ winked at him like the rest of the room wasn’t even goddamn there, and he ain’t leavin’ you now.

And if he leans on the wall a little, takes the weight off one foot and transfers it up into his shoulder, if he cocks his head to the side, he can just peek you, see Javi’s tight jeans and the plush of you bottom as you grind it on him, your arms up over your head to make your sweet little tits sway in his face.

He shouldn’t be hard at work. Shouldn’t be leaning like this, crowding himself into the corner to get a better look. He knows there are camera in the hallways, as much to keep an eye on the staff as to keep a watch on the patrons, and he knows that somewhere footage is being collected of him right now peeping in on you. He doesn’t fuckin’ care. He can see the way your stockings are banding too tight across your thighs, and he wants to sooth the skin with his tongue, pull the nylon off you and kiss his way around the angry red rings in your flesh. He can see your hips rocking to the music, your hair swaying down your back. Your hands moving to grasp behind you, pushing your chest up and out into Javi’s face.

And he sees it then, the way Javi’s hands are hovering, lifting off the couch and threatening to come down on your skin. The club has a strict no-touchin’ policy, it was drilled into him on his first day. That’s an infraction worthy enough to get him booted out of here, never allowed to set foot in this fine establishment of dirty tomfoolery ever again. Joel swallows, his eyes now fixed on Javi’s hands, waiting for the moment they brush against your soft, glittering skin, takes a step forward towards the doorway, doesn’t even notice that you’ve pivoted, your hands on Javi’s knees as you grind your bottom down, leaning back to rest your head on Javi’s shoulder. Locking eyes with Joel.

His cock is throbbing in time to the music. The bass thrums in his chest. You hook your knees over Javi’s, first the left then the right, and push them open just enough to give Joel a tease. You’re still in your thong but it’s enough for Joel to see the sheen of the fabric, that you’re wet down there in the valley between your thighs. He licks his lips, a hand coming to rest on his chest, as he gazes at you with the kind of want that sets your nervous system on fire.

You’re swivelling your hips on Javi, can feel that he’s hard underneath you, but you want it to be Joel, want more than his eyes on you now that you’ve got them, want his hands and his tongue and his cock. You whimper, and you hear Javi groan behind you, as if any of this is for him. Javi pulls his knees further apart, unknowingly opens you up for Joel, and there’s a moment where you feel more naked then when you’re topless in front of fifty strange men. Joel has stripped you bare, to the quick. You can see how fast he’s breathing by the way his hand rises and falls on his chest. You time your movements to it, jerk your hips as if he’s breathing his touch into you from across the room.

Except he’s mad, now, you can see the way his brows have furrowed, the way his jaw has set, and you’re too hot and too overwhelmed to realise until the last moment that Javi has his hands on you, is cupping your breasts from behind, trying to reach from behind to tweak your nipples, pulling you further down into his chest to rub more fully on his cock.

Joel’s with you in four strides and you reach for him, both arms lifting up to his as he wrenches you free, screams at Javi to back off, pulls you behind him and shields you with his body while he threatens to beat Javi to a pulp before throwing him out onto the street, then beating him to death where the cameras don’t point.

‘You don’t fuckin’ touch her,’ he’s yelling, and he can feel that his throat is raw, dry, but he can’t fuckin’ think over the crushing beat in his ears, realises after a couple of stilted moments that it’s not the music that’s deafening him but that it’s his heart, that he’s vibrating with fury and want, that Javi has backed up a bit on the couch and lifted his hands in the air but hasn’t scurried away, that he’s not scared or worried at all, that he got to put his hands on heaven and will do nothing to apologise for it, and something snaps in Joel, something feral and needy and primal, something that has been chewing at the bars of its cage for months.

He pulls you to him and you gasp, can feel Joel’s pulse through your back as he manoeuvres you to rest on his chest, lifts one foot up onto the couch while he strips your thong from you, spreads you open for Javi, your body weight leaning on his as he holds you with just one arm around you.

‘This is how you fuckin’ touch her,’ Joel seethes, pushing his hand down over your belly and onto your waiting cunt, cupping your slit and teasing the slick gathering there up and over your clit. You gasp, the leg you have planted on the floor shaking as he strums, gently but somehow so firm, and you can feel yourself opening up to him, your cunt wet and aching, trying to draw him in.

‘You seein’ this, see how wet she gets for me?’ he’s saying, and you glance down to see that Javi is indeed watching, shock on his face and locked in a kind of paralysis, his eyes flicking between your cunt and Joel’s furious face. ‘You couldn’t get this from her,’ Joel is saying, and you’re leaning back into him because your knees are definitely going to buckle, but he holds you firm and steady, and you lift your face up to the ceiling and gasp.

Joel isn’t thinking, just listening to you, just letting his fingers finally touch what he’s dreamt about for months. Your sopping cunt is probably dribbling onto his pants and he doesn’t care, wants it there, wants you deep down in the fibres of the fabric where he’ll never scrub you free. You gasp again when he pushes two fingers in, feels your walls expand to accommodate him, raises the heel of his palm to ease the stretch by rubbing quick little circles on your clit.

‘Slide right in,’ he says, his unhinged commentary gritting out over the music, loud enough for just you and Javi to hear. ‘S’what happens when you’ve got her achin’ for ya,’ he says matter-of-factly.

You’re rolling your hips now, unable to help yourself as you arch your back, wanting to twist in his arms and sink your teeth into his neck, lick and lave at his collarbone, keen into his skin until the sound of it attaches itself to his bones.

‘Look at that pretty cunt,’ Joel is still saying, almost frantic now, the heat on his skin making it impossible to think of anything else, anything so complex as consequences. He’s lost in the touch of it, in the way Javi is looking at him imploringly, the way he can see that this pompous fuckin’ arsehole is getting a schoolin’ on pleasuring a woman, in the way you’re gasping and whimpering just for him. ‘S’mine,’ he says, twisting his fingers up to the knuckle in you, hooking into the spongey spot he knows will make you see stars.

He wants Javi to beg him to stop. Wants him to get down on his knees and apologise, wants him to swear he’ll never come back. But he’s distracted, because you’re calling to him now, the sound of your sweet cries of his name echoing through the vacant halls of his brain.

‘Joel-y’, you’re whimpering, babbling. ‘Joel-y, please,’ and you’re not even sure what you’re asking for, just that he’s torturing you, setting you on fire right here in the privates, that the pleasure he’s wringing from you is too much, too overwhelming, that you want to collapse into him but you’re still trying to bear some of your weight, that your thighs are wobbling and your body is screaming at you to let go but you can’t, not in this position, no matter how good it is, because you can’t get purchase, you can’t grind, the heel of his hand is too blunt on your clit.

He can sense it, that he’s trapped you right where it’s too much and not enough, and a part of him wants to leave you there, wants to make you feel what he’s felt all those weeks he spent waitin’ for ya, checkin’ that fucking roster like a goddamn fuckin’ dog, causin’ all those little fuck ups at the job site thinkin’ about this little cunt wrapped so tight around his knuckles.

But he’s not cruel.

‘Lick it,’ he barks out, gesturing down your body to Javi while he pushes you forward, shifts your weight more fully to the couch. You instinctually hook your knee over Javi’s shoulder, the extra leverage finally giving you purchase enough to properly move. ‘Suck her little clit ‘til she fuckin’ soaks me,’ Joel says, and there’s no arguing with him, not that you would, not that Javi would by the look on his face.

He's looking uncertain, like this might be a trap, and you reach down and grab his hair in your hand. ‘Please, Javi,’ you say, and he’s on you then, without further hesitation, his lips catching your little bud and grasping it between his teeth. You scream, feel Joel jostle you until your head is twisted around to bury in his neck, and you can feel more than hear the little rasps of encouragement as he talks you through it.

‘Such a good girl f’me,’ he’s saying, and you’re barely registering it, but your cunt is listening, clamping down hard on his fingers as Javi grips you with his mouth. ‘Teachin’ us both a thing or two, ain’t ya, baby? Showin’ us just how to treat a sexy little cunt like yours.’

You’re going to die. You’re going to burst into flames. There’s just no question in your mind that this is how you go, but you just fucking hope that you’ll get to come before it happens. It’s like every single nerve ending is now in your pussy, like you are only breathing Joel and Javi, your body sandwiched between them as you grip Javi’s head to you and twist in joyous agony against Joel’s chest.

‘Wanna hear you, baby,’ Joel’s whispering again. ‘Wanna hear it when ya come f’me.’

You open your eyes, look down your body to Javi, where he’s watching you, his eyes travelling up your body to rest on your face. He’s palming his cock, you can see the way his arm is moving up and down slowly, and you can feel Joel throbbing behind you.

‘Don’t look at him,’ Joel admonishes, and you slam your eyes shut, turn again to bury your head in his neck. ‘He can’t help ya,’ Joel goes on. ‘S’just there to make you come, baby.’

God it’s fucking debauched, is what it is. It’s filthy and sweaty and you’re so wet, and you feel sexier than you ever have, feel the power in your body and in your desire, feel the way you have finally, finally brought something feral out in Joel. You’re going to come, because Joel has determined that you are going to, and you just know without him even telling you so that he won’t let you go until you have, until he is satisfied that he has wrung out every last whimper from you, until you are sated and he is confident his job is done.

Javi’s licking hard at your clit now, sometimes sucking on it, and you slam your hips down onto Joel’s hand when he does it, rock your knee to bring Javi closer to you, try to swallow him with your cunt and your hands in his hair.

You can’t get enough breath to warn them. It’s just going to happen, they’re just going to throw you over the edge and into the abyss and you can’t even tell them they’re about to do it. Joel sees it though, feels the way your cunt is gripping him.

‘Do it, baby,’ he’s gritting into your ear, catching every roll of your hips so you won’t fall. ‘Show him what it’s like when I wreck you.’

And you do, then. Harder than you ever have in your life, your lungs pillowing out in your chest to suck in all the air available to them, your wails lost to the music as streams of your slick press into Javi’s face, where you soak him and Joel behind you, shivering and convulsing as you topple over the peak, dimly aware of Joel’s words in your ear as you go, calling you his pretty girl, his beautiful, perfect girl. His girl, his girl, his.

There are too many broken workplace safety rules to count, so Joel doesn’t bother. He knows he’s lost his job, that the cameras will have picked up all of that, that as he drops his ID badge and set of keys on the desk in his little office that it was worth it, that you were worth it. He’ll get another job, find a bar open just as late as this one even if it’s further out of town, will travel and will keep Sarah in school and will keep the memory of your sweet little cunt fluttering around his fingers locked up tight in the back of his brain for when the nights are cold and lonely.

When he drives you home, bundles you up in his car and puts the heater on full blast to keep you warm, you tell him that you finished your degree weeks ago, that you were lying about the mid-terms, that you had actually been down in Florida helping your mother move your grandpa into care. It hadn’t seemed necessary to talk about them in that environment, you said, and he rests his hand on your knee because he understands, and also because he likes you.

He doesn’t ask for your number. Knows you probably wouldn’t give it to him, is too afraid that you’d regret everything that you did together, that you were humouring him with even letting him drop you home, that this isn’t even your house.

He only found it later, written in your neat writing, your number and your real name, when he was stripping his pants off himself and dumping them into the hamper, his come collected on the inside where he exploded as he rutted against you, as he listened to your desperate, whimpering cries for him.

He tacks the little piece of paper to the mirror, memorising the digits in case one day it falls. He isn’t gonna call it. He just wants it there, a reminder of you and what you’ve made him feel, how you’ve lifted him, freed something in him. He just wants it there. Proof that you were real.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller au #joel miller smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena x you #joel miller x female reader

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hxltic · 2 years

Text

pt.2!! (i know that cliffhanger was menacing) 800 followers hello?!

part 1 | part 2

It was weird. It felt weird.

You sat with your chest bare, Kenma contemplating his own conscientiousness and conscious before you. Should he have any integrity, he would turn you around and fulfill what you came to do.

But he doesn’t. Intrusive thoughts win, so he dives straight into you to suck on your tits like a fucking baby.

Just watching in amusement as he tugged and nipped, it looked like Kenma was genuinely enjoying himself when he licked the bud in a single stripe, cat eyes gazing into yours devilishly by the way he could feel your back has a slight arch to it. His pale hands roamed from the small of it to your shoulder blades.

Your manicured fingers tread through the black locks that cover his tinted cheeks and reveal his long, black eyelashes. You mentally curse him for having them. Your upper back begins to stray away; Kenma just follows.

You connect strands of hair behind his ear (which he greatly appreciates you for) because he needs to see you, your curves, and body in all the bright rainbow light from the edges of his setup.

He removes the slim shirt entirely and discards it randomly in the room. He couldn’t care less where it landed. He grasps—literally grasps— both tits in each hand before looking up at you ordinarily, but in an anticipating manner.

“Take the rest of it off.”

“Say please,” you announced. Yes, you asked first, but you could still have a little fun (and refresh his manners).

“You do realize you’re literally in my hands right?”

“…So?”

He just blinks up at you and rolls his eyes in obduracy.

“Please, take the rest of it off.”

You tap a fingernail to your chin, “Hmm… say it like you mean it.”

If you could describe the ravenette’s face right now, it would be the most unamused you’ve ever seen him.

Kenma grabs you and roughs you off him, twists you around, and adroitly unbuttons your jeans from behind you. Done with your shit, he peels them down and brings your panties along. He then pulls you back down to him backwards.

“See? Easy peasy,” he comments.

Slightly embarrassed from being absolutely manhandled, you shuffled against his front and dug your head into his sweatshirt on his left shoulder.

“Are you shy now? Not too long ago you were asking me to—”

“Shut up- Shut up.”

A giggle sounds behind you and lengthy, soft fingers trail up to your plush thighs anyway, then leads more inward. He pats twice to ask you to open up for him. You comply in spite.

With two delicate fingers he spreads you open, a third experimenting by dipping into your wetness. You were already getting throbbing having thought about it all day. Your friends constantly conversed about what their partners did and how good it felt, so you want as close to that as possible, but the problem is that you’re doing it while being unaware of how skilled Kenma actually is. You’re starting to question whether he was the right person or not. Or whether it holds up to its name. Or if you can do it at all.

He caresses you, rubbing the pad of his finger in circular motions against your clit.

“Okay,” his chest rises and falls, “just relax and think about whatever boy toy you want.”

You ignore his taunting. Your eyes trail downwards. He was going so slow, but if you thought you’d have Kenma pawing at you by the end of the night you had to be on something. So, you do what he asks of you and shut down any tense nerve in your body.

“There you go,” as you soften against his front, now two of his fingers locate your nub and continue the circling. Your thighs are spread apart on each chair arm, facing the dark idle screensaver Kenma had, the plush actively being kneaded between his free hand. Your center was tingly but not the trademark “oh my god!” tingly. It felt good but you weren’t screaming just yet.

Almost in time, he curls his hand farther forward and dips a finger into you. It was very slowly done for reactive purposes, and with your sight deactivated, the reaction he expected from your chest was granted. He sinks deeper and deeper until his palm is flat against you. Thanks to his patience, you were definitely wet enough.

He stills inside.

“I can’t do anything if you won’t breathe.”

“Sorry,” you apologized, and let out a breath you had no idea you were holding. His thumb reddens your clit even more while the other hand releases your thigh and slides up your body to tighten on your breast. You feel used with his hands all over your body, but in a good way.

Your regular breaths graduated to heavy ones, and those graduated to groans. Your voice wasn’t very high pitched anyway. When does the good part come?

The inactive hand rotated to your clit, while the other focused mainly on gyrating through your walls. His long finger reached places yours couldn’t, and adding a second would only increase the chance of him finding that single pile of nerves that could make you go haywire. He was close but he didn’t think to resort to that just yet.

Two of his hands meet around your front like a hug. His articulated digits roll inside you, each roll a tug on your resistance. A little to the left or a little to the right. His hand curled somehow even deeper on the hunt for your g-spot, so he takes a mental note: up and to the right.

“Oh shit,” your hips slightly stutter.

He smiles, “Right there?” and pesters the previous patch. Your hips lift off him the tiniest bit and your hand reaches up mindlessly. Really you just needed something to occupy yourself. He goes at it again and again, your tummy folded yet moving with him as he’s still going too slow when your body is screaming for more.

You rub his nape in an attempt to focus on anything else. Your arm is geniusly wrapped between the two of you by journeying under his neck. Your reflection in the screen is unbeatable, Kenma working you like it was his millionth time doing it. Everything had a job and you just had to sit and take it.

“That’s definitely you,” he mused. He kissed under your ear on the right side. You could say you weren’t feeling much all you wanted, attempting to lower his ego, but your contorted expression spoke differently with inaudible words. At some point his speed increased.

You unintentionally grind on him as your hips falter halfway. He tries his best to ignore it and keep your high ecstasy going because it was: A, the meaning of this entire operation; B, you’d be sore anyway, better to make the best out if it; and C, had he acted on it you would’ve squirted all over his dick. Which option C isn’t necessarily a problem, it’s just he’s almost certain you’d like to see yourself do it.

“Feels good Ken,” you mumble. The squelch sound could now be heard, and you both listened as he slotted himself in the crook of your neck and your head was thrown back on his shoulder. It was dead silent in the apartment, so silent you could hear your own thoughts and maybe even each other’s.

It sure seemed that way, because Kenma persisted with a finger and stimulated you simultaneously. Your head rolled back and forth, your calves flexed, and your pretty pink toes hung off the chair arms. The clip in your hair hadn’t bothered him one bit.

“Kenmaaa,” you insisted.

“I’m here, tell me,” he indulged. Your breaths were practically weights, yet shallow at the same time.

“G’na come soon.”

“I got you. Just let it happen.”

Kenma knew you were close before you did. Hell, he was a part of your body now. Obvious signs were shown like when you tighten around him and your muscles contract, informing him everything was already in motion. The orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave, taking you and your brain out to sea, but not your body. In fact, it left your disappointment behind too.

Nothing happened.

It took you a second to realize this though—considering it was still one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had—but also because Kenma hadn’t stopped.

“Please,” unaware of what you were calling for, you turned to his face, but he was already so close like he was waiting for you there. He’d slowed only a bit, but this makes little difference already being hypersensitive. Once again, you’re grinding on him, it’s just rougher now and more effective at getting him any harder than he already was.

You talked face to face and couldn’t decide what eye to look in. His lips were so close, and so very inviting. You kiss him.

Soft lips unite with yours meaningfully. You hadn’t known it would progress to this, however, Kenma now occupies your entire body, being, and mind. If you could dismiss how hard he was overstimulating you, just maybe you could kiss him with the passion you desired—but that was reaching because you couldn’t find the strength to kiss him back at all. Your lips were open yet hushed in all attempts to return the gesture, but your body fails you under the hands of lust.

You felt another coming. Your eyes had this faded look to them as if you weren’t here, so Kenma brought it upon himself to whisper to you.

“Tell me what you want and it’s yours.” His voice was soft in the air.

You respond with a light headed moan. Fuck all that shit about your voice not being high and you couldn’t pornstar moan, because to some extent it was and you really could.

“K-Ken I can’t—”

“You can,” he interrupts, “anything you want baby.”

Your hand quits fidgeting with the loomed bracelets adorning his wrists to move down to holding the both of his that were working you. The attempt is futile, because even if you did manage to get one hand away, the other would still be toying with your pussy. The veins that stretched from his muscles all the way to his forearm could be seen clear as day. Kenma adds another finger, and doubles into you as it sinks up and to the right.

“Oh fuck, Kenma, Kenma-” you repeated. You tried pushing him off, except you wanted him to continue, except that you were in no state of mind to make decisions. Your back arched impressively and you were on the verge of crying. This quick?

He constantly acknowledges you, “Uh-huh.”

Kenma almost triples in speed. He continues to whisper to you. “Do it. I know you can. Show me how you come for me.”

You don’t feel it, but Kenma plants his feet and swivels the chair around as your mouth drops. You were pushing outward more than downward, and as Kenma pistons into you, there was no way you weren’t about to squirt. Just preferably, not on his monitor. He kisses at your face now turned away from him. “Just like that, you’re almost there. Open your eyes.”

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god-!” you breathe.

Kenma quickly runs back and forth over your clit encouragingly and doesn’t let up. This wasn’t a wave that rolled over you this time, but one that came up to shore first, dragged you along into sea, and sucked you under. It felt normal until it didn’t and you were releasing all over his carpet.

“You look so fucking good like this. Knew my girl could do it.”

Your hair was fucked from rolling on it. You had came so hard your body tensed and slightly cramped, rendering you idle as he continued until you were done. The clear liquid rolled down your own leg. You felt as if you were underwater. Your head bashed like there was no oxygen. Kenma was a man of few words but after you got what you deserved, he didn’t have shit to say.

He gripped your thighs, lifted them, and slowly lowered them to his. A darker color stained his sweats. Was it from you, or him? Neither of you know. His hand pets your forehead gingerly.

“Your girl?” You ask lazily.

“I think we both know you wouldn’t have let anybody else do this,” he establishes. He was right.

sorry if it’s not as good as first!! it was supposed to come out earlier but my dumbass queued it for the wrong day 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ also did you catch the easter egg😏😏 (I made this a little shorter to match up with the time it takes to…yk… that’s why all of my fics that aren’t penetration are shorter)

@iwouldbangchan @hislaevv @butterflyk04 @lilmisskreideprinz @ahahadumbo @bontensbabygirl @ninefuckingoneone @hwangsyunho @privthemis @anonymoussimper @frenchinator2sickk

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ellastone-olsen · 7 months

Text

Smoking kink with mommy Wanda.

Warnings: NSFW 18+, mommy kink, smoking obviously, shy reader, alcohol, age gap

AN: lmao guys I’m back after month of silence, I'm rested and ready to worship Lizzie and other women again.

I was just thinking about my smoking kink and a picture of you and mommy Wanda, standing on the porch of her house appeared in my head. Perhaps you just went to visit your friends and met her, perhaps it was a small neighborly gathering, but it doesn’t matter.

The main thing is that you are standing together on the porch, and there is the second glass of wine already in your hands, which she kindly offered you. She tries to light a cigarette, it seems that it was some kind of thin and menthol (such a cliché) and because of the strong wind, the weak flame of the lighter goes out every time and you move closer to her to cover it from the wind. And when the cigarette begins to smolder, you look in a trance at her lips wrapped around the filter and smell the smell of tobacco, which is instinctively associated with Wanda.

You cover your face in shame, pretending to enjoy the wine, when in fact watching her smoke was the hottest (literally lmao) sight. She says something about the terrible weather and the constant rain, but you only half listen to her as your eyes follow her hands. Behind her thin long fingers with a cigarette and you think what these fingers could do with you... And then you look up and watch how smoke comes out of her lips and Wanda’s tongue passes along her lower lip.

It seems that this smoke went straight to your head, otherwise why else can’t you think in another direction other than about obscenity with this woman.

Oh, of course, she noticed that you were mentally somewhere not here and finished her monologue about the weather and asked. "Do you want?" You didn’t immediately understand what she meant, only when you saw her handing you a cigarette. Wanda knew that you didn’t smoke, but her first guess about your reaction to her bad habit was that you were simply afraid to ask her to let you try. You looked at the smoke that rose between you both and did’t move. “I...no thanks, I don’t smoke.”

Silence followed you again and the puzzle in the older woman’s head began to take shape. “Are you sure you don’t want to?” She asked in the hope that you would think twice about it. All that came out of your mouth was a string of unintelligible stutters and then she placed her free hand on yours that was holding the glass and lowered them so she could see your red face. Wanda advanced on you, gradually pressing you into the railing until she was so close that her chest was pressed against yours. "I think you will like it." She whispered and took another drag, looking into your eyes. And then she leaned towards your lips, barely touching to exhale the bitter smoke.

Now the smoke that was in her lungs ended up in yours and the nicotine instantly entered your bloodstream, causing you even more dizziness and an attack of euphoria. Wanda's hand with the cigarette rose to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear and the woman asked another question in a whisper. “Well, dear? How do you like it?” An uncontrollable moan escaped from your mouth, giving Wanda the green light and she broke her lips on yours, immediately using her tongue inside you. The glass of wine was put aside somewhere and your hands grabbed the railing because you felt like you might fall.

Wanda took your face in her hands and kissed you so greedily, as if she were a wild animal, whispering “Good girl” between kisses and “Let Mommy do the work” which made your core throb.

She having to pull away because someone came outside looking for the two of you and she ended up smoking the rest of her cigarette like she did in the beginning; leaving you at the railing with burning cheeks and heat between your thighs.

The last thing Wanda said to you was “Go upstairs when they’re all gone, second door on the right.” She turned around and winked at you, walking into the warmth and noise of the house.

#wanda maximoff x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda fanfic #wanda maximoff imagine #wandanat #wandanat x reader #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda marvel

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zikkytheblicky · 8 months

Note

Hey I wondered if you could do Angel dust x Angel!male reader like his reaction to see a real angel ?

if you want,you can ignore this <3

this anon is so nice omg :( such a sweetheart i’m gonna call them sweet anon :3

anyway, ya ofc!! this might be a lil short cuz im doing this at 10 pm and im tired but ya!! its gonna be story format + headcannoning cuz why not :3 I MADE READER OBLIVIOUS BTW!!

angel dust has never seen an angel. not once, not twice. the only thing he’s ever seen closest to an angel was lucifer morning star but he’s technically a fallen angel.

so when he saw you for the first time he was very shocked- especially since you were so beautiful..

you were talking to Charlie and introducing yourself as one of Adams’ body guards. you were there with Charlie to help determine if Charlie’s idea was even possible.

so obviously, for your charlie’s sake, he was on his best behavior.

you brung your hand up to your lips and let out a laugh as angel cracked jokes to you as he told you stories about his life(?) in hell. “and then- then he-“ angel was laughing so hard he could barely continue- ignoring the knowing smirk husk sent his way. the damn cat. he knows everyone too well. maybe angel should stop venting to him while drunk (not like angel chooses to. his drunken, depressed state during those hours are never in his control.).

angel had ended up getting really confused on your anatomy- questioning how you can fly and why you have a halo over your head- keep in mind this man died in 1947 of an overdose and is in his thirties ☠️ he’s been in hell since 1947 and has NEVER learned about angels at all. the only thing close to angel anatomy he learned is how lucifer has yellow hair and has a kinda angelic color scheme (all angels obviously don’t look alike but angel has never seen another one besides vaggie but he doesn’t know she’s one).

“‘m/n’?” angel asked as his eyes followed the way your feathers twitched every millisecond from the uncomfortable stares at them. “yes?” “why do you have a halo over your head?” “ANGEL.”

angel likes you in a week. A WEEK. he fell so hard im telling you bro. like just one look into your eyes and he’d kill all three of the vees for you if you asked him to.

he surprisingly doesn’t act downbad in front of you. i know people like to think angel is bold and flirty but to me i think that’s just his persona and not his true self. he keeps up a persona so he never gets his trust broken again? maybe? idk. but i js believe he’d be shy and not really know how to flirt with you like he does with husk and alastor and sir pentious; so smoothly and easily.

think about how he had tried to flirt with you before but ended up just becoming a stuttering mess when you took his flirting literally.

“hey toots~ did you fall from heaven?” angel dust said in a seductive tone, grabbing your chin and tilting your face up at him. “huh? no.. i’m not a fallen angel..! are you saying i’m like lucifer?” “HUH WHAT- no- no! not like that at all! i was trying to- to..” angel stuttered his words, waving his hands around (bring careful not to accidentally hit you, of course). “to what?” “to.. just joke around! you’re so oblivious ‘m/n’, im going to punch you.” angel said in an affectionate tone, slinging his arm around your shoulder. “why? what did i do?” you asked politely, too politely. now angel felt bad. angel mentally screams.

sometimes you think angel’s mad at you when he’s playing around with you on text.

he ends up getting mad at himself most times

angel was smashing his head into a table and cursing all the overlords because of this btw.

alr thats enough bye bye!!

this was so rushed omlll. 😨

#male reader #x male reader #ftm reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader #hazbin alastor #angel dust x male reader #angel dust #angel dust hazbin hotel

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my-castles-crumbling · 29 days

Text

Hi, I'm Cas, and I care way too much about kudos sometimes.

Hi guys! I just want to be a bit transparent with you all!

This summer, I've done a lot of writing. Like a LOT of writing. I set a goal to do at least 4 microfics a day, and update my longfic twice a week, plus answer asks, run a fest, and be active on multiple discords (and work a part-time job, while preparing for my new position in the Fall).

I did all of this because I love it, and because I love all of you. But I'd be lying if I said I don't also love the love I get for my writing. It's built my confidence, and taught me that I am decently talented, which is something I shy away from saying in any regard.

However, I think that @starchasersunseeker @beautyoftheships and @slightly-unhinged-femme have seen that sometimes, this passion for my hobby has turned into stress. I've started basing my self-worth on the kudos I get, and worrying that if I don't create that amount of content daily, you all will 'forget about me' or 'stop caring.' Which is silly because 1. this is the internet, and neither of us in under any obligation to interact and 2. this is supposed to be fun for me.

Because of this, and the fact that I am going back full-time tomorrow (I did my training last week), I am going to be focusing on creating the things that bring me joy. I am not going anywhere, and this blog will still be active. I will still be giving advice, and I will still be doing daily microfics, but I'm not going to force myself to create when I just am not feeling it anymore. I'm not going to set lofty goals or do things that hurt me mentally. I'm just going to focus on doing things that make me happy! I hope you all understand where I am coming from, and I hope you all still interact, but I need to take steps to be healthier for myself, and remind myself that kudos and reblogs cannot be my only source of self-worth.

I'm sending you all so much love!

#marauders #harry potter #marauders era #marauders fandom #fanfic #harry potter marauders #the marauders #ask cas #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #marauders fanfiction #fanfiction #ao3fic #ao3

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lix-ables · 1 year

Note

Please, you have to do bang chan and corruption kink with shy and inexperienced reader.

He has THE biggest corruption kink out of all the members.

working on a corruption with skz BUT oh my god, he legit does??? i see it???

dom ! chan would make sure you're comfortable , guiding you in ways thats at your pace , letting you take the lead — but also at the same time , he thinks about what would happen if he lost control . all those thoughts about corrupting you , teaching you things , guiding you has been on his mind since the first time he saw you . he wanted to be the one to help you first , he wanted to guide you first .

dom ! chan would let you take things slow , his mind is obviously distracted by how much you want to impress him , but you don't know much — which is okay with him , as long as he can help you .

dom ! chan is shocked or rather surprised when he's guiding you through giving him a handjob at first , praising you at everything that you did — from letting your finger trail over the length of his cock , to "hmm just like that love , that's it ." when your thumb is rubbing circles to his tip , your eyes on him the entire time .

dom ! chan is also surprised when in the first few minutes you took in your mouth , and that was the first time he thought about how he should've done this sooner . "where did you learn that?" he breathes , his hand caressing your face letting his fingers tangle in your hair , tugging on it a little . "w-watched videos of ..." you start when you pull away from his cock , your hands on either of his thighs . "im curious as to what kind of 'videos' you watch , baby but ... fuck , we'll talk about that later ."

dom ! chan is pleased when he has you on his bed , your toes curling , your fingers refusing to touch his body even when he told you that you could . his fingers are buried inside you , while his free hand caresses your skin , cooing at you whenever you clench your walls around his fingers . "darling , i can't help you if you keep doing that yeah ? let go for me ," would come his reply during the first times he's made you come . the next few times , he'd act a little more cocky , a little more sure , now that he knows what you enjoy and want from him . "fuck baby , i thought you told me you didn't know anything . but from the looks of it , you're not as innocent as both of us think you are hmm?" this was when you squirted for the first time , and he made it a mental note to help you orgasm at least twice or thrice before talking about this again .

#💌 — mail #whatudowhennooneseesyou #( hard thots — 🍒 . )#stray kids smut #skz hard hours #skz smut #stray kids hard hours #bang chan smut #bang chan x reader

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f1daydreamers · 2 months

Text

𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐬 [𝐓𝐀𝟔𝟔] 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

gif credits: @trenty

Pairing: Trent Alexander-Arnold x Fem!Reader

Summary: Arne, in hopes to focus on his team’s mental health as much as their physical, recruits a younger but just as educated psychologist to work one-to-one with the more reserved players. Trent is one of them.

A/N: This is me writing in hopes to distract myself from that abysmal final! Just to preface that Lee Richardson is the performance psychology consultant at LFC :) Also, I feel like Trent’s quite shy so I don’t think he’d be as rude as he is in this fanfic but for this to be a kinda enemies to lovers, I upped his rude boi energy by like 100% lol

There's no age gap btw! In the UK, it's doable to become a licensed sports psychologist in 6-10 years. If it took Reader 7/8, that would place her around 25 or 26 years of age. So, both Trent and Reader are of similar ages!

Warnings: psychology but nothing too in-depth, Trent’s rude in this :D, angst, very tense energy

Word Count: 1.9k words (6 mins reading time avg)

…

You checked your watch once, twice, then three times within a mere five minutes.

The sterile office, with its minimalist decor and muted lighting, seemed to magnify your impatience. Your eyes wandered to the vacant chair opposite you, and you sighed deeply.

Trent Alexander-Arnold was now fifteen minutes late for his first appointment.

“Not the best start,” you muttered under your breath.

Jotting a quick note on a pink Post-it to purchase a digital clock for your desk, you flipped the pen and clicked it shut, placing it down with a resigned finality. The email that landed in your inbox felt almost comically timed. It was from Lee, wishing you luck on your first official day.

You’d been in and out of the training center for the past week, organising your office, which had previously served as a spare room, often only used for the odd meetings.

Boxy and unfamiliar, it was a space you intended to transform into something warmer and more inviting with time. But any attempt to distract yourself proved futile; even the mental image of your office becoming a cozy haven couldn’t quell the unrest you felt inside.

Trent’s absence was more than a minor inconvenience; it felt like a deliberate message. After what Lee had disclosed about his rather aloof attitude, you couldn’t say you were entirely surprised.

Locking your office behind you, you ventured into the heart of the training facility. As you passed by groups of players and staff, your shoulders tensed imperceptibly. You adjusted your pace, trying to find a balance between caution and confidence.

Every corner turned, every nod exchanged with passing colleagues, felt like a small test of acceptance. Your mind raced with thoughts of proving yourself here. While a flicker of self-doubt danced across your features, you masked it beneath a veneer of professional composure.

You eventually found Trent tucked away in the far corner of a sparsely populated gym. A few exchanged ‘good mornings’ and ‘hellos’ momentarily eased your stress, but your tension returned as your gaze settled again on the man who had been purposefully late.

With a deep breath, you started heading towards him, weaving your way through the labyrinth of gym equipment.

You skirted around the treadmills, their rhythmic thudding echoing your own anxious heartbeat. Passing by the clanking weights, you dodged a few stray dumbbells left on the floor. The aroma of rubber mats and iron filled the air.

Finally, you rounded the weightlifting machines and found Trent on a mat, engrossed in his exercises. His headphones were still firmly in place, and his expression remained inscrutably focused, as though he was blocking out the world around him.

When you finally reached him, you hesitated, wanting to wait until he finished his set so as not to disturb his workout.

However, Trent spotted your reflection in the mirror in front of him as he came up. He stopped mid-crunch, the beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. He looked down, knowing exactly what this would be in regard of. He’d seen you around the training grounds enough to be familiar.

His elbows rested on his knees as his arms folded inward. He exhaled deeply, trying to regulate his breathing.

He wiped the tip of his nose with the pad of his thumb, then pulled his headphones off and let them rest around his neck.

“What?” He looked at you with mild irritation, craning his neck to see you standing just a few steps behind him.

Your lips pressed together in a courteous and tight-lipped smile.

“Hi, Trent. I’m Y/N, the new psychologist. We had an appointment scheduled for twenty minutes ago.”

Turning back to face the mirror, he stretched his arms out in front of him before reaching for a hand towel to wipe the sweat from his brow and neck.

Then he shrugged, his indifference palpable.

“Yeah, I know.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his response as you studied his expression in the mirror. His face shifted subtly, but the changes were too fleeting to decipher.

“Then why didn’t you show up?” you asked, your tone calm but firm.

"I don't see the point," he responded flatly.

In one fluid motion, he planted one palm firmly on the ground before twisting his torso and hoisting himself up with a push, turning to face you as he rose gracefully to his feet.

Your eyes locked inevitably, the proximity of his body left you no choice but to gaze up at his face, your chin tilting ever so slightly upward.

Beads of sweat glistened from his forehead, and his mouth was slightly parted as he scrutinised you from head to toe. A scoff escaped him before he turned away, sliding off some weight plates and placing them methodically beside his mat.

"I don’t need some shrink telling me how to play football," he asserted dismissively, the hints of his accent colouring his defiant tone.

You took a moment to consider your response, your gaze tracing the broad shape of his shoulders. Despite the urge to react defensively, you couldn’t shake the awareness that someone might be listening in from behind you.

You cautiously approached him, aware of the tension hanging in the air, his eyes flicking to your reflection in the mirror.

"I'm not here to tell you how to play football," you began calmly, letting the weight of your words settle between you. "I'm here to help you navigate everything off the pitch that might impact your performance on it."

"Well, thanks, but no thanks," Trent said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I've managed fine so far."

“Have you?” you questioned, quickly scanning the room for any prying ears, relieved to find everyone engrossed in their own routines.

Trent rose up, clutching a 15-pound weight plate between his hands.

"Because from where I stand, the club thinks you could use some support. And honestly, there's no shame in that." That was a saying your professors had instilled in you from day one.

Trent's jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might ignore you. Instead, he pivoted to face you once more, his presence suddenly palpable.

"Look, I get that you're just doing your job, yeah? But don't expect me to pour my heart out to some stranger. Especially on someone else's schedule." He emphasised.

You blinked, but maintained eye contact, refusing to back down. "Fair enough. But I'm not going anywhere, Trent. Whether you like it or not, I'll keep trying to reach you."

He studied you for a moment, then shook his head slightly, leaning in just a bit closer.

"Good luck with that, psychologist."

…

"I think that's our time wrapped up, thank you so much, Conor." You hoisted yourself up with the armrests of your chair and gave a warm smile to the man opposite you.

"Yeah, no worries. I'll see you around." Conor said as he turned, rounding the chair he was just sitting on, giving you a final nod and smile before leaving and closing the door behind him.

You waited until it clicked shut before you sinked into your chair again. Your work was deeply important to you, one of few things in life you were immensely passionate about, but man, it took its toll on longer days.

You rubbed your temples in a poor attempt to alleviate the dull ache that had formed from hours of conversation. As you tried to gather your thoughts, the interruption in the form of a new email snapped you back to reality.

It was from Lee, asking you to come and see him when you were free.

Your head rolled back for a brief moment of respite. Trent had been on your mind ever since your confrontation earlier, lingering in the back of your thoughts throughout the day, despite the overall improvement as the hours ticked by.

Resigning yourself to more work, you pushed yourself up with a temporary surge of motivation. Straightening your blouse and combing your hair with your fingers, you headed towards Lee's office across the hall.

The door stood ajar, a silver name plaque bearing his name neatly affixed. Lee's office exuded an air of scholarly authority, with shelves lined with books, framed certificates adorning the walls, and strategically placed pieces of Liverpool memorabilia.

He glanced up from his desk as you knocked on the doorframe.

"You asked to see me?" you inquired, your head tilting slightly as he closed the folder he was reading, sliding it into the filing cabinet behind him.

"Yes, come in," Lee replied, gesturing toward the chair positioned across from him.

You smoothed down your skirt as you settled into the chair, intertwining your hands on your lap.

His demeanor exuded encouragement, warmth evident in the gentle lines of his smile. As he gathered his thoughts, your eyes fell upon a framed picture on his desk. Lee stood on the far left, flanked by several players including Trent and Curtis, their bright smiles frozen in time.

Your own smile deepened at the sight, noting how much younger they all appeared in the photograph. But as today's events replayed in your mind, your gaze momentarily lowered before returning to meet Lee's.

"A few years ago, that one," he pointed briskly at the photo, though he didn't give you time to respond before changing the topic - a relief, in your opinion.

"So," Lee clasped his hands together, "first official day? How'd it go?"

Pushing back thoughts of Trent deliberately, today had gone rather well.

"Good, honestly. Wataru and Conor were a little shy at first, but I think I was able to break through by the end of our sessions. Curtis was quite bubbly and a joy to talk to. We had some positive discussions too." You truthfully answered, giving a polite smile to round off your answer.

He nodded, impressed. Without a word, he turned to squint at his computer screen, his glasses perched atop his head. "And Trent?"

You cleared your throat, your tongue swiping over your bottom lip nervously. After a moment's hesitation, you shook your head once before answering.

"Trent didn't show up." You admitted with a wry smile. "I found him in the gym and brought it up but I wouldn't say that was a positive discussion."

Lee chuckled softly, his voice carrying a gentleness that belied his words. "Trent’s a tough nut. He’s got a lot on his shoulders and doesn't easily trust new people. But that's why you're here."

You nodded resolutely. "Absolutely. I don't intend on letting up."

"If you want me to step in-" He began but you shook your head again, halting him in the middle of his sentence.

"I respectfully don't think that's going to help. He's not exactly trusting of me right now, and I'm worried about the impression you stepping in might leave. I'm fortunate he's at least talking to me and sharing his feelings." You said with a measured tone, your words careful and tinged with a hint of apprehension.

"Well, you're the pro," you smiled at his joke, exhaling a sigh.

"I'm relying on your guidance, Lee. I can only hope he'll start working with me."

Lee nodded thoughtfully. "Trent respects effort and authenticity. He's introverted, sure, but once he's comfortable, he's a lovely lad."

"I'm sure," you blinked, fiddling nervously with your fingers.

Once he's comfortable.

That shouldn't take too long, you lied to yourself.

...

Part 2

Masterlist

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starlazergazer · 1 year

Text

Nervous

Pairing: Anakin x Reader

Request: Anakin is pining over the reader who is a Jedi but is kind of oblivious and shy. Starts off with noticing his gaze from across a room and what the reader thinks are innocent touches but then escalates to thick tension that the reader chooses to ignore due to the code. Eventually Anakin can’t take it anymore and does something about it.

Warnings: Nothing just so much sweet fluff it’ll give you a tooth ache

Word Count: 5.5K

A/N: Actually wrote this one twice lol trying to decide how to do it and went with an alternating reader and Anakin point of view structure as well as changing a few things about the original request that I hope work out so as always let me know what you think!

“You’re staring” a whispered voice suddenly popping up on his right snapped Anakin out of his stupor, his spoon dropping loudly into his bowl in surprise as he jumped slightly, eyes snapping down to his padawan wearing an expression that was much too amused for his liking.

“I’m eating alone snips” he grunts, picking back up his spoon and making a point to keep his eyes down “I have to look somewhere”

“Sure sure” she nods seriously from beside him, moving her head closer to his shoulder and looking out over the room just as he had “well now that I’m here should we both stare at Y/N?”

At the mention of your name he jumped again, moving immediately to try and quiet Ahsoka and only achieving in knocking his bowl to the ground, the spoon reverberating loudly against the bowl as they strike the ground, soup spraying up and splashing Anakin and Ahsoka’s feet, effectively drawing the attention of the entire room.

On instinct Anakin’s gaze came up and sought out yours immediately, catching a small amused smile on your lips, gaze snapping back down to his feet as he felt one of his own grow on his lips in response, mentally scolding both himself and Ahsoka as he felt the tips of his ears go red.

“There, are you happy now?” he asked Ahsoka, sending a glare in the young padawans direction, getting the girls best attempt at holding in her laughter in response. “Yeah that tracks” he sighed, bending down to pick up his now empty bowl. Rushing from the room before he could embarrass himself in front of you any further.

You weren’t entirely sure why you were nervous.

It was a simple, kind gesture, he’d either accept it or he wouldn’t and that was it. You were a general in the republic’s army, you had been in several active war zones left with nothing but your saber to protect you, you could give Anakin Skywalker a ration bar.

In truth this wasn’t something you would normally have ever considered to do. Sure you’d talked to Anakin a few times in passing, even had one mission together that went fine, but you certainly wouldn’t consider yourself friends, colleagues at best to be honest.

But all throughout lunch you could’ve sworn you felt his eyes on you, could swear through the corners of your own that he was looking right at you throughout the meal, and though you knew you were probably being delusional you had to admit it stuck with you.

Between that and the way his eyes so naturally found yours right after the bowl dropped there was some stupid part of you that felt like it was your fault it all happened, and thus felt the need to make it up to him in return.

But as you entered the briefing room, catching Anakin sitting in one of the chairs encircling the holoprojector alone, his soft green eyes scanning the room around him, the way his long slightly curly hair fell so beautifully just above his shoulders, the soft smile that played on his lips as he listened to the conversations around him, you remembered just why you were nervous in the first place. Because being the object of Anakin’s attention for any amount of time always had your heart racing.

Before you could talk yourself out of it you strode up to Anakin’s chair and thrust the bar out in front of his vision, watching the man recoil ever so slightly at the surprise of its appearance, his gaze following your arm up to your face, the corners of his lips perking up into a slight smile even as his eyebrows scrunched in confusion, wordlessly asking you a question.

“I figured since half of your lunch ended up on your shoes, you’d be hungry” you shrugged, feeling your face heat up as he slowly broke out into a wide smile, taking the bar eagerly from your hand, his fingers brushing up against yours ever so slightly as he did so.

“You saw that huh?” You weren’t expecting the question, had already been ready to walk over across the room and take a random seat on the opposite side reliving every embarrassing moment of this short conversation instead of paying attention. Instead, you were stuck awkwardly standing above him, suddenly completely unsure of what you should do with your now empty hands.

“It was pretty hard to miss” you admitted with a small chuckle, delighted to see his expression mirror your as you did it, using this confidence to keep speaking “the good news is there are certainly worse things to be stuck smelling like for the rest of the day”

He laughed at that and you liked the way he laughed, the way his whole body seemed to curl around the sound, the way he almost leaned into you as he did it, your mind already going into overdrive as you worried if you were standing too close to him.

“Oh here this seats empty” another thing to catch you off guard as Anakin gestured vaguely to the seat next to him.

With no real reason to object, and even a small part of you the relished the simple gesture, you nodded sitting down next to him, not missing the way he shifted his weight to lean closer to you as you did so, in fact focusing way too much on that fact. Probably just so that he could hear you better in the loud room.

“Here” you heard him say from beside you, breaking off a portion of the ration bar you had just given him and holding it up to you, prompting you to raise an eyebrow in response.

“I got that for you” you stammered, not taking the piece from his fingers “you know after you embarrassingly spilled your lunch all over your shoes in front of the entire cafeteria”

He shook his head at that, unable to pull a small smile from his lips as he did so, “Well I was trying to be nice but if you’re just going to bully me, I’ll rethink that course of action” and with that he quickly popped the piece he was offering to you into his mouth.

You giggled back at him at that, your shoulder brushing up against his as you did so, immediately pulling back from him, scolding yourself for invading his personal space for a second time in the span of five minutes. It was going to be a tough meeting.

Anakin knew he should probably leave you alone after that.

After pulling you in to sit with him through the incredibly boring tactical meeting and embarrassing himself in front of you at lunch you probably felt like you had seen enough of him for the week at least.

But fate, it would seem, had another plan as he walked into the jedi library and saw you standing in front of one of the shelves.

Still he could’ve gone to another part of the library, he really only needed to look up one thing, he’d be in and out in a few minutes flat. But then you were on your toes, your arm stretched far above your head, the other steadying yourself on a lower shelf, trying desperately to reach a book on the top shelf that fell just inches from your hand. And he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself.

He was already approaching you before he could stop himself, already ready to reach up and effortlessly pluck the book you wanted from the shelf, but then he saw you bend your knees slightly, getting ready to jump for it.

And that was why his hand immediately went to your waist, to stop you and pull you back slightly, to stop the entire top shelf from falling on top of you as you tried to pull the desired book down. Least that was what he told himself. Why he felt the need to pull you deeper into his chest as he did so, well he had less of an excuse for that.

He was ready to crack some sort of joke about your height, about the catastrophe of an avalanche of books you were about to cause, but then you spun around to face him, big eyes gazing up at him through your lashes, lips slightly parted in surprise, and he felt the words die in his throat, completely forgetting whatever he was going to say in an instant.

“I could’ve gotten it” you objected halfheartedly with a small laugh, and much to his pleasre he could see a new pink hue dusting your cheeks.

“Well I could always just put it back” He shrugged as he leaned in close to you again, reaching over your head to put the book back, telling himself it was just committing to the bit

Then your hands were on his chest and Anakin felt his breath faulter, his movements halted in an instant as you pushed him back from the shelf softly, a wide grin on his face mirroring yours as you did so, the two of you sharing a soft chuckle before he handed you the book, a little sad it was too large to have his hands brush against yours as he did with the ration bar, missing the soft tingle that reverberated through him from the simple contact.

You thanked him with a soft smile, turning to go back to your seat at the desks and Anakin was already talking himself into choosing a desk across the library from you. Telling himself he owed you some respite from him today, even if he had already ruined his last attempt at that as soon as he entered the library.

Then you were talking to him, his brain taking a brief moment to pull himself to attention at your words. “here this seats empty”

He’d never been so happy to hear his own words repeated back at him.

With a smile and a nod he followed you back to the table, giving you a brief moment to pull some of your notes and books towards you own seat and out of his way before sitting down, absolutely relishing the fact that you were making room for him to sit next to you.

“What’re you researching?” he asked you, nodding to the screen in front of you, eager to keep the conversation going.

“Devaron” you answered simply, Anakin watching the way your eyes flicked back between him and the screen as you talked, focusing more on the way your lips moved than the words they said, getting only half sentences if he were honest as you explained your plan to infiltrate a separatist encampment to steal back a holocron.

He let his posture relax more the more you talked, his weight shifting to lean more towards you without even thinking about it, his knees with a mind of their own going to rest softly against yours as he leaned in to look at your screen as you explained, not missing the way you immediately pulled your knee back at the contact, scootching ever so slightly away from him as he leaned in, trying desperately to not let your actions get to him.

Instead he pushed it a little further.

You didn’t even have the chance to think about moving before he was just there, his head floating mere inches above your shoulder, ends of his long hair tickling your ear softly as he peered at the text displayed before you.

“Oh here” You tried to ignore the way the words came out as a squeak, the flush of red on your cheeks at the feeling of his chest just barely skimming your back as you started to lean away, letting him get a better look at the screen before his hand shot out to your shoulder to stop you, pulling you back to your original position.

“No it’s okay you’re fine” he assured you softly, eyes never leaving the screen, hand never leaving your shoulder.

Immediately your brain was in overdrive, focusing on your breathing too much trying to make sure it wasn’t too loud, on the hand that rested on your shoulder and the tingle it sent through the area as his thumb brushed softly up and down, on the scent of his cologne that completely encapsulated you in this moment.

“Would you quit fidgeting it’s hard to read with so much movement coming out of the corner of my eye” he teased you breaking you from your thoughts.

“Well if you’d just let me move you can have the screen all to yourself” you defended, trying again to lean away from him only to have his hand hold you effectively in place.

“you’re not giving me your seat it’s fine we can share just sit still for two seconds” he protested, never once moving from the spot just above your shoulder.

And you tried, oh how you had tried so hard to be still, but he was right there, one of the most gorgeous beings you’d even seen mere inches from your face, the skin beneath his touch burned on your shoulder, his slightly musty scent seemed to completely encapsulate you, and you found it hard to focus on anything but Anakin Skywalker.

Then too quickly he was pulling back, shifting back around to sit down in his seat, a concentrated look on his face as he bent over some of the books you had pulled.

And all you could think about was that that had to have been done on purpose. The way his knee rested against yours when you sat side by side, or his shoulder bumped yours when you walked, you could explain all of that, even the way he seemed to pull you into him as he grabbed the book from over your head, or the way his eyes always seemed to be planted on you when you turned to look at him. Could chalk any of it up to wishful thinking, to innocent touches, to signs of friendship. But what had just happened?

You could read his screen from your position now without straining, without even shifting your weight towards him, there was no reason to get that close, not unless he wanted to.

But the back of your mind was screaming at you, protesting that you were being ridiculous, that there was the jedi code to think of, that Anakin was too good a jedi to even think of breaking it just to form an attachment to someone.

“Why don’t Ahoska and I come with you” His words snapped you back to reality, your cheeks heating up as you realized you weren’t entirely sure how long he had been speaking, how long you had been blatantly staring at him.

“Oh-are you sure?” you asked him in surprise.

“Yeah” he shrugged nonchalantly, looking up from the book before him with a soft smile “Ahoska could use the practice, and it sounds like you could use the backup”

“That would be great actually” you said honestly, gaze flickering back to the map before you, already forming a plan in your mind as you spoke “having a full team there in case things go wrong would be perfect”

“Great” Anakin grinned back at you, a hand coming down to clap your knee softly as he stood, Anakin pulling his hand back from you sooner than you would have liked “We’ll meet you at the loading dock tomorrow morning”

“Sounds good” you smiled back at him as he turned to leave, watching him walk back through the doors, not even thinking to question the fact that he never accomplished whatever he had come to the library to do.

To say that Anakin was happy to see the seat next to you on board was empty was an understatement, he was absolutely ecstatic to the point that not even Ahsoka’s teasing smirk sent is way from across the space could ruin it.

Bounding up to you happily he planted himself in the chair next to you, knocking into your side playfully as he did so, “You ready to go steal a holocron?”

You seemed almost surprised to see him, as if you hadn’t heard him come aboard and walk over to you, but still you painted on a smile, though one that didn’t quite reach your eyes, Anakin’s brain immediately switching over to concern. “what’s wrong?”

You scrunched your brows back at that, immediately pulling away from him though only slightly, gaze going to your feet “what? Nothing?”

He just shook his head at that, his eyes immediately going to your hands and the way your fingers absentmindedly picked at the skin around your nails as you avoided his gaze. Without even thinking his hand shot out, encapsulating one of your in his, his fingers effortlessly intertwining themselves in yours, Anakin wanting to admire just how well your hand fit within his but too preoccupied In trying to figure out what was wrong.

His touch pulled your attention back to him, your gaze bouncing back and forth between his eyes, clearly trying to decide if you should say something.

“It’s alright you can talk to me” he all but whispered, nodding encouragingly, all but begging you to let him in.

“It’s dumb” you dismissed quickly, eyes casting back around the ship but your grip on his hand tightened ever so slightly, Anakin unable to do anything but smile slightly at the gesture, using his thumb to rub lazy circles on the back of your hand.

You gaze was drawn down to your hands in response and Anakin felt his movement hiccup, a brief pause as he worried for a second that was he was doing was wrong, that he was making you uncomfortable, but then he saw the edges of your lips turn up almost imperceptibly and he felt his heart swell in his chest, taking a deep breath and giving your hand a small squeeze letting you know he was here.

“It’s just-“ you stuttered and stopped, finally looking back up at him “Is it dumb that I’m more nervous now with people going than I was when I was going alone”

And though Anakin could never think anything you thought was dumb he couldn’t help but chuckle softly at that, his eyebrows scrunching in confusion at your words “what? Why?”

“Because it’s like” you sighed and he felt your grip go light in his, felt you start to pull away from him, but this time he wouldn’t let you, keeping his grip tight he pulled you softly into him, your shoulder coming to rest calmly against his, your grip thankfully returning in response as a soft chuckle escaped your lips, a sound Anakin grasped onto eagerly. “It’s like now I’m responsible for three more people ya know?” you asked hesitantly, gaze going out to spy on Ahsoka and Rex talking calmly across the room “before it was just me but now if something goes wrong…I just don’t want any of you to get hurt because of me”

And Anakin couldn’t help but grin at that, not wasting the opportunity to lean over and hide his smile in your hair, suppressing his urge to press a kiss to the crown of your head as he did so, “its not dumb, it’s sweet”

You pulled back at his words, eyes going suspiciously to his face “you’re laughing at me”

And with those words he couldn’t help but chuckle, even as he tried to protest “no I’m not-“

“You are” and even your voice started to bounce as you held in your own giggles, Anakin’s cheeks aching ever so slightly as he chuckled back in response.

“No its not-“

But you cut him off again, pushing off of him to stand up but he kept his grip firm, effortlessly pulling you back down into your seat, sure that you had let him do it anyways. “hold on hold on let me explain” he tried to calm himself down, unable to think of anything at first but at how close you now sat next to him, your thigh pressed firmly against his as you all but sat on top of him.

“Look Ahsoka, Rex and I have been on hundreds of missions before and we’ve always made it back” you looked up at him doubtingly and Anakin had to fight the urge to melt into your gaze “we’ve had hundreds of missions go wrong on us, very wrong, and we’ve always been able to handle it. This one won’t be any different”

Your gaze casted back out to Ahsoka and Rex a soft shake in your head as you spoke again, your voice small and hesitant “are you sure”

And finally, Anakin let go of your hand, using his now free arm to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you into a soft side hug before he whispered “yeah I’m sure”

“As far as the plan?” Ahsoka asked you from the copilots seat, looking up at you from where you stood behind Rex’s chair, watching the separatist encampment come into view.

“There’s three entrances” you explained, barely able to tear your eyes away from the window “main one then two others on each side that are much smaller used mostly for transporting supplies. I’ll take the east one, you and Anakin take the west, Rex stays back here with the ship ready to shoot anyone or take off quickly depending on how things go”

You cast your eyes to look back at Ahsoka who was nodding her head softly as she thought then up to Anakin just behind her chair only to see he was already looking down at you, shaking his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re not going alone” he objected quickly “you and Ahsoka take the west I’ll take the east”

You physically recoiled at that, brows scrunching up back at him in confusion, not entirely sure where this was coming from all of a sudden “this is my mission, I was going to go alone anyways”

“And now we’re here” he shot back, making it a point to avoid your gaze as he watched Rex’s landing “so you didn’t have to be alone”

“Hold on I was fine with going alone you were the one-“

Ahsoka interrupted you as you started to get louder, pointing an accusatory finger in Anakin’s direction “I’ll take the west you two go together on the east”

“no” Yours and Anakin’s answer came quickly and in perfect unison, Ahsoka rolling her eyes in response as she crossed her arms over her chest, a posture that now perfectly mirrored both your’s and Anakin’s.

“Look based on the encampments shape the west side will be the less populated one so it makes sense that I take it alone and the two of you take the more difficult one” she tried to explain.

“If that’s the case than I-“ you were ramping up for your argument but watched as Anakin’s shoulders slumped slightly in response, not letting you get out another word before he was conceding with a simple ‘fine’.

As if you had never said anything you watched as Ahsoka grinned triumphantly up at her master, a gesture that just seemed to annoy him further though you still caught a small proud smile snaking its way to his features.

“Hold on-“ you tried to object again but Anakin was already exiting the cockpit, giving your shoulder a soft tap and squeeze as he did, leaving you frozen in space as you watched him go.

“What on earth just happened?” you asked the room earning a small giggle from Ahsoka in response “this was my mission did he really just come in and steamroll his way into making all the plans”

You watched Ahsoka and Rex share a look from their seats before answering in perfect unison “you get used to it”

You groaned softly at their response but couldn’t help but laugh softly at the situation, running a tired hand over your face “I just don’t get why he wouldn’t just let me go on my own, does he not trust me?”

“No he trusts you” Ahsoka tried to assure you quickly but you could already feel yourself spiraling.

“I mean I told him that I was nervous before we took off what if he thinks because of that I’m not capable”

“He speaks very highly of your abilities as a jedi” Ahsoka shook her head in response, stealing a glance at Rex as she did so “I know for a fact that he trusts you with his life”

At that you had to stop, your mind reeling for a second at the thought that Anakin could have spoke so highly about you to Ahsoka before, it wasn’t like he’d ever really been around you enough to know that. “I don’t-“

“Look” Ahsoka sighed with a slight chuckle, spinning around in her chair to face you “he likes you, he just wants to make sure you’re safe”

“But you’re his padawan” you pointed out in confusion “he likes you too and you get to go off on your own”

At this Ahsoka smirked slightly, turning back around to face the window “yeah but it’s different with me”

This only had you more confused “how is it-“

Before you could ask, however, Rex interrupted you “alright we’re here” in surprise you turned your gaze to the window to see that you had in fact landed, you too focused on your talk with Ahsoka and fight with Anakin to even register that fact. “Now you two get going let’s get out of here as quickly as possible”

You were uncomfortably aware of every part of his body that was touching yours, the way you could feel his chest rise and fall against yours with every breath, the way you really had no choice but to look at him.

“Come on I know you’re mad at me” his voice came out in a whisper, prompting you to turn your head up tentatively to look at him through your lashes only to see him already looking down at you, his hands pressed against the wall above your head trying to give you as much space as possible. “I’m sorry I ended up picking the worst spot to hide I didn’t know-“

You cut him off before he could go on any longer rambling “It’s not that”

He scrunched his eyebrows at you “then what is it?”

You shook your head slightly at his expression, casting your gaze back down, desperately wishing you were anywhere but here to have this conversation. Instead of just moving past it like you had hoped he would, however, Anakin stayed silent, his gaze firmly locked down on you, practically pulling the answer out of you.

“It’s this whole mission” You sighed, not missing the way Anakin seemed to only get more confused.

“This was my mission, a simple break in and grab the holocron” you tried to explain “then you ask to join with Ahsoka and I agree and all of a sudden you’re the one making the plans pushing me out of my own mission by delegating me to a less important part, telling me I need to have a partner and can’t go out on my own”

“that’s not-“ You cut him off again before he could deny it.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s my mission. That means you sit down and listen to my plans you don’t get to come in and tell me what I’m going to do and not do on my mission that’s not how this works” You paused for a quick breath, finally chancing a look back up at Anakin “You can’t demote me, not here not now”

His eyes bounced quickly back and forth between yours, concern evident on his face as he formulated his response, taking a moment before speaking “I’m just trying to protect you”

“I don’t need your protection” you countered with a small huff “I’m a fully trained Jedi knight I can handle myself, but I know you’ve regularly got Ahsoka doing more dangerous stuff than this so what about protecting her?”

“It’s different with her”

And there was that explanation again, that same cop out excuse that didn’t tell you anything. You could hope, tell yourself that you knew what it meant, but you didn’t, you needed to hear him say it.

“Why is It different?”

Anakin didn’t say anything to that, deep breaths echoing through his chest to your own as they rose and fell against one another, his eyes bouncing back and forth between your own, quick trips down to your lips that you swore were only in your head. But at that point every time you had overthought your and Anakin’s relationship was whirling around in your head. Every time you looked up to see him already staring at you, every touch he seemed to go out of his way to make, every excuse he’s made to hang out with you or be close. It couldn’t be all in your head could it?

“Are you okay?” The question seemed to come out of nowhere, surprising you slightly, your head backing up to softly bump the wall behind you.

Because in truth you weren’t, you could feel your heart crawling up into your throat, could feel every point of contact between the two of you now like electricity dancing over your skin, could feel the burning desire to just close the small gap between the two of you. But the code, always the code.

“I’m fine” You brushed him off, turning your gaze back to the ground, anywhere but his.

“Hey” He called out to you softly, fingers dropping from over your head down to your chin, pulling your gaze back up to his softly, his fingers dropping down to the side of your neck quickly, pressing softly into the skin. “Your heart is racing”

You could only feel it get faster after that comment, could feel the way your cheeks got hotter from beneath his worried gaze, brushing his fingers off you quickly “I’m fine”

“Is it the tight space?” He was whispering quickly now, already inching his head towards the grate trying to peak out.

“No I’m-“ you tried to object but he was already running off on his own tangent.

“If you need to get out of here we can try and sneak out” he was inching more towards the grate by the second, hands coming off the wall to try and pry it off.

You couldn’t let him leave yet, it was too early the two of you were bound to be caught, so you reached out, grabbing his face in both of your hands and pulling it down to meet your gaze “Anakin it’s not the tight space” you watched his brows bunch up in confusion again, letting the rest of your sentence spill out of you before you could think better of it “it’s you, it’s the way we’re pressed up against one another, the way you keep looking at me like that. It’s you, you make me nervous”

You could practically see his brain stutter, all his features relaxing for a moment as he processed what you said, the corners of his lips ticking up slightly as he did so “I make you nervous?”

“Yes” you breathed out, the panic within you forcing you to tack on more to the sentence “of course you do, you have a reputation of regularly jumping out of moving speeders and are actively trying to sneak out of our hiding spot before it’s time”

A smirk grew on his face at your words as he dipped his head closer to yours down at your eyes level, so close your noses were nearly touching, his hands planted firmly on either side of your head against the wall “but that’s not in the way that you meant it. Right?”

You watched the way his tongue darted out from between his lips, wetting his bottom one quickly, eyes snapping up to meet his again with a blush staining your cheeks a deep enough color you were sure he could see it even in the dim lighting. “Why is it different with Ahsoka?” You whispered the question so softly you weren’t entirely sure he could hear it.

But god help you he chuckled at it, his eyes twinkling softly as he inched forward even closer, “because I’m not in love with Ahsoka”

#anakin x reader #Anakin Skywalker #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin fic #anakin imagine #anakin x you #anakin x y/n #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker fic #anakin skywalker x you #star wars fanfiction #star wars imagine #star wars x you #star wars x reader

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doctorcurdlejr · 4 months

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Niko!! what'd you think of I saw the tv glow. I finally saw it last night and noticed you posting about it so I wanted to know your thoughts :)

Levi!!! I was JUST wondering what you were thinking about the movie after I saw you posting about it as well... we are so media discussion pilled in this way, it's awesome. ANYWAYS I've had so many thoughts since I first saw it and I've been trying to turn them into something coherent for a little bit now.

Ummm okay I have written 1k+ words about this movie, the suburbs, and escapism via teen TV.... clearly I was dying for somebody to ask this I guess so thank you for indulging me <3

First and foremost, I absolutely loved it! I've seen it twice now and the first time I watched it I got to see Jane Schoenbrun talk about the film right after. I already really liked it from that first watch alone. I found it so deeply relatable to my experiences - both in terms of growing up gay and trans, but where I am now in my 20s trying to navigate adulthood. Hearing what Schoenbrun had to say really cemented my feelings and thoughts about the film.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer was a big influence on the movie (it's why Amber Benson makes a cameo as Johnny Link's mom). Even though I don't have the same emotional link to Buffy since I never watched it, I recognize it as the same type of warmth I experienced growing up with Riverdale. When Owen says he feels like his insides have been scooped out but that he's too afraid to look and have that wrongness everybody knows is there be confirmed, Maddy simply responds "Maybe you're like Isabel. Afraid of what's inside you." Tears forming but not falling, breathing shallowly, I grabbed the paper and pen the theater keeps at the seats for people to order food with and wrote that line down - the slip of paper is still somewhere in my car. Writing it now almost feels lame in its simplicity, but it felt like my insides were being flayed open.

During the director discussion, Schoenbrun talked a little bit about this idea of how truly fucking bizarre it is to grow up in the suburbs. Like, when we think about the pinnacle of normality in American culture, it's the image of middle-class cis-hetero-white suburbia. At the same time, despite this cultural dream of normality, everybody is hyper-aware that the suburbs are one of the least normal things ever. So, the ACTUAL cultural understanding of it is that it's where we go to, like, passively kill ourselves (*George Costanza voice* WE LIVE IN A SOCIETY YOU KNOW!). This idea isn't new, I mean there are so many films and shows about navigating that specific bizarre dissonance from Rebel Without a Cause to Heathers to Twin Peaks. Probably half the pre-teen to teen TV I watched obsessively growing up, stuff like Strange Days at Blake Holsey High, Making Fiends, Truth or Scare, and eventually Riverdale, were never shy about being weird and morbid and saying "yes, the suburbs are exactly as bizarre and lethal in the ways you can already feel in your bones at 13." I Saw the TV Glow does a really good job of keying not only into that mental dissonance but more specifically into how those of us who have felt so intrinsically weird and different and wrong fell back on these shows like they were capable of doing the emotional version of a rescue breath maneuver after being drowned.

In high school, if there were two things about me that any person who even vaguely knew me could list off it was that I watched Riverdale, and I was a lesbian - and I was mocked more for the Riverdale. At that age, I was, without a doubt, the most miserable I have ever felt in my life. I rarely left the house because my family lived in a development that made me want to scratch my skin off when I walked out our front door. Owen didn't leave the house for days, afraid Maddy could somehow force him out. I sobbed constantly and frequently to depressing indie rock on the floor of my closet while hoping my family would just once read the (honest to god) KEEP OUT poster plastered on my door since I didn't have a lock on it. Owen didn't leave his room for days, afraid of what Maddy recognized in him. I didn't go on dates and kept my chest binder shoved to the bottom of my bookbag while wearing dresses that could've come from a how-to-be the perfect 50s housewife manual. Owen didn't leave his bed for days, afraid of Maddy touching his neck and Isabel's dress. I also watched Riverdale with the kind of zeal you see in a Pentecostal who has found God and started speaking in tongues to let you know it. I own a button that says, "Don't Make Me Go Dark Betty On You," I cherish it in a way that is only achieved by knowing exactly how corny and trite it is and then moving straight past that because well actually, and most people wouldn't get this, she's holding back something deeply dark and wild and- and disgusting. something painful yet intrinsically her. but i get it, obviously. or maybe not obviously! hopefully not obviously, but- basically, I'm just saying I get it: the experience of reflection and recognition through the other and all that.

Whatever, the point is that this movie is one big glaring trans allegory about how it sucks dog shit to live in the suburbs, and even at our most repressed we find these little snow globes of actualization in the glow of a tv screen that isn't afraid to show you the world you see. I've seen some people say that, like, in this context accepting or coming into your transness is this monumental death of self, which I get, but I feel there lacks a nuance in that because either way Owen is dying. Unlike Maddy who buries herself alive only to come out renewed, Owen doesn't kill himself upon facing the reality that the world is constructed to keep him miserable and the only way out is to take back what it is that the world wants to keep scooped out of him. Instead he just passively lets it drag him to a much more permanent death. This lack of suicide sucks in the kind of way that forces you to sit in your car on the midnight drive home and think to yourself am I letting myself suffocate because at some point knowing the misery became less scary than admitting I've been capable of doing something about it the whole time?

Clearly, I’ve been enchanted by the film’s narrative and meta-textual language. If you're familiar with it, you can see how Schoenbrun built this movie like a long-form dream episode of a canceled teen show filmed in Vancouver. Lynchian? Yeah, sure. Riverdalesque? THIS we cannot possibly deny. Schoenbrun said they included Amber Benson as an act of healing the inner rage experienced at Tara’s death in Buffy. This is a Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa ending Riverdale with a bisexual polycule after his gay Archie play got ceased-and-desisted type move. There’s probably more I could say about the soundtrack and the visuals, but I’ve hit over 1k words on this, so I’ll leave it at I enjoyed this movie a lot. :)

Maddy is an out lesbian who left town to escape the misery and found it strapped to her ankles. She slinks out, an animal pressed against the gymnasium floor, and says "I'm not telling you anything you don't already know." Owen looks into the camera and narrates. He cuts himself open with a box cutter, fully acknowledges what's there, and the movie ends with his suffocating apology parade for the unremarkable inconvenience of his excruciating suffering. You can be gay and trans, you can know it and you can stop repressing it, but you're not going to stop suffocating until you can find a way to destroy the part of you that truly deeply does want to die, reaching for the comforting euthanasia of normalcy. Stop visiting the dream of the life you want and make it into your reality with the same kind of unrepentant conviction seen in some underfunded but wildly ambitious teen television series. In other words: you must try to survive the ego death of being weird. A weirdo, who doesn't fit in and doesn't want to fit in!

#i saw the tv glow #riverdale #< the sister tag to me talking about this movie at this rate...#i saw the tv glow spoilers #asks

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updownlately · 1 year

Text

too shy to say (but i hope you stay)

| leah williamson x reader | fluff | 3.6k | inspo: come out and play by billie eilish | a/n: got this ask a couple days ago and i just couldn't resist the temptation of grinding this one out! to whoever sent it in, i really hope you're feeling better now and that you like this one!

~~~

You weren’t one to get sick, you really weren’t. In the past handful of years, you could count on one hand the number of times you got sick- flu, cold, food poisoning or otherwise. So when you woke up in the morning, nose all stuffy, a pounding headache making your eyes hurt and the room feeling a bit too hot even for a London summer, you had a gut-sinking inkling of what was going on.

Slowly sitting up, wincing at the increasing intensity of your headache, the movement only seeming to make it worse. hands lethargically coming to rub away the sleep from your eyes, you reached for your phone.

7:54 am. Two hours earlier than you need to be up, just great.

Dropping your phone back onto the nightstand, you contemplated whether going to school or work was even going to be worth it today. You really didn’t want to attend class, already exasperated with the thought of getting ready just to sit in an hour and a half long lecture when you could just take a look at the slide deck online.

Plus work…did you ever really want to go? Sure you had great coworkers and all, but work was work. And the idea of being a human punching bag for customers that were already unhappy with their lives wasn’t something you thought you were capable of today.

Making the decision then and there, you shot off a quick text to your manager and then your friends, letting them know you wouldn’t be able to make it today.

Tossing your phone aside and sinking back into your sheets, you ignored the slight dampness of your forehead, more content to just hopefully sleep off whatever it was that you had.

~~~

You hated this. You hated being sick. It hadn’t even been more than a half hour since you had originally woken up, yet here you were again, stuffy nose making it near impossible to breathe comfortably. Oh how you dearly missed when your nose wasn’t plugged.

Groaning in annoyance, you swallowed audibly, trying to keep your frustration at bay.

The scratchiness of your throat made every second that you were awake painful and all you wanted to do really was sleep, but then the congestion in your chest made that near impossible. Couple the two with the pounding headache and the way your whole body ached and you really didn’t know what to do. All you knew was the it really fucking sucked.

Eyes closing, you quickly ran through what you needed to do in order to get better. Remembering from when you were a teen and had to take care of your brothers, you made a mental list. Painkillers, cough syrup, tissues, sweet caroline- wait? sweet caroline?

Snapping out of your thoughts, you focused into the present, hearing your phone ringing beside you, the ringtone reserved for a singular special person.

Picking up the phone, you let a small smile spread across your face at the caller ID.

“Morning Leah.” Your voice came out much scratchier than normal and you silently hoped that the blonde didn’t notice. “Morning love, how are you doing? I hope I didn’t wake you? I was just getting ready to head out, thought I’d ring you.”

You hummed in response, contemplating whether you should tell the English skipper of your current state. You didn’t want her to worry about you, especially not when her own knee issues were currently bothering her.

“I’m okay. And no you didn’t wake me, in fact I’m glad you called, I was missing you,” you hummed.

No sooner than as the words left your mouth, you could hear Leah going on about something at the other end of the line, continuing the conversation, but you couldn’t pay attention- not when your eyes were involuntarily closing, hearing momentarily pausing as your body geared up to sneeze.

Once, then twice, and then a handful more times, you could feel your whole body jolt with each one, room spinning in between.

It was after your fifth consecutive sneeze that you finally had a moment of reprieve. Gathering your bearings, you brought the phone that you had accidentally thrown to the side back up to your ear.

“Sorry about that, had to sneeze.”

“Really? Couldn’t tell,” the cheeky reply caused you to smile and roll your eyes. “You sure you’re doing okay though? Your voice sounds a bit nasally and while normally that wouldn’t be concerning, you just sneezed like 800 times in a row.

“Ha-ha very funny Ms. Captain. I appreciate your concern but I’m most definitely fine. Just the dust y’know?”

“Hey! Uncalled for…” You could almost feel her pout through the phone, glad that your slight distraction worked, or so you thought.

“Well since you’re doing fine, you wouldn’t mind if I FaceTimed you right now, right?”

“I mean I just woke up, I look terrible so I do mind,”

“Oh shush, I’ve seen you wake up, and must you know, I find the sight quite appealing,”

“Flirt”

“Sicko”

“Allegedly”

You were about to continue your protests of being okay, mouth opening to tell Leah that you were just tired, but a coughing fit cut you off, a dial tone faintly heard in between your sharp inhales.

Just as you got yourself collected, the phone in your hands started buzzing again, this time Leah popping up on your screen, a sweet smile on her face.

“Doing okay huh? Sure Rudolph.”

“My nose can’t be that red, surely? I’ve only been up for about a little bit.”

“Baby you look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

“Thanks” you grumbled.

Rolling her eyes fondly, Leah continued. “Listen I have to head to rehab soon but after that I’m dropping by, and don’t even try to discourage me.”

“Leah I’m fine, I swear, just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I’ll be good in a couple hours.”

“Nope…not taking no for an answer. I’ve got to drive out now but you make sure to eat and hydrate okay? I’ll be over as soon as I can. I love you.”

Not having any energy to fight the headstrong blonde, you had no choice but to agree. “I love you too…bye you stubborn skipper.”

Letting leah cut the call, you let out another groan. You didn’t want the footballer to worry about you, very much well aware that she had enough on her plate already. Unfortunately for you, it turns out you and her had something in common, your high levels of stubbornness a shared quality.

Unwilling to be in such a disheveled state when Leah dropped by in a few hours, you decided to quickly grab a shower and freshen up, to maybe even try and get a few bites of food in so that you could take some medicine.

Untangling yourself from the warmth of your sheets, you stood up to leave, room immediately spinning faster than the rides at a fair. Today was going to be a long day…

~~~

Eight months into a relationship…is that enough time to be doing this? Leah couldn’t help but ponder that exact question, turning your apartment key in her hands. You had given it to her at the 5 month mark for your relationship, citing it would be helpful in the case of an emergency. She hadn’t used it once though, at least not until now.

See, she would’ve more than happily waited for you to answer your door, but the problem was that you weren’t. After a handful of knocks, a few missed calls, and double-digits of minutes waiting, Leah figured that it would be okay to use it now, right?

Slightly worried for your wellbeing as well, deciding that at worst you’d be a little upset, Leah went ahead and unlocked the door. Better an upset girlfriend than one stuck in a poor situation of any sort.

Slowly easing the door open, the eerie silence of your apartment had the blonde concerned. You weren’t one to live in silence, always having some album or playlist playing through your speakers in the house. It seemed that the sickness was hitting you harder than she had initially thought.

Placing the grocery bag in her arms onto the floor, the skipper made quick work of her shoes, shutting the door behind her and locking it.

Quietly padding to the island, she began to empty out the contents of the bag to sort them out. Taking out the items, she laid them out in front of her, trying to recall what item was needed as per the instructions of her mum.

Grabbing the cough syrup, painkillers, cough drops, a glass of water, and a thermometer, Leah set the items on a tray and started the trek to your bedroom.

She really hoped you had ate by now, well aware of her lack of abilities in the kitchen (listen- she made up for it on the pitch okay?)

Pushing your ajar door open, Leah stepped into your dark room. immediately noticing the stuffiness and then the sight of your curled up figure tucked into one corner of the large bed.

Slowly walking further into the room, she placed the tray on your nightstand, one that already seemed littered with a handful of different medications, a box of Kleenex, and what appeared to be a glass of apple juice.

The Englishwoman took a seat on the edge of your bed, hand coming to gently brush against your forehead, pushing your matted baby hairs out of the way. Placing the back of her hand to your now visible skin, like she had experienced her mother do many times with her, Leah felt for a temperature, one that was very apparent from the first few seconds really. You really were, in fact, burning up.

Picking her phone from out of her joggers, the blonde shot off a quick text to her mother, doubling checking what she was supposed to do to help with bringing it down before clicking it off. Placing it back in her pocket, the skipper figured that as tired as you were, it would be a good idea to wake you up to see if you had at least ate or taken any medication.

Running her thumb softly over your cheek, the other coming to rest on your shoulder, Leah slowly rose you out of your slumber, the gentle ministrations causing you to smile subconsciously.

Waking up in a daze, surprised at the feeling of another’s hands on your face, you immediately went to rub at your eyes, not believing the Leah shaped figure at your side.

“You actually came…” Your voice came out hoarse, disbelief laced in the words, the both of you wincing at the scratchiness, before Leah handed you the glass of cool water.

Sipping gratefully, you nearly emptied the whole glass before turning back to your girlfriend.

“Why wouldn’t I have come? You’re not doing well, I’m not going to have you suffer alone.”

“You might get sick too…”

“Worth it,” she shrugged, as if it was that simple of a solution to potentially getting sick.

“Leahhhh,” you dragged out her name, too sleepy to do anything else to confront her.

“Listen, I know how much you hate being sick, and you don’t get sick often either, so let me take care of you okay? Please? And then when I get sick you can return the favour? How does that sound?”

Shaking your head, you let out a huff. “You’re too stubborn for your own good.”

“You love me for it”

“Yeah, I wonder why sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

“Always”

“Good”

“Leah…” you shook your head at her antics, the smile on your face betraying the annoyed facade you had on.

“I love you.”

You huffed, crossing your arms and choosing not to reply. At your prolonged silence, Leah started poking your cheeks, her fingers gently prodding your face.

“Say it back. C’mon, you have to. Baby…say it back so I can start taking care of you.”

Sighing in amusement at her persistence and never ending poking, you lethargically reached out to grab her hands, stopping both right before they hit your cheek for the umpteenth time.

“I love you too, you pain.”

Grinning in victory, Leah wiggled her right hand free and patted your cheek. “Okay good. Now, with that done, I need you to open your mouth, gotta take your temperature to see what we’re working with here.”

Saluting her, an “aye aye nurse Leah” escaping your lips, you waited as she prepped the thermometer before placing it carefully in your mouth.

Wincing as it went under your tongue, your mind flashed back to when your mother would do this to you as a kid, the uncomfortableness of it not escaping you even after nearly fifteen years had passed.

“Everything okay? I didn’t place it down awkwardly or too rough, right?”

You nodded the best you could with the thermometer in your mouth, carefully to not jostle it around too much, heart melting at her attentiveness. Blinking your eyes and turning up the sides of your lips slightly, you hoped that she got the message that you were okay.

When you took the thermometer out a minute later, the electronic screen read a 38.9º, you knew you nearly had a high fever.

Checking her phone, Leah confirmed the same.

“Are you asking Google if my fever is high?” you asked, body shaking with slight laughter.

“I-“ A slight blush crossed your girlfriend’s face, one barely visible if it wasn’t for the illumination of her phone. “I had my mum send me a short guide on what I need to do for what situation…I’m just reading that.” she admitted shyly.

“Oh Leah…” you nearly melted, a pout appearing on your face. “I love you.”

Her bashful smile growing into a more confident one, Leah reiterated the sentiment with joy, never one to shy away from reminding you just how much she cared for you.

“Okay so according to this, placing a cool, damp washcloth on your forehead might help with the fever, and so will taking some Paracetamol…speaking of, have you eaten yet?”

You couldn’t help but smile softly at Leah’s rambling and question. You knew the blonde was protective and cared greatly not only for you but for everyone in her life, but getting to be on the direct receiving end of it? it was a feeling like no other, and you were sure that the warmth coursing through your body right now was more than just the fever, Leah’s affection bringing you a sense of comfort even as chills wracked your body.

“I did…had a feeling you wouldn’t want to step into the kitchen so I had a sandwich about…” You checked the time on your phone, “…two hours ago? Is that enough?”

“I’m assuming ideally you’d want to eat within at least the last hour of taking the medicine. You think you’d be up for that?”

“Leah, love, the better question here is whether you think you’re up for cooking, seeing as I don’t have anything ready to eat in my fridge right now.”

“I brought some food with me.”

Throwing your head back in appreciation, the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them.“Leah…god I could marry you right now.”

“In sickness and health am I right?” came the cheeky reply almost instantly.

You rolled your eyes in good nature, your smile permanently stuck on your face it seemed, a giddy feeling overtaking you.

“Eventually.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded in response, too afraid you’d ask her to marry you on the spot with the way she was so tenderly taking care of you right now.

Shooting you an award-winning smile, Leah carefully made her way off the bed, going to clean the thermometer and grab the food options that she brought.

Returning within minutes, she had somehow managed to bring in a whole plate with an assortment of food.

“Alright, so from what I was told, these would be the best foods for you right now…I’ve got apple slices, a few sandwiches, some assorted cut up fruit- none that will irritate your throat though- and a couple other snacks.”

You couldn’t help but stare at the defender in shock, mind appalled at seeing first-hand the level of effort she had gone through.

Blinking once, then again, you looked between the food and then back at her, going back and forth a few times before closing your eyes due to the dizziness.

“Everything okay love?”

“I- you did so much…you’re doing so much…I-,” you stumbled out, not sure how to properly express your gratitude.

“Honey, you deserve to be taken care of, you know that right? I’m just giving you what you deserve. And we both know you’d do the same for me, no hesitation, so let me do it for you alright?” And just like that, the defender knew exactly how to crush all your intrusive thoughts with just a few sentences.

Nodding dumbfoundedly at just how well she knew you, you grabbed a sandwich, unwrapping it and taking a bite.

Swallowing, you used your free hand to grab another sandwich, holding it out to the englishwoman.

“Have you eaten? I’m assuming with how much effort went into this and the fact that you had rehab, breakfast was the last thing you had?”

Leah took the sandwich in your hands without much protest, confirming your thoughts.

Between bites, she talked you through what she planned for the next little bit, checking with you on what you needed as well.

The pair of you eventually decided that you’d have your medication and then let Leah try and lessen your fever with a some damp washcloths, after which the pair of you would likely settle down for a movie, putting as much space as you could between one another to limit the likelihood of transmission (spoiler alert: it really didn’t do much).

Letting yourself be loved, you both quickly finished off the food before cleaning up, Leah taking the tray and the dishes to the kitchen to put those in the sink, and you opening up your windows and tidying your room slightly.

Just as you made your way back to your side of the bed, Leah came back into the room, arms full of the necessary things required for the lessening of your temperature.

As you watched her quietly get settled beside you, you really couldn’t believe you had gotten this lucky. No one was really there to take care of you besides your stressed mother as a child and thus, you hated being sick, not wanting to burden the already stressed woman. Now though, with the blonde defender that was here, taking care of you in every aspect, not letting you suffer alone, you figured that if it always led to this, that you’d take the lonely days as a childhood in stride in every universe, as long as she ended up in your life.

And as you both finally settled down for a movie, fever waned down enough for it to be considered mild, nearly non-existent, fingers just barely intertwining in the large gap between your two bodies, you let the tiredness in your body settle, the love you had for the other girl calming your anxiety of being stressed, bringing you peace.

You knew you were lucky, the way Leah knew you so well. How she decided to visit even though you’d be fine alone. How she sensed to bring you food and take care of you, well aware you could manage by yourself but not wanting you to. How she knew to visit, even though you were hesitant to ask. You dearly hoped that this would be your life for a long time, not the sickness but the love, hoping it could grow, the flowers of it creating a garden in your hearts.

Yawning, you squeezed Leah’s hands three times, a silent ‘i love you’, as you let her presence lull you to sleep, body sated with food and love, just rest left to do. Eyes closing, you silently appreciated her love as she tucked you in, unaware of your half-awake state. By the time the tiredness overtook you, you knew that you’d wholeheartedly do anything for the blonde, just like she had done for you, wanting to be the one she took care of for the rest of her life, wanting to be the one who got to take care of her, to make her smile, to love her to ends of the universe and back.

Smiles on the both of your faces, the two of you fell asleep partway through the movie, hands slowly itching towards the other, bodies slightly tangling, puffs of breaths in the increasingly smaller space between you two as your limbs found each other, your face eventually tucking into the crook of her neck, her arms wrapping around you.

Maybe, just maybe, being wasn’t that terrible after all. Not when you had her to take care of you, to love you, to stay when you were too shy to ask.

(And lucky enough for you, you very much got the chance to shower her in as much, if not more love when she inevitably, shockingly, somehow magically, got sick only a few days later. Wonder how that happened…)

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #fluff #my writing #fic req #fic #tsts

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