#is that they will have no audience but me

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Mr. Gaiman,

My high school English class has a slam poetry unit for all the sophomores where we learn about poetry, write our own slam poem, and then present it in front of the entire class. If the class votes your poem go be the best you move onto perform your poem for the entire grade plus the 60-something other guests who decide to show up. I have to present my poem tomorrow and I’m absolutely terrified. I hate performing, whether I’m alone in my room or in front of 10 people I always get this gut feeling like I’m doing something wrong. You’re a brilliant writer and on the occasions you do perform, you’re amazing. I was wondering if you had some advice for me whether it’s to calm my nerves or perform my own work because I can already feel my heart going a mile a minute at the thought of the performance.

Please and thank you,

Lue

Practice. Say it aloud it until you can do it in your sleep.

Then when you deliver it, slow down. The adrenaline will be speeding up time and making you take shallow breaths. Slow down, deep breaths, and pretend that you do this every day. The more comfortable you appear to be the more comfortable everyone in your audience will be.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP fanfic idea: Ecto-Specialist

Danny Fenton gets sent by his parents as a Fenton Ecto-Specialist at the request of the Justice League. They would have gone themselves, but unfortunately, every other Fenton had come down with the flu.

Danny was happy about his ghost immune system because this meant he could present Ghosts in a much more favorable light. He left behind all his parents' weapon blueprints and research reports.

He switched them out with his PowerPoint, ghost notes, and interviews he managed to obtain from the friendlier spiris. He arrived to the Hall of Justice, was given a special access pass and was told to set up in a board room.

He nervously plugged everything in, smooth down his suit, and practiced his speech. He's given presentations before, but they have always been school assignments. It was still nerve-wracking, but at least everyone else had to give the exact same topic for the same five to six minutes requirement.

Here, he was going to speak before some of the best heroes of the world to convince them that ghosts were sentiment. To prove they should have rights.

No pressure.

"Hello, I'm Danny Fenton. I'm going to speak about Ecto-beings and their vast culture within the Infinite Realms, " He says to the empty chairs. He pauses for a moment before, as if though he was gathering the attention of a audience before pressing the clicker abd watching his slide move.

"What are Ecto-beings?" He makes a gesture, that he once saw Tim Drake do on TV. It was a smooth wrist roll that he thought look sophisticated. "They can come in all shapes and sizes. Some are naturally formed from their environment, others are born to Ecto-beings and a few or deceased spirits. But they all share a core build from ectoplasm. That's what classifieds them as-"

"Maybe start but explaining what ectoplasm is" a voice cuts him off. Danny is not proud of the high pitch scream that releases from his throat. He is even less proud that he jumps so badly, he ends up tripping over his feet and falling over.

Bell-like laughter, fills the air, and Danny swings his head to the doorway only to further choke on his spit. Standing there looking like a Greek god is Tim Drake.

The very person he was attempting to imitate.

"Are you the Fenton Works representative?" Drake asks, strutting in with a wink. "I'm here on Wayne Enterprises behalf. We may be doing a joint charity effort for Ecto-beings rights. I'm Timothy Drake. And you?"

"I ugh, I'm Danny. Ugh- Danny Fenton. My parents own Fenton Works." He scrambles to his feet, flushing dark red when Drake smiles. "I'm presenting today. I was um practicing?"

"You're doing great" Drake assures. "Just remember to not stand in front of the screen. You want people to ready your bullet points."

"Oh." Danny drags his podium over. He cringes when he realizes that causes it yo scrap against the floor, leaving two long lines.

Drake's grin widens. "It has wheels. You just press the little lever on the right"

Danny wants to die "right. Sorry"

"Nothing a wax machine can't fix." Drake tilts his head, studying his face before asking,"Want to get a quick coffee to calm your nerves? They sell a great brand in the cafeteria"

Danny rubs his hands "Coffee makes me more nervous but thank you"

Drake's smile flatters before it switches back. "Icecream then?"

"No thank you. I run cold naturally and ice cream makes it worse"

".....how about afterwards? We could go watch a moive? Dinner?"

"I would, but I'm supposed to stay in the hotel my parents rented for me. They'll know if I'm not."

The other teen nods and looks a bit disappointed. "Alright, you can't blame a guy for trying . Well, good luck with your practice. I'll be back in an hour for the presentation."

Dannybwaves goodbye, trying to slow his fluttering heart rate. He just spoke to Tim Drake! He can't wait to text Sam and Tucker.

It's only after re-running the presentation once, about thirty minutes later, that Danny jolts in place "HE WAS ASKING ME OUT?!"

"Who was?"

For the second time that day, Danny released a high pitch scream. It's much worse to find Wonder Woman fighting a amused smile standing in the doorway instead of a Teenage Hearttob.

He hasn't even started. Maybe he should have fake being sick, too.

[tacticalprincess]

MDNI — cw: f!reader, car sex, age gap

farmhand!könig who can’t get enough of farmer’s daughter!reader….

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 🌾

he’s always pestering you, making it impossible for you to complete your chores on time most days. he’s addicted to the playful gleam in your eyes when you look up at him, the way your soft body feels in his rugged hands. the excitement that thrums under his skin as the two of you dance around your overprotective dad, sharing a secret that tethers you together long after you leave his shed at night, lingers thick in the air at the dinner table and in passing. the more of you you give to him, the worse his craving for you gets, and the less he seems to care about getting caught.

he sneaks a hand over your mouth and lifts you into his old, beat up truck while you’re taking your dry sheets off the clothesline, the sun hot and heavy overhead. you squeal against his palm, writhing in his hold before he sets you on his broad lap, letting you turn to face him.

“don’t do that! you scared me.”

he laughs it off, already snaking his large, calloused hands under your shirt to thumb at your hip pudge. cant waste any time when he has you alone. insincere apologizes mumbled into the soft, sweat slick skin of your neck, huffing in your sweet scent. “cant help myself with you teasing me like this. bending over in these tiny shorts, showing all the animals your ass.”

you giggle, back arching into the older man’s greedy, firm touch, angling your head away to give him more access to your neck. “the cows weren’t exactly my target audience.”

“talking about me, liebchen.” he clarifies. the strong smell of musk and mud invades your senses, the soft fabric of his white tee chafing against your hard, braless nipples through your flimsy shirt. “dirty little girl, aren’t you? going to get me in trouble one day, i know it. what would your father do if he knew his daughter was trying to seduce his best farmhand?”

he renders your ability to speak null and void when he slots his hands into your shorts and squeezes you for all you have to offer, spreading your cheeks and making you grind your hips down on his hard bulge, the friction from your jeans borderline painful against your clit. groans throatily at how wet you are already, his fingers slipping into your hole to gather your slick before he retracts it entirely, showing you how it sticks to his thick digits. “hm? looks like this cute little cunt missed me too.” a cocky grin plagues his sharp features, smearing your juices over your pouty lips dirtily, just to see your face scrunch up in disgust. he grabs your chin, pulling you forward to lick it off.

it’s all happening too fast, exhilaration clinging to your bones, heat gathering at your core. you look around the field warily, mind racing with doubt but your body betrays you, bucking into his mouth when you feel him litter sloppy, wet kisses along your chest, pulling down the strap of your shirt to let your cute boobs spring free. if it wasn’t hot already, you’re burning up now. “könig, not out in the open like this. what if daddy sees?”

“i’ll be quick, maus. just want to play with you.” he promises, though you have a sneaking suspicion it won’t be over that soon. “can you feel how hard you make me? you’re all i can think about, it’s impairing my ability to work. cant have that, can we?”

decidedly, you don’t want to be the cause of a sudden switch in the quality of könig’s farm work, or at least that’s what you tell yourself when you let him push your shorts to the side, sitting yourself down on his thick, hard manhood. he swallows every heavenly noise that tip from your soft lips onto his tongue, clashing teeth and jaw from desperation. lets you grit your kitten nails into his scalp for purchase, hot bodies pressed flush together in the cramped space while he lifts and drops you down until your thighs start to tremble and lock around him. the heels of your boots dent into your plush thighs, his are planted to the floor as he pile drives his hips into you, thrusts deliberate and meticulous in a way that awakens sweet parts you didn’t know you had.

it’s a shame, he thinks, having to hide away in a dirty truck with such a pretty thing like you. too soft and sweet for a man like him, but his addiction to you makes you impossible to resist. it’s unclear who’s corrupting who in this situation.

if you were back home with him in austria, he would’ve proposed to you already, declaring you as his for everyone to see. as it is, he bounces you on his cock until you’re seeing stars, the ambience of the farm surrounding you, with the slowly setting sun as your witness.

[aliteralsemicolon]

Malicious Compliance - 18+

Spencer’s job has been hogging more of his time than usual, leaving you neglected, frustrated and bratty. He makes up for it by ever-so-kindly giving you exactly what you asked for.

Spencer Reid X AFAB! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story is NSFW. It contains strong themes and detailed descriptions of adult content. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact! You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNING: Smut, penetration, PinV, word porn, no mention of protection/unprotected sex, use of pet names, BDSM elements (details in spoilers), basically just straight up word p0rn with almost no artistic licence and a sprinkle of fluff. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 7.2K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

Do people ever get so pent up that everything their partner does becomes provocative? Their mind begins looking for any signs to give their body a reason for release, even if those signs are entirely made-up. And every time they’re denied that release, the desire that previously coursed through their veins becomes frustration. 

It fills them until there’s no room left for it inside of them, pushing their limits, like water pressure challenging the confinement of a pipe. Eventually the pressure becomes too much for the pipe to handle. Just a little bit more pressure and that pipe inevitably bursts. 

You don’t think you’ve ever been more frustrated in your life. Maybe it’s an exaggeration but sitting here, barely two feet away from your boyfriend, watching him flip through his work files might be the last amount of pressure you can handle before your pipe bursts.  

Even if you somehow manage to compose yourself, you know you’ll burst not long from now. You can’t really blame yourself. It’s been almost two full weeks since you’ve had any sort of release. Scratch that, it’s been almost two full weeks since Spencer’s even properly acknowledged your presence. 

You haven’t even bothered to try and hide your shameless ogling. Not once has he looked up in your direction. So you continue to stare at the way his fingers slide down every page as his mind absorbs the information, turning the page before you even blink. 

They move so elegantly. You trace the veins on his hands with your eyes. They’d look so nice wrapped around your thro - Lord, you can’t do this. Taking a deep breath, you decide it’s time to alert him of your presence. 

“Spence?” Not mentioning that your presence has been lingering for almost half an hour. No response. How oblivious does he have to be? “Spencer?” 

“Hm?” Even when you finally get a response, it’s barely a half-hearted one. Not even a glance up. 

“You wanna take a small break? You’ve been going through that same file for ages now.” You attempt to fuel a conversation anyway. 

“Can’t.” 

You want to be upset, you really do, but your eyes are locked in on his fingers working that damn paper. Your mind wanders to all the times they slid along your thighs, just like that. Knees squeezing against each other to try and suppress the electric jolt that just ran up in between your thighs. 

“Do you want me to order you some food?” You try to distract yourself from your current predicament, by focusing on your boyfriend’s well-being instead. 

“No thank you. Just order for yourself.”  There was really no point in trying when Spencer entered this headspace, it was almost impossible to get him out of it. 

“I’m going out tonight, remember? Going clubbing with my friends?” Was he really so focused that he wasn’t even aware of your plans? Plans that you made infront of him this morning, by the way. 

“That’s great Honey.” 

Yes, you suppose he really was. 

This was basically another rejection in a long list of rejections from the past two weeks. You doubt that he was even aware. That desire surging through you just a second ago morphed to frustration once again. In an attempt to let it be known, you blow out an annoyed huff as you get up from your seat. 

No response.

The problem wasn’t that he was busy because of his job. You knew his job, you completely understood when he had to leave home at bizarre times. The problem was that he had been bringing his job home with him. It was hard enough to have his attention when he was actually at work, now you had to fight for it in your own home? 

You make your way around the couch and sneak up on him from behind, resting your arms on his shoulders. Starting from the top of his head, you begin planting small kisses down his face until you reach his ear. 

“Spence, c’mon you’ve been doing this for hours.” He leans back towards you, bringing the file with him, but keeping his eyes - and fingers - on that file. Seriously? 

“Honey, I really can’t right now. You should start getting ready now for your plans.” Wow so he was aware. You should be elated, those were the most words you’d gotten out of him all week. 

A dazed exhale escaped him when you nibbled on his ear. His head rolled back, giving you room to keep kissing down his neck. He slightly turns his head towards you and his hand captures your jaw in a light grip. It pulls you away from him, his voice calls out your name in a stern tone. 

“Stop that, I said I’m busy. Go get ready.” His eyes remain on the page the whole time. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You think. Your eyes roll on their own volition at the same time as you start to walk away. 

“I saw that.” He warns. 

“So do something about it.” You scoff in annoyance. 

You’re actually hopeful that maybe he will do something about it. You remained hopeful for almost an hour while you got ready. Your hair gorgeously styled, seductive makeup enhancing your best features and now as you browse through your closet for a suitable dress to wear, there’s still no Spencer in sight. 

You find a dress and make your way towards the dresser to see if it completes the look. You press the hanger against your shoulders, scanning from your neck-line down to your legs and unintentionally look towards your underwear drawer. 

Just a few weeks ago, you were out shopping and were innocently asking for his opinion on a new set of lingerie you liked. When you hopped out of the dressing room to show him he didn’t even stop to look at it before he hauled your ass right back behind the curtain and re-dressed you himself. 

Spencer may be the sweetest man alive, there’s no doubt about that, but most people don’t know that he’s possessive as hell. An idea pops into your head when you recall that he still hasn’t properly seen the under-wear. 

You dig out the brand new set and take a second to admire how well it compliments your assets. You put the dress on over the lingerie and have to admit, you look really good. Anybody with half a brain could tell what you were wearing under the dress. Spencer would never let you leave the house like this, but he’d have to look at you first if he wants to stop you. 

It’d be a shame if Spencer didn’t bother to pry his eyes away from his file so he could stop you. What would he do if he realised you’d been dancing around all night in nothing but a tiny dress that barely covers the promiscuous cloth under it? Not to mention the attached stockings it’s entirely unable to hide. 

He’d spank you red, that’s what he’d do. 

Either way, you’re going to get laid tonight. You get closer to the mirror by leaning into the dresser and spritz a few drops of your signature perfume around your pulse points. There’s still plenty of time left before you actually have to leave, but if you stay any longer you’re going to go insane watching Spencer use his fingers on anything other than yourself. You just need to get your keys from the kitchen counter, put on your shoes and you’re ready to go. 

“I’m leaving now.” You yell out to Spencer. You don’t even have to look at him to know that he’s still sitting where you left him. 

And yet again, no response. “How many files does he have in that satchel?” You wonder. 

You reach for the keys on the counter and just as you grab them, Spencer’s hands surprise you by grabbing your waist. You almost squeal at the sudden contact. “Where do you think you’re going, hm?” His arms cross around your waist. 

“Oh so you do remember I exist?” You snark, trying to play it cool. 

You can’t let him have the upper hand just because he’s finally paying attention. He snakes a hand down to your thighs and lifts your dress up slightly, his body pushing against yours. He doesn’t even bother to comment on the jab you took at him. 

“You still can’t respond properly.” You try for a response again. 

Before you can comprehend his movements he’s stepped back and swung you around, his hands pressing on your hips, pushing your ass against the counter. He drinks in the sight in front of him as his eyes travel down your figure and back up, meeting yours. His tongue darts out and swipes across his lips, in true Spencer fashion. He lifts you up to sit on the counter as he steps in between your legs, closing the distance between you. 

“Let me rephrase,” there’s a fire behind his eyes when he speaks, tone levelled, finger creeping inside the stocking’s band. He pulls it away from your skin when he speaks,

“where do you think you’re going…” 

and lets it go

 “...wearing this?” 

The elastic slaps your thigh and adds to the emphasises of his last word. The close proximity, his lingering scent, voice, touch - your core was beginning to light up. It was dumb to think that you could keep the upper hand. Spencer had complete power over you and he knew that. 

“I asked you a question.” 

You were still going to try and challenge him, despite knowing better than to keep him waiting. It’s only fair, considering how long he made you wait. And how it took you acting out to make him notice you. 

“The club, silly. With my friends. You keep forgetting.” You coyly answer, wrapping your arms around him as you lean in. 

He raises both his brows in amusement and maintains eye contact, keeping his voice low and gentle. 

“I haven’t forgotten. I just wonder why you want everybody else there ogling you. Don’t even try to deny it. It would only take a few drinks before you start stumbling on your ass, displaying yourself for anyone who wants a peak.” His grip on your thigh tightens. 

Spencer didn’t actually care about what you wore, as long as he was the only one who saw what was underneath it. Your current attire went against that.

It took everything in you to not crash your lips on him right then. You wanted to feel him so bad but you couldn’t, not just yet. You pull out your most doe-eyed pout, eye contact still in place.

 “If I can’t get my own boyfriend to pay attention to me then I’m going to have to get that attention from somewhere else.” An empty threat, you both knew that. Nobody else's attention mattered to you. 

“Have I really neglected you so much?” He swallowed, not even blinking as he stared back. 

Maybe you’ve been reading the signals wrong. You expected anger or annoyance, but the man in front of you looks almost…apologetic? You lean your head back slightly so you can read his face better. His expression is entirely apologetic, causing you to soften your features as well. 

“Spencer I didn’t mean-” 

“I know you didn’t.” He cuts in before you can finish. “I’m asking if I’ve been too neglectful.” 

His hands roam from your thighs to your waist from under your dress, his fingers massaging you. You can’t pick up on his mood. He leans in and kisses your cheek. 

“I’ve been ignoring you. I’m sorry” He reaches for your forehead and gives you a kiss there too, before coming back down to your other cheek. “Let me make it up to you.” 

You expected him to punish you for acting up, his soft demeanour was throwing you off entirely. 

“Spence, it’s okay. You can finish your work. I have to leave soon anyways.” You lied, unsure of how to act.

“No you don’t. Even if you leave an hour from now, you’ll still make it on time.” He moves to your jaw, leaving a kiss there. You melt at his tender touch. “Let me make it up to you. Anything you want, just ask.” He insists.

You wanted to resist, to reassure him, to make him feel less guilty. It had just been so long and your head was getting so cloudy. His lips felt so, so good against your skin. 

“Ask.” He whispers, his voice so painfully sweet. 

Your hand runs through his hair, the other one dragging along his back lightly. He pushes his clothed, but clearly hard, length against you and a soft whimper finds its way out of you. He was clearly just as turned on as you were. 

“Please fuck me Spencer. Make me cum. Please.” 

He pulls your dress over your head and throws it somewhere on the floor, leaving you only in your lingerie and returns to your neck. The grip in his hair becomes slightly tighter as you grind against him. He takes this as permission, grabbing you by your legs to pull you as close to him as possible and takes you in a deep, hungry kiss. Another whimper leaves you, travelling from your mouth into his. 

He glides his tongue against yours, arms tightly hugging your waist. You’re both heated, panting heavily as you kiss, grinding against one another. Before things go any further, he pulls away. 

“You wanna cum?” He glides his hands all the way up your torso, cupping your jaw in his hands. 

“Mhm,” You nod, cupping his wrists “Please.” 

He gives you a clumsy peck. 

“I can help you do that. Let’s get you to bed. I’ll make you come. Would you like that, Princess?” His voice sounds so raspy, he’s almost whispering. 

You don’t entirely trust his sweet demeanour, he’s never this nice when you’ve broken as many rules as you have. But fuuuckkk. You were so turned on right now and he looks so beautiful. 

“Yes please!” You enthusiastically bounce off the counter, kissing him as you start to walk backwards. He doesn’t let the kiss fully break, walking with you, your hands feeling whatever part of each other they could. 

You manage to find your way to the bedroom with some minor collisions against furniture, giggling every time. Your motions come to a halt when you reach the edge of the bed, the kiss deepens again. 

Your hands start fumbling with his shirt and he works his belt, functioning as quickly as you can to get him undressed. His boxers slide off and you can’t help but break the kiss again to gawk at his shaft. Fucking hell, you’d seen it so many times and it’s still just as pretty. He kisses your forehead and chuckles. 

“Like what you see, Princess?”

You smile, biting your lip in response but not taking your eyes off his length. He lifts your head back up by hooking his finger under your chin to meet his gaze and he returns to your kiss. You reach around your back to unclasp your bra and he grabs it in the middle, pushing you down on the bed gently. 

The mattress catches you, but your bra is ripped away in his grasp. Spencer remains standing over you, eyeing your figure beneath him as he discards the laced bra on the floor.

“Well Handsome, you gonna join me or what?” 

This earns you another chuckle as he leans down towards you, the mattress dipping from his weight. You shuffle back on the bed together, sharing another passionate kiss on the way. Both of you refuse to break away until you finally reach a place you mutually decide is comfortable. 

Or at least, til Spencer decided it was comfortable enough and yanked you towards him until both your cores were completely pressed against together. 

The only thing restricting complete contact was a flimsy piece of fabric and it was barely enough, judging by the needy whine that you let out when the underside of his cock brushed against your heat. 

“So wet. So pretty.” Spencer groaned, kissing his way down your neck again. 

His hands freely roam up your body again, stopping to cup and knead your breasts. He takes his time using his mouth, sucking on the flesh as he makes his way down from your collarbones to my sternum. 

This must be your punishment. You’ll have to leave the house covered with his markings on your skin, warning anyone else who even thinks about touching you, that you belong to him. 

“Fuck, Spencer.” You breathe out in desperation and grind your hips against him, earning you a gravelly moan. Your hands come off the bed and back into his hair, trapping him against you without applying pressure so that he can move about as he pleases. . 

When he’s satisfied with the bruises he’s stained you with, he licks a path from your sternum to your left tit, leaving his hand to continue playing with your right one. He sucks, nibbles, kisses and licks your nipple all while pinching and rolling the other one between his fingers. 

“Spence, please!” You gasp, unable to control your hips. 

“Mmm, my needy little whore.” He mumbles and begins a trail of kisses back down your torso, stopping just above your mound, but abandoning the region altogether as he diverts his path to your thigh instead. You whine at his delay to satiate the fire that he ignited. 

“Shh, shh, shh,” he coos “patience Princess.” 

You whine harder and he pinches your nipple, earning him a yelp.

He continues his motions up your thigh, kissing all the way to your knee before switching legs and trailing back down from your knee to your thigh. Every kiss sends electricity through your core, hands still in his hair, following his head wherever it moves. 

“As much as I love you, if you don’t stop teasing me I’m going to fucking lose it.” You interrupt his foreplay, deciding that he had done enough priming. 

He lets out a breathy chuckle, and it sends chills through your spine. Your body jerks up in reaction and he takes this opportunity to slide off your panties, leaving you bare, save for your stockings. 

Cold air hits your heat and before you have the time to adjust to the feeling, he runs his tongue up your slit, flattening it entirely to cover as much surface area as possible. A loud, rippled moan emerges out of you, arch intensifying. Your hands tighten the grip on his hair automatically. 

“Fuuuccckkkk.” is all you can muster in that moment, your brain short-circuiting. 

Spencer focuses the tip of his tongue at the edge of your entrance, sampling the taste of your arousal before fully dipping in. His arms hold your legs apart in place and he sneaks his thumb to your clit.

You feel euphoric, you could float away. The feeling of his tongue pushing in and out of you was enough to leave you grabbing at his shoulders, digging your nails in slightly. Your hips started rocking against his face, Spencer had to physically hold them down as he shifted his mouth's attention from your entrance to your clit. 

“Hold still,” he ordered in the most gentle tone, the vibrations from his voice causing goosebumps, “you’re doing so well, Sweet Girl.” 

You squeaked when you felt his mouth circle around your bud, sucking gently. As he worked you with his tongue, You felt him enter a finger inside you. His name rolled off your tongue in a sigh, your hand back in his hair pulling slightly and causing him to erotically groan. 

The sounds coming from between your legs were so sinful and lewd, only amplifying when he added a second finger. His pace increased with the addition, fingers curling slightly while he pumped. 

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, vocabulary reduced to filthy swears and moans. You could feel my orgasm pending below my abdomen. Spencer didn’t slow down, even when you tried to buck away from his touch. 

He was persistent in following you, his head moving wherever you tried to escape to. When he felt that he couldn’t keep up, he held you down by applying the entire pressure of his forearm against your pelvis. 

“Spencer, Spencer, Spencer!” Each repetition got louder, you didn’t know what you were trying to say. He only sucked harder at your cries. 

“So, so, so, so, clo - mmmh” Was all you could manage to say, your head lolling back into the bed. 

“So good for me.” He uttered, making your thighs squeeze around his head. Spencer knew just what to say to get you to the edge. Your senses began to cloud in ecstasy, you were on the brink of your orgasm. 

His slender fingers were working you from the inside, his skilled tongue was working you from the outside, you could barely keep your breathing in order. Your walls started clenching around the intrusion, your legs dug into the mattress, one hand pulling on his curls and the other hand digging into his forearm holding you down. 

You were just on the verge of cumming when Spencer pulled out his fingers and stopped his motions. The whine you let out was visceral. 

“What the fuck?” It was a genuine question. 

The only response he gave was a puppy eyed stare, so full of adoration as he trailed his way back up to you with more tender kisses. You propped yourself on your elbows, trying to read into his expression. 

You were so confused. Were you being punished?

He must’ve picked up on your thoughts because he skipped over your chest entirely to whisper in your ear. 

“I’m sorry Princess.” He pecks your cheek, dragging his lips across your face to your lips. 

You return the kiss, but don’t hesitate to question his motives once you’re finally able to find your words. 

“Why’d you stop?” Tone pathetically whiney. 

He kisses you again, stronger this time as he rests his fingers under your chin. 

“I want to fuck you.” 

He turns your head slightly to the side so he can whisper in your ear again. 

“I want to fuck you until cum on my cock. Is that something you want me to do Princess?” 

His voice sounded like he was whispering sweet affirmations, but his words were so filthy. The contrast had you clenching around nothing. Spencer loved hearing you confirm how bad you wanted him.

“Princess?” He turns your face to him again, so he can look into your eyes. “I asked you something.” 

The eye contact feels so intense, it causes your breath to hitch a little. 

“Yes.” 

He moves in just a little closer, lips grazing. 

“Yes?” He was testing you. 

You should be grateful he was only testing you instead of tying you up and edging you all night for being a brat. That was still a possibility and you really don’t have the patience to wait anymore. You knew exactly what you had to say. 

“Yes, please! I want to you to fuck me until I cum on your cock.” 

That was all it took for his lips to come crashing down on yours. This kiss felt different to all the others tonight.

Almost like it held a hidden meaning. 

He hooked his arms around your thighs and wrapped you around his waist. Neither of you pulls away, until you both gasp into each other’s mouths as he finally enters you. 

He fills you up slowly, until there’s no more of him left to give and your arms instinctively drape against his shoulders. The second your bodies adjust comfortably, he pulls out slowly until just the tip is left in you, thrusting back in after a second. 

You moan at the intrusion,  pulling him closer for another kiss. He continues thrusting in and out, your make-out getting more careless as you moan into each other and his pace gradually picks up. 

Your bodies move in sync, chasing a mutual high. His moans only encourage you to keep meeting his thrusts. He lifts one of your legs higher along his side, the tip of his shaft lightly bumping your cervix with every thrust from this angle. 

“Feels..so..good...” You moan against his mouth. 

“Yea?” He questions softly. 

“Mhm.”

“How does this feel?” He reaches between your bodies to play with your clit as he fucks you. Your fingers dig into his back at the sensation, brows furrowing in an attempt to hold it together. 

“Reall- fuck, really good.” You choke on your words from the intense pleasure. 

He keeps up his pace and you feel myself getting close. 

“Spencer, I’m clos-” You don’t get to finish your sentence, Spencer interrupting you with his lips on yours. 

“Cum for me Pretty Girl.” He coaxes, pulling away.

“I wanna finish together.” You plead, hoping he was as close as he seemed from the way he was grunting. 

“We will. Just let yourself go Princess. I’ve got you.” There was mischief laced with his promise, but you didn’t pick up on it. 

The coil in you was almost at its breaking point. It only took a few deep thrusts and you felt it snap. The feeling forced your eyes to the back of your head and your mouth aimlessly spewed random obscenities. 

Your orgasm had been brewing for almost two whole weeks and when you were finally allowed release, well, the release was really intense. Spencer was no longer moving inside you once you finally came down from your high. 

“Thank yo-” your gratitude was cut off by a loud wail when you felt Spencer slam back into you. You hadn’t noticed him shift into an up-right position, his hands pinning you to the bed by your hips as he continues fucking you with a brutal pace. 

“Oh I’m sorry,” his demeanour shifted to demanding, “what were you saying?”

“Spence, fuck-” You couldn’t think properly with the way he was pounding into you. “What-” Your inability to speak matched your inability to think.

He abruptly pulls out of you, flips you over and pulls you up by your hair. He then grabs your wrists with his free hand and pins both your hands behind your back, pulling your back to rest against his chest so he could whisper directly in your ear. 

“You asked me to fuck you. I’m just giving you what you want.” His tone remained soft, but it was laced with a harsh, taunting aura.

You were utterly flabbergasted. You had pissed him off. Spencer played you. His previous notion of ‘wanting to make it up to you was a decoy. He planned to properly punish you the whole time, buttering you up for his own entertainment.

Letting go of your hair, he pushes you back into the mattress, ass up in the air. He keeps your arms pinned and before you can make any noise, the air cracks to the sound of him spanking you. 

Hard. 

You squirm, burying your face into the mattress to muffle a surprised shriek. He leans down against you, re-aligning his lips to your ear. 

“I’m going to count as I spank you. And for every single one, I want you to tell me one thing you did wrong tonight. Do you understand?” The setting had shifted entirely. Spencer had fully embraced his dominant role and you knew you had to be careful if you didn’t want the punishment to be too prolonged. 

“Yes Sir!”

“One.” His first smack was lighter than the one he surprised you with just a second ago. 

“I rolled my eyes.”

“Two.” Hand hitting over the exact same spot as before. 

“I was mouthy.”

“Three.” This time he hit the other cheek.

“I- I don’t know-” You really didn’t. 

Well you did, but whenever Spencer punished you, your brain turned to mush. You couldn’t think, it turned you on so much that you became stupid. 

“Wrong. You dressed like a whore just to get a reaction out of me. We’re going to start again.” The force he hit with that time was unforgiving. you wailed at the sting. 

“One.” 

You had to restart at least two more times, your recall ability getting weaker with each blow. By the time Spencer finished, both cheeks were stinging. 

He runs his middle finger through your slit, collecting your arousal and pushes it inside you. “Of course you’re even wetter now.” He snickers, you could only moan in response. 

“Nothing? You had so much to say before.” He finally lets go of your wrists, allowing them to fall to the sides and he rubs your sensitive behind. 

“I’m sorry for being a brat.” You muster as you try to flip around and face him.

“You will be.” He stops you and twists you back into position. 

Face down, ass up. 

“Get comfortable Princess, I’m not done with you yet.” 

With that, he enters you in one quick motion, building to the brutal pace he originally set in no time. You swear it’s like you feel more of him now than you could before. Your hands rush to grip the bed sheets to try and keep yourself grounded. 

“Spencer- ah-” He grips a handful of your flesh to shut you up. 

“The only sounds I want coming out of you right now are the ones where you scream my name. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yessir!” You cry out from the pain. 

He’s practically fucking you into the mattress at this point, every thrust so harsh, so precise, hitting that sweet spot inside you over and over. Everytime his body meets your behind the sting intensifies, as if he keeps adding fuel to the fire he set on your skin, blurring the lines between pain and pleasure. 

“Shit- Spen-” You can’t hold yourself back, the only thing on your mind is him, his name falling from your lips as if it was a song stuck on a broken record. 

Your senses were on overload. He was consuming your entire being. You could feel every inch of him inside you and you didn’t want to stop. Your core began to tingle, feeling another orgasm approach you, reducing you to a blubbering mess. The room was filled with sounds of your moans and skin slapping against each other.

“I’m gonna cum, gonna cum, gonn-” Your words fade out.

“Go ahead, cum.” Spencer orders in between thrusts. “Cum all over my cock.”

His permission is all it takes for stars to come down from the sky and take hold in your vision. The sheets aren’t enough to keep you anchored and if it weren’t for Spencer’s grip on you, you’d have fallen flat against the bed. 

It takes a few minutes for you to catch your breaths, knuckles white from how hard you scrunched the sheets in your fingers. He’s still inside you when you come down again, just watching without saying a word. 

“Colour?” Spencer leans in above you from behind, planting a kiss on your shoulder. A reminder of his promise that he’s got you.

“Green.” You wearily whisper. Your legs were burning, your body was utterly exhausted, but you enjoyed it when he used you in spite of the fact. 

“Good. You’re going to give me one more.” 

He plants another kiss and wraps a hand around your neck, the other sneaking between your breasts. Without using any force, he pulls you up in his lap, your back to his chest. A whimper chokes out of you when his length brushes against your inflamed bud. 

“You look so pretty like this Princess.” He coos in short breaths. “All red and fucked out for me. Only me.” 

He lowers his hand from the apex of your breast to his shaft, so that he can align himself with your entrance again. You subconsciously arch in anticipation, eager to have him fill you again despite your physical debilitation. 

Once he’s lined up, his hand travels up again, stopping at the height of your hip. He pushes you down at the same time as he moves up, a loud moan erupting from both of you. 

“You take me so well Princess.” Spencer praises.

Your eyes roll to the back for a second time tonight as your head falls against his collarbone. While his initial pace was slow, it didn’t take long for him to speed it back up to ruthless - you have to admire his stamina. 

He lowers his mouth to just below your jaw, his fingers tightening around the sides of your neck, limiting the blood supply to your brain. At the same time, he starts sucking another hickey on your skin and your jaw hangs open to allow passage to a series of moans as a result. 

“You enjoy being fucked like a whore hmm?” 

The contrast between praise and degradation had you clenching, resulting in desperate grumbles from him. His grip only tightens more when you take too long to answer.

“Yessir-” You stifle, brain going fuzzy from the lack of oxygen. He loosens his grip and smiles, lips grazing your cheek. 

You’re beside yourself, all you control had been relinquished to this man long ago. You feel him play with your clit, circling and flicking the bud. It’s already swollen from previous use, the overstimulation is too much for your body to handle. Unable to squirm away from him, you grasp at his wrist, attempting to push him away. 

Spencer doesn’t relent and you’re too weak to use any force. Everything he does is pushing you over the edge and all you’re able to do is whine and moan. 

“Use your words Princess? What do you want? Do you want me to stop?” He sneers, knowing that’s not at all what you want. 

“N-No Sir.” 

“No? You want me to keep going? Want me to make you cum again?” Small grunts slip from him when he speaks, fingers speeding up between your legs. “You gonna be a good little slut and give me one more?” 

“I ca-can’t, it’s to-ah - too much-''

“Oh so now it’s too much for you?”

There’s nothing romantic about your current disposition. It was purely salacious- his hand on your neck, the other between your legs, you practically kneeling against him with your back to his chest as he pounds into you from behind, the sounds created from your bodies melding and pouring from your throats. 

You’re practically a free use doll for him. Your need to release from earlier today was nothing compared to how bad you need to cum now. You feel like you might explode from the extreme pleasure. 

“Spen-Spence- fuck- pleasepleaseplease-” 

“Oh my poor, sweet little Princess, doesn’t even know what she wants. Can’t even think because her brain’s too fucked out. Maybe I should stop, let you get a break.” Spencer mocks. 

“Nononono, please! So close, Im so-fuck!” 

Spencer keeps his pace on your clit, but slows down his hips when speaking.

“I think we should stop here.” He taunts. “Just look at you! You’re a mess. I don’t think you know what you want.”

“Yes-Yes I do- I do! Please Spence- don’t stop!” 

“I can’t help you if you’re not making sense. Speak clearly, what do you want me to do?” Your desperation was thrilling for him. He wanted to draw it out as long as he could by teasing you. 

“I’m so-close, I c-can’t!”

His fingers tighten around your throat again.

“Yes you can. You can and you will. Use your words, what do you want?” 

“Ple-ease Sir, let me c-cum.” 

He purposely thrusts as hard as he can when you speak to throw you off, so you have to repeat yourself. 

“I said clearly, Princess. That was not clear enough.” He teases, smugly. 

You inhale deeply.

“Please let me cum, Sir.”

Satiated with your answer, Spencer releases your throat and speeds up again. It doesn’t take long before he becomes sloppy with his movements. The final few thrusts are buried as deep within you as physically possible and you surrender to your climax.

Not even a moment after you finish, Spencer empties himself inside of you, hot ropes of his cum filling you up as he buries his head in the crook of your neck. A synched, loud moan concludes your tango and you fall limp against each other before you tumble onto the mattress.

Both take a moment, heaving intensely as you lay side by side. Spencer’s hand finds yours and he rubs small, soothing circles on the back of it. 

“What was that?” You ask when you feel enough air fill your lungs. 

He gradually turns his head to you, eyes darting as if he was searching for something in the back of his mind.

“Malicious compliance. For a lack of better wording.” He answers in a whisper, trying to catch his breath. You snort weakly, not much energy in your body to spare.

“You should maliciously comply more often.”

“I don’t think you actually want me to maliciously comply.” He pants. 

Re-adjusting to face him and you just stare at each other for a moment. A breathless fit of giggles sparks amongst you. When you fall silent again, you just lie there, staring deeply into each other's eyes. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up. Hmm?” He intertwines his fingers with yours. 

“How you have any energy left to get up is beyond me.”

“Oh believe me, I don’t,” still panting, “but I really want to take care of you right now.”

“You just did.” You counter.

There’s a hint of penitence in his eyes, so fleeting that you almost miss it. you want to question it, but it’s quickly replaced by the expression of rapture. 

“Come on Honey.” He implores and you make a mental note to ask him later. 

He takes your hands and pulls you up with him. You both lazily make your way to the bathroom, you hold on to him the whole way, scared that your legs alone won’t be strong enough to carry you right now. 

Immediately upon seeing your reflection, you laugh awkwardly. Mascara was running down your face, your lipstick all smudged, you truly looked like a mess. Spencer kisses your temple and turns on the shower, returning to you while you wait for the water to heat up.

He props you on the bathroom counter, removing your stockings for you, peppering you in thankful kisses. You reach over for your make-up remover and Spencer grabs the cotton wipes, insistent on removing it for you. His touch is light as he carefully wipes cosmetic residue from your face.

The bathroom fogs up and you finally get in the shower. Neither of you speak, reserving your strength to keep you standing. Instead, you wrap your arms around each other, letting go only to aid in washing your bodies. Both of you stay in the shower for a little bit longer than intended, just holding the other. 

“I’m going to make us some tea. Will you be okay to finish off here by yourself?” He speaks up after a little while. 

“Yea I’ll be fine. I’ll join you in a minute.” 

He gives you a quick peck, then two, before he leaves. You take your time, peeing after your shower when you remember Spencer’s lecture on avoiding UTIs from when you first started dating. Once you’re all nice and clean, you slip into one of Spencer’s shirts and some fresh underwear.

You walk into the living room to find Spencer sitting on the couch, two cups of tea on the coffee table, while he fiddles with his files again. Great. Opting to ignore it due to your fatigue, you march into the kitchen to grab your phone. 

Your abandoned dress is neatly draped on one of the dining chairs. Spencer must've picked it up when he was making tea. You grab your phone to find many missed calls from your friends. Fuck. You had forgotten about your plans. 

You quickly shoot them a text to apologise and make some excuse for your absence, promising to make it up to them soon. 

“Honey, you okay?” Spencer calls out from the living room. 

You make your way back to him upon hearing his voice. “Yea, I was just texting my friends.”

“Would you like to do that sitting down? Your tea’s getting cold.” He extends his hand out to you from the couch and you take it, sinking into his embrace. 

“Don’t you have to go back to your files?” When you look around, the files are nowhere to be seen. 

“No. No more working on files.” He sighs

“Spence, what’s wrong?” You ask, pulling away from his arms. “You have that look on your face again.”

“I’ve been neglecting you. And I’m sorry.”

That’s what it was. 

“Oh, Honey. It’s okay, I mean I get it. It’s your job.” 

“You don’t have to do that. This isn’t part of my job. It’s just this one case that’s really getting to me and I’ve let it take over my life outside the job.” Guilt rides his features. You  cup his face in your hands and he takes hold of your wrist. 

“I won’t lie to you. It’s hard, but I know how much the BAU means to you.” You console. 

“It does mean a lot. But so do you.” He shakes his head as he pulls you into another hug. “I’ve seen what this job does to people. To relationships. I value you too deeply to let that happen to us. I promise that from now, work stays at work. When I come home, I’m all yours.”

“Jesus I love this man.” You proclaim to yourself silently. “Thank you for that.” is what you say aloud. 

“Infact,” Spencer's the one to pull away this time. He reaches over for his phone and begins texting someone, “just give me a second.”

“What are you doing?” 

It takes him some time to reply. Texting is not one of his strong suits, he needs to pay a little more attention to the task than most people. 

“I’ve just texted Hotch for some time off. I hope you don’t have any plans this weekend, because you and I are going to spend the entirety of it together.” He smiles goofily. 

“I love you.” You blurt out with more passion than you were expecting. 

“And I love you.” He replies with equal enthusiasm, leaning in his lips against yours. 

The kiss is so emotional, so raw, so perfect. 

“Now,” He brushes your hair behind your ear, “let’s finish this tea and get to bed. I have two weeks worth of cuddling to make up for, I believe.”

“So you’ve been counting too?” You laugh.

“I count every second I don’t spend with you so that I know to make up for it properly.” He confides.

You almost jump at him for another kiss, unable to contain your emotions. This man was perfect in every sense of the word to you. 

As the two of you sat there, just talking, desire surged through your body once again, but in a different way this time. It was more than a desire for pleasure. It was a desire for the man you’re lucky enough to call your boyfriend. A desire to just be in his presence, to be loved by him and to love him in his entirety. A desire for Spencer Reid.

Spoilers: Established relationship, Dom! Spencer, Possessive! Spencer, Sub! Reader, Bratty! Reader, soft & rough sex, spanking, degrading kink, praise kink, breast play, name calling, choking, hair pulling, fingering, slight edging (barely), overstimulation, creampie, after-care, fluff.

AN - Hey guys I’m beginning to sense that I might be incapable of not writing fluff in every story and I recognise it may need to stop. Anyways when imagining this, my brain decided it should include vanilla, soft dom and mean dom Spencer all in one, I’m sorry for that.  Shoutout to all the smut writers out there, this is my first smut piece and it was so fucking complicated to write. There’s only so many ways you can write smut, y’all are dedicated. To all my virgins out there: please keep in mind that this does not represent real sex and barely is sex ever even slightly close to as good as we imagine in fanfics. Also women's bodies do not react the way we read most of the time.

Feel free to drop helpful constructive criticism, I’m always looking to improve :)

Thank you for reading!

[pinkflower2003]

hii i was wondering if you could perhaps do a story on max x y/n. Y/n is a professional chef and sometimes she likes to live stream on instagram -LIKE FLORENCE PUGHS COOKING WITH FLO— in the the back the fans hear max screaming cus he’s on the sim or just playing games with his online team :)

Racing Hearts and Risotto Dreams - Max Verstappen x Reader

Hi! Thank you so much for your submission!! So i've tried my best on this one - i'm honestly so bad at cooking so if this is wrong blame my food tech teacher - I hope this is okay!<3

Send in your submissions!

Masterlist

Y/N stood in the bright, spacious kitchen, the stainless-steel countertops gleaming under the studio lights. A row of neatly organized spices and ingredients lined the shelves behind her, and the air was filled with the delicious aroma of a simmering sauce. The camera was positioned perfectly to capture her every move, and her followers eagerly awaited the start of her Instagram Live cooking session.

With a warm smile, Y/N adjusted the angle of her phone, making sure the view was perfect. “Hi, everyone!” she greeted her audience, her voice full of enthusiasm. “Welcome back to Cooking with Y/N! Today, we’re making a classic Italian dish—risotto alla Milanese. It’s one of my favorites and I can’t wait to share it with you!”

As she began to explain the steps, her hands moved deftly, demonstrating the precise technique required to achieve the perfect creamy texture. The comments started pouring in, fans asking questions and complimenting her on her skills. Y/N loved this interaction; it was like having a big, supportive family cheering her on.

However, in the background, there was another layer of noise. The unmistakable sound of engines roaring and tires screeching filled the air, along with occasional bursts of laughter and shouts. Y/N glanced over her shoulder, her smile widening as she spotted Max Verstappen, her boyfriend and current Formula 1 World Champion, fully immersed in his racing simulator.

Max was in the middle of an intense online race with his fellow drivers, Lando Norris and Charles Leclerc. The three of them were a formidable trio, known not just for their skills on the actual track but also for their hilarious and competitive online gaming sessions. Today was no exception.

“Max, you’re so loud!” Y/N called out, laughing softly. She turned back to the camera. “Sorry, everyone, Max is having one of his usual battles with Lando and Charles. I hope you don’t mind the background noise!”

The comments section exploded with excitement at the mention of Max and the other F1 drivers. Fans loved getting these little glimpses into their lives, the mix of professional dedication and everyday fun.

“Who’s winning?” a fan asked.

Y/N leaned towards the camera, pretending to whisper conspiratorially. “I think it’s a close call, but Max seems pretty determined today. Let’s hope he doesn’t crash into Lando again!”

As if on cue, Max’s voice boomed from the other room. “Lando, you can’t just cut across like that! What are you doing, mate?”

Y/N shook her head, chuckling. “See what I mean? It’s like this all the time. But let’s get back to our risotto. The key is to keep stirring and adding the broth gradually. You want it to be creamy but not too thick.”

She continued with her cooking demonstration, occasionally glancing over at Max’s direction. The sounds of their playful banter provided a lively backdrop to her session, making it all the more entertaining for her viewers. The combination of professional cooking tips and the casual, personal atmosphere made her streams unique.

“Y/N, ask Max who’s winning!” another comment popped up.

With an amused sigh, Y/N called out, “Max, the viewers want to know who’s winning right now!”

There was a moment of silence, then Max’s head peeked into the kitchen, his face lit up with a competitive grin. “Well, obviously me! Although Lando’s trying his best to sabotage me. Typical, right?”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “Alright, back to my risotto. You boys play nice.”

Max gave her a wink before disappearing back to his racing rig. The interactions were spontaneous and natural, reflecting the comfortable dynamic they shared.

As Y/N added the final touches to the dish, stirring in a generous handful of grated Parmesan cheese, she talked her viewers through the final steps. “And there you have it, risotto alla Milanese! Perfect for a cosy dinner. I hope you all try this recipe at home.”

Just as she was about to sign off, a loud cheer erupted from the other room. “Yes! Winner!” Max’s triumphant shout echoed through the apartment, followed by groans from Lando and Charles.

“Looks like Max won,” Y/N said, shaking her head with a smile. “Again. Thank you all so much for joining me today. Don’t forget to tag me in your posts if you try the recipe. See you next time!”

She ended the live stream and began tidying up the kitchen, humming softly to herself. A few moments later, Max walked in, his hair slightly tousled from the headset, and a victorious gleam in his eyes.

“I won, did you hear schat?” he said, wrapping his arms around Y/N from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder.

“I did. Congrats, champ,” she replied, leaning into his embrace. “But I think my risotto might just be the real winner today.”

Max chuckled, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “It smells amazing. Can I have some?”

“Of course,” Y/N said, turning to face him. “I made plenty. And maybe you can join me on my next live stream as a guest chef?”

Max’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “As long as I don’t have to cook anything too complicated. I’m more of a taste-tester.”

“Deal,” Y/N laughed. “Now, let’s eat before it gets cold.”

They sat down at the kitchen island, enjoying the delicious meal and the comfortable, easy conversation. Despite their busy schedules and demanding careers, moments like these were precious. They were a perfect blend of passion and playfulness, support and competition.

They talked about Max’s latest race strategies, Y/N’s upcoming culinary projects, and plans for their next holiday together. The sounds of the virtual race still echoed faintly in the background, a reminder of the high-octane world they were both a part of. Yet, in this cozy kitchen, it was just the two of them, sharing a meal and making memories.

Later that evening, after the dishes were done and the kitchen was back in order, they settled on the couch, a comfortable silence enveloping them. Max scrolled through his phone, checking the highlights from their race, while Y/N flipped through a cookbook, jotting down ideas for her next live stream.

“Hey, Y/N,” Max said, breaking the silence. “You know, the fans really love it when you join my streams too. Maybe we should do a combined one sometime. Racing and cooking—what do you think?”

Y/N looked up, considering the idea. “That could be fun. You teach me some racing tips, and I’ll teach you some cooking tricks. Deal?”

“Deal,” Max agreed, leaning in for a kiss. “You’ve got yourself a co-host.”

[chrissv4mp]

make a movie with you that we'd have to hide , CHRIS S.

summary: you can't help but be obsessed with everything about your boyfriend, and one night, you ask him if you two could try something... different.

pairing: chris stuniolo × fem!reader

warnings: SUPER subby!chris, sorta shy!chris, pet names (ma, baby, love, good boy, baby boy, pretty boy, etc.), handjobs, p in v, unprotected sex, recording, begging, overstimulation, degradation, choking if you squint, name-calling (slut, etc.), just pure filth🤷‍♀️

a/n: chris......... these photo dumps have me screaming, i think i'm transitioning to a chris girl😖

"clothes on the counter for you, try 'em on. if i'm allowed, i'll help you take 'em off..." - LUNCH , billie e.

the door shut softly, and the next thing you heard were chris's footsteps coming down the hall.

his lips curved into a smile the second he caught sight of you, stretching his arms put before falling into your embrace on the couch.

"hi, baby," you muttered, pressing a soft kiss to his neck.

chris exhaled, kissing your cheek, "hi,"

the brunette boy pulled away, staring deep into your eyes before smiling softly, "hi, ma."

he kissed your cheek before getting up, hanging his hoodie up behind the front door before going into the kitchen.

you sighed, moving the blanket off of you before following your boyfriend.

staring wasn't unusual between you two. he always looked so good, and chris had always said you looked gorgeous every second of the day.

but right now, he looked better than ever. his grey t-shirt was a bit small for him, so whenever he moved his arms it would ride up, exposing his v-line and some of his lower abdomen.

his jeans were bigger around his waist, causing them to fall a little lower. you weren't complaining, cause this was the best sight you've seen.

"y/n, baby, are you there?" you didn't even notice your boyfriends repeating your name until he snapped his fingers.

your eyes went back up to his in an instant, blood rushing to your cheeks at the fact that he might've seen you staring.

but chris wouldn't care, he knew what he was doing when he got ready this morning.

"sorry. i'm here, just zoned out." you laughed, walking closer to him and pulling him into a hug.

the boy chuckled, rubbing your back and giving your head a quick kiss before moving toward the fridge.

his eyes moved around the food inside before he spoke again, "should i cook? there's still that steak we bought on wednesday,"

he looked back at you, and you stared at his blue eyes just a little longer than usual before giving him a reply, "sure,"

"i mean, who's turning down professional chef, christopher sturniolo?" you joked, leaning against the kitchen counter.

chris giggled, looking back at the fridge before opening the freezer and grabbing out the packaging the steak was in.

"not even nick and matt can resist." chris smiled, grabbing the scissors to cut open the plastic.

you watched silently as chris carefully cut the packaging, eyes fixated on his hands and fingers that so delicately moved.

chris couldn't bear the silence, even if it was comfortable, "so, nick, matt, and i tried gummy food vs. regular food. shit was disgusting,"

he laughed, adding onto his topic, "also nick broke a glass, and almost the camera with a gummy donut."

you smirked, chuckling. your mind went blank for a few seconds before an idea popped into your mind.

chris was always vlogging with his brothers, and he loved to be the center of attention of everything they did.

if he liked the audience so much, then why not create a movie? a movie that was just for you and chris to see, make a movie that you two would have to hide.

"nick? seriously, out of the three of you, i would've never guessed him," you replied, the idea still lingering in your mind.

how would you even bring it up? it would be awkward, and chris might even think it's weird.

but he always told you to come to him whenever, so why were you so scared now?

"that was amazing, chris," you complimented, placing your hand on his thigh under the table.

he smiled, blushing slightly as he looked down, "thanks."

the brunette boy stood up, grabbing both of your plates and taking them to the sink. before he turned the water on, you grabbed his wrist.

"hey, i got it, go upstairs and take a shower. you've already done enough, 'kay?" you said just above a whisper, running your thumb over his palm.

he smiled softly, kissing your forehead before placing the dishes down in the sink, "you're the best. i love you, ma."

"love you, too, chris." you smiled, taking over his place at the sink as you listened to him walk up towards the stairs.

before he reached them, you called out, "i left you some clothes on the bathroom counter, too!"

he thanked you before continuing his way up to the bathroom.

rinsing off the plates and forks, you placed them on the drying rack before opening the dishwasher.

you grabbed the clean dishes from the dishwasher, putting them away in the cabinets before grabbing the dirty ones and placing them in.

as you finished, you decided to pass the time by going on your phone, lying back down on the couch before getting lost in the tiktoks on your for you page.

once you got bored, you went to instagram, going to the triplets' account and looking over their new friday photo dump.

chris was on the fourth slide alongside nick, and their friend, nate. his shirt was riding up his stomach and his boxers were showing just the slightest.

he smiled innocently, holding out the peace sign as his arm hung around nate's shoulder.

you crossed your legs, biting your lip as your eyes went over the picture again. he looked so good in it, but he also looked like he was so innocent.

fuck, you just wanted to ruin him for anyone else. you wanted to let everyone know that chris was yours.

if he allowed you tonight, you'd help him take off his clothes.

you remember picking out his red plaid pajama pants and a black wife-beater. he always looked good in that.

you decided to walk upstairs to your bedroom, it was too quiet downstairs and a bit too dark for your liking.

as you walked past the bathroom, you heard heavy breathing even over the sounds of water hitting the shower floor.

stopping right in front of the bathroom, you put your ear against the door. you gasped quietly as you heard chris moan. it was kind of high-pitched, and right after, he whimpered your name.

"fuck," you groaned quietly, deciding to just continue your walk to the bedroom.

something to tease him about later. so impatient, he couldn't even wait a few minutes longer to get off.

chris crawled onto the mattress, the edge of the bed dipping as he made his way over to you at the headboard.

his hair was still damp, water dripping off the ends every other minute.

"i missed you all day," he whispered, lying on your chest as he nestled his head into the crook of your neck.

your hands threaded into his hair, massaging his scalp as he lay comfortably.

"i missed you, too." you muttered, kissing his head.

his hands moved up your body, sneaking under the fabric of your shirt and continuing their way to your chest.

you sighed, feeling him toy with the fabric of your bra.

"missed all of you.." he mumbled, kissing your neck and occasionally nipping at it.

his touches weren't making the heat between your thighs any better. if anything, they just made you wetter.

you pulled on his hair softly, your grip tightening with every new mark he left on the soft skin of your neck.

"chris," you gasped, hands going down to his waist as you gripped it softly.

he whimpered at your motions, bucking his hips against yours and eliciting a groan from your throat.

a smirk came to your lips as you felt his dick bulging from underneath his pants and boxers, and the moment he stopped sucking your neck, you flipped him over on his back.

chris gasped silently, lips parted as he stared up at you with eyes full of lust.

"didn't you just get off, love?" you asked in a whisper, caressing his cheek and running your thumb over his bottom lip.

his face went red, turning his head to the side to try and hide.

you quickly grabbed his chin, turning his head back so that he could look straight at you.

"don't be so rude," you smiled, "can't you just answer my question? please?"

he sighed, biting his lip as he looked anywhere but your eyes. he hesitated before speaking, "yea- yes, mhm. i did, ma."

your hand went lower, traveling down his jawline and stopping at his neck. you wrapped your fingers around him, putting the slightest amount of pressure down.

"yeah? do you think you're better at getting yourself off than i am?" you teased, watching as his face contorted into a look of worry.

he shook his head frantically, and you applied more pressure to his neck for him to stop.

releasing your hand just a bit, you began again, "then why, hm?"

chris bucked his hips, his eyes rolling back as he whimpered out his answer, "was thinkin' 'bout you, fuck.. 'jus so pretty."

your frowned in fake sympathy, tilting your head a little to see his face better in the dimly-lit room.

humming, you looked around the room, eyes landing on the small digital camera chris had on his nightstand.

"hey, y'know what would make up for your mistake, baby boy?" you muttered, watching as chris's lips parted.

"what?" he whispered, finally making eye contact with you.

staying quiet, you got off him, walking around to his side of the bed and grabbing the camera.

chris sat up, eyes following your every movement as you went into your shared closet. he raised an eyebrow, clueless and confused.

when you came back to the bed, you put up his tripod, setting the camera onto it before adjusting the settings and placing it so that the camera was pointed toward the bed.

before chris could spill his thoughts, you spoke, "is this okay?"

he didn't even hesitate, nodding quickly. chris liked the idea of secret sex-tapes, ones that only you two would see.

he never told you many of his fantasies, keeping to himself every time because he would doubt you'd say yes to him.

before getting on the bed, you pressed the "record" button.

the side of the bed dipped as you crawled over to chris, pushing him to lay down again before trapping him in a heated kiss.

chris was already painfully hard, and the way you shifted around on his lap didn't make his case any better, gasps and whimpers being trapped between your two lips.

when he moaned, you slipped your tongue past his lips, exploring his mouth and running over his teeth as you groaned.

his hands went to your waist, holding you with possession as he guided your movements.

your free hand went lower, sneaking under his plaid pajamas and palming him through the soft fabric of his boxers.

chris couldn't reciprocate the kiss anymore within a few seconds, gasps, and whimpers falling from his mouth into yours.

"feels s'good," the brunette boy sighed, eyes staying shut even as you pulled away to trail kisses down his neck.

you could feel the damp spot of pre-cum on his boxers, and it made you impossibly wetter.

"so worked up," you muttered before sucking on his pulse point, hearing as chris begged in that whiny tone of his.

he wasn't even speaking coherently, blabbering out inaudible words as he gripped your waist tighter.

you left a hickey every time you went lower, leaving a trail of marks all the way to the neck of his wife-beater.

"need you, need you s'bad. please, please, ma." he groaned, eyelids fluttering open at the loss of stimulation on his clothed cock.

"be patient, i know you can." you crawled down his body, stopping right before the edge of the bed before tugging on his plaid pajama pants.

chris lifted his hips, helping you as your hands tugged the fabric down to his ankles.

before chris could beg again, you tugged his boxers down, revealing his dick that looked painfully hard.

"need you, mamas. need your hands, please, you're s'good," he whined, bucking his hips into nothing at the thought of your hands around him.

placing a hand on his hips, you stopped his movements.

he groaned out in annoyance before watching you spit in your hand and move it to his cock.

"shit," he gasped shakily, the feeling of your hand moving up and down his length making him shudder.

your thumb circled his tip, gathering the pre-cum from there and spreading it along his length.

your hand began to move faster, making chris moan even louder and buck his hips as best he could. it was all so overwhelming for him, and it was just the first round.

"god, baby, s'good to me." the brunette said in between moans, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his back arched slightly.

"better than your own hand?" you asked, and chris nodded quickly.

you laughed before crawling back up his body, capturing his lips in a kiss once again as you continued the movements with your hand.

chris was already so sensitive, making him more vocal and needy as he chased his high. he couldn't help it when you always looked so fucking gorgeous.

"g'nna cum, fuck, i'ma cum..!" the boy moaned against your lips, his thighs shaking as he continued bucking his hips.

your thumb circled his tip every time you stroked him, making those pretty whimpers fall from his red, puffy lips.

"c'mon, pretty boy, cum for me," you muttered in a seductive tone, and chris let out a low moan before doing just that.

gasps fell from his lips every second as he came down, your hand slowing down just a bit but not exactly stopping. not even when he came back.

he shook his head slowly, eyes squeezed shut from the pleasure that became more overwhelming as you pushed him past his second orgasm of the night.

"too much, baby, please," he didn't know what he was begging for, it felt so good but it also felt like it was too much.

hair stuck to his forehead from the sweat that formed there, and chris threw his head back into the pillows at your reassuring whispers.

"oh, but you wanted me so bad, pretty boy.." you kissed his jawline softly, whispering close to his ear, "you can take it."

"no, no.. can't," he whined, lips growing redder from how hard he bit them.

you rolled your eyes teasingly, the pace of your hand speeding up as you spoke, "you were acting like such a slut earlier, made it seem like you could take more than one,"

he groaned at your words, his resolve fading as he gave into you. his chest rose and fell rapidly, breathing heavy as he tried to keep eye contact with you.

"good boy, always so good," you praised, cupping his cheek with your free hand.

tears swelled in chris's eyes from the overstimulation, quiet sobs slipping from his lips from the pleasure.

it didn't long for chris to cum again, his thighs shaking as he whined loudly.

"see, you're so amazing, baby boy," you cooed, getting off the bed to strip yourself of your own clothes.

chris just stared, scooting up to sit against the headboard and sighing as he stared at every inch of your body.

"so pretty, fuck," he muttered, his dick getting hard just at the sight of your body.

he never knew someone would ever have this effect on him.

you crawled back on the bed, standing on your knees and lining chris's cock up with your entrance.

chris didn't have time to process what you were doing before you sunk down on his cock fully, making him moan out.

"one more for me?" you muttered, pecking his lips before beginning to roll your hips.

it didn't take long for chris to help you bounce on his dick, making it all the more pleasurable as you rode him.

the sounds of skin against skin filled the room along with both of your moans mixing together.

your hands tugged at his hair, making chris whine louder as he bucked his hips frantically into your pussy.

"oh my god..!" chris squirmed beneath you, nails digging into the exposes skin of your waist as he stared up at you.

your mouth hung open, gasps and moans falling out as you continued to ride him, picking up your pace.

"c'mon, baby, one more.." you muttered, eyes fixated on your boyfriends face.

chris cried out as he reached the edge, holding it as he stuttered out something, "need t'cum, please lemme cum, ma!"

you nodded, and a few seconds after chris came undone, so did you.

the brunette boy let out quiet whimpers as he came down once again, his grip on your waist loosening.

"fuck," you whispered, getting off of chris and sitting beside him.

he looked over at you, kissing your cheek with a smile, his eyes droopy from how tired he was.

"i love you," he whispered, resting his head on your bare shoulder.

"i love you, too." you replied, tilting your head to rest on his.

. . . . . . . .

tags: @starsturns234 @joemamaaa42069 @sturniolohisteric @whosthislyssbitch @sturniclo

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Guileless

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

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

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

Summary: The reader attempts to move past her ruination, but is reminded of her tarnish conscience at every turn. (Regency AU, tall!reader)

Masterlist

Character: Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson

Note: thanks to those who waited on this one!.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love coffee and that’s a lot and probably unhealthy. Take care. 💖

It should be the happiest time in your life. You should be elated, and yet, as ever it is, every victory precedes a treacherous defeat. A proposal one day, and despair the next. That nipping of doom in your gut, that ever present doubt, is made certain by the passage of time. It has been much too long. 

You sit in the pews, throat tight as you keep your chin locked. You breathe slowly, as if too sudden an intake might unleash the tempest brewing inside of you. It is more than nerves, you know it, that sicken you so. You should be happy for your pending nuptials but you are only horrified at the thought. 

The bishop reads out the banns before the rows; the first for yourself, the third for your sister. She will be permitted to wed and your mother has presided over much of planning already. You dip your head as your name rings out beside Lord Odinson’s and you swallow back a swell of bile. You’ve been gulping down your own stomach for much of the morning, ever since you caught a whiff of pickled shallots in passing the kitchens. 

You push your head up and your hand down to your lap, knowing you will be observed. You must at least look certain of your fate. You must sit proud for the engagement all would put into question. For the time until it shall all dissolve, you must play your part. 

You can barely keep from wilting where you are. A prudent woman might bite her tongue. She may commit to the theatre of it all. She might lie and get away with the folly. You glance over at Lord Odinson, just across the aisle, and you know you cannot. It isn’t one lie, it’s a lifetimes’ worth of betrayal. 

Yet how should you tell it? It isn’t only him who must know. Your father would need good reason why you’d rather the convent to a proper marriage. You will be ruined but you could not put that stain upon the only person who was ever kind to you. Lord Odinson deserves an honest wife and a child of his own. 

Your insides sour and you nearly spasm as you fight the tide of nausea, brought upon by more than your forsaken condition. Your eyes trail away from your betrothed to another man bound in promise. Lord Rogers sits with your sister, as ever, and she leans on him shamelessly, even beneath the Lord’s rafters. 

She would deny it. She would laugh in your face should you ever reveal the absolute truth. No, you must confess the sin as your own and that alone. You will not name the culprit for they would they never believe you and he would never admit it himself. 

Yet, you know that the Duke Rogers will ever be triumphant in knowing that he has brought the monstrous giant to her knees. You are his Goliath, the vile retched creature he has slain in his valour. He will be hero and you be the villain. 

💟

You hand the letter to the carrier just before noon. You don’t expect an audience to be granted until the next morning at earliest. Lord Odinson is a busy man; an ambassador in much demand between the house and society. Even his betrothed must request his presence. 

The cart rattles through the gates and you watch it fade off into the grim horizon. The winter bites in the air, adding to the chill in your bones. That coldness that freeze over your heart. You must be strong now, as strong as the valkyrie he misnamed you as. 

When you go to Lord Odinson, you will bring the crown to him. You will hand it back and admit your tainted stature to him. You will show him how truly small you are.  

At least, that is what you intend. You may prove yourself weak as ever. However it should unfold, this engagement cannot persist. 

“A day! A day and I shall call you husband,” Cora’s shrill tone greets you as you come through the front doors. She is in the sitting room with Lord Rogers. Your mother continues to fawn over the last-minute details for their wedding. “Isn’t it very exciting, my lord?” 

“And I shall call you wife.” 

“And Duchess,” she preens with a trilling laugh, “oh, how elaborate I shall be.” 

“My Athena,” Rogers drones back, “my goddess, my beloved.” 

“Oh, how darling,” your mother preens over them, “it shall be resplendent. I’ve made certain the cake will be exactly as you like it, dearie. The cook has even procured some citrus for the lemonade.” 

The mention of lemonade makes you shrivel. You recall the sunny day when Lord Rogers spoke to you over a weeping beverage. As you fell for that virulent charm. And all that came after. 

You peer at the grim windows and frown. How everything does change so quickly. Happiness is fleeting and yet disappointment comes as a chronic plight. You will never know a day without shame. 

You flit off without notice. Your heart rents at the thought that you will not have the same fervour. You will not sit and plan your own wedding with Lord Odinson. All your fanciful dreams have evaporated. It is one thing to put a mask on, to pretend as virgin, but you could never foist a bastard upon the kind man who has shown you a taste happiness. You will be certain to thank him for all he’s done but you will not spit in his face. 

As you get to the bedroom doors, your stomach churns violently and you burst through, not stopping as you rush to the pot and fall to your knees. You wretch into it as your body contracts painfully. You empty your stomach until you are panting and hollow. 

“Sister,” Alina startles you as she rolls to the edge of the bed, a novel in hand, “is it a winter ague?” 

“I...” you shakily wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, “I believe so.” 

That lie alone singes your tongue like a brand. Your eyes well with tears and you flick them away with your lashes. You sit back on your heels and heave out a pungent breath. 

“Oh, how awful, and just before the wedding,” she sits up and shuts the novel. “Let us pray it passes quickly. You needn’t delay your own nuptials.” 

“Mm, no, that wouldn’t be...” you let the sentence tail off and you stand, taking the pot with you, “I’ll dump it before it can stink.” 

“If you are unwell, call for the maid.” 

“No, it is fine,” you insist, “I didn’t mean to disturb your reading.” 

“You didn’t,” she insists. “What’s the matter, sissie? You hardly seem a lady about to marry.” 

“I...” you croak, “it is the ague, that’s all.” 

“Mm, perhaps Lord Odinson might offer some comfort should it get any worse. He does seem the character,” she offers. 

“Or perhaps he is better to stay away. You as well, should it pass onto anyone else,” you hold the pot to your stomach and turn, carrying it out without another word. Albina huffs and falls back onto the bed, the flutter of pages following shortly after. 

You descend and keep along the wall, passing through the kitchens and beyond the servants’ quarters to the rear of the manse. You come out into the crisp air and overturn the pot well away from the house. A wave of dizziness washes over you, silver spots dotting your vision. Perhaps it is an ague. Oh how you wish it were. 

You set the pot down as you grasp at some stability. You stand and wipe your clammy forehead. Your hand drifts down to your bodice and you let it venture further. You try to feel your stomach through the layers. It is tauter than it once was but no rounder. Not as yet. 

You sit on a low stump, the seat the stabler uses to shoe the horses. You let the frigid air seep through your dress and stare at the grey clouds that blot out the sun. You hold your chin, elbows on your legs, hunched over as you let the stagnancy of that moment swallow you. 

For a moment, you believe that you can make time stand still. That you might stretch on this fantasy a little longer. That a single second might be spent into an eternity. You shake your head and close your eyes as your cheeks tingle with the cold. 

You try to picture the convent. You imagine dark halls and darker mornings. Prayers and repentance filling the days and keeping wakeless the nights. Would the nuns even accept a ruined soul like yours? 

“Miss,” Mary, the broom girl, stands along the path back to the house, “you have a caller.” 

You sit up and blink, a caller? How long have you been there? You shiver and rise, towering over the young servant like the mottled forest creature of wives tales. You nod and stride past her, rubbing your arms to warm yourself as you return to the house. 

It cannot be him. Not already. You’re not prepared. It has been all you can think of and yet you are wholly unready for it. 

You carry on inside and come into the main hall. Lord Odinson waits, your mother chittering at his elbow as Lord Rogers and Cora stand in the archway to the west wing. 

“You will be at the wedding tomorrow? We did not receive your response sir,” your mother pleads as she tugs his sleeve. 

“Ah, yes, did I not give it?” Odinson says coolly, “certainly I will come with some Asgardian ale to christen the blissful newlyweds.” 

“And we thank you for such generosity,” Cora coos. 

“I’m certain refreshments will be plenty,” Lord Rogers deflects. 

“Ah,” Lord Odinson’s attention is drawn by your emergence from behind the staircase, “my valkyrie, you called for me and I am here.” 

“I... you have come so... swiftly,” you remark, your voice teetering. 

“Of course,” he assures as he crosses the polished floor, “as ever I will for my beloved.” He approaches and takes your hands in his, kissing your knuckles, “you are like ice,” he feels your hands and covers them with his gloved ones, “are you ill?” 

“No, uh, yes, no,” you stammer, “sir, I only meant... I only thought to speak with you.” 

“I do cherish the tenor of your sweet voice, lady, I would ride so fast as I might to hear it,” he assures. 

“You rode... all this way, my lord?” 

“I do prefer to be in a saddle,” he affirms, “so, shall we converse? Perhaps we might have some tea to warm you, my valkyrie.” 

“Please,” you cringe, wishing he would quit his honeyed words, “I do not require it. Perhaps somewhere private...” 

“With chaperone of course,” your mother insists. You blanch but do your best not to show your unease. “Pollo! Pollo!” She claps, “forgive me I will not be able to do so myself as I have much to attend to for the morrow, but we have a groom here... Pollo!” 

She cries out and the dark-haired man appears. The old groom has a round belly and wine-reddened cheeks. He doesn’t speak more than Italian but he is steadfast in his service. Your mother bids him, pointing at you, then shoos him with a flick of her fingers. 

He shrugs and bows his head, nearing you and the duke. You peer over at your sister and Lord Rogers as they watch. The former stares at your betrothed as he clings still to your hands and the latter narrows his eyes in your direction. Just the sight of him makes you even more sick than before. Of any, he cannot know though you expect should Cora find out, it will not be a secret. 

“The sun room, perhaps,” Odinson suggests. 

“As you wish,” you agree. 

He offers his arms and you accept it. He guides you along, well-acquainted to the halls already, and takes you around to the sun room. The curtains are closed and the space is dim with the shadow of winter. The groom claims the armchair in the corner, making it groan with his weight, as another servant follows to light a lamp and put flint to the fireplace. 

When all is lit, you detach from Odinson and retreat from him. You mash your hands together and sway, spinning back to face him as he watches you intently. He seems unbothered by the spontaneity of it all. 

“You missed me? I have longed to see you again,” he beams. 

“Please,” you show your palms, “please, I... we must speak.” 

“Of? Name anything and it shall be yours. As my wife, you will never want for anything, valkyrie.” 

You wince as if struck. You drop your arms and your head. You stalk over to the bench that looks toward the window and sit, slumped forward as you shake your head. He approaches as he lets out a long exhale. He sits beside you. 

“Something is amiss. Forgive me for making light, I came upon mistaken sentiment,” his voice is grave, “you have something to say and I must listen. As ever, I am the storm but these winds have calmed.” 

You rock and another hot tinge settles behind your eyes. You roll them up and sit straight. You crane to see over your shoulder. Rollo’s eyes are closed as he’s halfway to sleeping. It is propriety alone that has him sat in that chair. 

You look ahead once more, “I cannot marry you.” 

He sucks in air and snorts, “what?” 

“I cannot—it cannot—I'm sorry, Lord Odinson.” 

“Why ever should you change your mind? The banns are read and will be again,” he touches your arm and you shy away. 

“You deserve... better.” 

“I deserve you,” he insists. 

“Please, sir, let me find the words,” you beg touch your temples as you try to rein in your wits. You close your eyes and shudder. 

“You are cold still, perhaps you might move closer to the fire--” 

“It hardly matters,” you lower your hands and clutch them tight.  

You make yourself look at him. You must. He warrants at least the truth told to his face and not the floor. His blue eyes twinkle as his usually bright face is stern. 

“I am...” you take a breath and struggle to let it back out as the words burn the tip of your tongue, “I... am with... child.” 

You choke out the last word and nearly faint. You stare at him, waiting for him to explode. You mightn’t even have a say in who knows should he speak too loudly. His eyes search yours and he blinks. He turns his face down and looks at his lap, gripping his thighs as he nods and hums. 

“That’s wonderful,” he says. 

“Pardon?” 

“Yes, it’s wonderful. We’ll have a child.” 

“Sir, I—we haven’t... it is another man’s,” you feel as if you shouldn’t have to explain this. 

“Why certainly he put it there, yes, but I would claim it,” he faces you again. 

Your eyes round, “why should you do that? That isn’t... proper. I am not proper, sir. I am telling you that I have been... corrupted. I should never have said yes.” 

“But you did.” 

“You needn’t-- it isn’t fair.” 

“Perhaps it isn’t fair that you should have to carry the cad’s seed,” he agrees, “for any many who would lay with a lady and not seek her hand, well, he can be nothing else.” 

You’re quiet as disbelief clouds around you. He can’t possibly mean it. He must be in shock. Certainly, he wouldn’t just accept another’s child. 

“Sir, you shouldn’t-- you shouldn’t do this. I am releasing you.” 

“I don’t want to be released,” he says sullenly. 

“Why? Why would you do this?” You ask. 

“I meant all I said to you, from the first breath, my valkyrie,” he proclaims. “And I mean it still.” 

“But, sir, you cannot—I cannot live with myself--” 

“You are honourable. Honest. You have told me this when you did not need to. When you could’ve claimed an early birth, when you could have kept quiet, yet you did not. That says more than a fleeting tryst. For that’s what it was, yes? Or do you lay with this man still?” 

You shake your head and look down at your fingers as you twists them until they hurt, “just once. Only once. It was... unplanned. It wasn’t...” your voice cracks. 

His chest inflates with a sonorous breath, “did you want it?” 

“Pardon?” You murmur. 

“Unplanned... did you... was it... your tryst, was it willing?” 

You put your fist to your mouth and sob. You can’t say it. You won’t. You replay it in your head every night and you think of how you told him to stop and yet you did not stop him. You should have fought more. You should have screamed. 

“I didn’t make him stop,” you eke around your hand. 

“Make him? Did you ask him to begin?” 

“Please, sir, I cannot—please just end this and I will ask my father for the convent once more. I cannot bring this shame on you.” 

“Shame? Shame is the man, if I should call him that, who has done this,” he snarls and reaches for you, taking your hand. “I swore you would be my wife and I will hold to that. As you swore to be my wife. We will see the altar together. As one.” 

“You do not have to--” 

“I want to,” he growls and you look up at his angry face. You’ve never seen such fury in him. “I have never done anything but by my own whim and will not change that now.” 

“You are too nice, sir. Too nice, I cannot ask it--” 

“Who?” He sneers. 

“Sir?” 

“Who has done this to you?” 

“I cannot--” 

“I should know.” 

“No, please, I wouldn’t-- it would be my ruin--” 

“No, it would be his and you protect him still, so tell me.” 

“No, no I will not. That I cannot tell you, sir. To say it would defeat me completely.” 

He sighs into a snarls and lowers his chin. He sounds like a simmering bull, readying for the charge. You tug on your hand but he will not release you. You relent and let him cling to you. 

Silence, suffocating and still.  

“My brother was an orphan. We took him in when he was young. He is a duke, same as me, now,” he declares as he squares his posture. “You wouldn’t know the difference. And I won’t. Not between this child and our next.” 

“Sir, surely--” 

“We are to have a child,” he says, “that is happy news and I thank you for bringing me here to hear it.” He pets your hand and leans his arm against yours. He brings your fingers up to your mouth and kisses them, “one day, I will know who the culprit is and on that, I will surely split his skull. Not for his bastard, for that child has no sin, but for your honour, lady. For my wife’s honour.” 

💟

Cora’s wedding to Lord Rogers culminates in a grand luncheon. The bride is a beautiful mist of tears as she accepts the well wishes of her guests. She basks in the attention as you gladly languish in the shadows. 

Despite Lord Odinson’s unexpected and reassuring reaction, you’re still uncertain. You don’t know if he’s keeping a good face on until he knows how to act, perhaps renegs his grace, or if you might come to pay for your discretion later in your union. You’re prepared to meet your atonement, however it comes. 

As you sit for the meal, the chair beside you is claimed almost at once. Your betrothed has appeared throughout the event but you’ve hardly been at his side. Each time you see him, his eyes skim the crowd as if he can see right through every one of them. Yet, when he looks at you, you feel only warmth. You don’t understand how he can look at you as such. 

“How do you fare, today, my valkyrie?” He asks as he straightens his cravat, “you look well.” 

“Good, I think.” 

“Glad to hear it,” he raises his glass for a servant to fill it with sherry. You opt for lemon water, as much as your tumultuous stomach can handle. 

“I thought we might have our own reception at Nine Pillars,” he suggests. 

“I would like that,” you agree, your eyes drifting beyond him, to your father’s gardens, where... “whatever you may offer, I will be grateful for.” 

“Mighty valkyrie, full of grace,” he praises and reaches for a platter, “ooh, they have some sweet ham here with pineapple.” 

He takes a helping and puts it on your plate. You smell the tangy fruit and the underline savoury waft of the meat. You lurch and grasp the edge of the table. You give a panicked look to Odinson as he peers down at the food. He switches your plates out swiftly. 

“Tell me, what are you in the mind for then?” He leans in so his arm touches yours as you sip from the lemon water to quell your stomach. “Valkyrie, give me your command and I will obey.” 

You give him a coy grin, “you can be so silly.” 

“Silly. Mad. All for love,” he assures you.  

“Is their anything dry?” You ask, “bread, perhaps.” 

“Sourdough,” he reaches to take the basket as others help themselves to the spread. 

“I’ll have some of that.” 

“With marmalade?” He offers.  

“No,” your face pinches at the thought, “no, bread will do.” 

You blink and shake of another tide of sickness. As you do, your eyes meet another pair further down the table, amid the rabble of voices. Lord Rogers tilts his head as Cora tugs on his sleeve and giggles up at the couple behind them. He hardly seems to notice as he stares you down. 

You go rigid and quickly look away. You touch Odinson’s arm to keep from panicking. He looks at you, then down the table. He doesn’t say anything, merely carves off a chunk of bread for you. 

You pick away at the hard crust and the dry spongey inside. You take small bites, cautious of upsetting your volatile stomach. The afternoon wears on, course after course, and you avoid those dishes which threaten to overthrow your restraint. 

At last, the cake is serves, a tiered sponge with cream and fruit and candied sugar spun in a facsimile fountain atop it. It’s splended and beautiful. The couple are served first as they smiles in delight. The doling out of servings takes some time as guests wait patiently for their turn and the cake is pushed on a cart from chair to chair. 

When it comes your turn, your name rises over the crowd. You sit up and glance over, relieved at least not to watch the layers of custard and cake hit your plate. Lord Rogers has his hand on the back of his wife’s chair. 

“And how do you like the dessert? I believe you’ve been saving space for it all day, eh?” He chirps. 

You angle your head in confusion. You look down then at Odinson who sits a little taller as he leans forward. 

“You’ve hardly indulged, so I hope you might show your support and delight in this delectable dessert,” Rogers taunts. “A wedding is no place for a sour face.” 

Your lips part. You’re stunned. How could he be so bold as to call you out? Among all his guests and he must torment you. Was one night not enough. Your whole life as his violation thrives within your womb. Lord Odinson subtly touches your elbows. 

“I am most happy for you and my sister,” you rebuff, “and you are correct, I’ve been in much anticipation for dessert.” 

You take your fork and scoop up a heaping mouthful. You smile at it even as your insides rage. You make yourself taste it. It’s so sweet and smooth and wonderful, but your stomach mulches as if it is rubbish. Your cheeks tremble and you swallow, nearly gagging. 

“To you, sir, and my sister, Cora, I wish a happy marriage,” you force out as you hide your mouth behind a handkerchief. 

“To the happy couple,” Lord Odinson raises his glass and the table erupts, at once, the attention shifted back to them. 

You brace his arm and squeeze. You fight but you cannot withhold the uproar within. You stand and rush away, frantically searching for somewhere to hide and spew your guts. 

💟

The days overcome your doubts. The weeks come with more affectations; your sickness ebbs and flows and the temperature feels at times hotter then colder, swaying back forth, while some moments you spend with a throbbing head and pulsing feet. The most obvious symptom of your condition is the tightness of your stay. Soon, you will be showing more than you like, but for now, loosened laces can ease your discomfort. 

Your wedding day fast approaches. Time does seem to defy any human whim. You wish it would slow so you could catch your breath. Much like your husband-to-be who has yet to falter in his affections. 

You sit before the mirror with the grown of silver petals in your lap. There is one still bent from Cora’s envy but you will keep it to the back of your head. You will wear it as proudly as that night Lord Odinson gifted it to you. You hope for the day you might both forget all else. 

If it is to be. If he is at the altar waiting still. 

Albina and Hannah take the crown from you and secure it among your styled locks. Albina smiles at your reflection as Hannah jabs you with a pin. You nervously wring your hands as you admire the lavender shade of your gown. You wish you’d had more of it, that you hadn’t needed to trim it in ivory to make up for your height. Still, it is beautiful and the nicest dress you’ve ever worn. 

“Are you nervous?” Albina asks. 

“Suppose,” you admit and lift your chin, “very, truly.” Though not for the reason she might think. 

“Lord Odinson is kind. He should be gentle,” Hannah says. 

Your cheeks tinge at her suggestion, “sister.” 

“Well, it is what we are all thinking, isn’t it?” She shrugs. 

“I hope I do not find a husband so soon,” Albina adds, “I would like to enjoy my books a little longer.” 

“You might take on the spinster’s mantel then,” Hannah snipes. 

“It shouldn’t be so bad,” you murmur. “Every woman must do it. Eventually. It cannot be so horrible.” 

You lower your head again, trying to hide the emotion battling in your chest. It was bad, that first time. Lord Rogers hadn’t been kind at all. Would Lord Odinson be any different? For Rogers seemed kind at first glance only to be cruel upon touch. 

What if you husband did not want to meet his duty? What if he could not knowing you had lain with another? You would not blame him and without consummation, he might still turn you away. 

“Cora said it was more painful than anything she’s ever felt,” Hannah undercuts your dread. “Though she still loves her husband well.” 

“You shouldn’t speak of that,” you gird. 

“Why not? Won’t you tell us how it is so we may be ready?” She challenges. 

“I... I... It’s rather strange to speak of it.” 

“You are strange,” Hannah retorts with a huff. 

“But pretty,” Albina chimes, “look at you, sissie. You truly look like a queen in that crown.” 

You meet the gaze of your reflection. You do look better than you ever have before. You wonder if they notice the new fullness in your cheeks. If they do, they don’t mention it. You take a deep breath. 

“I shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer,” you stand.  

If you wait any longer, you might lose your nerve. 

The bishop waits in the grand hall of Nine Pillars as you emerge from the rooms allotted for your preparations. The crowd stands among the columns and hushes as you appear at the end of the hall. You face the clergy man and for an instant, your heart dangles precariously, ready to plummet.  

Where is Lord Odinson? 

His golden head pops up beside the bishop and he fixes the flower tucked into his lapel. His long blond hair is draw back as a scarlet bow holds it back, its ears peeking out behind his nape. He is smiling as he pauses and his eyes meet yours across the space. 

You can see even from there how his features slacken and for a moment, you are breathless. He looks as stricken. You put one foot down and let your long legs carry you. 

All your doubts float away. The faces around you haze together and the world crumbles to dust. It's only you and that man.  

💟

The ceremony gives way to a soiree, bodies clustered together, partners dancing, and you among them. Your husband, a husband, has your hand in his as he leads you in the steps. This man, this wonderful forgiving man you vowed yourself too nearly sweeps you off your feet, a sensation you've never known before. 

Your cheer blooms from you as his cheeks flush in his excess. He barely pauses to receive kind words from his guest. His elation is contagious. It gives no way to your fears. 

"Do you know what I thought upon the altar, beautiful valkyrie," he purrs, "I nearly fell upon my knees even." 

"What?" You smile, glowing up at him. 

"That the gods did bless me. That you must be sent from them, a gift to me, mere mortal." 

You can't help but pat his chest, "you flatter." 

"You are too modest," he guides you along, "you are a statue come too life, art in the flesh." 

"My husband... you words are too sweet." 

"I know, I know, the wedding night is still ahead of us, I do run too fast," he chuckles, "but how can I help the anticipation? 

Your lashes flick and giggle, "husband." 

"That word has never sounded sweeter," he grins, "but a sweeter noise might be my own name. Say it for me, valkyrie." 

Your cheeks burn hot, "Thor?" 

"Delicious," he growls nearly baring his teeth, "and I shall savour every sound you make. Every moan and mewl. Every breath and laugh. Just as every part of you." 

It's too good to be true. You deign to let yourself feel it all but you must. If even only for tonight. If only for the next moment. You will have a morsel of happiness if it's all you have to chew on for the rest of your life. 

💟

The night wears on and so do you. Your feet ache, as does most of you, and your voice is raw from laughing and talking. It is the first that you ever spent an event not along the wall or hiding in some shadow. It is a night all your own, or so your husband has made it feel. 

Yet, he does not tire. Not as quickly. As he booms and bawls to the amusement of all, you cling to his arm and repress a yawn. You will not spoil his fun, you will persist. 

Still, you cannot ignore all urges of your humanity. You press a hand to his sleeve and excuse yourself, promising to return. Your husband pauses to bid you not be long and you're further abashed at his attention. 

You flit off to find the privy. You've been several times over the day. Your bladder swells no matter how little you drink. As you progress, you find your body is contradictory to your mind. 

You venture down the corridor and sweep into the room. Once relieved, you emerge feeling lighter but no less tired. The silent desolation of the corridor rather makes your exhaustion all the more potent. 

You turn towards the statue of a warrior, you recognise it, it is the means by which you've found your way. Before you can pass it, a figure appears from behind it and you falter in your slippers. 

You gasp and ball your hands, the man before you sending a ripple of horror through you as he smirks at your surprise. Lord Rogers' cheek dimples as he quorks his head like a cynical crow. 

"You are ever a creature of urges," he muses, "fluttering back and forth as a skittish bird." 

"My lord, I... what is the meaning--" 

"I'm afraid we've not had much of a chance to speak, have we? The blushing bride is much a titter," he chortles, "she has the gull to giggle like a maiden, even." 

"Lord Rogers," you utter, appalled. 

"But the sway of her hips do betray her true nature. That which is within her," he sneers, "as does the curdling of her face over any dish that tickles her nose." 

"Sir, I know not what you mean--" 

"I should laugh truly, to know that another will raise my bastard," he taunts, "that it is him, does entertain me more." He takes a step forward and you back, "so you will be certain to lay with him this night so he may believe he has vigour." He grabs your arms before you can elude him, "you will think of me, won't you, Athena, my fallen goddess? Of how I desecrated your--" 

Suddenly, you are staggered. Lord Rogers is swung backward and flung into the statue. There's a roar, tha same noise you would expect of a charging bear, and the flash of scarlet. You watch paralysed as Thor grabs Lord Rogers by his jacket and spins him, throwing him into the other wall. 

The smaller of the men, though they are both built well, slides to one knee, his hand on the plaster. The other is quick, wasting not a second before aims a foot into Rogers' stomach. The duke falls backward and is at once straddled beneath the larger. 

Thor lays blows upon the other man, hailing down on him like the tempest he claims himself. Your fear overflows and you push through the thick waves. You come forward numbly and pull your husband by the back of his collar.  

"Please sir, unhand him." 

"You would defend this animal!" He wails down another fist and growls. 

"No, no, I would not spare him but I would... I would have my husband not take me to my wedding night with bloodied knuckles. Thor," you pet the back of his head, "let this be a happy day. Please." 

He sits back on his heels and puffs out. He looks back at you as you step away. You put your hand to your middle.  

"Husband?" 

He snarls and spits on Lord Rogers, standing with a huff. You reach for his hand and he takes it. He squeezes as he sends one last kick of his toe to the man on the floor. 

"Let me save my strength for you, wife. I certainly would need it." 

[trendywaifus]

don’t you love it when they run? ( also im revamping my masterlist. ) you and black swan record for her onlyfans video cw: gn! reader with a dick/strap, rough sex, manhandling, teasing, cursing, overstimulation, top! reader, bottom! black swan, spanking, pet names, restraints

one of the favorite things that black swan’s shameless subscribers love to see is a majestic woman with a guarded aura get put in her place. why not give the audience what they desire while she orchestrates savory memories and have her fun?

the memokeeper’s legs dangles off the ends of the bed, rivers of tousled, pale purple hair splayed out across the sheets as you fuck her into the mattress. your body is flushed against hers, sweaty bare skin sliding over the other as your hips roughly slaps her ass at a rapid pace. black swan feels hot and lightheaded but the controlled smile on her countenance never leaves her subtle, trembling peach lips.

“ st-still want to smile while i’m fucking you like this? ” you groan, nails digging into her love handles, repeatedly fucking your lengthy cock into her. a few moans leaves the woman’s mouth before she taunts you in a teasing whisper, “ a-are you implying that i shouldn’t be right now?” she tries to hide the quiver in her low voice to gain some semblance of control despite the position she’s in right now. you slow your pace and prop yourself up on your forearms to cast her an annoyed look.

“ do you really want to act like this in front of the camera, ‘swan? “ you ask low enough so the audio can barely pick up on your voice. her eyelids lowers, sunset eyes twinkles with a glint of mischief as the corner of her mouth curls into a small smirk. “ my dear, “ she drawls, her breath hitching ever so slightly as your shaft deliciously drag along her walls. “ i’m not quite sure what you’re directing at.” why is she trying to act like a brat?

with the roll of your eyes, your fingers wrap around her throat and slightly squeezed as you kissed her. the soft vibration of her hum tickles the tips of your fingertips. “ i’ll fuck you dumb. “

“ hm. do your worst, if you can— “

black swan’s words were cut short as you abruptly removed yourself off of her and wildly flipped her on her stomach with admirable strength. a silent gasp forces its way out of her lungs when she feels your entire body weigh on top of her. your hot, heavy breath wafts against the shell of her ear. “ i wonder. .” your fingers drum thoughtfully against her hip bones, “ if i can trick your ‘body’ into thinking what you’ll be feeling is naturally physical? “ a shiver runs down her spine at your breathless speculation.

black swan gasps, but this time, it’s loud and strained as your palm meanly comes in contact with her plush ass. you stand upright, yank her hips down until they’re barely off the bed, forcing her feet to touch the carpet floor. your digits curl around her wrists and wind them behind her back, bounding them in place. black swan lets out an airy chuckle, “ restraining me, my dear? you think i’ll run? “ she asks with raised brows. if she can, she’d crane her neck and give you a mocking smile masked as a patient one.

“ all you have to do is keep your feet on the floor and you’ll see why, gorgeous. “

your cock teases the memokeeper’s leaking slit, circling and rubbing against it until you hear soft huffs and puffs of frustration from her. before she can open her mouth to aim a retort at you, you slam yourself inside of her. “ o-oh! “ she moans. your thick shaft stretches her out and you don’t give her time to adjust when you snap your hips backward and forward all over again. from this position, she can practically feel everything, even in her legs. the prominent vein grazes a sweet spot causes black swan to dig her teeth into her fleshy bottom lip.

her slick walls clenches around you as she hears the sloppy squelching sounds of her dripping hole repeatedly taking your cock. your pace is consistent but not as fast as it was before—yet, her legs was already grow weak. “ hhngh. .” black swan can’t help but let out drawn out broken moans. you chuckle when you feel her knees buckle and twitch. “ you feel that already, baby? where’s your quips at, hmm? “

a breathy grunt claws out from her throat. god, she sounds so ethereal, you want more but for now you’ll take the chance to bully her. “ mind you, i’m not even going fast yet. “ you remark, watching her body jerk forward when you firmly thrust back into her again, pieces of her silky hair slides off from the gentle curve of her back. “ do your worst, she says.” you mock her, letting out another chuckle, rutting your hips into her. “ and i’m not even doing my best. “

“ y-you talk too much. .! “ she snaps, rare annoyance weighing with her wobbly voice.

“ and you really shouldn’t be talking at all—here, i’ll give you and what our viewers want. “ you pick up the rhythm, matching the fast beat of black swan’s ‘heart’.

“ a-ah! mmphhhh! ” a choked half-scream escapes from black swan’s panting chest, her feet struggling to stay still on the floor because of your relentless thrusts. again, she feels it—she feels your girthy length deeply kissing at her g-spot, filling her up to the brim each time without stopping. her nails digs into her clenched fists until her knuckles are ivory white.

“ now i know you can really this one, baby. “

her slick created a slippery mess all over your cock and groin and a sticky sound of your skin smacking into hers. black swan feels the hotness swelling in her belly as her head spins. you release one of her wrists to slap her ass again, eliciting a strained groan. she instinctively squeezes her pulsating walls around you once more. “ you’re free to cum whenever you want, i’m still going to fuck you silly after. “

she wants to bite back, to give you even a sliver of illusion that she’s still put together. but, her mind is jumbled, cloudy with lustful thoughts; it’s as if her tongue was tied into a knot too. the urge to release grows strong by the second from the grueling moment of your hips. her knees bends in and the only things that’s keeping her from collapsing is you hoisting her up with your body. black swan swears if she gaze upwards through her blurry vision, she can see constellations.

from one more aimed thrust, sunset eyes rolls to the back of black swan’s head and thick creamy fluids gushes out from her stuffed hole. “ theeere she goes. come on, give it to me, beautiful—let it alll out.” a bead of sweat drips down your brow and with tired hips, you still continue to fuck into her while she rides her high, camera long forgotten. a strangled moan leaves her drooling lips. with her freed hand, she grips at the sheets, twisting and turning the silk fabric to endure the intense amounts of pleasure crashing into her body like wild waves on a stormy night.

“ that’s right, baby—take it. “ black swan hears you hiss and then not even bothering to hide your moan right after. you feel so raw inside of her, it’s starting to finally make her go dumb and hyper sensitive. she wants, no, needs this moment to be engraved in her memory. you’re so utterly addicting, it’s driving her crazy.

series of broken moans leaves black swan’s body as your fat cock rubs against her sloppy, overstimulated walls. the mushroom head hits an abused, spongy spot inside her pussy which leaves the usually composed woman pathetically attempting to move away from your thrusts by clawing up the sheets with her freed hand and the balls of her heels.

“ aht. aht. “ you tut, planting your upper body on top of her back, stopping her with your weight. you grasp black swan’s jaw and maneuvered her head to face you enough to see the dazed expression on her beautiful features. “ aren’t you a little too graceful to be running? stay and gimme a kiss, sweetheart. .“

[moeblob]

Every single time I draw for an anime I think to myself "never again will I draw for an anime" and then I am proven wrong. So here, take my daughter Lulu.

[sonicexelle-junkary]

Okay, Art block has been hitting me hard and I can’t get myself to do work on the AU idea I had, so I can’t make something fun to introduce you guys to the AU first off.

Instead, I’ll simply explain what the story is gonna be about, as well as the plot to it. I’ll include the art I have made so far for the au as well (which isn’t much). Feel free to ask any questions and I’ll answer best I can.

AU: QUIET ON SET

The au takes place in a 1970’s to 1990’s sitcom set of a very popular show called [REDACTED] produced by [REDACTED] (I don’t have proper names for them yet). Pretty much the whole cast of Sonic is here, with our main character Sonic, secondary characetrs Amy, Tails, and Knuckels. As well as occasional and returning guest stars; Shadow, Mighty, Ray, Rouge, Vanilla, Cream, and a whole lot more!

“But this is a horror AU, right?” I hear you say. “This is for your horror blog. It has to be horror. Is it?” And you’d be right!

After suffering a massive concussion from a falling light fixture on set, Sonic wakes up and finds that nothing is as it seems. In fact, he realizes that as far as he could remember, his life had been a lie, as he’d been living on a set this whole time, and he’d suddenly became aware of the fourth wall.

No matter what he does, he can’t seem to escape the show he was forced into, as the camera follows him the entire time, and he always stumbles back onto set, hearing the “live” audience react to every thing he does or say. His friends don’t believe him. Are they his friends? Are they even real?

Tune in to follow Sonic on a path of insanity as he tries to escape this hellish nightmare, through endless corridors, sets, rooms, trough this constantly changing place. It’s like someone is taking joy in swatching him slowly break.

Sonic believes that the only way to escape is to go head to head with the director of this show. He will soon find out that would be more of a challenge than he thinks he’s ready for.

[two-white-butterflies]

the sun sets in the east | daemon targaryen

Description: Daemon Targaryen didn't die during the war - though there were many nights that he wished he did. A prequel and sequel of the sun rises in the west, in which Daemon tries to navigate his relationship with his only son and the new life he is bestowed.

Pairing: daemon targaryen/dayne!reader (you haunt the narrative)

Rating: General Audience (grief processing, daemon being a grey character.)

Author's Note: Daenerys-Drogo inspired.

"When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When mountains blow in the wind like leaves. Then you shall return to me."

There was no milk of poppy that could subside the ache in his heart. He marched to the Stepstones with nothing to lose, he came home losing everything. "I offer my condolences, brother." Viserys places a hand on Daemon's shoulder.

Daemon watches his son from afar.

Maekar looked exactly like him, the same aquiline nose, the same purple eyes. He almost wishes that there were other children, perhaps a daughter with the same eyes as yours. He stares off to the vast horizon, the gardens in his periphery.

"When Aemma died, I was a shell of myself. Unable to rule or eat." Viserys conversed. There were no scrolls that explained how to cope the death of a wife that one loved very much.

"- and you found comfort with the Lady Alicent." Daemon interrupted, bitterness in his tone. "If you are suggesting that I find the same comforts in another one's arms. I decline." he gave his brother a tight-lipped smile.

He's spent his entire life looking for Viserys' love. He's long understood that he'll never find it, and that he'll never be his brother's first choice. Daemon waves at his son. Maekar runs towards him.

"We'll be going, your grace." he lifted his son off the ground. Disappearing from the Red-Keep. Gods know when he'll return.

He met another woman after you. After the harsh pushing of his brother to take another wife, he decided to settle with Lady Laena. She was the same as you - the same fire flowed through her veins. She wanted to be a warrior and was skilled with a dagger. She knew her place. She knew how to obey, and behind those purple eyes of hers - he finds a glimpse of you.

Maekar, who was five, placed a tender hand on Lady Laena's belly. "It will a brother." he surmised with childish curiosity. Daemon watched coldly as his second wife took kindly to his son. He wanted to rip Maekar away from Lady Laena - wanted to tell him that the woman wasn't his mother - wanted to tell him to never forget you.

Alas, he couldn't.

He couldn't bring himself to even mention your name.

"How can you be so sure, my prince?" Daemon sat beside them on the bed, placing a kiss on Maekar's forehead. "I-I wish it is." the boy played with the edges of the blanket. "- then I'll have someone to play with - like muña promised." he stuttered.

Daemon's heart sinked to his chest.

Laena smiled.

"You'll have a lot of siblings, I promise." now it was Laena's turn to place a kiss on Maekar's forehead. Daemon clenched his fists.

It was his fault. He did not speak of you - how else was Maekar supposed to know? He'll have to make things right.

"Where are we going, kepa?" Maekar inquired as his father led him to the heart of the Red Keep. "Laena is not your muña. You know that, right?" the man opened the conversation. His son replies with a hum.

Maekar wobbles in an attempt to catch up with his father. His eyes twinkling with adoration and love. "Uhuh my real muña died in the war." the son replied, and they both halted in front of a chamber. It was Daemon's old chamber.

A layer of dust gathered on the doorknob. He could not find himself to visit. "But you cannot remember muña. You were a babe when she died." he twisted the doorknob - opening the door wide. Maekar's eyes travelled along the walls, soaking in the interior of the room.

He remembers this room!

The bed was unmade - the hairbrush still had a strand of your hair. Is a piece of hair still a part of your head even when it has fallen on the floor? Are ghosts still a part of your family even when they're dead?

He reaches for his father's hand.

"Please tell me!" he beamed, and Daemon sat on the bed. Dust jumping around at the sudden shift of weight. Maekar coughs.

The older man points at the portrait on the wall. "I met your mother when I was much younger. She was seven and ten, a Dornishwoman. She made it very clear that she didn't want to lose her liberties by being married to me." he chuckled, the pain in his chest lifted by memories of you. "Liberties?" Maekar tilted his head.

"Freedom. She didn't want to lose herself. She wanted to remain a warrior, to train in the fields regardless of the court's opinion. The court had a lot to say, my son, but she did not care. She never cared about anything beyond us three." the smile never left his face.

"Remember what I told you about being a prince." he stared deep into Maekar's eyes and the little boy nodded. "When forced to choose between the kingdom and your family - always choose the kingdom, because your duty is to the people before yourself." the little boy recited, stuttering and messing up the end sentence.

"Your mother was as valiant as any prince. She wanted to choose you, my son - but we weren't the only ones suffering. Sons were marching off to war, and they never returned. She couldn't help but think about you - about our safety. The War in the Stepstones threatened the very peace of our Kingdom, and she protected that." the smile left his mouth, back to the bitter reality.

"Promise me that you'll always love your mother. Do not find fault in what she could not do." Daemon wrapped Maekar in his arms, placing him in a tender embrace.

"I always love her, kepa." he promised.

Maekar was ten and six when Daemon married Princess Rhaenyra. By then, Laena was long dead - cold to the touch as you.

Princess Rhaenyra was different, mayhaps the only woman after you that Daemon truly loved. She was filled with fire and he worshipped her - they were built in the same fire. He was devoted to her, the same way that he felt devoted to Viserys.

It was a different type of love - devotion, but not love itself.

"Hold him, husband." Rhaenyra smiled, sweat gathering at her forehead. Daemon smiled in return, reaching for Aegon.

His second son, the namesake of his ruined brother. "- he looks like you." she added, licking her lips.

"I was scared, I thought that I'll lose you both." he confessed. Rhaenyra reached for his face. "You'll never lose me." she promised, just before their lips could be bridged together - a handmaiden opens the door.

"My prince, my princess. Lady Melara has given birth to a son." the handmaiden announced. Rhaenyra's face sunk to the floor.

Maekar has stolen her thunder, again.

Daemon was surprised to see Baela and Rhaena patiently waiting outside Lady Melara's door. "Baela, Rhaena, don't you have lessons." he greeted the both of them with a hug. "I don't suppose that you'll have us attending boring lessons when our nephew has recently welcomed the world." Baela rolled her eyes.

"Are they letting visitors in?" he inquired and the sisters shrugged in unison. "Maekar promised to bring the babe out for all to see." Rhaena informed and Daemon shook his head.

On cue, Maekar opens the door with a screaming bundle of warmth in his arms. "The babe must stay inside the chambers." Daemon placed a foot inside of the door, blocking his son from exiting. "- there are diseases outside, and the babe must keep his strength." he asserted, Maekar returns to the chambers with a defeated sigh.

He looks at his younger sisters.

"You are free to enter the room, loves." Maekar smiled, all three of his visitors clamored to be the first to enter.

Maekar hands the babe to his father, the same adoration and love in his eyes as all those years ago. "I decided to name him Rhaegar. After princess Rhaenyra." his son announced. "My brother was born today too, wasn't he." he asked and Daemon nods.

Finally, a child that looked like you.

Rhaegar had the usual blonde hair and purple eyes, but the shape of his eyes, his nose, his face - it was you.

"I settled them both down, and left after they had fallen asleep." Daemon mumbled unconsciously. "Congratulations, my son."

Rhaenyra leaned on the doorframe, watching as her husband played with the children. It seems like the gods enjoyed playing cruel games. Rhaegar was born the same day as Aegon. Maekar's Viserys was born on the same day as her Viserys.

"We'll need to find a safer place for them. Once the Hightowers have landed their first blow, Dragonstone won't be safe." Daemon informed, standing up and walking towards her.

"You'll protect us, right?" she asked, and he nods.

He wraps his arms around her. He always said that Rhaenyra needed to marry a great man in order to keep the realm safe. He played that role very well, and she believed him. She melts in his embrace, feeling safe caged in between his arms.

"Kingslanding will be ours." he promised.

Before Daemon could land his first attack on the Hightowers, news of Maekar's sickness reached his ears. "It is the same fever that took your aunt, Daenerys." the Maester informed - and suddenly the room became very small, and his chest tightening with every second.

"He needs vigilant observation, there are cures for this sickness, but all of them are in Kingslanding. They were gathered by King Jaehaerys - and have remained in the castle since." the Maester added, for a second Daemon considered surrendering to the Greens.

If it was the only thing that could guarantee Maekar's safety.

"- but he can fight the sickness on his own." Daemon placed a finger to his lips, in deep thought. "If his dragon was here, my prince. But Gaelithox is kept in the Dragonpit - also in Kingslanding." the Maester's eyebrow merged into each other.

Whatever Maekar's fate now remained in his own hands.

"You are telling me that there is nothing that we can do?" Daemon attempted to keep his anger at bay. "I'm sorry, my prince." the man bowed. "- we could give him milk of poppy to ease the pain." the Maester suggested.

Milk of poppy. It brought him dark memories.

"Kepa, in the afterlife - do you think that I'd recognize her?" Maekar opened his mouth, feeling the cold compress on his forehead. It's been decades since he last saw his mother. He couldn't remember her anymore, not the sound of her voice, her face or her scent. She was a mere memory, a portrait of the woman that loved them.

"What do you mean?" Daemon asked, refusing to entertain the idea of his son's death. "When I die and I see her. Will I recognize her?" Maekar repeated his question.

Daemon answers with his silence.

Opposite to the news that reached Kingslanding. His first wife did not die immediately after the war. She had a slow death - fighting an infection caused by a wound. He sees flashes of the past, he remembers taking care of you - easing your fever.

Perhaps, placing the same cold compress on your forehead.

He promises that this time will be different. He wouldn't lose Maekar in the same way that he lost you. "Kepa, I asked you a question." his son will not let the topic rest. "It's alright if you do not wish to answer." Maekar adds, his voice suddenly deeper than all the years before. Daemon is bitterly reminded that his son is no longer a child.

"You'll recognize her. I'm sure of it - when you see her. Wrap her in a warm embrace and tell her that you love her." Daemon breaths.

How long has it been since he last saw you? A lady who was ten and nine. Now he was thrice your age - already having lived multiple lives, and you were still there - the ten and nine year old lady who had a life in front of her. Taken by the sea.

"I've not been a good father or a good husband." Daemon admitted.

"- I've not been good to your Mama Laena or Rhaenyra. I often wonder if they hate me, because I hold onto the dead." he added, remembering the fight he had a few hours ago with Rhaenyra. 'How is it that you love her more? She is a dead girl, I am here. I am alive.'

"They do not blame you, I think. It is your right to mourn." Maekar comforted, despite the piercing headache that threatened to split his skull open. Maekar closes his eyes.

"Mother used to sing me a song. I remember." he stated, and Daemon knew exactly what he was hinting at.

The House of the Dragon crumbled the same day that Maekar Targaryen took his last breath. Prince Daemon took to other places, choosing to go on a conquest with the dragonseed, Nettles. He learnt many things with the child. Questioned even his own beliefs.

If people of no Targaryen bearings could claim a dragon. Was he wrong his entire life? Were Targaryens not closer to the gods? Taken by grief and jealousy, Queen Rhaenyra ordered the head of Nettles and thus began Daemon's first defiance.

Daemon still had love for Rhaenyra.

Even in the middle of a cold war, he still fought for her claim. He defeated Prince Aemond in the Battle Above God's Eye, though the battle ended in both of their deaths. Princess Rhaenyra and her last son were burned by Aegon II.

All that remained were Rhaegar and Viserys. Children of the dance. And so, with the remaining forces of House Velaryon and House Tyrell. Prince Rhaegar was proclaimed King of the Iron Throne.

No dragon ever hatched from the mighty house of the Targaryen ever again.

[dreamwreaver]

Say what you want about what the show shows the audience but the fact that Lucifer's first thought on meeting Alastor was "this prick is fucking my daughter" tells me way more about how much chemistry Charlie and Alastor have in universe than anything else

[clusterbuck]

How about number 20 for Buck/Eddie, because clumsily flirting seems very much in their wheelhouse?

ohhh boy is it ever

every guitar-string scar on your hand

different first meeting | bar singer buck | 1.4k, T | ao3 | send me a blossoming romance prompt 🌸

Eddie stares down at the text on his phone screen.

Christopher is in good hands, I promise. Don’t you dare try to come home before 9pm. I know you don’t think so, but you need a break. 

He’s regretting letting his coworkers into his life right about now. He doesn’t know how to tell Hen that nothing about a night sitting alone in a bar sounds relaxing to him, but her heart is in the right place. The least he can do is make an effort.

The bar he’d picked is on the quieter side, some ways off the beaten path. Not the kind of place tourists go to for the glitz and glamour of Los Angeles, but it’s nice enough. He can sit here for a few hours, nurse a couple of beers until it’s late enough that Hen will let him back into his own house.

It’ll be fine.

Except—

Just then, a man walks out of some back room carrying a guitar and a microphone stand, and Eddie sighs. 

Live music doesn’t exactly fit the quiet night he’d hoped for. 

Can I get an exemption if there’s a guy about to start playing guitar in the bar? he texts.

Hen sends back an eye-rolling emoji. Music is a good thing. Give him a chance. You might even enjoy it.

Yeah, and pigs might fly, Eddie thinks, but doesn’t text back. Hen is doing a nice thing, he reminds himself. She’s doing a nice thing for him, and the fact that she doesn’t know him very well doesn’t take away from that. 

He hasn’t been at the 118 for very long, but from his first shift he could tell they’re family, the kind of team that takes care of their own. Still, they never pried, just waited for him to open up to them on their own terms, and Eddie was surprised when he realised how much he wanted to. It’s been a while since he’s had real friends.

He’s grateful for all of them, but especially Hen—and not just because Hen has a wife, and every time Eddie’s met Karen he’s remembered that one of the things he promised himself when he left Texas was that he’d let himself be his full self.

He hasn’t come out to Hen or anything, partially because he doesn’t know what he would say, exactly. I’ve never so much as kissed another man but I was fifteen when Brokeback Mountain came out and it woke something in me that never settled down since and I kind of want to know where it leads seems a little too wordy. 

But sometimes, Hen looks at him and Eddie thinks maybe she knows anyway. Or suspects, at least.

The man with the guitar strums a chord. Eddie expects the bar patrons to quiet down and listen, but the man’s would-be audience barely even bats an eye. Something flickers across the man’s face, but it’s gone before Eddie can figure out what it is, replaced by a smile almost as bright as it is empty.

“Good evening, folks,” the man says into the microphone, smiling that polished smile. “My name is Buck, and I’m going to be with you for the next couple of hours. Let’s have some fun!” 

No one in the audience reacts.

Buck launches into a cover of a song Eddie doesn’t recognise. He can tell that Buck is good, though—he has a nice voice, and his fingers are sure as they find the chords against the neck of the guitar.

Eddie has a brief vision of Buck’s nimble fingers pressing into his skin, and blinks against the heat rising on the back of his neck. Only now that this first observation has crept in, Eddie notices more: the slight curl of Buck’s hair at his temples, like he’d tried to tame it and failed. The birthmark framing his left eye, and the tattoos running along his arms. The black t-shirt he’s wearing, and the way his biceps threaten to burst out of the sleeves when he strums the guitar.

The blush creeps up his neck and across his cheeks, and Eddie looks away, taking a deep breath.

When he turns back, Buck is looking right at him. He grins, and Eddie’s never met this man before but he knows that this smile is the real deal. 

The song ends. Most of the audience barely reacts, but Eddie applauds, and gets a wink in return. His face, he’s pretty sure, must be bright red by now, and he takes his phone out just to have somewhere else to look.

Before he can think better of it, Eddie opens his text thread with Hen. Well, at least he’s hot, so there’s that. He turns his phone facedown as soon as he’s hit send, not quite believing he just did that, but picks it up again immediately when it vibrates.

Hen has sent an entire row of eyeball emojis, followed by Damn, Eddie, get it.

The phone vibrates in his hand, and she adds, If you want to get it, that is. I’ve got Christopher as long as you need. 

Eddie can’t help the grin that slips out, and glances up at Buck again. He’s moved on to something Eddie vaguely recognises, and he lights up when he notices Eddie looking. 

I might want to… move in the direction of it, he tells Hen. Then he adds, Besides, no one else here is paying attention to him. I feel bad.

Mhmm, Hen texts back. I’m sure you do. 

One chorus later, his phone vibrates again. Have fun, be safe, make good choices.

Eddie rolls his eyes and puts his phone back in his pocket, but he can’t help the giddy feeling rising like a bubble in his chest. 

Buck plays on. The audience continues to mostly ignore him, and as the night goes on, the crows begins to disperse. But Eddie stays rooted to his seat. Buck stops pretending to play for anyone but him, and slowly, he grows used to the weight of Buck’s eyes on him. By the time Buck plays his final chord, Eddie is more than certain he wants to replace it with his hands.

But Buck is packing up, and Eddie finds himself suddenly nervous. Maybe Buck was only looking at him because he was the only person in the audience who seemed to give a damn.

Or maybe Buck was looking at him, but he’s looking for something other than a thirty-something gay man with no real experience of what it means to be gay. Maybe Buck just wants someone to take into the back alley for fifteen minutes of fun. Eddie doesn’t know if he knows how to do that.

Then Buck glances over at him, and his smile is warm, inviting, almost shy. Eddie gathers every speck of courage he’s ever had and gets to his feet.

“Hi,” he says, when he reaches Buck. “You were really good.” He swallows. “Do you, um, do this often?” Then he blinks, and flushes so hot his face must most closely resemble a tomato. “I mean—I didn’t mean that like a line. Like hey, handsome, come here often? Or—I mean—it’s not not a line—I just didn’t mean to—”

Now, Eddie thinks, would be a great time for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

Buck cocks his head, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “What, so you don’t think I’m handsome?”

“No!” Eddie yelps, then his eyes go wide. “I mean—‘no’ as in—I do think—” he groans, runs a hand through his hair. “Christ, I’m fucking this up.”

Buck takes a small step closer, almost like he’s testing to see if Eddie will flinch back. He doesn’t.

“I think you’re doing just fine,” Buck says. “You even have an advantage over me.” 

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. “What’s that?” 

“You know my name, but I don’t know yours. Can’t exactly keep calling you Hot Stranger, can I?” 

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat, and it takes a couple of seconds for him to be able to splutter out his name.

Buck grins, delighted. “Well, Eddie,” he says. “Want to get out of here?” 

Half-hearted fears try to rear their heads—worries that Buck might expect more than Eddie is prepared to give—but they die down almost as soon as they pop up. They just met tonight, but there’s something about Buck that makes Eddie feel like he can trust him. Makes him feel safe. 

So he takes a breath and lets himself relax, lets his face split into a smile. “Yeah, Buck,” he says. “I’d love to.” 

[aromantic-diaries]

My plan for the future is to rise to fame posthumously with my art and the story around my characters and if that happens it will for sure be a groundbreaker for aromantic representation. You have to wait for it though because I have decided that if I ever get any recognition for my work it will be done Van Gogh style because I refuse to be alive for when it happens

[olderthannetfic]

Have been having such a time lately trying to commit to this fic im writing because it's. Incredibly cathartic and is the start of me finally starting to explore the concepts im ashamed of being fascinated by.

Mpreg jokes have become so ubiquitous that it feels like people just roll their eyes or look at me like im a weirdo for trying to take the idea seriously? not just as a physical reality for the m getting pregged in question, but also as an Emotional reality for the character. Pregnancy and pregnant characters are still treated So fucking weirdly in General, and. i understand people having a trigger related to it, thats not what im talking about ofc, but at the same time its like. Its Pregnancy. Its how Life happens. And men irl Can and DO get pregnant. Even men that dont "look like" they would enjoy it. It's always "dont pigeon hole effeminate men as bottoms/omegas/subs!!" Until someone comes out and actually wants to see and read about The Most Stereotypical Guy to ever Dude experiencing 1.) what it means to be a vessel for life, and 2.) How that changes the way people will treat him.

Bc! as soon as i bring it up, no matter how tactfully and Chaste i try to be about it, the atmosphere in the conversation always Shifts, and there's this feeling that everyone just wants me to shut up and stop being a pervert because the mere premise makes them uncomfortable. Like im sorry thinking about men in fiction undergoing women's lived reality gives me a way to articulated an understanding of what it means to be capable of having a child (all the good, bad, and ugly parts of it) that is still not otherwise allowed in Polite Discussion irl, even in the closest of relationships??

Ill keep writing it for sure but like. The shame is rearing its head and im trying to fight it my getting Mad at the pervasive (and probably just perceived) puritanical judgements dished out my the rest of the world, instead.

Why is the idea of pregnancy never taken seriously. Why is it always shoved in a corner to be ignored till it Happens and its Forced into relevance. And then why is it treated as pointless or worse just straight up Bad if it isn't "done right"/arousingly/humorously while being relevant, either on the character's part Or the author's?

It's getting better more and more with time but im just. Wracking my brain about it today. I cant stop thinking about it, its all i want to talk about, but even In my nicest and most opem circles i can feel people pulling away, and all i can think is its because im doing it to the Wrong character (major macho man villian with a Lot of daddydom themed xreaders...) or something. and its so hard not to let myself get discouraged 👽

--

A lot of my fandom circles act like that, and it's because all pregnancy is somewhere between a massive squick and massively boring to them.

I find pregnancy more interesting now that I've experienced it, but I was definitely like "Why would anyone ever talk to me about this?" before, and it wasn't about picking the wrong character.

Some things are just unpopular with some audiences. Try not to get too discouraged.

[bizarrescribblez]

um um.. v.enture b.ros/vbros frankbun au because i cant go one minute without making everything about my new ship im obsessed with.. >_< anyways yall prob know about my vbros insert already, and basically we’re like b.atman + commissioner g.ordon FRANKS STILL A DETECTIVE SO I HELP HIM WITH CASES :)) (and vampirism angst happens down the line but i will not go off about that YCFGDF)