#naked bodies are easier to draw I’m sorry

[void-dude]

I’ve decided to embrace my style crisis

[holewithinahole]

Tiptoeing the leyline | Otto Octavius x reader

Summary: Back to your universe, Otto captures you while you're distracted. He notices the marks a certain Dr. Olivia Octavius left on you.

Ao3 Link

Warnings: shameless smut, no genitalia specified (reader), no pronouns specified (reader), orgasm denial, overstimulation, unsafe sex, rough sex, creampie, non-native writer

And yes, I wrote a somewhat sequel to my Olivia fic, after several months. The fixation on Octaviuses is never over, my guy. Again, not beta, I'm not native so very sorry for any weird sentences or mistakes. I'm not 100% happy with it but I'll never be so, enjoy! (I just have to embrace the fact that I'm a slut for them.)

You should have seen it coming. From a mile away, honestly.

It’s easier to convince yourself that you’ve simply been tired. Even someone with super strength and freaky spider powers had to draw the line at multi-dimensional travel and two days of non-stop fighting. Especially when it involved someone as ruthless as Dr. Olivia Octavius. Your imaginary audience could laugh all they want, but you dared anyone to try putting their entire focus on swinging webs and punches to a woman who had, mere hours ago, rocked your world so hard you saw stars. And see stars you certainly did when that bus hit you square in the chest during the battle inside the collider.

Ergo, you blame Olivia.

Your body is sore as fuck, and you're littered with bruises and a nasty bite mark on the nape of your neck. What’s the point of having rapid recovery if you don’t even have time for it? You also blame your inner sense of justice (you were aware of the irony of fucking a supervillain and then talking about justice). Disappearing from your universe for a few days didn’t stop the villains of the week from robbing the poor corner-of-the-street shopkeepers, and the super ones from plotting their evil schemes. No rest for the wicked? What about the brave, the awesome, the work-devoted?

“Am I boring you or something?”

You glance back at Otto. He looks appalled behind his small sunglasses. It’s almost funny.

“Oh no, please keep talking,” you say evenly, “‘gives me more time to come up with an attack plan.”

What’s more difficult to admit to yourself is how totally out of it you are when it comes to anything Octavius-related. You’ve been happy living in your little world of delusion before the mind-altering and deliciously traumatizing altercation with Olivia. But now? Every taunt, every tilt of the head looks like an invitation. Knowing there were alternate universes was pretty mind-altering as well, come to think of it. 

“I’m curious to see how you plan to attack me in your current situation.”

Right. You push against the vibranium shackles holding you hostage in a chair. It was more for show if you were being honest; you doubted you could break free even with hundred-percent strength. Instead, you stare at the dirty walls of Otto’s new lair, trying not to focus too much on the flow of images his shiny actuators brought to the surface.

“Do not bother.” He lets out a bark of a laugh. “You’re completely at my mercy.”

You’ll give it to him though, he has been swift and efficient when he cornered you in a back alley and knocked you unconscious. In your defense, you did fight back against the actuator pinning you against the wall, but he said something and the next second, everything had faded to black. It was something insubstantial, something stupid and stereotypically evil like he’s famous for. Totally not something that made your heart skip a beat.

“I have to say,” he says conversationally, “I’m disappointed by how easy it was to catch you.” With two mechanical arms digging into the ground, he looms over you, the pans of his coat flapping against his naked skin. “You’re usually not that compliant.”

Don’t you fucking dare blush.

You tear your eyes away from his chest. “I was just bored out of my mind. Your tricks are getting old, Otto.”

He chuckles. “It worked in the end, didn’t it? Even if it wasn’t the desired effect.”

“If it wasn’t, why pull the same shit over and over again?”

“For fun.”

It leaves your mouth open dumbly. You scoff. “Failing is not what I’d call fun.”

Otto stares before lowering himself to the ground, soles tapping against the wooden floorboard. You’re trying your damn best not to meet his gaze, even protected behind your mask.

“What’s gotten into you?” He asks. “You’re never this… serious.”

It gives you a whiplash. “Uh?”

“Did I break something?” He muses to himself.

You certainly didn’t expect him to notice you were out of it, or care about it for that matter. Perhaps you’ve underestimated the man’s perception.

“All fine and dandy. Thanks for asking, Doc’.” Your tone is way too even to your liking.

You’ve always been a terrible actor and he sees right through your bluff. Which is saying something since he can’t even see your face. You make another attempt at breaking free but it only makes your suit rub against all of your bruises and cuts. Your wince makes the good Doctor raise a questioning eyebrow.

“So, I did hurt you,” he says, disbelieving.

“You kidding, right? You punch like a little girl.” That’s a big lie and also misogynistic.

Fuck, maybe Olivia was right.

You’re suddenly assaulted by a strong smell of damp leather as two fat digits slip underneath the edge of your mask and pull. “Hey! The fuck you think you doing—“

Does anyone grasp the concept of anonymity ‘round here? “Fuck, Doc’, I thought you were a bit more chivalrous than that.”

Otto doesn’t answer, inspecting your face. It’s making you uncomfortable how much he’s staring. Did he expect a model or something?

“I wasn’t expecting this kind of hurting,” he says. You frown, confused, but when he uses one finger on your chin to slowly turn your face away, you realize with horror he’s looking at the beautiful purple claim Olivia left on your neck.

“What—“ you sputter, withdrawing as much as you can. “That’s not what you’re thinking.”

“And what am I thinking, exactly?” Otto asks, evenly.

What is he thinking exactly? He barely reacted to your naked face, not even to gloat at exposing your biggest secret. And what do you want him to be thinking? That you have no game at all? What would be the point? If anything, you should be proud to show him you get any action.

He interrupts your inner monologue: “I wasn’t expecting the reason for your scattered brain to be sex.” You blush bright red. “I thought you had more self-control than that.”

His lips stretches, deliberately slow, displaying rows of straight incisors and sharp canines. “Unless you’ve been fighting an oversized bat.”

It would have been preferable at the moment. “Yes. You guessed it. How smart.”

Otto chuckles. “It probably wasn’t any good if you look this tense.”

“I have a good reason to be tense at the moment,” you hiss.

“I make you feel that way? My, I’m flattered.”

“You wish, Doc’.”

His hand glides on your neck, wrapping his fingers around your throat. A large digit presses down on the mark. “Perhaps, I do.”

Your bruised skin burns at the pressure but your mind burns even brighter processing what Otto just admitted; what he could be imagining as he traces the uneven blood crusts left by the sharp teeth of his counterpart. And your silence is even more telling; somehow even more than the quickening of your breathing, your pulse confessing everything to his touch.

“What do you want?” you struggle to say, mouth heavy.

He smiles, almost gently, but his eyes are predatory. You’re not unfamiliar with the look on his face and isn’t that a thrill. With Olivia, you could have used her actuators as an excuse for your actions; not that you had any intention to though. With Otto, however, the shackles are quickly removed and the raised eyebrow he offers looks like an opportunity for flight.

You don’t take it.

There he stands, the reason for sleepless nights, the unhealthy obsession you can’t wrap your mind around. He looks down and it feels intimate, almost natural if you could ignore your surroundings, the sensation of your suit, and the four red eyes watching you closely.

His fingers are back on the bruise, ignoring your question. “Who gave you this?”

You’re about to lie through your teeth when he adds: “No one important, I’m sure?”

Your spit is thick when you swallow. “Self-centered much?”

He laughs. “You don’t have to answer. You’ll forget them soon enough.”

Doubtful, you think. At the very least, you’ll be haunted forever by the juxtaposition of two universes. “Keep telling yourself that.”

You’re still frozen in the chair, free but still bound by the desire running rampant under your skin and his long fingers around your neck. He’s not even bothered by your comment; Otto has always been radiating confidence, and you know that if one person could erase Olivia from your mind, even for a moment, it’d be him. Fittingly. Her alternate self with whom you share a deeper bond, a long-term rivalry, a never-ending attraction…

He straightens up, hand leaving your neck and you feel a lot colder. In a smooth movement, he takes off his glasses, and you’re assaulted by the gentleness of his brown eyes. The same eyes you kept seeing alongside Olivia’s green ones.

“I want to erase all of this tension.” You realize he finally answered you when he says: “Now tell me, little spider, what do you want?”

There’s no way around it, is it? You can’t just admit you’ve been chilling in an alternate dimension with his alternate self and that you’ve been thinking about him every single minute spent running away and fighting. You can’t just admit you had the best sex of your life with a women-him who confronted you to the extent of the absurd and frankly unethical feelings you distil for your archenemy. You can’t tell him you’ve been fantasizing about the weight of his body, the strength of his hands, the thrill hidden behind each actuator… The thoughts are too much to bear or explain.

“You.”

The grin he gives you is enough of an acknowledgement.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Broad palms stretch across your back, feeling the dryness of your skin, dipping fingers in the tender joints of your muscles as you sigh. His silence almost feels reverent; a stark contrast with Olivia’s rough handling. She spent her time hovering over you, close but never touching, wallowing in the superiority induced by the distance between you. Otto however seems intent on pressing as much skin as possible to yours, enveloping you completely.

“Your back is surprisingly devoid of scars,” he comments.

Your haughty chuckle dies in your throat, distracted by the warmth of his hand snaking to your abdomen to pull you closer. “I always face my enemies,” you answer after a second or two.

His petting stops. “How brave.” The press of clammy skin and well-worn leather melt away the chill raised by his exploring hands. Not entirely because his breath bounces off the crook of your neck, and it’s so easy to get lost in the clash between warmth and cool. “What does that say about me?”

You understand belatedly the insinuation of your previous statement. “Is it trust?” He taunts, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Hell no,” you fire back, “you’re the last person I could trust.”

It’s a lie; you’ve met far shadier and far more morally reprehensible enemies than Dr. Otto Octavius. “I’m offended.” His fingers are running higher on your torso, leaving chills behind like a powder trail ready to combust. You’re not certain you’ll be able to survive this wildfire. “Killing you would be a waste,” he adds as an afterthought.  

“Yeah, your life would be so boring without me.” You smile, stretching your numb arms.

“Indubitably.” The actuator holding your arms up loosens and your heart tightens at the admission. “Although—“

One fat finger from a hand you’ve, regrettably, forgotten press forcefully on your sex; its outline peaking scandalously through your suit. Your gasp is silent but your whole body tenses up against his chest. “—the same could be said about you.”

You swallow a snarky remark. Anything you say could incriminate you further, and your body already does an amazing job on its own. Thankfully, the Doctor is happy to keep the conversation alive: “Could we call this a truce then?”

You wouldn’t call a quick dirty fuck a truce. It’s a distraction, a wonderfully effective one. “As if!” You scoff. “You’re going to prison after this.”

Another finger joins its lonely mate, rubbing in tandem with the spandex against your pelvis. The suit is designed for comfort and to avoid chaffing despite being skin-tight (which you’ve never been more thankful for at the moment), but it’s not an efficient protection against the softness of his caress. You’ll soon want to rip the offending fabric off to press more forcefully on teasing fingers, but for now, you’ll hang on to the last thread of reason the suit provides you. Who knows if you’re not actually dreaming?

“You’re in no position to promise such things, I’m afraid.” He’s right and there’s nowhere else you’d like to be at the moment.

Otto retrieves his hand. “Hey! Don’t—” Your mouth snaps shut but it’s already too late.

You feel him straightening up, leaving your sweaty back to the cold air of the room. You can’t see him but you hear his chuckle and his actuators rattling.

“I see,” he says, “you’re just desperate.”

“Desperate for what? You?” Better dedicating yourself completely to the monkey business. “I’ve had the best fuck of my life two days ago, I’m not desperate.”

The claw holding your arms up retracts and despite the physical retrieve it offers you, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve played a role a bit too well. The shining eye of the actuator stares directly at your face, and you watch it stretch with dubious eyes— “Such a clever mouth.” – until it pushes you against naked skin, squeezing you back tight against Otto’s body…

“I’ve always thought a good fuck could humble you greatly.”

…and his unmistakable excitement. The remaining slivers of coherence leave you at the vulgarity of his sentence and the tantalizing, unique snap of his hips.

“Always?” Your voice is lost in a whisper.

His breath hitches, you’re almost certain of it. His nose brushes against your shoulder, and a hand snakes back over your abdomen as the actuator retracts, holding you even closer. It’s funny how you already are near losing your mind. Your eyes are open but you barely see, only the dark blur of the metallic beam on which you hold on. You’re completely helpless, bent almost in half by the weight of his body, trembling legs and shaking from anticipation; heady from his admission.

Otto hums and the sound vibrates through you. “Fuck, look at you.”

Desperate for the touch of a madman, two seconds away from panting like a dog from how fast your heart is beating, shameful…

“How could I not desire this?” His digits wander in the ridges of your muscles, the dips of your skin. His breath is hot and moist against your shoulder. “You entice me. I can’t wait to make you beg.”

The actuator fixated on your face moves closer, rotating his head in agreement.

“You’ll never hear me be—“

You startle. Another mechanical arm has taken hold of your suit, tugging before tearing it apart like a sheet of paper. A still coherent voice at the back of your mind fustigates you for ruining two perfectly good suits in less than seventy-two hours; the remaining ninety percent short-circuits. You realize, with no amount of dignity left, that your skin is dripping wet. “Shit.”

“Would you look at that?” You can’t look. You don’t want to look. “How flattering.”

The glide of his hand is disgustingly arousing, and you moan unabashedly when he finally – finally – relents and touches your neglected sex. It’s too good to be normal. Lost in your breathy whines, you think about Olivia and her sweet torture session. Even she hasn’t been able to tease such a strong reaction out of you this quickly. How fucked up are you?

Twice you left your body in the hands of an Octavius for experimentation, and you’re afraid this time will be the one that’ll leave you crawling back for more.

“So close so soon?” Otto tuts. “Disappointing.”

His touch stops altogether. You groan. “As lovely as it sounds to make you come more than once, I do intend on experimenting a little more with you.”

Damned Octavius-es! Loving to hear themselves talk, loving to drag things torturously slow…

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” you pant, closing your eyes to gather your thoughts.

“You’re a degenerate, aren’t you?”

He steps away, and you hear the squeaking of leather falling to the ground. You yearn to turn around and watch him in all his half-naked glory. Instead, a metallic arm wraps around your ankle, pushing your legs apart. You feel exposed, the cold air of the warehouse striking your wet skin in an overwhelming contrast. It gets worse when Otto puts a wide palm on the curve of your ass, spreading you and observing the way you part in an embarrassing, squelching noise.

You have no time for a witty comeback: he presses one thick finger into you. You gasp. The intrusion is more surprising than hurting, it distracts you enough from your upending orgasm. His fingers curl inside you, so warm, spreading you open with ease.

He hums pensively. “You feel tight. You’re certain you’re not lying when bragging about your last date?”

A date. You manage not to scoff. “There are other ways to have sex. You’re just old-school.”

Otto chuckles. “More fun for me.”

His mouth is back to your ear, and his affected state is unmistakable. “Let’s see how long you can last before you beg me to fuck your pretty hole.”

The next minutes are excruciating. You lose your voice and all sense of coherency. He fucks you harshly, curling, twisting, scissoring his fingers as you pant hot, condensed air. You could have ignored it (you could have) if he hadn’t been alternating between making sure you were loose for him, and stroking you ‘til you’re leaking enough to use your precum for his mistreatment. And all this time, you were being watched closely by the red eye of his actuator, held tight by two others.

Two delayed orgasms later, and three fingers deep in you, you are near your breaking point. You’ve lost track of time, lost control over your vocal chords and you’re secretly glad you’re not in an apartment right now. The neighbors might have complained.

“Nothing to say?” Otto asks. You can hear his shit-eating grin.

“F-Fuck. No.”

“As you wish.”

He spits directly on your fluttering opening before stuffing four fingers in. You definitely scream this time.

“Otto!” You don’t even recognize the sound of your own voice.

He hums in fake interest. “What is it, love?”

Your heart beats even faster. You hate him for that. He thrusts against your walls. “Oh, fuck!”

“Not even close, darling.”

Your moan sounds devastated. His other hand snakes to your front, stroking you with clever fingers and you feel yourself overflowing. You know you could come from this alone, but your half-delirious brain somehow craves more. You want the press of his soft body on your back again, and his bruising mouth on your neck. Perhaps even his teeth right where Olivia marked you. You want his warm hands on your aching skin, on the map of scars he left on you.

“Now,” he sighs, “what do we—“

“Please.”

His stillness attests to his surprise. You share the sentiment but you’re this close to losing your goddamn mind; you don’t really care anymore except for the chance of feeling him inside you.

“What do you want?” he hisses, stroking you impossibly harder.

“You,” you cry out. Otto disengages with an irritated sound. “Wait!”

He grabs your chin, almost choking you in the process. You realize your cheeks are wet. “I’ll leave you like this, you hear me?” His voice is harsh, raspy. “Now, be very specific, pet.”

“Fuck me!” What a pathetic display you make. “I can’t take this anymore.”

You look directly into the actuator’s eye. It gives you a thrill. “Please, Doctor.”

You register distantly his labored breathing, the slight tremor in his fingers when he releases you to get rid of his trousers. Despite having been thoroughly prepared, the filthy glide of his cock stretches you wider, reaching deeper parts of yourself. Your legs tremble and the only reason you’re not collapsing on the ground is the tight hold his actuators have on you. His arms wrap around your torso, and the furnace of his skin turns you to embers.

“Come on, just give it to me!” Even in your tormenting need, you somehow find it in you to be bossy. “Otto—“

He grabs your face forcefully, turning it towards him. His strong nose is pressed in your right cheek, and the encompassing heat of his breath tickles the corner of your mouth. You want to kiss his plump lips so badly.

“From now on, it’s Doctor Octavius for you.”

The stretch burns from lack of lubrication, but he plunges into you without any concerns. The snap of his hips is so strong you topple forward in a pitiful cry. Otto fucks you harshly, frantically while holding your mouth close to his. He pants through his nose and you respond in kind by moaning loudly. If you had more time, you’d have wished for Olivia to wreck you like this, to have you feel her skin as she fucks you. Her fingers, her actuators, anything to make you feel this full.

“Doc’,” you choke, twisting your neck to partially meet his chapped lips, “harder.”

“You greedy little thing.”

The actuators at your legs disentangle themselves, planting in the ground in a loud crack. The combined strength of Otto’s hips and his mechanical allies pushes you completely against the metal beam. You’re glad, unable to hold yourself upright as you’re assaulted by this indescribable force.  Your screams speak volumes:

“Ah! Ah, shit!”

He’s now groaning against your cheek, sweat gathering on his forehead and running on your skin. The whole ordeal is disgusting and you want more. You need more.

Greedy. You’re so greedy.

In an unconscious movement, your numb hand releases the beam to bury itself in his damp bangs. It elicits a downright animalistic snarl from Otto, so you tug. Hard.

“Fuck,” he hisses. It sounds like pain but his hips shake, losing his rhythm.

The embers he created coil in your abdomen. Your limited movements don’t stop you from pushing against him, chasing the spark that’ll finally ignite you. You mutter disjointed sentences – ‘come on’s, ‘so good’s, and debauched iterations of his name – which he answers with more groans and moans of his own. You cling to him, breathing in the strong essence of leather and sweat, twisting your neck, even more, to meet his lips in an almost kiss, anchoring him closer and deeper until—

“Break down, sweetheart.”

He bites the scream you let out. It’s his words, this final act of stimulation, this echo of another universe, that lights you up. He catches your tears with his lips and you come, powerless against the intensity of the sensation. Otto follows you, pumping his spend inside you for what seems like forever. Your own clings to your trembling skin. You try to regulate your senses, still focused on the twitching of your muscles, on the throbbing length of his cock and his ragged breathing.

The actuators retract and you expect him to do the same but he stays anchored to you. The nuzzling of his nose against your cheek somehow manages to freak you out more than the aftermath of this whole conundrum. Your fingers in his hair relax, scratching his scalp in response to his caresses. Your neck hurts from the unusual position you force it into, but it’s the least of your worries when his mouth is right there.

Sadly, he steps away, slipping out from you in a deafeningly wet noise. Your legs fail you but you hold onto the metal beam, now warm under your touch. The contraction of your muscles has the unfortunate effect of letting his hot cum leek out of you, cascading along your thighs. Otto lets out a contemplative hum.

“You paint a pretty picture, I must say.”

His thumb dips into your flesh, spreading your sensitive entrance as more of him comes out of you.

You huff, straightening up. “Hands off.”

Your suit is in shambles on the ground; you look at it dejectedly. Olivia had the intelligence of divesting you of it, not ripping it to shreds. Men.

“Hard to take me to prison in this state, right?”

You turn to glare at him but you end up gaping at the two actuators throwing Otto’s leather coat on your shoulders.

“Thanks.” You try to summon your usual carefree attitude but you find yourself unable to. You’ve somehow been more easy-going with your life on the line and under the near-psychotic gaze of Olivia than you are now. You wonder what that says about you. “This doesn’t change anything. Next time, I’ll kick your ass so hard they’ll have to drag you to your cell.”

He laughs lowly. “’Sounds promising.”

He’s not insinuating—

You clear your throat, adjusting the coat around you to shield you from the cold seeping into your bones. You feel uneasy being watched so closely by three pairs of eyes. Otto hands you something: the ruffled mask he snatched off before. You take it.

“You know that the purpose of a mask is to hide your face?” you mutter, stuffing it inside one of his pockets.

He shrugs. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“…Sorry, what?”

It’s how you wear the mask that matters? Perhaps it’s better off… sometimes.

[firebloodanddragons]

The Midnight Relief - Part 4 (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) NSFW

Summary: Your relationship with Prince Aemond has changed, so much that you tend to forget not only who you are but who he truly is.

Tags: SMUT, Porn with Plot (sort of), Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Fingering, Squirting, Breeding kink, Dubious Consent, Targcest (Reader is Daemon Targaryen’s bastard), Angst and Fluff.

Author's note: I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting. I have been very busy with work lately so I couldn't find time to focus on writing this story. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter nevertheless. Next chapter will probably be the last one. Tell me how you imagine the end of this fan fiction. And please do not hesitate to like or reblog this chapter (it is the best reward for any writer)

         Your eyes opened slowly at dawn, woken up by the first rays that shone through the large lancet windows. They did not dazzle you – they were too orange and dim for that - but you blinked a few times with a smile upon your face, not because of the light but to make sure the blurry pale silhouette that was slowly taking shape before your sleepy and lidded eyes would not disappear as quick as dew in the morning sun. Aemond looked so peaceful when he was asleep. It was as if the ferocious aura he carried within him all day long disappeared during the night to allow him a short moment of serenity. Seeing him like this was surprising and unexpected. You always thought he would be the kind of man to sleep with a frown and with his fists clenched … and possibly a dagger underneath his pillow.       You chuckled silently at this idea, finding it more amusing than formidable and you wrapped your naked body in the soft sheet with a happy grin on your face to enjoy the view and the comfort of Aemond’s bed a little longer. You had never slept in a bed like this one. All you knew were poor thin mattresses on the floor and scratchy patched blankets that couldn’t keep you warm at night. But you definitely could get used it: the mattress as soft as a pile of delicate feathers, the fine cotton sheets so pleasant to the skin and the naked handsome prince sleeping by your side. They could almost make you believe you belonged here and not in a humid crowded dorm. If only the whole world was just this bed. Life would be so much easier.

You didn’t know how long you gazed at Aemond, your fingertips connecting the few moles on his milky chest by tracing invisible lines like an astronomer would draw constellations, but when you began to hear the growing hubbub in the corridors outside the prince’s room, you thought it might be time for you to leave your waking dream.         You instinctively pecked Aemond’s shoulder and reluctantly abandoned the warm sheets to get out of the bed and go back to your harsh reality. But before you could put a toe on the stone floor, a sleepy raspy voice stopped you.     “May I ask where you’re going? I did not dismiss you and I certainly did not order you to stop what you were doing.”       You glanced briefly over your shoulder and beamed away from Aemond’s sight, amused by the domesticity that warmed your heart.   

     Your relationship had changed greatly since the One-Eyed Targaryen’s return from Storm’s End a week ago. It had become gentler and more lighthearted and it had made you forget on many occasions that you were a mere serving girl whom the prince could treat like his personal whore.

All the moments spent in his company - whether they were in his bed or not - had become almost customary. Aemond would not summon you on a whim anymore to take it out on your cunt after a rough day (and he had had many rough days recently), nor would he dismiss you with nonchalance after being done with your service – sexual or not.   Every day, he would find a way to spend some time in your company. In the morning he would greet you with a smile à la Aemond, faint and controlled but genuine, talk to you as you would do his hair and then wait for you to finish cleaning his rooms before leaving for training only to find you again in the afternoon always in his chambers where he would study and occasionally glance at you playing the lute from above his book. Then after his usual evening on Vhagar’s back he would summon you again to bring him his supper and spend the rest of the night with you by the fire and then in his bed in which he would hump you over and over again until the hour would become too late.         Both of you loved and thrived in these new habits for they gave you comfort and a way out of your lives that were doomed to become darker.     A black threat was looming over King’s Landing. You both could feel it but for now you would ignore it and enjoy your new shared frivolity as much as possible.

“It’s dawn.” You declared, knowing your fellow servants would stare at you and probably ask nosy questions on your whereabouts and your absence in your dorm last night once you’d go back to them. You had never slept elsewhere before.       “Indeed, and it’s been dawn for a while now.” Aemond agreed, still lying in his bed with his eye still closed which made you wonder how long he had been pretending to be still asleep. “How long have you been awake?”             “Long enough to find your staring annoying.” He grumbled.               “But my touching intoxicating.” You added as you chuckled and then you scanned the bed quickly to find your undergarments. You had to get dressed.                 But before you could find them, Aemond pounced on you by surprise. He wrapped his strong arms around your waist and pulled you against his warm solid chest so that he could lay you down in the bed again.         You squealed at first but then giggled as he handled you and trapped you underneath his pale naked body and a tent of white sheets.         “Touch me more. Your prince commands you.”           “The prince can touch himself.” You retorted with funny defiance that Aemond pretended to glare at to keep his callous reputation intact. But he could not trick you.           “My hands are busy at the moment.” His grip around your wrists tightened briefly to make you understand what he meant by that and you tried to escape his hold to send him a similar message.   “And mines are captive.”     “Hmm… Then what about your perfect lips? Do you think they can give me a soft kiss?” You chuckled as Aemond approached your face with the intention to claim your mouth. His heart-shaped lips brushed yours softly over and over again to make them reciprocate his affection. So, you parted your lips a bit and deliberately barely responded to his little pecks. You knew he would not appreciate your lack of submission and passion but there was a reason behind your restraint. You wanted to tease Aemond until he would turn his softness into something more blazing, which he ultimately did. His kisses multiplied and quickly became more frustrated and desperate, furiously begging you to just respond to his lips and give him what he craved.             You eventually did and pulled at his plump flesh with your mouth. You felt his proud victory in his smirk as he leant into the kiss, unaware of the little mischief you had in mind. Gloating in silence, you let Aemond lose himself in the kiss and when he finally released your wrists to spread your legs and get comfortable between your thighs, your hand slid down his body and suddenly grabbed his semi-hard cock as you bit his lower lip. “Ow!” He complained, more surprised than hurt, his pink flesh still in between your teeth, and then when you finally let go of him, he grabbed your wrists again to pin then down above your head. “I said a soft kiss.”         “Really? I thought you said rough.” You joked as you tried to bite him again. This time Aemond saw it coming and he recoiled to frown at you even though he was as amused as you were. He genuinely liked that frivolous wild side of you and he secretly wished he had discovered it way sooner. It would have cheered his days up.   “You’re about to get it rough if you don’t behave.” He threatened and you sank back in the mattress, pretending to be impressed even if in truth your eyes were sparkling with pride and mischief and a cheeky smirk was discreetly tugging at your lips.         “I have to go back to my toils.”       “I forbid you.” The prince immediately retorted before giving you a half-serious look that meant ‘don’t you dare bite me this time’. You giggled almost silently and Aemond nestled his face in your neck to lay a few humid kisses on your warm skin.           “What about your morning training?”       “I like this routine better.” He mumbled between two pecks that made you squirm.     “I might not be as educated as you are but I don’t think you can call this a routine since it is the first time it happens.”     “We’ll make it a routine then.” His answers came all so quick you wondered if he even put some thought into them or if he was simply acting reckless again just like last night when he made you stay. “I would love to wake up in your presence more often… every day in fact.”         “In my presence or in something else?” You teased, conscious of his cock growing harder between your thighs         “In anything you wish to offer me.” He purred in your neck.         “No, Aemond. What do you want?”            

For reasons you couldn’t explain, your question had come out with more seriousness than intended. When you felt the Targaryen prince’s lips freeze on your skin and his body become still against yours, you realised that your words had not fallen on deaf ears.           Aemond looked up at you with sad puppy eyes only you were allowed to see but deep down he was grateful. No one had ever asked him what he wanted, never in his young life, because what he wanted did not matter. What mattered was duty. Duty above all else.       “So many things I can’t have.”         Hidden with you under the tent made of white sheets - a tiny world in which there was just you and him and no one else to hear him - he wished to enumerate them all, tell you about his desire for recognition and love, about his thirst for power and secret aspiration to the Iron Throne. He also wished to admit that he did not enjoy being an asset for his family anymore, that he did not want to marry Floris Baratheon and that the recent time with you had made him realise there was only one woman he craved to have forever not only in his bed but by his side. However, as usual, he kept everything to himself. His pitiful confessions could wait. They didn’t have their place in that lovely cotton nest you two had built together.   “But right now, I want your surrender.” He pressed his cock to your core to change the subject but you still had enough control to keep the conversation going.   “We both know you’re too stub…persistent to truly renounce something that someone said you couldn’t have.”   “Were you about to call me stubborn? You’re insulting your prince, now?” He humoured. “How is that an insult?”       “You tell me. You corrected yourself.”       You pondered over your words for a short instant, wondering how you had almost let the word ‘stubborn’ slip. Prince Aemond had the reputation to be easily offended, fierce and prompt to violence and unpredictable outbursts. That’s mostly why you had always weighted your words in his presence. And yet today, you almost didn’t think before speaking and he had welcomed your familiarity with humour, not with the reprisal your old self would have expected. Did your relationship truly change that much? Did he change?     “You’re stubborn.” You finally dared say with a smile when you realized you could say the word without fear. “… but I like your stubbornness.”   Aemond chuckled briefly and he nestled his face back in your neck with an amused smile on his young face.     “Hmm … What else do you like?” He purred as he rubbed his nose on your skin before laying small kisses along your throat and you sighed deeply.             That felt extremely good but you were aware that the goal of his affection was not only your pleasure. It was a very cunning way to make you yield and give your prince what he craved but would not take from you without your submission.         “Your cleverness.” You declared and you cleared your voice as you squirmed lightly under Aemond’s soft pecks.       “And?” You could hear the mischief in his voice as his hands ventured down your sides and his mouth slid down to your chest, leaving a humid track on its way.         You couldn’t answer the prince. Your mind was too busy focusing on his ministrations. You wanted more.     Aemond reached your breasts rather quickly and you inhaled deeply, your eyes staring at his face buried between your mounts. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you could feel your breath quicken.   Instinctively you spread your legs to welcome Aemond between your thighs as soon as he began kissing your breasts one by one. You could tell he dearly enjoyed their softness as he couldn’t stop pecking them and nuzzling in their flesh. When his lips found their way to one of your hard nipple, you bit your lower lip to prevent yourself from moaning, but deep down you were just begging Aemond to just capture the little bud and roll his tongue around it.       Your silence drew the prince’s attention and he looked up at you. Your resistance didn’t please him. It toyed with its impatience and he hated that. But the thought of breaking it was exciting and he didn’t mind a little challenge, especially when he was sure of his victory. “Answer my question, starlight.” He ordered; his lips close to your nipple. “What else do you like about your prince?”       The tip of his tongue tickled the hard bud and you instantly whimpered. Your thighs clenched around Aemond in a vain attempt to soothe the delicious ache building in your pussy. You were getting wet and your arousal was screaming at you to just yield to your prince.       “Your boldness.” You hissed and Aemond rewarded your compliance by planting his mouth on your nipple. This time you couldn’t keep your lustful moan to yourself and a long plaintive ‘ah’ escaped your lips. Aemond chuckled with pride, your teat still in his mouth. He was taking real pleasure in playing with you.   “Tell me more.” He commanded as his hand slid down your stomach to reach your folds. You knew where this was going and you did not wish to struggle anymore. You were craving what was coming as much as Aemond.       “I love your passion.” You admitted, rolling your hips to guide the Targaryen’s fingers and he cupped your cunt to stop you from moving. “I decide what to do to you.” He roared and you froze. You silently looked at each other deep in the eyes for a moment and when your obedience finally convinced Aemond he slid a finger in your hole.       You sighed immediately and your head sank in the pillow, the heavenly sensations washing over you. “That’s it. Submit to be. Be a good girl.” Aemond purred as he fingered you slowly to make you yearn for more. “Give yourself to me completely.” And he caught one of your mounts and put your nipple back between his lips to suck on it greedily and nibble it with his teeth gently..     You wrapped your legs around Aemond in a desperate attempt at keeping him against you, loving his hunger and his burning caresses too much to let him go. That’s when you noticed him slowly rubbing his hard cock against the mattress, an instinctive and lustful gesture to certainly ease the ache in his loins. He craved to hump you and you could help but to find his desperate need terribly arousing.               “Aemond.” You whispered to catch his attention, wishing to help him with his painful hardness, but he was too busy sucking at your teat and fingering you to react.   You caressed his hair slowly – how soft it was – and then let your hand slide to his jaw that you brushed delicately with your fingertips. The prince responded to your touch with a grunt and he tightened his grip around your breasts to pull on your nipple even more, almost as if he was a child refusing to let go of his mother’s breasts. He was completely hypnotized by that little bit of flesh in his mouth.           So, you abandoned your idea and let him carry on.

Somehow, his finger managed to find a never-explored area in your cunt that made you abruptly arch your back, clench your thighs and squeal like never before. It surprised Aemond and he didn’t take long to find out the reason of your sudden reaction. He slid a new finger in your drenched cunt and reached the same spot again. You grabbed his shoulders, digging your nails in the flesh, as you moaned loudly and Aemond curled his fingers.       He let go of your breasts to kneel between your thighs and watch your body shake and squirm under his touch as his digits pumping in and out of you repeatedly massaged the little spongy place within you that he had just discovered.       He was simply fascinated and your reactions were too beautiful and enticing for him to stop. If anything, they were encouraging and he wanted more of them.           “That’s it.” He whispered. Then he put his thumb on your swollen clit to rub it, knowing the touch you make you scream louder. He wasn’t wrong.           You cried out. “Aemond, please.”   “Please what?”         You didn’t know what exactly but you begged. “Faster … harder.”           He indulged you and quickened the pace, going all the way out of you and then right back in again. And soon, your body tensed, your toes curled and you grabbed the sheets as you screamed all the pleasure you felt.       Your orgasm was an uncontrollable explosion whose noise could not be contained by the tent of soft sheets above your head. It burst like wildfire, destroying the unknown dyke inside of you as if it was made of the most fragile material. It squirted all your pleasure out of you and drenched your thighs and Aemond’s hand and bed. “Fuck!” You cried out as you tried to push the prince away, astonished and rather embarrassed by what was happening to you.             But the Targaryen didn’t care. On the contrary he seemed to genuinely like it considering the amused satisfied smirk on his face as he kept relentlessly toying with your g-spot to empty you even more. “Hmm” He laughed and continued to finger you hard as you were still dazed and confused. His eye was dark and full of lust and you could tell he wanted more.             “I don’t think I c—” It turned out you could and another surprising spurt came out of your cunt making you whimper and wet yourself and Aemond once more.     “Seven heavens, I love this.” Aemond giggled darkly, proud of his doing. “But I definitely have to hump you now.”

He brutally let go of your cunt and flipped you over to grab your hips and bring your arse to his pelvis. He slapped your cheek, making your squeal and squirm and immediately plunged his hard in your drenched cunt. It slid in so easily the prince felt the need to growl. His fingers digging in your flesh, he kept you firmly in place to initiate a series of hammering and almost-punishing quick thrusts that reflected the infuriating yet arousing lust he was feeling.         You almost cursed because of his ardour but only a breathless gasp followed by a succession of plaintive moans managed to escape your lips. Bent under Aemond, at the mercy of his relentless drilling, you buried your face into the drenched mattress to muffle the sounds he took great pleasure to get out of you.                       “You like this, don’t you, my lewd starlight?” He roared, his voice dark and obscene.   You cried out as you nodded frantically and he pushed himself more into you, so deep you felt his testicles brush your soaked pussy then repeatedly slap your swollen clit that was so happy to meet them. The music of your wet skin meeting was enchanting and you arched your back to embrace Aemond’s smacking hips even more, thankful for the pleasure he was giving you.     “Do you want your prince’s seed inside you?” He asked between gritted teeth. The question was not a surprise. Aemond had stamina but such an enthusiastic pace could make any hardy man empty himself quickly.       You nodded again and dug your nails in the cotton sheets to take what he was so close to give you. But his rhythm slowed a bit and he took a fistful of your hair to bring you against his chest. You mewled because of the slight pain but it was nothing in comparison to Aemond’s cock pulsing in the deepest region of your cunt.       “I didn’t hear you, flower. Do you want your prince’s seed inside you or not?” He repeated in your ear and you felt your walls clench around him.           “Yes…” You admitted with difficultly and you heard him chuckle with dark satisfaction. “… but not today, please… Last time the moon tea gave me an awful stomach ache.” “Isn’t the pain worth the pleasure?” He purred as he took your breasts in his palms and he resumed his hammering.           You almost crumbled under his merciless pelvis but the prince held you back, keeping you still between his thighs with his hands tightly wrapped around your mounts, your back against his sweating strong chest.       “Aemond … please.” You begged when you understood he would not do as you had asked but once again, he didn’t listen and continued his pounding, chasing his release.         “Just let me give it you, starlight. I want to breed you. I need to breed you. I want that soft belly to carry my child. Please.” His dark voice sounded almost desperate as if his reckless desire to spurt his seed inside you was vital to him.   Aemond’s teeth met your shoulders, biting the flesh hard enough to leave a mark, and his strong arms wrapped around your chest, holding you tight against his torso, on hand pressed on your breasts the other on your lower belly to keep himself deep and you still. His thrusting slowed down but became harder as he began to grunt furiously in your shoulder. Then his muffled noises became plaintive growls similar to whimpers but more animalistic as he finally came deep inside your cunt, splashing your walls with every drop of his seed. When there was nothing left, Aemond stopped thrusting. Exhausted and silent, he remained panting and nestled against your back, his arms still around you and his pulsating cock still buried in your hole, refusing to pull out to make sure you’d keep every drop of semen inside of you.   He kissed your shoulder, right where he had bitten you and you smiled, tired just like him. “You never listen, do you?” “You said it yourself. I’m stubborn.”           You giggled and it made Aemond chuckle in your neck. His laugh was tired but soft and peaceful, almost childish. Moved by his gentleness and in need for comfort, you turned your head to kiss him. He let you and responded to your peck with tenderness.

But then your eyes widened in horror as you noticed a small child standing by the door of the prince's chambers, his blue look as appalled as yours. You alerted Aemond, screaming his name in panic, as you hastily pushed him away from you to cover your nakedness with the sheets. You truly hoped the boy had not seen anything of your and Aemond’s shared lust but deep down you knew the truth just as you knew this silly optimism was just a way to not give in to alarm.             You stared at the boy, terrorized and already silently begging him to forget everything his innocence – now shattered for ever - had witnessed but his blue eyes fixed upon you as if he was a fawn facing a sharp arrow were telling you he would never. You opened your mouth to say something but then he quickly turned around to rush out of Aemond’s rooms.   That’s when Aemond jumped out of bed, put on his royal black and green robe made of the finest cotton to run after the boy, the dragon embroidered in the back flying after its prey with deadly purpose.             You knew you should have followed him with the same haste but the fear growing inside you was making all your movements slow and heavy.

“Where are you going like that, snooping rat?” Aemond asked as he caught the boy by his skinny arm in the corridor and pushed him against the stone wall.           The little servant did not answer, terrified by the gigantic and formidable scarred prince that had just trapped him and that was now staring at him with impatience and dark amusement.   “Who told you to come in here?”   “S-s-ser Criston, my prince.” He finally mumbled, trembling like a leaf in a cold wind.   Aemond chuckled briefly, unsurprised by the revelation and he knelt in front of the boy to have a better look at him. He was small and sickly with sandy blond hair and pale skin. His cheeks were hollowed and he had dark circles under his puffy eyes. He had certainly not eaten or slept properly in a while, just like most serving children working in the keep. But somehow, it was another face that came to Prince Aemond's mind as he observed the boy, a face he had seen in a mirror for years. His. “How old are you?”   “Ten … my prince.”   “Hmm … You don’t look ten.” Aemond declared with a faint smile but that smile was far from kind. “You’re small, puny … a bit like I was when I was a child. A chance I was feisty and bold. Tell me, are you bold?”       The boy sensed the threat in the prince’s question and he shook even more. He crossed his legs, suddenly feeling the need to pee growing in his ragged trousers just like the terror in his empty stomach.

That’s when you entered the corridor slowly and quietly, your shivering hands clinging to the red fabric of your faded servant dress. Standing a few steps away from the boy and the prince, you wanted to intervene. You wanted to come closer and stop Aemond. You wanted to free the poor child and comfort him. But a selfish voice in your head was telling you to reconsider your boldness and your thirst for justice. You've too much to lose, girl. “No of course not, bold boys don’t run away like cowards.” Aemond declared.     The boy glanced at you from afar, his eyes shining with tears and pleading for your help. But you were just as terrified and paralysed as he was right now and the voice in your head was once more ordering you to stay put.  So you stared at the boy definitely sorry and you looked down at your feet in shame.   “Do you know what happened to me when I was ten?” The child looked back at Aemond and shook his head. In response, the prince pointed at the sapphire in his eye socket and the kid stared at the jewel with horror. “This happened. And you see the boy who did this to me, King Viserys, my own father, never punished him for it. If I do something as awful to you, a poor meaningless serving boy, if I take let’s say your tongue to make sure you don’t repeat what you saw in my rooms, King Aegon will do exactly as King Viserys. He will not care about you and he will definitely not punish me. So, there is nothing that can prevent me from making sure you won’t be able to tell a soul about what happened. Do you understand that?”           Your eyes widened and you felt your heart skip a beat. You couldn't believe what you had just heard. Aemond couldn't possibly say that, not to a kid. And yet, there was this tiny reasonable part of you, the one that did not love, that knew he could. “Aemond.” You called out to make him stop and reconsider but your voice was barely louder than a whisper. But this time you were not scared for yourself, you were scared for that kid whose trousers were now getting wetter and wetter between his thighs.           “No child would wish to be so atrociously maimed; don’t you agree? So, promise you’ll forget what you saw and that you won’t tell anyone ever.” The serving boy nodded quickly and without thinking, his mouth tightly shut as if to protect his little tongue.       “Say it. You still have your tongue.” Aemond encouraged.     “I will forget what I saw and I won’t tell anyone ever” The boy promised, his teeth chattering. “Good lad. Now go tell Ser Criston I’m on my way.”         Aemond stood up and as soon as he stepped back, the boy ran away as fast as he could, occasionally clanking back to make sure he was not followed or in any danger.           His frightened attitude made Aemond gloat with pride and he looked back at you with a smirk. However, your reaction was not the one he expected. Instead of a look of gratitude or relief, you walked back to his room, looking disappointed and ashamed of him and of yourself.

Aemond frowned and quickly went back to his rooms to ask for explanations. “Why the look?” He asked with a harsh voice.     You were putting on your white apron, fumbling with the ties in your back. You couldn't stay with him any longer not after what you had witnessed, what you had allowed him to do.         “He’s a child. Did you really need to go that far?” “I merely intimidated him. He will get over it. Trust me I know." You shook your head, knowing all too well what he meant by that. But you still couldn't understand how he could take pleasure in treating boys the same way he was once treated, as if they were powerless and insignificant. If anything he should feel sorry for them. "Besides, he left unscathed, didn’t he? Doesn't that rejoice you?” You eyed at Aemond, baffled. He didn’t seem to realize how unsympathetic he was. “He was terrified. He peed himself!” You almost shouted, hoping he would understand the situation he had put the small child in. “You didn’t have to threaten him. A kind explanation even a coin would have been enough to keep him silent.” But it was like talking to a wall. “Nothing works better than fear, trust me.” He casually said as he walked towards you to take the ties of your apron in his hands. You tensed as he did but let him play with the white fabric. "And if that bothered you so much you should have said something." You looked down in shame once more, hating yourself for your selfishness and your fear, while Aemond unknotted your serving uniform sensually, foolishly believing you could desire him right now. “Can’t you understand I’ve done this for us?” He whispered before placing a kiss on your temple. “Have you? Or have you done it to save your reputation?”         “Why should it matter?" He replied as he stroked your belly and caressed your neck with his warm lips. "Either way I’ve still saved your pretty neck.”                   You hissed and brutally escaped his embrace, finding him suddenly repulsive and gross. You glared at him and he stared back at you with an expression of utter shock and disbelief. You wanted to say something, something meaningful that would move him but there was nothing you could say, nothing he would understand. He was a prince of the seven kingdoms and you were simply a serving girl, someone ... no, something that did not matter to the eyes of noble rich men like him. You had no power over him. You were nothing but a toy to him and you should have never believed otherwise. So you walked away in silence.   “Where are you going?” Aemond shouted. “Back to my poor meaningless serving girl life.”     “YN! Come back here! Your prince commands you!”          

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[light-speed-saint]

The door to Ashley’s building is locked, but I have runes to fix that. I keep a hold of the knob to make sure that it doesn’t slam as I step silently over the threshold. I put my weight slowly on to each of the steps that lead up to Ashley’s apartment, so that their creaking doesn’t betray my presence as I climb. Another quick set of runes undoes the lock on the door to her unit, and lets me slip silently inside. 

The living room is a mess. It has Soft pink walls cast in the unsteady glow of candlelight, with all Ashley’s furniture and belongings shoved against the wall or piled on to her desk, making space for a circle of salt. Within the circle are four candles, one for each cardinal direction. Only three are lit. Ashley is on her knees, setting her lighter to the fourth, the west candle, when she catches sight of me. “Already come to beg for this pussy?” She stands slowly, showing off the way her too small tank-top and the linen of her long skirt cling to her lovely curves. Her eyes sparkle in the half light, luminous with arrogance and triumph as she brags “I hoped you would last a little bit longer, the spell I put on you must be more—” 

Ashley’s words are cut off as I grab her throat, keeping my grip just tight enough to make her fight for each breath. I push her backwards; forcing her into the middle of the ring of salt and flame. She yelps as I spin her around and starts to struggle as I gather her wrists at the small of her back. She fights with a wild and desperate abandon, but I am strong enough that its not even an inconvenience. When she settles down, I wrap the tape, slowly and carefully, around her wrists. Even in the heat of my ire I don’t want to cause any lasting harm. 

Only when she is bound do I let my hands start to explore Ashley’s body. I pull her close so she can feel the solidness of my body against hers, and the slow powerful movement of my sinews when my hand slip under the hem of her tank top. I savour the soft skin of her belly against my fingertips, the supple weight of her breasts in my palms. My thumb passing over her nipple is all it takes to make Ashley squirm and whimper. 

“This will be easier for both of us if you’re a good girl who doesn’t resist.” I whisper into her ear. Ashley believes me. She trembles but sinks compliantly as I guide her onto her knees and then lay her gently on her back, right in the middle of her casting circle. My knife flicks out, its blade flashes orange, red, and silver in the candlelight. I cut slowly through Ashleys tank top, listening to the low tearing sound of the threads like it’s a sonata, then slide her skirt and her panties down from her hips with one smooth motion, feeling her shake as I do. 

Lying naked and bound, Ashley is helpless to stop me from indulging my most animalistic desires. But my stealth and my spells serve a deeper purpose. Ashley’s lip shakes as I touch the point of my knife to her collar bone. I am careful not to draw blood as I let it drift slowly down her chest, letting Ashley feel the bite of steel on her tender skin as I tell her “You tried to put a love spell on me.” 

She doesn’t speak as the knife moves between her breasts. When she finally gathers the courage to say anything Ashley says “I’m sorry, okay! let me go and I’ll—” 

“Do you know how to break a love spell?” I ask, as my knife flows down Ashley’s belly in a lazy zig zag. 

She struggles a little then moans in frustration. “No.” She admits. “I just cast them.” 

“There are two ways.” Ashley’s eyes glitter as I slide my fingers past her lips, into her mouth. “The oldest one is called ‘pricking the witch.’ Essentially you draw blood until all the casters magic is gone.” I stay silent a few seconds, letting Ashley feel my knife against her skin and the pressure of my fingers in her mouth; the swift beating of her heart. I look into her eyes as I flip the blade away. “But I don’t like such messy and outdated methods. There’s a newer, less gory way to handle the situation you’ve put us in.” I pause again, run a hand down from Ashley’s throat. I explore, caressing and groping. Playing with her breasts as she trembles. Then my hand glides down Ashley’s stomach and along the curve of her hip. My fingertips reach the edge of her vulva where I move them up and down in a slow, teasing motion. In a gentle whisper I tell Ashley that “You got us into this predicament, so I am going to let you choose how we get out. What will it be pretty girl? The new way, or the old?” I flash the knife out once more, its edge glinting in the half light. 

“The new.” Ashleys voice is soft and breathy as she begs. “Please please please the new.” 

“I hoped you would say that.” I smile down at my helpless captive. 

I roll Ashley onto her back, taking the opportunity to squeeze possessive fingers into the vulnerable flesh of her ass and pulling the cuffs from my bag before carefully cutting through the tape. The floor is hard, I don’t want my victim injuring herself as she squirms. There are four cuffs, each one connected to a ring of steel by a leather strap. It all forms an X that will hold Ashley in place while I work my spell. Because she is compliant and stays still, I can take my time with the cuffs; making sure that each one will restrain my beautiful captive while allowing for blood flow. When I am satisfied with my work, I turn Ashley on to her back once more. “Now pretty girl, the real fun starts.” I take out the jar of ink and place it on the floor, keeping it within easy reach but far enough away that Ashley won’t knock it over when she struggles. And she will struggle. 

The ink itself is cold and viscus, Ashley shivers when I touch it to her skin. “What are you going to do? Torture me until I recant my spell?” Her voice is defiant, but I can feel Ashley’s heart galloping with fear as I draw a circle over her chest. Within the circle I draw four diagonal lines, adding a fifth horizontal line would complete the star and make a pentagram, but its not yet time for that. Outside the circle at each point of the unfinished star a draw sigil. One each for Hekate, Athena, Aphrodite, Hades, and Dionysus. 

I wipe the excess ink from my fingers onto Ashley’s thigh and take a vibrator from my bag. I set it on low and make a slow circuit around Ashley’s clit as I tell her that “Pain can be a useful tool in magic, but its clumsy and doesn’t suit my purpose.” Ashley shivers as the first sparks of pleasure flash in her nervous system. “You can break people more profoundly using ecstasy.” I say, keeping the vibrator in place but leaning in close to whisper “And I am going to break you, Ashley Jennifer Williams.” The vibrator slides easily into her soaked cunt. “You’re so wet pretty girl. You’re not enjoying this are you?” 

The embers of pleasure burning in Ashley’s brain keep her from answering. She just lies there, chest heaving and mouth open. She can’t do anything but squirm. As the sensation of being fucked gets more intense the unfocused gleam in her eyes tells me all that I need to know. I stand up, placing my foot on Ashley’s stomach, above the vibrator but below the pentagram. I look down, taking in the whole image of her beautiful helplessness as I tell Ashley “Before I let you come you are going to tell me, tell the world, what a pathetic little whore you are. You’re going to tell us that your purpose, your only purpose, is to serve [Light Speed Saint]. That you exist to be my little fuck doll. That I own you body, mind, and soul. Do you understand?” 

“That’s not fair.” Ashley complains. “You can’t expect—” She recovers her bravery only until I use my phone to turn up the intensity of the vibrator and melt her thoughts away. She lies bound beneath my feet as bliss illuminates every nerve fibre. It shines out from between her thighs to reach the tips of her toes and depths of her brain. Just when an orgasm is ready to flash through her body like wildfire, I take it all away. 

Ashley can do nothing but moan petulantly. “I’m sorry okay.” She whines, pulling at her restraints. “I didn’t mean to—” 

I turn the power of the vibrator back up. The sudden shock of pleasure catches Ashley off guard; leaves her jaw gaping. “You know what you have to say.” I watch the helpless little twitches she makes as the pleasure builds again. Her toes curl and uncurl. Her leg shakes as her desperation grows. “Fuck” Ahsley squeaks “Fuck fuck fuck.” 

Ashley’s quivers get quicker and deeper as the heat of her need rises. I pull her back from the edge. She whimpers, all her defiance is gone, in its place is a helpless and animalistic desire. I crouch beside her, keeping my touch soft as my hand moves up and down her body. Instead of turning the power of the vibrator back up, I tease her nipples. Sending small, targeted jolts of stimulation instead of a shock of pleasure. “You’re fighting so hard.” I observe. “But you know how good it would feel to give in. Think of it. Bliss exploding through your body like a fire work. All your heavy, cumbersome thoughts disappearing in a rain of glorious sparkle. You’d be a little slave doll, free of worry and strife.” 

“I won’t.” Ashley manages to gasp. “I can’t—" She’s cut off by her own whimper as I turn the vibrator back up. “I can’t- I- I- I’m a pathetic little whore. My only purpose is to serve [Light Speed Saint]. I exist to be his, to be your, good little fuck doll. Your obedient little toy. I surrender my body, my mind, my soul to [Light Speed Saint].” 

At long last I turn the vibrator to high and leave it there. Ashley’s stomach moves up and down like waves on the sea. The quivers in her legs spread to her whole body, and her jaw hangs open as she gives a high, lilting moan. Bliss flashes like lightning; burns through every synapse in her body. The heat and light of ecstasy evaporate her thoughts and her words, leave Ashley in a pleasant daze of submission, just as I promised. 

I don’t turn down the intensity of the vibrator right away, so the pleasure is still burning; keeping Ashley a twitching, whimpering mess as I draw the last line of the pentagram and accept her surrender. “Hear O spirits.” I command. “Hear that I claim this girl, Ashley Jennifer Williams. With the power of Athena, I claim her mind. With the power of Aphrodite, I claim her body.” I watch the steady up and down movements of my new slave girl’s breasts and the steady sparkle in her eyes and say “With the power of Hekate, I claim her soul.” Ashley doesn’t say anything, just whimpers and arches her back; the flame of pleasure growing under my spell. 

Ashley moans softly as I pull the vibrator from her pussy. Her eyes are bright but empty, shining with the last embers of her thoughts. I undo the cuffs on her ankles, bring Ashley up to her knees. I brush stray hairs from her face as she smiles up at me in peaceful adoration. I run my fingers through her hair and ask “Are you ready to worship your master, like a good fuck doll?” 

“Yes master.” She says softly “please let me worship you.” 

I touch Ashley’s lip as I instruct her to “Open your mouth. Stick out your tongue.” She obeys with out thinking, parting her lips to let her tongue slide out. I keep her this way for a few seconds; a naked, mind broken whore, offering her mouth for my use. I open the fly on my jeans, revealing my cock, and grab Ashley by the back of her head. I run her tongue back and forth along the sides of my cock before I use her to make a single long lick along the bottom, from the base all the way to the tip. 

I plunge into Ashley’s mouth, fucking it slowly for the first few strokes. Savouring the warmth and wetness and submission. But pleasure lights in me as well. The soft mmph mmph mmph of her gags get louder and their rhythm faster as I quicken my pace. The pleasure of my slave doll’s body builds. Its most intense at the tip of my cock but radiates out, reaching my extremities. Soon my nervous system flashes with it. My hot cum spills onto Ashley’s tongue and I withdraw. 

For a few seconds I close my eyes and let myself float. The world and its cares have been banished to some unreachable and intangible place. I know that they will return. I open my eyes to look down at Ashley again, just as she says “Thank you, master.” A little of my cum spills on to her now irrevocably peaceful smile, and I cannot help wondering who got the best of my spell.

[warren-cold]

“Oh, what a tangled web we weave...when first we practice to deceive.” - Walter Scott, Marmion

May 24th, 2023

Julieta Jimenez lay sound asleep, her head resting against Warren’s bare chest, her arm draped across him to keep him close. It was three in the morning, but Warren lay wide awake, his eyes fixed on the dark ceiling of the room they were in. This was Julieta’s home, a place meant only for her, but he couldn’t help thinking someone would suddenly burst through the door.

It was a constant battle in his heart and mind. He knew he could not love the woman in his arms yet here he was, pretending he could. He needed to, all for the sake of going home yet this thought didn’t make the task easier. It was becoming more difficult to feign his affection for her. The hatred that was growing within him was threatening to bubble to the surface. The more he got to know her, the more he was repulsed by her.

At first, he had believed she was just a pawn to her brother, a victim with no way out but he now knew the truth. She wanted to help her brother with the madness he created. Julieta alone could easily abduct young girls mid-day without drawing attention. It was easy for her to do. She even bragged about it.

Warren could often taste the bile in his mouth. He choked it down and closed his eyes momentarily, sighing heavily,

Julieta stirred in his embrace but did not open her eyes. “Amor, what’s wrong?” she mumbled in her sleep, her nails delicately skating across his skin.

“Just a bad dream. I dreamt I had lost you to someone else,” Warren lied easily, speaking in a soft voice to her.

This caused Julieta to open her eyes, lifting her head so she could look at him, even though the darkness. “That would never happen. I love you. I promise, you have nothing to worry about,” she told him, leaning closer so she could place a kiss beneath his jawline.

Warren nodded, hooking her chin with his finger to tilt her head up. He kissed her lips lightly then her cheek. “I love you too,” he told her gently.

Julieta groaned happily, nestling closer against Warren. “Amor, I want to know everything about your life. We’ve been together a while now and you still haven’t introduced me to your friend,” she said, perking her head up so she could look at him.

“Who? Brad?” Warren asked, referring to Adriel.

Julieta nodded. “Yes, him. He’s handsome and I have a few cousins who would love to get to know him, you know?”

“Ah, well Brad. He’s…a widow. He lost his wife a year or so ago and he’s sworn off love. She was his soulmate so I don’t think he would be interested in your cousins, as beautiful as they may be,” Warren explained.

“Oh. How did she die?”

“A fire broke out in their apartment. He couldn’t get to her in time,” said Warren, sighing softly and glancing at her.

“That’s so sad. I’m sorry to hear that,” Julieta said, pausing. “But I would still like to get to know him. Invite him out. My brother is throwing a party on one of his yachts. You two should come so that way, I can finally introduce you to my brother. You will love him.”

“I’m finally meeting him? About time. I was beginning to think you were keeping our relationship a secret,” Warren teased her, nipping at her neck.

This made Julieta squeal, her hands squeezing Warren. “Not a secret, amor, no. It’s just that…I don’t just bring anyone to meet my brother. I must be sure I can trust whoever I’m bringing to my brother,” she explained, sitting up so she could stretch out.

Warren watched as the sheets slipped from her bare body, exposing her naked flesh to him. He instinctively reached for her, his hand grasping her hip to urge her back to him. “So you trust me?” he asked.

“With my life, amor and I’ve never been wrong,” Julieta stated confidently. This caused Warren to smirk.

“I look forward to meeting him then. We’re taking the next step in our relationship. This means a lot to me,” he said, eyeing her.

“Me too, amor. So, it’s settled then? You will talk to Brad about the yacht party and I’ll see you both later today?” she asked.

“I’ll talk with him and let you know but I’m sure it’ll be a yes. I can be pretty convincing and it’s what you want so what you want is what you’ll get,” he replied.

“Good answer,” she said, laying back down next to Warren and pressing a kiss to his chest before closing her eyes so she could attempt to fall back asleep.

Warren stared up at the ceiling long after she had fallen asleep. They were going to meet their target in less than 12 hours.

[cannedbeefaroni]

Real Men (Burt Fabelman x Fem!Reader) (Angst)

Update: here’s part two. It contains smut btw

Summary: An artist breaks down from burnout in a park. A passerby takes notice and shows her sympathy.  Content: DEPRESSION, HOPELESSNESS, DADDY ISSUES, HURT/COMFORT, PINING, COULD BE ONE-SIDED, NOTHING OUTRIGHT ROMANTIC HAPPENS

Reader is referred to as she/her, and is an art major in college. She is in her mid 20′s. 

(this fic is inspired by the song Real Men by Mitski. is it still cringe to name fanfics after songs?)

Though honestly sir, all I wanna do

Is get naked in front of you

So you can look me up and down

And tell me “well done girl, you’re looking good”

She ripped the pages from her pad one by one, crumbling each one into balls before tossing each one into the trash next to the park bench she sat on. Some went in, and others rolled onto the floor. Her hot, flushed face ran with cold tears. The spring breeze sent chills to her face, reminding her of how exposed this pathetic expression was to the public. Hunching over, she buried her face in her hands, wishing she were home instead. 

Unknown to her, a passerby took notice of her distress, but once she heard approaching footsteps, her body froze. She knew the person would just carry on, not saying a word, but the fact that they were close enough to see every moment of her breakdown made her feel so much worse. The footsteps came to a stop, as she heard the cracking of bones of a person bending over, and the crumbling of paper next to her. To her horror, she looked up and saw a man unfolding one of her drawings, observing her work. 

“It’s beautiful… Why did you throw it out?” The man said, glancing back and forth between the page and her. 

She froze, wanting to just disappear. She dreaded the judgment of older figures, and this man looked as if he could be one of her stone cold professors. Between the white button-up, glasses, and demanding presence of a man with experience, she felt like she was about to get drilled into 

“I messed it up… I’m really bad at drawing landscapes.” She admitted sorrowfully. She was unfamiliar with being approached by polite strangers; she felt backed up against a wall. She dreaded awaiting the man’s response. 

“Aw, don’t say that. You’re clearly a talented artist. You shouldn’t be that hard on yourself.” He sat on the opposite end of the bench, leaving a large gap between the two. She became tense, knowing he was going to engage in more conversation with her. “So, why are you drawing in the park?” 

“I have to draw from life, it's for an assignment,” she answered sheepishly, staring down at her lap. 

“Is it a high school art class?”

“What?! I’m in college! I go to an art school,” she blurted out, her stomach churning at being mistaken for a teenager. 

“Oh, I’m sorry! I just never have met anyone who’s gone to school for art… but I suppose the world needs professional artists as well…” he seemed to have trouble understanding the idea of an art school. 

“I’m trying to get into the industry, and a fine arts degree will make that easier for me.”

“I’ve never been to a school like that myself, but I imagine it’s just as stressful as any other college,” he tried to relate.

She wondered how long ago he graduated college. It was hard to tell his age, but he definitely looked old enough to have a wife and kids. Well, technically she was also, but she had only just reached the age where marriage was on her mind. On the other hand, he seemed to be at the age where his life is figured out, and he’s already created the family he’s always wanted. The way he acted reminded her of a kind and caring father; similar to the type she’d meet while visiting a friend’s house as a child. His demeanor made her smile, and she couldn’t help but trust him already. Ironically, that fact made her also feel wary of him, being unsure if people that nice can actually be genuine. 

“So, you don’t do landscapes; I wonder what kind of artist you are?” he hummed inquisitively to break the silence. Strangely enough, he did seem interested in her art. Her eyes lit up at the question, excited to discuss her interests with him. 

“I love to draw people, as in portraits and studying human anatomy. I want to be an illustrator, but in order to do that I need to improve my background art. That’s why I had to take this landscape class… It’s just so frustrating. It’s just so boring to me,” she rambled to him, flailing her hands around as she spoke to emphasize her points. He nodded along as she spoke, grinning as he looked at her with sincere eyes. 

She felt flustered every time her eyes met his, and she took notice of his expression. She wondered if he looked at her this lovingly even though she was just a stranger, then she couldn’t imagine how much love he gave his wife and kids. The thought wouldn’t leave her mind, and she felt embarrassed for wondering about his personal life so much. She didn’t know a thing about it. Perhaps he didn’t have a family at all, but that was hard to believe when he was so nurturing by nature. 

“I’d love to see your other drawings, if that's okay.” He looked back down at the drawing she threw out, tracing his fingers along the paper as he admired her work. 

She winced at the question, knowing exactly how this would go. She recalled all the times her family, teachers, and classmates would laugh in shock at her anatomical drawings. She worried he’d get the wrong idea about her, and assume she’s some kind of pervert. Or maybe he’d get the wrong idea and start seeing her sexually, as most men tend to do. She spiraled in split seconds as her trust in him dwindled in these hypothetical situations. What if he thought the nude female models she’d drawn were her? 

“I draw naked people,” she sternly blurted out, trying to set the record straight before facing embarrassment. “I have to draw naked models from life in school. I don’t want you getting grossed out by it-” 

“Hey, hey, don’t worry. I already know that. I’ve been to museums; I’ve seen my fair share of nude art,” he cut her off, trying to ease her worries. “Of course, you don’t have to show me. I’d just love to see you in your element.” 

Silently, she passed her sketch pad into his hands. He carefully grabbed it, and began flipping through the pages delicately, as if it were fragile. He spent a considerate amount of time on each page. His eyebrows raised and his eyes widened as he whispered “wow” at the still life’s and figure drawings. He took everything in wholeheartedly. He reached a page with self portrait studies, and paused on it for a little bit.

“Are these of you?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“They’re gorgeous… and they really look just like you!” he praised. 

She wanted to gasp at that comment. He just indirectly called her gorgeous, and that little bit of praise made her want to explode. Her face grew even hotter than it was when she was crying earlier, and she worried that he could somehow feel the heat emitting from her. She continued to speak, but it was difficult to concentrate as he stared at her so damn innocently.

“I have to draw portraits pretty often. I don’t know anybody who’s willing to let me draw them, so I end up having to draw myself a lot. Sometimes I’m required to draw other people, so when that happens I get stuck.” She rambled until her voice trailed off, trying not to talk too much. 

“Your friends don’t let you draw them?” He raised an eyebrow. . 

“I-I don’t really have any friends, actually. But not because no one likes me; I just… keep to myself too much. I’m fine with it. I don’t really mind being alone,” she nervously laughed as she spoke, trying to seem like what she was saying was actually the truth. 

“I’m sorry. That must be lonely…” He frowned in an almost perfect inverted smile. “I hope you know it’s perfectly normal for girls your age to be shy; but I find you charismatic.” 

“I’m not as young as you think I am… I’m in my mid twenties,” she stated as politely as possible, trying to assert herself.

“You’re still very young, but you carry yourself as a mature young woman. I’m sorry if I made you feel like a child. Just shows my age, I guess,” he laughed nervously. 

“You can’t be that much older than me. I thought you were in your early thirties.” 

“Oh, I wish” he chuckled loudly at the assumption. 

Her heart sank as she realized he was probably old enough to be her father. Her head dropped in embarrassment. 

“Though, I was going to say that if you need someone to draw, I’d gladly be your model,” he grinned. 

“That’d be really helpful, actually… Thank you.” She lifted her head, almost beaming. Despite how shy of a person she was, drawing random strangers was second nature to her. He passed back her sketch pad, and she readied her pencils. 

“So, what pose should I do?” He asked giddily, clearly excited about being drawn. 

“Um, just lean your arm against the bench and rest your head against your hand.” 

She reached over, guiding his arms into position. After doing so, she realized that had moved closer to him, and even touched him. The fact that such a simple thing stuck with her made her mad at herself. Brushing it off, she sat back and began sketching. Starting with round shapes to build the body, she took in just how soft and round everything about his man was. His head shape, body, eyes, and smile were all so pleasantly round. She avoided drawing his face, so she wouldn’t have to make direct eye contact with him. Eventually, she finished rendering the folds on his shirt, the strands of hair, and even the shadows on his skin. 

She looked at him to see him staring back at her. It only just hit her that he was watching her draw this entire time. The way he stared with such a gentle expression was mesmerizing. To her, it felt like his gaze was one of yearning. She wondered if he thought she was beautiful, just like she thought of him. Her heart raced as her desire to capture his expression on paper intensified, but no matter how much she rendered, every stroke felt incorrect. She wasn’t doing his beauty justice, and her thoughts beat her up over it. Eventually she was basically finished, and she held the drawing back to observe from afar. She wished she could’ve tore it up and started over, but she didn’t want to waste his time. 

“Can I see?” He asked eagerly, leaning over to get a glance at the page. 

She looked up at him with worried eyes, and darted them back at the page as she continued to observe her work. “It’s a little rushed…”

“Come on, let me see!” 

She turned the sketch pad around, showing him the portrait. He took it into his hands slowly, staring at it in pure awe. As he occupied his vision, she stared intensely at him. He was wonderstruck. 

“There’s no way you drew this so fast,” he laughed in shock. “This is so… indescribable! I’d buy this off you if it weren’t for your assignment.”

“Thank you,” she replied blankly. 

Staring at the ground, she tried to hide her embarrassment from his overwhelming praise. It felt almost patronizing, but then she realized she hadn’t been praised for her work in so long. Usually, people don’t bat an eye at adult artists, and she only felt like a prodigy up until age eighteen, when she graduated high school. It was strange being appreciated at all, especially by someone she just met. 

“Am I really that handsome? You made me look so flattering.”

“All I did was draw what I saw.” She wondered if she portrayed him more idealized than he actually was, like a schoolgirl doodling her crush.

“Well, it must be a given, since all of your art is so beautiful. The way you view the world must be so… unique.”

“You’re probably… the kindest man I’ve ever met. I hope that doesn’t sound weird.”

“No, not at all,” he smiled sincerely, looking directly at her. “I like to appreciate talent when I see it, and you, my girl, have it.”

That was it. That was the final straw. Her heart was practically threatening to be spat from her throat. The tears from earlier had returned, but the feeling was different. She wasn’t convulsing; she just sat there with tears pouring like a faucet. Foolishly, she looked up at him, eyes wide open. He saw the droplets dripping down her chin and staining her top. She choked out the words “thank you,” trying to somehow salvage the conversation. 

“Oh, poor thing… what’s wrong?” reacting instantly, he placed her pad on the side of the bench, and slid over to sit closer to her. He leaned toward her slightly. 

“No, it’s nothing. I’m being silly,” she dragged her palm across her face, smearing the tears away. 

“But I saw you crying earlier too… are you okay, doll?” 

She sniffed and wiped her nose with the side of her hand before throwing her head back, leaning against the back of the bench and staring at the sky. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” 

Patiently, he waited for her to continue speaking. 

“I don’t know… if I’ll get anywhere with this.”

“With what specifically?”

“I don’t know. In art. In life. In every way.” She sighed deeply. 

He watched the tears roll down her face as her head was leaned back. There wasn’t much he could do besides watch, as he didn’t want to encroach on her space. “It’s too early to say that. You have so much to look forward to.”

“It feels like… like every time I try I fail. I don’t know if I’ll be able to make a career for myself at all. My only talent is art. If I can’t do that…” she didn’t finish her thought. 

“But you’re doing it. You’re in college.”

“What comes after that?” 

He shifted closer to her, leaning over. “You’ll figure it out. Don’t talk yourself out of your own happiness… just because you’re scared.” 

“If I can’t make a living for myself, I’ll have no one to rely on. I don’t think I’m the kind of girl who can get married. Then my family… is a whole different story.” 

“Wait, what do you mean ‘not the kind of girl?’” 

She stuttered, embarrassed. “I’ve been rejected too many times to count.” 

“That doesn’t mean there's something wrong with you. You just haven’t found the right one yet.” He scoffed at her statement in disbelief that she believed she was unlovable. 

She pulled her head down and hunched over. “I just want to be happy, but it’s so hard,” she started sobbing. 

He felt horrible sitting there, watching her fall apart. So desperately he wanted to do anything that could change her mind. “Do you need a hug?”

She nodded as she leaned into him to rest her face on his shoulder. His arms rested around the back of her shoulders as she weakly wrapped hers around him. He gave her reassuring pats on the back. Even though the hug was from an awkward distance, she couldn’t recall ever feeling so happy to be hugged by someone. She felt like she was sinking deeply into his warmth and softness. She wanted to never let go. In fact, the thought of letting go made her cry even more. 

“You’re gonna be okay…” he tried to let go, but she pulled him back in. He reacted with a shocked grunt. “God, you’re gonna kill me,” he laughed hoarsely. 

She quickly let go and wiped her face. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-“ 

“No, it’s completely fine. Things are really tough for you.” 

The two of them sat silently at a distance from each other again. She sniffed and wiped her nose with the side of her hand, feeling embarrassed of how gross she felt. 

“Hey, I was wondering,” he broke the silence. “If I’m ever in need of an artist, for whatever reason, I’d want to get in touch with you.” 

“You’d want to commission me?” 

“Yes! I’d love to have a piece of art by you on my wall. Your style is beautiful.” Every word he said hit deeply. She couldn’t understand why he was so genuinely captivated by her. 

She wrote her phone number on a sheet of paper, ripped it out of the pad, and handed it to him. He neatly folded it and placed it into his shirt pocket. 

“If you want, I could give you mine as well. You deserve to have someone you can talk to. Although, It’s fine if you don’t want to. I am just some old fart you met at the park, after all.” He laughed as he looked at her with squinted eyes. 

“I think you’re a nice old fart, at least,” she sputtered through laughter. She passed her sketch pad and a pencil over to him, allowing him to write on it. 

“Oh, all this time, I didn’t even think to ask your name. I’m sorry, how rude of me,” he said bashfully. 

“It’s (Y/N),” she said. 

“Mine is Burt. It’s been a pleasure meeting you”

[hornime]

watch and learn | iwaizumi hajime x f!reader x team japan

there were two things they all had in common: the growing bulges in their pants that they were urgently trying to distract themselves from, and the fact that their full attention was on you.

warnings: 18+, timeskip!everyone, BIG MANGA SPOILERS BASICALLY, exhibitionism, voyeurism, orgasm denial

w/c: 3.1k

a/n: now i don’t know if iwaizumi hajime (27) athletic trainer learned about female orgasms when he was studying sports science at irvine BUT he def knows how to show a girl a good time which is reason enough for me to write this. also, i read this article to prep for this piece and it was super enlightening, so i do recommend giving it a read if you’re interested!

in the middle of his morning run, iwaizumi slowed momentarily to check the repetitive buzzing of this phone, curious as to who was messaging him this early. when he’d left the apartment, you were sleeping, and you had the tendency to still be sleeping by the time he returned, so who else could it be?

he unlocked his phone, quickly finding the source of the notifications: the team japan group chat.

[06:43 AM] miya: hey @iwaizumi—you know stuff abt the human body right?

[06:43 AM] miya: cus like you studied it in college and shit??

iwaizumi rolled his eyes. i spent four years in america to earn my degree, came back home to support my country’s olympic team, and dealt with the biggest idiots of volleyball, only to get treated like this?

[06:44 AM] iwaizumi: yes, miya. i took many courses on the human body. in fact that’s the purpose of my job. to know the human body. because i am a fucking athletic trainer.

[06:44 AM] miya: okay okay i get it. dumb question

[06:44 AM] iwaizumi: why? is something up? you need help or anything?

[06:44 AM] miya: uhhh kinda

[06:44 AM] miya: @hinata i’m not fucking asking this

[06:44 AM] bokuto: bro just do it

[06:44 AM] miya: @hinata @hinata @hinata 

iwaizumi cocked an eyebrow. what the hell are they going on about?

[06:45 AM] iwaizumi: so am i needed or...

[06:45 AM] hinata: YES

[06:45 AM] hinata: we had a question

[06:46 AM] sakusa: by “we” he means him, miya, and bokuto

[06:46 AM] suna: yeah don’t bring us into this

[06:46 AM] hinata: don’t listen to them! both suna and sakusa wanna know too

[06:46 AM] iwaizumi: okay. what’s up

[06:47 AM] hinata: we wanted to know how to make a girl cum

he chuckled in disbelief.

[06:47 AM] iwaizumi: you’re telling me that you guys are in your mid-20s, literal olympic athletes, and you don’t know how to make a girl cum

[06:47 AM] iwaizumi: have you never done it before??

[06:47 AM] miya: NO

[06:47 AM] miya: FOR THE RECORD IVE MADE MANY GIRLS CUM

[06:48 AM] bokuto: ME TOO

[06:48 AM] bokuto: i think

he laughed out loud, briefly startling another runner on the sidewalk.

[06:48 AM] iwaizumi: you guys are unbelievable

[06:48 AM] hinata: i mean she says she finished but idk what i did to make that happen

[06:48 AM] bokuto: ^^

[06:48 AM] hinata: so like i wanna know how to actually do it

[06:48 AM] suna: actually im kinda interested in this too

[06:48 AM] aran: i pray for your future girlfriends. this is painful to see. im out

[06:48 AM] kageyama: i’m with aran on this one. you guys are dumb

[06:48 AM] hinata: shut up. you suck.

[06:48 AM] miya: cmon iwaizumi, help a guy out

[06:48 AM] sakusa: it wouldnt hurt for you to give us some pointers at least

iwaizumi sighed.

[06:49 AM] iwaizumi: @miya @hinata @bokuto @suna @sakusa meet in the locker room after practice. ill give you guys a lesson in the art of pleasing a woman

to teach effectively, he needed a volunteer, though he was sure you wouldn’t need much convincing. you’d always loved the attention, and the biceps, of the pro athletes. he spun on his heel and jogged home.

you woke up to the sound of your apartment door opening, your boyfriend creeping inside, forehead damp with sweat.

“hey,” you said quietly, making your way towards him.

“hey, baby. sorry for waking you up, i was trying to be quiet.”

you giggled sleepily. “s’okay, haji. you spoil me too much anyway, always letting me sleep in for hours while you’re off doing god knows what.”

at that, his eyes crinkled in amusement, and as you tried to step into a hug, he shuffled back. “woah there, baby. i gotta shower, ‘m all gross from my run. and then,” he gave you a peculiar look that you couldn’t quite place, “i got a proposition for you.”

after his shower, he waltzed out of the bathroom, steam wafting out from behind the door. his tanned body made you feel things you definitely shouldn’t be barely an hour after the sun’s risen, and you reached out to massage the tension in his shoulders. “so, what’s your proposition?”

“well,” he hesitated. “it’s a bit... unconventional. the team asked me to show them how to make a girl cum,” he took in your intrigued expression. “and it’d be a lot easier to explain if i had someone to do a live demonstration with. so,” his eyes flicked up to you. “that’s where you’d come in.”

“a... live demonstration? like you’re gonna make me cum in front of them?”

“yeah, essentially.” he gave you a devilish grin. “you want that, baby? wanna show those boys how a real man treats a gorgeous woman like you?”

you rubbed your thighs at his words. “yeah,” you purred. “i do. wanna show them how good you are to me.”

and that’s how you found yourself nestled between iwaizumi’s muscled thighs, back pressed against his chest, completely naked, with five of japan’s best volleyball players staring at your body in awe.

practically an expert in his field, iwaizumi knew the human body inside and out. this had many benefits; of course it allowed him to catapult up the ranks and work with the country’s best athletes to keep them at the top of their game, but it also had a unique side effect: an overwhelming vault of knowledge on how to make a woman feel good anywhere. 

you’d seen the proof firsthand; he knew exactly where to push, prod, stroke, and tease to have you cumming in seconds, over and over, as many times as you wanted. he was amazing, and you were well-aware just how lucky you were to have such a talented man in the sheets.

“oi,” iwaizumi snapped his fingers, drawing each of the players’ eyes away from your glistening cunt. “pay attention. i know more than anybody that she’s hot as fuck, but you gotta listen to what i’m saying or else there’s no point to this.”

he lightly pressed his lips against your collarbone, slowly tracing them against your jaw, the contact making you squirm. “if you wanna make a girl cum, first thing you gotta do is make her comfortable. if she’s worried about how she looks or sounds or smells she’s gonna be too stressed to let go.” he moved his hands to grope your tits, his calloused fingers brushing over your hardening nipples. “so reassure her, tell her how irresistible she is, how pretty her moans are, how tasty her pussy is. shit like that. the sexier she feels the better it’ll be.”

he leaned into you, whispering into your ear. “feeling good, baby? we can stop whenever.”

you nodded weakly, afraid to open your mouth, barely holding in your whines as his palms worked wonders on your chest and stomach, sending shocks of heat wherever they touched. 

you craned your neck up to observe the men before you. atsumu was flushed red, wringing his hands as if he was worried they’d do something embarrassing if he didn’t keep them occupied. hinata was bouncing his leg up and down, wiping his palms on his shorts as he took in the plushness of your thighs. bokuto was basically drooling, greedily tracing your soft curves with his eyes. suna maintained his indifferent expression, but the reddening tips of his ears showed that he was a lot more hot and bothered than he let on. sakusa stood quietly to the side, leaning against the wall, mask tucked under his chin as if he’d just realized how much the temperature had gone up in the room.

there were two things they all had in common: the growing bulges in their pants that they were urgently trying to distract themselves from, and the fact that their full attention was on you.

"make sure to try different things; there’s multiple ways to make a woman cum. only like a quarter of women experience orgasms just from penetration,” someone made a sound of shock. “yes, the number is that small, bokuto.” 

his fingertip slowly trailed past your belly button, dipping into the mess between your thighs, causing you to slightly arch your back into the solid chest supporting you. “foreplay with the clit is your best bet; even stupid fucks like you probably wouldn’t screw it up too bad.”

hinata opened his mouth to speak, but iwaizumi anticipated his question and continued.

“i know you’re wondering where the clit is. it’s around here, under this hood of skin,” he slid his digit between your labia. “s’not gonna come with a label so you gotta explore a little bit. i know where hers is like the back of my hand, but for you guys, with your girls, you’re gonna have to move your fingers around. slowly. and pay attention to her expressions.” he began to rub in a circular motion around your clit, causing you to make small whimpers of pleasure and shift your hips to meet his movements. 

“if she clenches up or twitches when you feel a certain spot, like this,” your legs flexed as he increased the pressure, “that’s the clit. be kind, it’s not a volleyball. be gentle n’ make small circles, whether it’s with your fingers or your tongue.” 

he thought for a second. “speaking of which, oral’s important. very important. most women cum when they’ve been eaten out, so use your mouths for something more useful than just dirty talk. suck on the clit, maybe tongue-fuck her a ‘lil, but your main focus should always be the clit.”

he removed his hands from your sopping pussy, and you made a pathetic noise of frustration. “’m sorry, baby,” he muttered seductively in your ear. “don’t wanna have you finishing too early. lesson’s barely started.”

he turned his attention back to your audience, his lustful tone being replaced by a more instructional one. “there’s other places that’ll help a woman orgasm, too: her nipples, her neck, her ears—”

“her ears?” sakusa questioned. he blushed profusely as everyone turned to look at him, surprised that he’d opened his mouth. “what? we were all thinking it.”

“s’a valid question,” iwaizumi said. “yeah, you can lick ‘em if they’re sensitive. hers are.” as if to prove his statement, he licked a stripe on the shell of you ear, making you wiggle helplessly at the stimulation. “‘n leave kisses everywhere else. feels good for them just like it does for us.” he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him and forcing your movements to stop as he traced patterns with his tongue all around your neck.

“something you should know about an orgasm is that it’s something called a positive feedback loop.” he looked up and was met with five blank stares. shouldn’t have expected anything from these dumb jocks, he lamented. “basically that means that, once you start releasing sexual tension, things will feel better and better until you climax.”

“oh!” atsumu chirped. “like how my sets get better and better throughout a game.”

“no, not really,” he quipped. “your sets suck throughout.” atsumu frowned at that.

iwaizumi exhaled exasperatedly. “the general idea is that the body gets more and more sensitive, muscle contractions become more and more frequent, and touches feel more and more stimulating until you cum. all right?”

they all made noises of understanding except for bokuto and hinata, whose eyes had glazed over at the first mention of an academic term. whatever, iwaizumi thought. they’ll get it through example.

"don’t worry about it too much if you don’t get it, that’s just an orgasm on paper. in practice, though, this is the crucial step: listen to her. she knows what feels good. never forget that you’re just an idiot with a cock.” he took a breath, gathering his thoughts before proceeding with his lecture.

“if she tells you to slow down, you slow down. if she tells you to go harder, you go harder. if she tells you to keep doing what you’re doing, you...”

“keep doing what you’re doing”, they all chimed in at staggered times.

“that’s right. don’t go faster or else you’ll mess up the rhythm and she won’t cum. and you wanna make her cum, don’t you?”

they nodded simultaneously.

“so if you keep up the tempo and force that feels good to her, you’ll be fine. questions?”

suna spoke up. “what about,” he choked on the word. “penetration?”

hinata hummed in agreement and bokuto jumped in. “yeah, what if i wanna make her cum on my cock?”

iwaizumi made a weird face. “that’s some pretty advanced stuff, but i guess i can go over it. when you try it, though, you have to be patient. with both of your bodies. s’not rocket science but s’not always easy. also it depends on the woman but sometimes she physically won’t be able to finish from penetration alone. just make sure you’re communicating.”

his swirled two fingers over your hole before shoving them in, your wetness making it easy for him to thrust in and out as your entrance stretched to accommodate him. “f—fuck!” your eyes flew open at the intrusion and you body lurched forward, but you were held back by his strong forearm. “ohmygod, oh my g—ah! feels s’good haji, s’good!”

“i know, baby, i know. you’re taking it so well.” he turned his attention back to the men, each of who were gulping heavily. if that didn’t signal to you that they were evidently affected by your moans, the way they shifted in their workout shorts did.

“boys, focus.” he curled his fingertips, brushing at the spongy spot at the top of your walls, ripping a pleasured wail from your throat and causing tears to prick at your eyelashes. “when you’re fingering her, you’ll feel an area inside that’s a bit soft and squishy. that’s the g-spot.”

you trembled in his arms as he mercilessly struck the same place over and over again with his fingers. “when you’re fucking her, try to keep the pressure building there, but it’ll be harder to make her finish since you can’t see what you’re doing.”

your breath hitched as iwaizumi’s incessant movements brought your body tantalizingly close to your release. he suddenly stopped and you almost sobbed in disappointment, until he plunged his fingers impossibly deeper.

a guttural scream of ecstasy came from within you, and your eyes rolled back as he began playing with another part of you, your body putty in his hands. “hngh, haji, ah! so good, s’good...” you threw your hands back around his neck, nails digging into the skin as you desperately tried to keep yourself grounded. your soft moans filled the air.

“stop clenching,” he hissed. “can barely move my hand.” you tried to relax but failed miserably as the tips of his fingers grazed your cervix. 

“holy fuck,” suna muttered. “you’re a god.”

“she sounds so pretty,” atsumu said in amazement.

“i wanna make a girl feel good like that, too!” bokuto sulked.

“you can do it, bokuto!” hinata hit him on the arm. “just listen to iwaizumi. clearly he knows what he’s talking about.” 

their eyes refocused on your figure, writhing in pleasure, prompting white hot waves of arousal to pool in their stomachs. 

“yeah,” sakusa said. “clearly.”

“stop talking,” iwaizumi ordered. “and listen. beyond the g-spot is the cervix, which is basically the end of the vagina. if you’re long enough,” he briefly scanned each of their faces, “which i’m sure you are, you’ll be able to reach it if you bottom out.”

“haji—hajime, please.” the stimulation was coming absolutely unbearable, and you could tell he was sadistically holding you at the edge, refusing to give you the satisfaction of finishing. “lemme cum, please. please lemme cum, please, please, i can’t—i can’t take it ‘nymore!”

“what was that? you can’t take it anymore? gonna cum?” you helplessly bobbed your head up and down, hoping that he’d give you permission. “well,” he growled, “we can’t have that happening, can we?”

he abruptly halted his thrusts, pulling his fingers out of you with an embarrassing squelch and popping them into his mouth. pearly tears rolled down your cheeks as you grieved the loss of contact and relief.

your viewers looked on in horror, feeling immense sympathy for you; you just looked so dejected from being denied yet another orgasm.

“why didn’t you—why didn’t you let her cum?” bokuto asked.

“why do you think?” iwaizumi snapped. “don’t want you guys to see her when she does. that’s for me, and only me.”

“oh, okay,” he responded, disgruntlement clear in his voice.

iwaizumi’s glare could cut glass, it was so sharp. the possessiveness that had enveloped his mind made him hyperfocus on just one thought: being alone with you. “so, any other questions? if not, we’re done here.”

you pouted at that, not wanting the demonstration to be over. “but haji,” you mumbled into his collarbone. “i di’nt get to cum. and i wanna.” you looked up at him, eyes wide with want. “please make me cum.”

iwaizumi sent a harsh glance to the players that nonverbally communicated his message loud and clear: get out. they shuffled awkwardly out of the locker room due to the hardness between their legs that they would most definitely need to deal with soon.

your boyfriend turned his attention back to you. “’m sorry, i know i had to deny you a bunch of times. i just really hated the idea of anyone but me seeing the cute way you look when you cum.”

you made a small noise of acknowledgement and a little whisper of it’s okay, haji. he looked down, sensing the way your poor, desperate cunt was pulsing around nothing, the erotic sight injecting him with the pure need to ravage you.

he shifted his head to kiss you passionately. “why don’t i make it up to you?” he breathed between your parted lips before picking you up by the backs of your thighs, forcing you to lock your ankles around his waist. 

he delicately situated you onto one of the recovery beds at the back of the room, before murmuring something that made your pussy throb in anticipation: “i’ll make you cum whichever way you want, however many times you want, all right? all you gotta do is lay back and take it.”

© property of hornime 2021. do not plagiarize any of my writing and do not repost/copy my writing onto any other sites.

[maddiwrites]

Breathe With Me

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Summary: After finding out who hurt you on that horrific night, JJ helps you through another panic attack and makes plans to protect his girl.

Note: This was requested a long time ago after a chapter of my rewrite was posted! Instead of doing JJ x OC, like requested, I changed it to JJ x Reader so that people who don’t read my rewrite can enjoy it too. Hopefully this is okay with ya’ll. 

Word Count: 3.5k

WARNINGS: Sexual Assault!!! This chapter has descriptions of sexual assault. Please do not read if this is TRIGGERING!!!! 

National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673

Masterlist

It was another regular day on the island. Hot and crowded with tourists. With everyone working, you decided to tag along with JJ and Pope to delivery groceries for Heyward’s business. Usually this meant going to Figure Eight, your least favorite place to be. Normally it didn’t creep you out too much, but because of a rather recent incident, you didn’t like being there.

Right after your dad went missing, you spent a lot of time with Kie as she lived out her Kook Year. Avoiding the Pogues and John B and surrounding yourself with stuck up assholes and their expensive drugs and alcohol helped you forget about your own family crisis. You would do anything to take your mind off your dad’s disappearance even if it meant getting high on whatever was offered to you. You didn’t ask twice about what it was. You figured if the rich people we’re doing it, it couldn’t be that bad right?

One night you did a long line surrounded by Rafe and a couple of his buddies. Pretty much everything after that was a blur. Your memories are fuzzy, like a puzzle piece you can’t piece together. The last thing you remember is your black hitting something soft, like a mattress or a pillow. You thought you heard the zipper of your shorts being pulled down but figured it was Kie helping you change into a pair of pajamas. 

The next morning you woke up practically naked with a blanket covering your bottom half and your bra pulled down to your stomach. You began to panic and ran your hands down your side, flinching at the tenderness by your hips. The skin was yellow/green and getting ready to bruise. Your breathing became shallow and your throat tightened up. You fumbled around the room you didn’t recognize for your clothes and slid them on, not caring what was backwards or inside out. You stumbled out the door and tip toed down the long staircase of the large house you were in. Figure Eight, you thought. 

You didn’t go home first. You went to Kie’s house. Because your body ached. Because you wanted to cry but didn’t want John B or the other boys to hear you. Because you were afraid to be naked around anyone but another girl. The second she opened the door, you sobbed into her arms and told her what you think happened to you. Kie tried to get you to go to the police or even the hospital, but you couldn’t fathom the idea of anyone knowing about what happened. Not even a stranger. Because you were embarrassed. You blamed yourself for this happening to you. You were high as fuck, trying to forget about your family troubles. You were the one to make yourself weak and vulnerable. No one else. Someone just took advantage of the position you put yourself in.

Kie didn’t pressure you. She wanted to support you in whatever decision you made, despite wanting justice for you and sending whoever the sleaze bag was to jail. She sat on the toilet and talked to you as you showered slowly. You spent most of the time staring at the wall and feeling ever inch of your body. You felt so dirty and no amount of soap or scrubbing could make you feel any cleaner. 

You stayed at her house for a couple of days until John B eventually texted her because he was worried. You both decided it was time for you to go home, but you never told them what happened. You were afraid of what John B and even JJ would do if they found out. And the last thing you wanted was for either of them to get hurt or in trouble.

John B didn’t notice something was off as much as JJ did. He could tell you were being more quiet and reserved than usual. Your usual style of crop tops and jean shorts changed to sweats and baggy t shirts. You slept with your door locked and didn’t touch a single can of beer since you came home.

Moving on from that night was a slow and gruesome process, one you don’t know if you’ll ever fully recover form. Luckily for you, JJ was a great distracter. He was an amazing story teller, he could make you laugh with a small hand gesture, and his laugh could draw you in for hours. No one was surprised when the two of you eventually started dating. Not even John B, who was a little apprehensive about it at first. 

To JJ, everything came to light when another make out session became heated. Like that morning, it became hard to breathe and your mind wandered off to what could have happened to you that night. In a blink of an eye, you were back in Figure Eight with someone pulling your zipper down. You could physically feel the bruises on your hips again and your skin burning. 

A panic attack emerged and JJ was left confused and lost. Fortunately for you, he was quick to realize something was seriously wrong and helped you through it. He breathed with you and talked you down. When you were calm, you explained what happened. At first he was pissed. Pissed at whoever could have done this to you and even a little bit at you and Kie for keeping this from him. He was ready to charge out of the house, grab John B, and find the sick son of a bitch who would touch an unconscious girl. But your cries stopped him. He’s never heard pain in your voice like he did that night. It physically cracked his heart into a million little pieces and he dropped every instinct he had and stayed with you instead. 

Since then, he’s been the most supportive and protective boyfriend. At every boneyard party, he would keep an eye out for any Kook that decided to show their face on your turf. He took note of anyone looking at you in a weird way. He carried the gun he stole from Scooter in his backpack for protection. He was serious about using it too. No one touches his girl and gets away with it.

Luckily, nothing happened between JJ and any Kook. No one made a move to talk to you or tease you. Kooks kept their usual distance from you, which not only made you feel better for yourself but because you didn’t want something to happen to JJ. You know the rules of the game of this island. Nothing bad ever happens to Kooks. They don’t know consequences. 

When Pope docks his boat, he asks if you would come with him to drop groceries off at the Thorntons. If he did it alone, it would cause two trips and he doesn’t want to waste time. 

As you go to agree, JJ steps in and shakes his head as he looks between you two. “I don’t think thats a good idea.”

“Why not?” Pope asks, completely clueless.

You subtly shake your head, silently begging for JJ not to say anything. Pope and John B still didn’t know and you want to keep it that way. Sure you would feel safer with JJ by your side, but you won’t be alone. You will be with Pope. And who would try to start something in the middle of the day anyway?

“It’s fine, J,” You tell him. You even try to joke. “I’m sure you’ll survive one hour without me.”

When you kiss his cheek, JJ turns to look at you with his brows pinched together with worry. “Y/N...”

“Seriously, J...” You say. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” You whisper that last part as Pope turns to get the bags. 

“You have your phone?”

You nod and pull it out of your pocket to show him. “Yes. I’ll call you if anything happens.”

As JJ walks in the opposite direction of you and Pope, you feel the tension in your shoulders get tighter. The sight of these homes gives you flashbacks. The worst part about all of this is you don’t even know who hurt you. It could’ve been anyone - a touron even. It would be easier to know who did it so you know who to avoid. 

Pope notices your change in behavior but doesn’t mention it. Instead he keeps a silent eye on you and studies your every movement. 

As you pass the golf course, you hear a couple cat calls and cheering from a group of teenagers. When you look up, you see Rafe, Topper, and one of their friends making their way over to you. You take a step behind Pope, hiding behind his body and keeping your eyes trained down on your shoes. 

“What do we have here?” Rafe whistles as he comes closer. He looks down at the bags in your arms and the beer in Pope’s hand. “Bring us something?”

“These are already paid for,” Pope glares at them.

“Oh, right, right,” Rafe nods as if he understands. Then he takes is golf club and swings it at the brown paper bag in Pope’s arms, causing everything to spill out of it. 

“Dude!” 

“Sorry, man!” Rafe holds his hands up in fake surrender. He leans down to pick up a beer bottle and tosses it to his tall friend. “Trevor, you feeling thirsty?”

The guy, better known as Trevor, cracks the beer open and takes a long sip. When he looks down, he spots you and eyes your figure up and down. Then he smirks to himself and a shiver runs down your spine. You don’t like the way he’s looking at you. Like a piece of meat or someone he knows too much of. 

Rafe catches his eye and smirks to himself. “Ah, yeah. I forgot. You and Routledge have some history.”

Pope looks over his shoulder at you and sees your chest rising and dropping at a quicker pace. You’re gripping the bags in your hands so tight that he can see your knuckles turning white. You look away from the group of Kooks at the golf course with a frown on your face. Something was wrong, Pope thought. 

“Yeah, you could say that,” Trevor chuckles. He looks at you again and tilts his head. “What? You don’t remember me?”

“Pope...” You feel like you’re choking. How could he know you when you have no idea who he is? You don’t like where this is going.

Trevor continues, “Can’t say I blame you. You were out of your mind wasted that night -”

“What the hell is he talking about?” Pope says, looking between you and Trevor. He wasn’t one to get confrontational or angry, but he didn’t like what he was hearing. He didn’t like how you were acting. Something wasn't adding up. He knew you’ve hooked up with Kooks before, but this one was different. 

“Almost as dead as her daddy,” Rafe chuckles. Something in Pope snaps and he pushes Rafe back by his shoulders. In retaliation, Rafe raises his golf club and smacks it against the middle of Pope’s back, causing him to fall down with a thump. 

“Pope!” You cry and drop the bags you were holding and kneel next to him. 

“Hey,” Trevor touches your shoulder to try and pull you away from the two fighting boys, but you flinch away from him. 

“Don’t touch me! Get away from me!” You cry.

Trevor immediately holds up his hands in surrender and takes a step back. Your outburst causes everyone to freeze in their movements, even Rafe and Pope. The wheels in Topper’s head start to move a little quicker too. He looks between you and Trevor and feels off about your connection. You looked terrified. And Y/N Routledge was almost never terrified. 

Even though you are outside, you feel claustrophobic. Your heart is beating so heavily against your ribcage that you wouldn’t be surprised if it were to break your ribs. Pope notices you’re two shades paler and having a hard time breathing. Tears are silently falling down your face and you continue to crawl away form the group of Kooks backwards. 

“Y/N...” Pope says quietly.

“We should go,” Topper says. He never hated you like some of the other Kooks did. Sure you never got along, but a small part of him thought you were cool. He knew something was extremely wrong and he couldn’t help but think it had to do with their friend, Trevor. He looks at Rafe who continues to stare at you with surprise. “Dude.”

“Yeah...” Rafe says slowly. “Trev, let’s go.”

The three Kooks scatter back to the golf course. You squeeze your eyes tightly and grip the fabric of your shirt, pulling it away from your body because right now it just feels suffocating. 

“Hey.” Pope crouches down near you and lightly touches your shoulder. His touch feels like an electric shock, making you flinch even further away. When you open your eyes, you’re back in some random Kook’s house on a mattress you’re unfamiliar with. “They’re gone. Hey, they’re gone.” Pope tries to be gentle with you, but he also wants to get you out of here and in a more comfortable setting. 

“JJ,” You manage to say. Your throat feels on fire. “I need J-”

Pope immediately starts fumbling for his cell phone and dials his best friend’s number. He bounces on the balls of his feet as he impatiently listens to the ringing. “Come on. Come on.”

JJ answers. “Hey! Sorry I’m on my way back now. You’ll never believe how much this lady tipped me. I swear I’m coming on every -”

“JJ, shut up and listen to me. Y/N...” He glances back at you and sees you’re hunched over with your forehead resting on your knees and your fingers through your hair. “She’s having a panic attack or something. I - I don’t -”

“Where are you?” JJ’s once elated tone has dropped to a more serious one. 

Pope tries explaining what part of the golf course they are near. 

“Okay. I’ll be there in five minutes. Pope, get her under some shade or something. And if you can, try to get her to look at you. She needs to open her eyes to see where she is.” Pope nods, forgetting that JJ can’t see him. “Pope!”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Okay, doing that now.”

JJ hangs up the phone so he can run faster. 

Meanwhile, Pope crouches down in front of you again and says, “Y/N/N, hey. Can you open your eyes?” Pope lightly taps your ankles. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me.” You slowly blink your eyes open and sniffle back the tears. Pope smiles when he sees he’s made some sort of progress. “Hey. JJ’s on his way. Why don’t we move you under some shade? It’s getting pretty hot out here. Can I help you up?”

You nod and let Pope help you up and bring you a couple feet away under a large tree. Your back rests against the bark and you try taking deep breaths to calm the swirling nausea in your stomach. 

It was Trevor. It had to be Trevor. From the way he looked at you, to the innuendo Rafe made. You knew in your heart that it was Trevor who had hurt you that night. 

A part of you always wanted to know who did this, but another part of you wished you never figured it out. Because now his face will haunt you forever.

About a minute later, you hear another set of footsteps quickly coming your way. You panic, your immediate thought going to Trevor. Would he come back? 

But then you hear your boyfriend’s beautiful voice. “Hey.” His tone is soft and gentle. “Hey, baby. Look at me. It’s JJ.” You open your eyes and meet the lovely blue one’s you fell in love with. He grins at you and takes your hands in his. 

“I’m so - sorry,” You sob, suddenly hating yourself for bringing this back up to your boyfriend and ruining Pope’s work routine. “I - I -”

“Hey,” JJ says and pulls your hands to his chest, palms down. “Remember what we did last time? Match my breathing, okay? Ready? Take a deep breath.”

Pope watches with awe silently from the sidelines. He’s never seen this side of either one of you. You so panic stricken and scared, JJ so intent with concern and intuitive. 

You follow JJ’s breathing until you feel calm enough to breathe on your own. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” JJ shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

You look down at your hands that are folded in your lap. You want to tell him. Of course you want to tell him. But you’re afraid of what happens next. You’re afraid of how JJ will respond.

“Rafe, Topper, and their friend Trevor jumped us,” Pope answers for you. Like JJ, he’s also curious about what happened. Of course he was there for the physical breakdown, but he wants to know more about what you’re going through emotionally. 

“Did they hurt you?” JJ looks back at you and inspects every inch of your open skin for signs of scratches or bruises. 

You shake your head. “No.”

“Then...”

“I know who it was,” You say, your voice as soft as a whisper. 

“What? You mean. -” JJ’s head snaps back and forth between you and Pope. “Who?”

You dip your chin into your chest to hide your tears as they start to flow again. You take a deep breath and look back up at your boyfriend. “Trevor.”

“Who the fuck is Trevor?” JJ looks at Pope. 

Pope shrugs, “I don’t know. He was golfing with the other two Kooks.”

“Where’d they go?” JJ stands up, causing both you and Pope to follow him.

“No, JJ -” You try to pull him back to you but he slips his wrist out of your grip. 

“JJ!” Pope calls out to JJ who walks in the direction the other three disappeared to. 

“JJ, stop!” Your voice cracks which makes JJ turn around to look at you. “Please. I just want to go home.”

JJ freezes and bites down on his bottom lip, feeling conflicted. His head is telling him to run after the Kooks and beat every single one of their faces in until he finds the one named Trevor. But his heart is telling him to walk back to you and take care of you. 

“Okay,” he decides and wraps his arm around your waist. “Let’s get you home.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After you fall asleep later that night, JJ tip toes out of your room and silently shuts your door behind him. You passed out early, exhausted from the panic attacks and crying. In the living room, Pope, Kie, and John B are waiting. You had no other choice but to tell John B what happened. Now that Pope knew, it felt wrong keeping it from your brother as well. Of course it caused an argument, but in the end, John B only wants the best for you and to protect you. Which is why they’re here now.

“Ready to go?” JJ looks directly at your brother.

John B holds up his car keys. “Let’s go.”

“Whoa, where do you think you’re going?” Kie grabs John B by the elbow and glares at both of them.

“Where do you think?” JJ says.

When Pope and Kie stepped out of the room to check on you, JJ and John B both secretly decided that when you fell asleep, the two of them would sneak out and find this Trevor person and give him what he deserves. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Pope says, looking between the two. “You know how this works. The two of you end up getting in trouble and he gets to walk away clean.”

“I don’t care. I’ll kill him -”

“You can’t,” Kie says.

“I’m not asking for your permission, Kie!”

“Where’s the gun?” Kie says. “If you’re going to do this, I’m not letting you bring the gun. Leave it here.”

JJ looks up at John B who reluctantly nods his head for JJ to give it up. The blonde sighs and reaches into the back of his waistband and pulls it out.

“This is a bad idea,” Pope says again even though he knows the other two don’t give a shit. In a way, he kind of respects it. He would go to if he didn’t have a scholarship to worry about.

“Keep an eye on her. We’ll be back in a couple hours,” John B says.

“You better hope you are. Because if you’re not, you’re only going to be making this worse for her,” Kie tells them.

Kie’s words have both John B and JJ rethinking their decision. But only for a split second. 

JJ nods. “Don’t worry. I’d never leave my girl behind.”

[thewritingginger]

AoT Boys - Preferences p.2

This isn’t very long but I’ve been meaning to continue this with other characters. 

Here is Part 1 w/ Reiner, Armin, Eren, & Jean

Fandom: Attack on Titan Characters: Erwin Smith & Levi Ackerman  Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, Fem! Bodied Reader, Mentions of sex, Swearing, Modern au

Enjoy ~

Erwin

Erwin is an Ass Man!

Obviously enjoys touching the butt

Favorite cuddle positions; when you straddle him, your arms wrapped around him tightly, and his hands can get a good cup on them cheeks

OR you lying on your stomach and his head resting either on your hip or booty, getting a full access pass to dat ass (he may even throw in a few kisses while he’s at it)

Prefers you come to bed with not pants on or better yet naked -  besides if things were to get a bit heated it provides easier access

Always and I mean ALWAYSSS ask this man what he thinks of your outfits, he loves it

He’ll twirl you around to get a 360 view, rubbing his palm across your butt and when finished will pull you close, hand on ass of course, and tell you how perfect you look

(Brownie points if it accentuates your assets 😉)

Speaking of clothes that show off your bootie

Erwin loves trashy jean booty shorts and you can’t tell me anything differently!

This professional -always seems to have his shit together- man loves when you wears those jean shorts that look borderline like underwear

He’ll just pull the crotch aside and fuck you with them on

“Such a slutty girl parading around with your ass hanging out.”

“You’re just begging to be fucked when you wear these.”

Clothed sex is always a go for this man, be it shorts, skirt/dress or just your underwear

Any position where he can see and have access to your ass is perfect

Loves bending you over any surface - especially his desk if you choose to drop by the office for a visit 😉

Lots of groping and spanking while he plows into you

And of course enjoys finishing on your back, coating your ass with his hot cum

“You look so perfect.”

Along with the short shorts this man also does enjoy if you were to give him a little private dance from time to time

Your hips swaying in front of him, grinding your ass against his growing erection

“Shake your ass again for me, Sweetheart.”

“You’re such a good little dancer.”

Now he’s a busy man and one that holds a lot of, rightfully deserved, respect from the people that work for him. That usually makes it all the more fun to send him a saucy pic from time to time when you know he’s in a meeting or generally away at work.

“I got this dress today, thinking of wearing it out with the girls tonight 🥰 What do you think?” - w/ a mirror pic of you posed - back turned, looking over your shoulder - in a bodycon dress hiked up with the bottom of your ass peeking out

He cleared his throat drawing the attention of his coworkers, needing to excuse himself from the meeting apologizing saying ‘he has to answer to an important matter.’ before messaging you back

“You look lovely, My Dear. But you aren’t going anywhere wearing that tonight because you’ll be too busy being bent over.”

“I’m coming home early today, you better be in that when I get there.”

Likes when you spread your cheeks for him, or he does it himself

He’ll lick and kiss the reddening marks from where he had spanked you

Praising and teasing you at the same time

“You’ve always been so pretty spread open for me.”

“This ass is all mine, isn’t it, Darling? So pretty with my hand prints on it.”

Levi

Levi is a Thigh Man!

You’re the reason he comes home each day because Thick Thighs really do save lives! I’m sorry lol

Likes to warm his hands between them

Also just holding them in general

If you’re sitting next to each other on the couch, out eating or even while driving he likes holding the soft flesh of your upper inner thigh

Also we all know this man hardly sleeps so many a naps may take place on them as well

“What can I say, they’re comfortable.”

“They’re soft and warm.”

The touching and squeezing also follows to more intimate situations as well

Lots of kisses and biting on those inner thighs - the best part in his opinion 😉

Also spanking them as well

Really enjoys positions like missionary/mating press and cowgirl

If you’re riding him he’ll for sure 9/10times  smack your thigh like you are a damn horse he’s trying to speed up

“You can ride better than that can’t you, Brat?”

“We aren’t stopping till I’m satisfied with your performance.”

Coating your quaking thighs with his cum, marking you as his

Levi enjoys working out to let off steam but loves it even more when you join him

Obviously enjoys watching you during leg day

Likes when you wear leggings (obvi) but especially workout shorts that slightly dig into your thighs

Many times after going to the gym together he takes you home for a “private training session” 😏

Loves when you sit on his face oop

Squeezing his head between your thighs *Chef’s Kiss*

“Don’t be shy, you wont hurt me.”

“I want you to grind that sweet pussy into my face till your thighs are shaking on either side of me.”

You sitting on his face is one the few situations where you can be in complete control over this man, he wants you to suffocate him, ride his face and pull his hair!

He loves grabbing your thighs in any position but when you’re suffocating him in the best way possible he will pull you down on his face harder

Likes when you wear garters & thigh highs, he also really likes body harnesses as well

Send him pics of your new accessories when he’s at work or even better on a business trip and see what happens 🥰

“I hope you get home soon cause you have a present waiting for you.” - w/ a mirror pic of you propped up on your knees wearing fishnets under a black bodysuit, paired with a leg harness that perfectly digs into your thighs making them look biteable

With his usual indifferent demeanor he’d excuse himself from the boardroom and called you once he got to his office

“When I get home you’re going to be punished for teasing me like this.”

*Cue phone sex session*

Let’s just say he was away in his office longer than anticipated

He would demand you send more pictures of you while he’s away

I hope you liked that, feedback is always welcomed!

If there are other characters (female included) or even characters from a different fandom you’d like to see, I’m open to hearing it :)

💛 ~

~ Masterlist ~

[littlemisslipbalm]

“you make me so angry sometimes”

idk if this gif makes sense, but i feel like it will if you read the story, it just gives me that vibe. 

A one shot I cooked up idk, it’s about Harry and a makeup artist on DWD, it’s quite angsty, idk how that happened, it’s also very long, idk how that happened either, maybe i do a part 2, maybe i don’t idk lmk. Feedback is appreciated, not proofread. REBLOGS help writers tremendously and i love reading whatever you write in the tags its my favorite thing!! Love yall and Merry Christmas!

Word Count: 17.7k | Warnings: ENEMIES to LOVERS! swearing, angst!, some anxiety -like self-doubt, yn being mean to harry kind of a lot, i dont remember, nothing too crazy, Nick Kroll?, lots of conversation

-

When she pictured herself as a makeup artist in Los Angeles, she hadn’t pictured exactly what she was doing right now.

She had expected doing gorgeous makeup for gorgeous actresses or doing wildly fun stuff like in Euphoria. And because of that she had worked her ass off to get where she was today. She had practiced for hours, worked countless hours for free, and networked to the cows came fucking home.

So why the fuck was she using tattoo-strength concealer to cover up the maybe 60 tattoos some asshole musician turned actor had all over?

Don’t Worry Darling was her first major film to work on so she couldn’t complain. She was happy to simply be there. Well she had been. The first day she had showed up 15 minutes early and had worn her favorite power suit she had. It was dark navy with a white lace long sleeve turtleneck underneath. She hoped to look fun but professional.

Hollywood was all about impressions, especially first ones, even when you’re the makeup artist. She had quickly learned that she was one of six makeup artists. One of them being the friend who had helped her get the job, Angie. Angie was like her surrogate mother in Los Angeles that she had met on her first film job for something much less high profile than Olivia Wilde’s second directing project. Her braided grey hair and fabulous jeans had drawn Y/N right in and they had connected instantly.

Since Y/N was deemed the most inexperienced by the head of the makeup department, she was relegated to easier jobs: assisting the other artists on main characters sometimes, mostly dealing with minor characters touch ups (and full make-up if she was lucky), and the job nobody wanted: tattoo coverage.

Harry Styles was one of the leads for the film and besides his minimal acting, everyone knew he was a worldwide rockstar. With the rock and roll life starting off as a popstar life at the ripe age of 16, he had amassed around 60 tattoos in the past decade. Impressive by her standard normally. She usually counted herself as an appreciator of tattoos and their art, finding them similar to makeup and the self expression that came with both forms. Especially since she had a few of her own, but when she walked into Trailer #6 and saw a good amount of Harry’s tattoos, she wanted to murder every artist he’d ever been to.

She had to make an inventory the first day of all of his visible tattoos when he was just wearing boxers. He had been friendly, trying to make conversation, but as the time wore on, they both grew tired and silent. She had to write down the location and a description of every tattoo and as he took off everything but boxers she grew more and more annoyed with his random and dumb tattoos. Some of them were amazing, the eagle, the anchor, the butterfly, and the ferns were probably her favorites. But some of them, she couldn't hold back her rolling eyes and annoyed expressions. The “Big” on his right big toe, a miniscule lock, almost everything on his inner left arm (the packers logo, Pingu, etc.)

She traces at the rose and the ship and then flips his arm out to reveal his inner arm to her gaze. “That is a big fucking bee.”

He snickers, “Y’like it?”

She ignores his question. “For god’s sake, someone is needle happy,” she said as she examined his left arm, taking note of every permanent drawing.

He shrugs his right shoulder, uninhibited by her prodding. “Dunno, beginning to regret some of them.”

“I would hope,” she mutters, scribbling on her paper the various ones she had just seen on his arm. Next was his ribcage ones.

He scoffs, “Oi, it’s not like you haven’t got any.”

“How would you-” She looks at him wide eyed.

“Right…” he takes his right hand and pushes her hair past her ear to reveal three little red line butterflies following the curve of her ear, “There. At least.”

She huffs and knocks his hand away from her. Her hair falling back into its place.

“Maybe some located in a few more intimate places I’m guessing from the red rushing to your cheeks right now.”

“Can you just let me do my job,” she says, not giving in to his teasing or sparing him a glance as she feels his intense gaze on her face. She was studying his left rib cage where a few cool tattoos happened to be.

“You at least have some taste or persuasive artists because not all of these are shit,” she speaks again after just the sound of her pen on the paper filled the trailer.

“Gee, thanks,” he laughs unamused and rolls his large green eyes.

She thought he had some of the biggest eyes she’d ever seen. But she also knew to keep that to herself because he’d either take it as a compliment and think she was noticing him too much or he’d take it as a massive insult and get her fired.

His right hand taps at his thigh, tapping a rhythm she didn’t care to pay any attention too. She just wanted to finish the stupid inventory of the stupid tattoos on this stupid man.

“Take those off,” she says to Harry, looking back at her clipboard again, filling up quickly with her notes.

He stands there, staring at her stubbornly. He was entirely bored with this exercise, especially since his company was some of the worst he’s ever had. She spares him a glance when she doesn’t notice any slipping off of the colorful sweatpants he’s wearing.

She arches a brow at him, her pen tapping impatiently against the paper. “Go on. Can’t imagine you want this to go on longer than it already has.”

He rolls his eyes again, slipping his thumbs into the waistline of the pants and tugging down. Simultaneously, he toes off the dirty vans he seemed to wear everywhere. The fabric pools easily and he steps out of them and discards them on the couch behind him. He’s actually wearing black briefs. She chooses not to notice anything further than that.

“Socks...can stay on,” She tries to say as he begins to peel one off. He stops midway and nods.

She flings his shirt to him, not needing to see his naked torso for another moment, “I know you’ve got some feet and ankle tats, but I also know that you won’t be wearing anything that will expose them. Thank your lucky stars that I don’t have to makeup your feet.”

He catches the shirt easily and slips his arms inside before tugging it quickly over his head and over his expansive shoulders. The ferns disappear out of sight.

“Well then we’re almost done then. Just got the knee ones -”

“And the tiger. That’s gonna be one son of a bitch,” she sighs and examines his legs, not bothering to crouch.

“What the actual fuck dude?” Her tone is exasperate and like she would rather be anywhere else than here.

“I’m sorry?” He sputters, hands on his hips and eyes bewildered.

“Yes. No. Oui. Non. Who are you?” She rubs at her eyes and shakers her head.

“S’a little rude.”

“You’re right,” she semi-rushes out at his serious tone, ready to apologize. When a grin spreads over his face and he chuckles under his breath she really wants to smack him upside the head. He was exhausting. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thought it was funny at the time. Kind of think it’s even funnier now since it’s got you all mad.” He leans over her shoulder to look at her notes and when she glances at him unhappily he just looks smug.

“Alright,” she finishes the scribble of a description and clicks the end of her pen, “All done. You can get dressed. I’ll see you bright and early for tattoo makeup. It’s gonna take about an hour to do all this, just so you can mentally prepare for that.”

“It was nice to meet you,” he attempts at a friendly and professional farewell. “See you tomorrow…” he trails off as he watches her turn on her heel and walk out of the trailer door swiftly. The door swung shut and bounced a little bit in her wake.

Harry sighed and adjusted his clothes and hair in the mirror. After a moment he shakes his head, an even louder sigh escaping him.

-

“Good morning!” She greets happily, walking into the trailer without a knock. Well-rested and happy at least that she doesn’t have to just inspect a body, she looks around the trailer.

She realizes no one is there and she’s taken aback. First of all, if Harry wasn’t there then he shouldn’t have left his trailer unlocked. And second, he was fucking late, the fucking twat.

She grumbles, setting her coffee on the countertop. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “In through the nose, out through the mouth” she mutters. She knew this was a big opportunity and having a big star like Harry in her corner could make her career. She needed them to get off on a better foot today.

“Good form, I’d say relax the shoulders a little more,” the door swings open carrying the California twang-British accent that she would soon become all too accustomed to.

Harry points at her shoulders and narrows his eyes regarding her in the trailer. She offers a strained smile through the mirror and Harry sets down his personal things on the couch.  

“Alright, well let’s get started shall we,” she smiles and turns to him, gesturing to the swivel chair next to her.

He nods, a twinkle in his eye as he regards her. He’s unsure of the tone and attitude she’s giving him today. She had been feisty yesterday, cordial at times, but mostly biting and witty. He had liked it. It had made the whole ordeal bearable whereas now she seemed to be laying it on a little thick.

“Just your hands and neck today,” she says, pulling out the makeup materials needed and a checklist of the tattoos she needed to make sure were invisible.

“Should only take..a little under an hour today. Just gonna remind you now though, other days we won’t be so lucky.”

Harry chuckles under his breath and rolls his head around his shoulders before sitting in the chair. “Were you tired yesterday?” He inquires.

“Why do you ask?” She throws a glance over her shoulder at Harry. He’s begun slipping off his sweatshirt and yawns as he does it.

“You seem different from yesterday and I’m just wondering which one is the real you.”

She continues working about the room and rolls her eyes to herself, “I’m always the real me. I come no other way, but this morning I woke up and thought ‘this is the job you’ve fucking wanted for ages, so stop being such a bitch so you don’t get fired, you prick’.” She pauses and turns to face Harry. “The ‘you prick’ was directed at me, that was still part of my thought,” she adds.

He throws his head back and laughs. Then he nods, still laughing lightly, “I get that. Sometimes I’m just so in my head and yesterday I was just so fuckin’ bored. Sorry if I got on your nerves.”

“Don’t mention it.” She waves her hand at him nonchalantly.  

Then she moves to inspect his hands and notices the lack of rings, unlike yesterday when she had to make him take them off.

“You have amazing cuticles,” she notices and mentions without any pretences. Harry mutters his thanks, pursing his lips as he watches her work.

She stops her inspection and places the clipboard on the countertop in front of them.

“Could you take your necklaces off? I need to cover up half of the swallows and the years, for when you unbutton your shirt a bit.”

He wets his lips and nods, hands going to fiddle with the clasps behind his neck. He slips off one of the necklaces with ease, a yellow eye beaded necklace that he lays gently on the countertop next to the clipboard. Then he takes his cross and pulls it over his head, no clasp needed.

“Could I put some music on?” Harry asks after five minutes of Y/N working in silence and Harry only being able to stare either at himself, her work, or nowhere.

“I can,” she stops her work for a moment, “Can’t have you messing up the makeup before it sets. Otherwise I’d have to kill you.” Harry can’t be sure if she’s joking or not. Therefore, he was intent on not messing it up.

“Any requests?” She stands at the counter now, instead of seated on a stool working on Harry's left hand.

He shrugs, like he hasn’t got the faintest idea about good music. She refrains from rolling her eyes once again because she feels herself in a test. She wets her lips, sifting through different things in her Spotify and then lands on her playlist titled “it’s your song” named after Elton John’s song. It had some other musicians, a mix of Queen, Bowie, and more and she was sure she would pass the test.

She presses shuffle and She’s Always A Woman by Billy Joel begins to play over her laptop. Harry nods pleased and she wants to shake her head at him.

She can’t hold back the scoff though after a moment of going back to finishing his hand.

“What?” His British accent thickens with his annoyance growing.

“Nothing,” she chirps, intently putting the final touches on his wrist.

“Seriously. What?”

She stands and sets down the makeup. “Can you unbutton your shirt?” She made a note to herself that from now on she’d have to have him take his shirt off before setting to work because if his hands got messed up she’d have to start over. Thankfully he was already wearing a button up this morning.

He stares at her, offering no movement, just inquisitively waiting for her to respond to his original question.

She shuts her eyes, taking another deep breath and then bites at her lower lip. “It’s just...you’re so easy to read.” She fears adding anything else and moves towards him with the makeup hoping to encourage him to unbutton his shirt.  

His right hand deftly pulls at the buttons as he regards her. His eyes are intent on her, she can see him clearly calculating her. Her green paisley button up tucked up into the back of her bra leaving a splay of her stomach. The semi-balloon sleeves cinched at the wrists leading to her slightly ringed hands. The oversized blue jeans that have no holes, just a tiny patch right next to the left pocket. The frayed ends of the pants laying over her rather pristine white old skool vans.

The Boxer fades in as she waits for him to finish the unbuttoning of the shirt. He’s still staring at her.

“Am I?” He finally inquires, voice pitched higher like he doesn’t believe her.

She gives him a serious stare and leans over him and adjusts the collar of his shirt. She adds paper towels to avoid makeup on his clothes.  

“Yes!” She laughs, “And you don’t even think so, which is like...of course.”

He hums, tilting his head back as she sets to work on covering up the swallows. He wiggles his hands that now both rest on the arm chairs.

“I don’t see it.”

“Of course you don’t,” she glances at his face, their eyes meeting for a moment. “You’re Harry Styles. Everyone is in love with this image you created for yourself and it has just enough of your true self that people feel like they really know you, but you also maintain the illusion. So you think you’re this mysteriously amazing, not like the rest guy, but you are just like the rest of them. Obsessed with yourself and rich so you’re deemed eccentric rather than crazy for all the extravagant shit you do. So when you want me to play music and don’t offer any suggestions I know exactly what music I need to play for you to like me.”

“I feel like that last part says more about you than it does me,” he quirks a brow at her, straining his neck to look at her face as she continues to work.

She flushes, his response both better and worse than she expected. She had gotten a little carried away in her response and she had no idea why. She truly wasn’t one to go off on people so easily and especially not with someone she hardly knew, but something about Harry had her on edge. She was just thankful he hadn’t gotten mad at her response, instead he took it in stride. Further proving her point that he was extremely smart and did things purposefully and she saw right through it all.

She grumbles, “It says that all anyone has to do to get close to you is understand the smallest bit about you and you’ll let them in.”

“That is just so completely wrong, Y/N, I hate to break it to you.” It’s Harry rolling his eyes now, unable to move much more of his body as she continues painting on the concealer to remove his tattoos for the movie.

“Fine. Enlighten me on what I got wrong.”

Their argument had all but drowned out their music. They both did love this music and ironically if they would just shut their mouths, they’d probably like each other a lot more.

“Might as well,” he sighs. “First of all, my image is authentic and of course I don’t want to give myself all away. I enjoy my privacy and for everyone to truly know me I’d have to give that up. Which I’m not keen on. So, I regret to inform you but I am the same guy everyone is “in love with”. Second, I know I am a little self-involved, how else would I get here if I wasn’t constantly taking inventory of myself and reevaluating who I am. As a musician, I want to give as much of myself as possible or else it just feels inauthentic. And the extravagant thing, I can’t help that I like nice things and my job has allowed me to afford those things.”

He stops to take a deep breath and she’s working in stunned silence, in disbelief that Harry is even telling her any of this or that he’s spoken that much and so quickly. Wasn’t he notorious for speaking slowly with barely even a sentence worth of actual information. He sounds tired and frustrated, but also, surprisingly, sincere.

He continues, “The music thing. Maybe it was a test, but still it doesn’t mean I give everyone a mile when they say their favorite musicians match up with mine or something. I note that they either did their homework or might be an interesting person to get to know.”

“So which am I?” She widens her eyes.

“Obviously the second even if you’re also making it painfully clear that you don’t like me.”

“You’re smarter than I thought, Harry. I’ll give you that,” she smirks slyly, finishing up the bird coverage now.

He laughs. “Thanks,” he drawls out.

“And I admit that maybe you aren’t as easy to read as I made out, but I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree about the whole being your authentic self. I just don’t buy it. I can see your mind working constantly, you’re not one to just let yourself be free in public. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, I’m just saying, you shouldn’t pretend like that’s not what you’re doing.”

Her final thought leaves Harry silent. She pays no attention to his silence or at least she’s actively ignoring it. Instead she tunes back into the music that had gotten them back onto the wrong foot. This was going to be a long few months.

When she’s satisfied with her work, she has them sit there for thirty minutes to give it all time to set before Harry is off to hair and other makeup. They sit there listening to music. Neither of them have spoken again, except instructions from her and Harry’s hums of approval of songs.  

Harry stands up after thirty minutes as she stays behind to pack up some items. Just as he’s about to step out of the door, he turns and calls her name.

“For the record, I don’t think you’re giving me a fair shot. You said yourself that you’re different every day. That every version of you, is you. So I hope you’ll give me the same allowance, every version of me is me. In this trailer, in my music videos, on tv, in interviews, in my free time. It’s all truly me.”

She bites her inner cheek as he ducks his head and exits the trailer, not allowing her any response.

-

“You’re late!”

“Meeting ran over with Nick and Olivia. Sorry,” Harry says as he begins to undress.

It’s the first day she has to cover all of his tattoos. It was going to take forever by all accounts. It had been two weeks since shooting had begun and she had gotten the simple hands and neck down to 45 minutes so she could only dread what his entire body would take.

“It’s fine,” she grumbles, knowing there wasn’t really anything else she could say about him coming late from a meeting with the director and producer.

Over the last two weeks, they hadn’t grown any fonder of one another. Not at all. They at least had gotten into a system though and she was grateful for that at least.

They showed up, Harry got in his chair, she set up the music, and they got to work. Harry would practice lines on some days and he’d tell her that before she turned on the music so there were no interruptions. Sometimes they talked about stuff on set or music or she’d give Harry his line when he was trying to be off script and forgot one. She wouldn’t classify it as pleasant, but they weren’t at each other throats like they were originally.

Trailer 6 had gotten a little homier as the weeks went by, too. Harry began leaving some of his stuff there and he started putting up silly drawings he would make while on set or polaroids people had taken with him while he was there. He tacked up napkins of restaurants that catered the set and wrote funny jokes and quotes on post it notes. His personal assistants sometimes brought in snacks while Y/N was still working and Harry always offered her some. They were usually healthy, but sometimes she’d eat some. Jeff, his manager, had also stopped by on occasion during his tattoo touch-ups that had become a thing after shooting days had grown longer.

On first meeting, Jeff had said, “Y/N? Harry mentioned you.”

She had turned to Harry with an arched brow and he had shrugged. When she looked back at Jeff she didn’t see Harry give Jeff one of the deadliest looks he could muster. She had grimaced and said “Well we spend enough time together for him to know my name. So thank god for that at least.”

They had all laughed and she had gotten back to work on Harry’s wrist.

Today, she needed Harry in his shorts. It was the first day of shooting where his character would be only in his boxers so she had to cover up all his visible tattoos. Olivia had told the makeup department they actually had to cover up his feet tattoos as well. She wanted him sockless in the scene and Y/N had groaned immediately when she made it to the trailer and Harry wasn’t already there.

“But please, for the sake of my job, strip, dude.” She says, arms crossed over her chest and leaning against the counter as she watched Harry set his things down. Her soft green striped cardigan is open, exposing the white tank top sitting underneath. Her bright green shorts hang loose on her, cinched at the waist and folded over once. Her white high top nike’s tap impatiently on the floor, waiting for Harry to get moving.

He nodded, truly feeling sorry for his tardiness, knowing today was a long day. He was anxious and tired. Acting was a different experience to music and he just was really trying his best.

As he began to take off his shirt, he laughed. His arms pulled the shirt over his head and when it popped out from beneath it, he repeated, “Strip, dude,” attempting to mimic her American accent.

He had practiced his American accent in front of her while running lines, but it had a 50’s drawl to it. His acting coach had been drilling him for weeks before shooting and he still liked to practice. The accent he had just down was far off from that and far off from hers too.

“Do not,” she warned.

“What?” He asks innocently and flutters his eyelashes.

She knows his game by now and she knows she should just ignore him. She knows this after fourteen days. She knows this after hours with him. She knows this, but then she’s opening her mouth and playing into his teases.

“Sorry, what’s a word you would know? Mate?” She tries for a British accent with the last word, knowing she can’t win this.

Harry snickers and scratches at his nose with his index finger before starting on taking off his pants. “You’re so Californian.”

“Thank you,” she chirps, moving to sit beside him now that he had settled.

“I like your shorts,” he muses, crossing his legs, likely a little cold.

She glances down at her cotton shorts that showed more of her thighs when she sat for a moment before returning her gaze to his left arm. The longest task of the day was this damn arm.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, “Wanted to be comfortable today. Knew it was gonna be long.”

A smile bubbles onto his face, his pink lips parting to reveal his shiny white teeth behind them. “So true.”

The music is low today. She had chosen Joni Mitchel’s Blue album for the first pick of the day. She had quickly learned Harry preferred listening to albums in order. It tended to make him less jumpy when the same artist came on multiple times like an album. So when she tried to play just an album one day, she found him more cooperative and less irritable.

After thirty minutes of work, she can’t stop noticing how shivery Harry is. It was late October in LA, so it was still warm, but admittedly the mornings could be a little chilly. His shivering was concerning for many reasons. Mainly he was messing up her work and concentration, but she also didn’t want him to get sick or something.

“Do you want me to see if they have a blanket and slippers or something? You look like you’re turning blue.”

Harry turns his attention to her. He had been reading over the script for today again. “That’d be great. I can call…” He trails off trying to think of the name of one of his assistants, but apparently he’s too scatterbrained for it. She assumed it was the hypothermia traveling to his brain already.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll walkie someone.” She says as she grabs the walkie talkie, flicking to the personal assistants channel.

“Hey,” she chirps happily. Harry noted how she talked to other people. So sweet, yet sincere. With him, it was serious and sincere but more biting, callous at times. Less so lately, but she definitely was sharper with him. He didn’t know if it even bothered him anymore. She was engaging if nothing else.

“Is someone free to bring two blankets and men’s slippers over to Trailer 6? I’ve got a naked Jack and I don’t want him freezing before I’m done covering up his tattoos.” She takes her finger off the talking button and glances sideways at him, “Who knows, maybe that would improve his acting. Y’know on second-thought-”

“Alright, alright,” Harry tries to grab for the walkie talkie, but she turns from him holding a finger up signalling him to wait as she listens for a response.

Someone says a simple “On it” and she turns off the walkie talkie and gets back to work.

“I took my finger off the speaker before I said the thing about your acting. Relax, Harry.” She says when he’s still glaring at her. “Just love to see you squirm.”

He shakes out his short chestnut hair, some of it falling over his forehead. Instinctively, she reaches up without even looking and smooths it back. Like she was tucking her own hair out of her eyes, but instead it was Harry’s. She decided to say nothing and was relieved when Harry didn’t say anything either.

She finishes his forearm and moves to his outer upper arm. The rose holds her attention when the PA knocks on the door and she has to race to get it. Nothing could stop her from moving on this work. It was already an hour in and she wanted to scream.

She swings open the door and she wants to die. It was Autumn. Her least favorite PA, of course. She was insufferable and obsessed with Harry. Which was not why Y/N found Autumn insufferable. There were so many more reasons. So many. But that particular character flaw didn’t help her case either. Y/N tried to just take the blankets and slippers from Autumn, but the woman insisted that she come in.

“I’ve got it,” Y/N says.

“No, don’t want you to get makeup on anything,” Autumn’s saccharine voice grinds at her ears and she contemplates cutting them off.

Harry sat in his chair, legs crossed, nodding along to the music, his script discarded on the counter in front of him.

“Hi Harry!” Autumn practically yells, walking right up to him.

Y/N takes a deep breath at the door, letting it swing shut. She bites her lower lip as an attempt to bite her tongue as she walks back to her set-up. The set-up Autumn was conveniently blocking.

“Hello, Autumn,” Harry says kindly, making eye contact with her. “How’re you today?”

“So great! So great! Thanks for asking. How are you?” She points a finger at him like she might poke him and Harry squirms away from her a bit. She, of course, doesn’t notice this.

“Well, thanks.” His eyes flicker to Y/N, who is standing behind Autumn, hands on her hips and attempting not to tap her foot. His tone is clearly dismissive, but Autumn must ignore it. Y/N knows Autumn isn’t as helpless as she tries to come off.

Autumn asks, “Where do you want these?”, gesturing to the two blankets and slippers stacked on top.

“Just on the counter is fine, thanks,” Harry says.

Autumn does as he says and then stands there with baited breath. Y/N’s not sure what she’s expecting. For Harry to ask for her hand in marriage or something? But he just glances between the two women. His own foot begins wiggling in impatience.

“Busy day,” He attempts at dismissing her once again - with kindness.

“Oh my gosh, totally!” Autumn gushes, starting to go off on all of the tasks she has to do. She stands so close to Harry, Y/N genuinely thinks she’s going to sit in his lap. Y/N stares up to the ceiling, begging god or whoever to end her misery right there and then.

Harry sees Y/N’s expression and tries to maintain the neutral expression he’s had for the entirely too long interaction. A smile threatens at his rosey lips that had chapped from the morning air.

“Right, well,” he cuts off Autumn, “Y/N needs to get back to tattoo coverage, I think. So...have a nice day.”

Autumn’s eyes widen like she forgot that there was anyone else in the room and steps back from Harry. Y/N nods, a grimace clear on her face. Autumn gives her the same small she used to get from the popular girls in high school when she happened to be talking to their cool guy friend that they wanted to be more than friends with. Sickeningly sweet and completely fake. She could see the contempt in Autumn’s eyes that swirled just beneath the surface of her perfectly outlined green-ish eyes.

“Okay! You too, Harry!” She begins walking to the door and Y/N takes her seat again, closing her eyes and counting to ten. “And Y/N,” Autumn adds as an afterthought.

“Oh my fucking god,” Y/N sighs, her hands going to rub over her face and through her hair. “That was exhausting. Jesus Christ.”

“What? She’s nice. Maybe a little clueless,” Harry counters. “But she was so nice,” he confirms again, seemingly trying to convince himself of it as well.  

She grabs the slippers and slips them on the ground so Harry can put them on easily. Then one of the blankets that she drapes over Harry’s bottom half. He smiles at the gesture, a ‘thank you’ said in a whisper.

“Please, she knows what she’s doing,” Y/N scoffs, “And she’s obsessed with you!” She grabs the concealer to get back to work, “She was all over you and never took her eyes off of your body. It was like she wanted to touch you or something. It was icky.”

“You touch me,” Harry adds cheekily, adjusting beneath the warm blanket.

She laughs, a smile gracing her lips as she gives Harry a look. He was clever.

“It’s my job to touch you, Harry.”

Harry had really tried to not laugh, but it was just so funny. They both snicker, their eyes meeting for a moment longer than usual.

“Speaking of my job,” she adds after controlling her laughter, “Does she not realize just how long it takes to cover all of your bloody tattoos with this shit to make it look like you’re a pristine skinned 50’s psycho killer?”

She finishes the rose coverup and moves to the ship. Harry nods solemnly.

“It’s true...And it doesn’t help that you’re terrible at it, so it takes a thousand years longer than it should.” He adds, laughter overtaking his serious tone at the end.

“Oh my god!” She shrieks in delight, trying not to mess up her work, “That is so rude! I messed up one time - mostly because of you, by the way. And give me a break, this is so not what I thought I’d be doing as a makeup artist for movies.”

He nods again, muttering “Fair, fair.”

They grow silent, enjoying Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, the album that she had queued after Joni’s.

“The body thing, I just learned to ignore it, I think.” Harry mutters, eventually, but it’s thoughtless, like he’s not revealing anything about himself with the statement. But it kind of shocks her. Her eyes widen and she stops her work to stare at his face.

“Harry,” she waits till his eyes meet hers, “That’s, like, not normal. Are you serious?”

“I mean, I’m very comfortable with my body, like I haven’t minded the last 45 minutes of sitting practically nude in front of you. And I have plenty of revealing photos out in the world. I just don’t notice staring anymore, it’s not, I don’t think it’s what you’re thinking,” he tries to reassure her. His eyes are intent on hers, full of seriousness that hadn’t been there a few moments ago.

“It’s one thing to be comfortable in your skin and another to be desensitized to objectification,” she insists.

He nods. “I know. Thank you. I would let you know if what she had done had bothered me, so don’t worry. I felt completely safe the whole time.”

“Good,” she nods back and concentrates again. “Good,” she repeats once more under her breath. There had been way too many distractions already today and she wasn’t even done with his arm yet.

As she continues to work up his arm, Harry sings along to some of the songs on Elton’s album. He happily taps his feet to the different beats, now safely tucked in soft fluffy slippers. She would never admit just how amazing it is to be in the same room as Harry’s singing. It was truly special to be less than a foot from him and hear him sing just under the unique voice of Elton - who was someone he actually knew, which was equally as cool.

He hit every note and knew every word. She was impressed. How could she not be when a literal rockstar sat before her? This was the first time she was truly starstruck by her charge, Mr. Harry Styles.

By two hours, they had moved onto an album by Dolly Parton and they were both singing. They strangely had no fights today, maybe some snarky comments from both of them, but no outright mean-spirited words were exchanged.

She stood in front of Harry, finishing up the swallows. She had finished both arms and the birds, all she had left was moving down his body. Up next, the butterfly.

“I love this tattoo,” she mumbles, twisting Harry’s standing body to face her and taking her seat again. This left her eye to eye with the butterfly on his stomach.

He makes a surprised face and raises his recently plucked eyebrow at his counterpart. “Oh really?”

“Don’t act so surprised. I told you day one that not all of them are rubbish and honestly they’re all pretty cool. I just was so annoyed that I had gotten tattoo coverage as my job and then I had to go and index them all.” She flicks her eyes up to his sculpted face and sees he’s watching her work. “Plus, I have some butterflies of my own, remember?” She grins.

“Yeah,” he ponders her words, “I don’t think that’d put me in a good mood either.”

He pauses again and she continues to work silently.

“So what’s your excuse for the second day then?”

“You provoked me,” she doesn’t spare him a glance, shrugging like it was the simplest answer in the world.

“Pardon?”

“Let’s not go down this road again, Harry.” She sighs, smoothing over the freshly covered butterfly tattoo. His sternum looked so naked, it was unnerving. Now the ferns.

Harry involuntarily shivered when her fingers traced over the ferns lightly, taking note of the expanse of skin she’d have to cover.

“You’re right,” he agrees, “But agree to disagree on the provocation.”

“Sure,” she says curtly, focusing on his skin and her job.

The expanse of skin that the ferns inhabited was slightly fleshy and especially soft. It bordered where his boxers began and she ignored that part of his body completely. It was of no importance to her and she really had no issue blocking it from her vision, even when it was right in front of her. She finishes one fern with Harry jumping only twice from her cold hands. He couldn’t put his robe on until the makeup had all set for half an hour so he’d have to be cold for possibly another hour still.

She traces the fern that is still visible and Harry shivers. She instinctively shushes him softly and his body quiets. As she works, her hair splays around her shoulders and Harry looks down at her working and doesn’t realize what his hand is doing until it’s too late. His right hand runs over her hair, smoothing it out of her face. It was rarely ever down, so it must have been the novelty of it.

“Sorry, I-” he chokes out when he jerks his hand back.

She sits back, slightly taken aback. Her body flushes just from their positioning and what a hair caress would mean normally in this position, but she’s a professional and she shakes it off.

“It’s fine. We’re even.” She assures him, breaking eye contact with his own wide eyes. “Seems like we’re both hair touchers.”

“It’s just so soothing,” Harry muses. “I think it’s human instinct to touch other people’s hair since it’s so enjoyable for yourself.”

“Possibly,” her voice raises, his thought was definitely plausible. Or maybe they were just two touch starved people who were very much in each other’s personal space 24/7.

At the two and a half hour marker, she gets a walkie message from Olivia’s assistant asking when they’d be done. She had just finished the tiger tattoo, which had been surprisingly easy. It took a while, but Harry didn’t shiver once and neither of them pet each other’s hair.

“Probably 40 minutes, sorry. He has a lot of tattoos and the makeup needs to set.” She says seriously and gets back to work, barely regarding the response of “Yeah it’s fine, just wanted an estimate”.

“Jesus,” Harry moans as she covers up his knee tattoos.

She groans in veiled disgust, “Did I just hit a secret erogenous zone? Is that why you have ‘oui’ there, you creep?” There’s a teasing tone behind the nickname she uses.

Harry laughs and runs his hand over his face, pulling at his jaw and lower lip. His jaw is so sharp, she watches him adjust it. “No, no. I’m just so goddamn tired of this.”

“And it’s not your fault,” he adds, feeling bad immediately after he said it. “It’s actually been nice today, but I’m feeling antsy, like I need to move. I don’t like to sit still.”

“I know,” she says under her breath. She simply nods in agreement.

Finally, the tattoos are all covered up and set. They had talked about George Michael when she got to his ankle tattoos that she hadn’t seen before and they laugh about the tattoos and chat a bit more. She helps him slip on his robe that he keeps in his closet in the trailer and then follows him out of it. They had decided they were hungry and he had been pushed back an hour since he had taken so long, so he had a free half-hour.

As they walked to craft services, they talked about actual things besides work. She was pleasantly surprised by what Harry talked about. It was more than music or the movie. It was the tv show he was currently obsessed with and how he hated LA’s traffic the most out of all of his dislikes for the city. She couldn’t help but grin at his Los Angeles slander. She loved this side of him.

-

Breakfast together after finishing his tattoo coverage became their regular thing. He would come into the trailer, racing from his morning meeting accompanied with tea for two, they’d get his tattoos covered as quickly as possible, and then they’d eat together.

They’d save their “in-depth” chats for breakfast. In early November, he joked about No Nut November and insisted he really wouldn’t have a problem with it - which had made her laugh. They worried together over the U.S. presidential election and meditated together in his trailer to Fleetwood Mac.

Around late November, Harry had requested that Y/N just do his face makeup as well, just to simplify his life a little more and the department had agreed easily. She had to spend extra time on set getting lectured on how to properly do Harry’s makeup, but after two days she stopped getting notes about it. She was so extremely proud and thankful to Harry for doing that.

All he said was: “I mean, you’re extremely talented so I’m not scared of you fucking up my face. Plus, it does make my life easier. Two birds with one stone.”

In late November, he told her about his favorite holiday drinks at Starbucks and what he was getting his mother for Christmas.

When the Vogue cover came out, he laughed over that woman who responded to his cover saying the world needed to bring back manly men. He joked that he was going to really push that from now on, that he was a manly man, and he would sputter with laughter every time he tried to say it with a straight face.

He hand delivered her a special ‘Treat People With Kindness’ sweatshirt that he only had for the cast and crew of the film. Most everyone got them from a PA, but Harry decided since you saw him first in the morning, why not.

He told her about him winning Hitmaker of the Year from Variety when he had left the award sitting in Trailer 6 and about how weird it was to film acceptance speeches in an empty room. His smile had lit up the entire set that day and the day he did his interview on set. He was so smiley she had to bump him with her elbow because he wouldn’t stop smiling at her and it was unnerving.

“Stop that,” She muttered.

“Stop what?” He smiles wider.

“That!” She squeaked, her head shaking as she ducked it to regard his anchor tattoo. “You’re smiling too much.”

“Oh no,” he says sarcastically, “God forbid I be happy.”

“It’s not that,” she bumps his thigh with her elbow, trying to keep her own smile off her face, “Your face is just so intense when you smile. Feels like you’re gonna burn a hole through me.”

He laughs, completely unconvinced, “You just don’t want me to be happy is what I’m hearing.”

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever, dude.”

She saw he was serious about the ‘manly men’ references when the Variety photos came out and everyone and their mom posted the pictures with some variation of that comment as their caption.

She still found that she rolled her eyes at some of the things Harry did, but she genuinely counted him as a friend by the time December had rolled around.

Over three hours, almost always completely alone, doing work for a job you both care deeply about can really make or break a relationship. And that first full-body coverage day had made them stronger together. After that, Harry and her would banter with one another, but there was never anything intentionally cruel. Just friends giving each other shit sometimes. Harry had been right, he had changed her mind about him. And she had realized that that was who Harry was. He was a deliverer. If you didn’t like him at first, he would try and try again until you did, but he did it in a way that wasn’t weasley or anything. It was terribly genuine and she saw it in every relationship he had on set.

On several occasions she had witnessed his friendship with Nick Kroll. A man she had regarded with dislike before the film. She had quickly realized that dislike was misplaced, but she maintained that it was just because she hated adult cartoons - citing that she literally refused to be friends with any person who willingly watched the Simpsons, Family Guy, and/or American Dad and all of those similar shows.

Nick was far nicer and less weird than she had realized. So she quickly shot her friend from high school an apology text for all the Nick Kroll slander she had spouted back in the day. Her friend had rejoiced but also said how jealous she was that Y/N got to see him regularly on set.

Nick and Harry got along great. Harry generally got along better with older people, she noticed when she was introduced to his friends on the somewhat frequent occasion. Trailer 6 was where Y/N saw most of these reactions take place. She would be introduced in the first minute and then she would smile politely and get back to the work of covering up Harry’s numerous tattoos.

Harry would say something simple and Nick, the literal famous comedian, would laugh. In the beginning she’d raise a brow, confused because it truly wasn’t that funny, but as Harry’s friend now, she kept her mouth shut.

Nick would come and sit on the couch while she’d work and eventually all three of them would chat. Sometimes she would get up to go to the bathroom during those morning chats and she would look in the mirror and think to herself “How are you casually talking to these two men right now” and then she’d think “Because you are a boss ass bitch, you got this” and go back out there with a smile on her face.

“Y/N, what are you doing tonight?” Nick asked on the first Friday morning of December.

She looks up from Harry’s cross tattoo that was half covered. Harry was reading, a book casually propped in his right hand and glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He glanced at the other two in the room. Nick had been getting some work done before he had spoken.

“No plans,” she states simply before getting back to work. It wasn’t full body today, but it was arms and torso, so kind of a lot still.

“You should come over for dinner at my place with Harry,” Nick smiles kindly. His scruff was really coming in today. “To celebrate us almost wrapping the first half of the movie.”

Harry had thankfully freshly shaved before he sat down. It was her least favorite part of her new job. Whenever he came in for touch ups and she had to shave his afternoon shadow. She was terrified she’d cut him and never live it down from her department or Harry. She had no idea which would be worse.

“My wife will be there too, of course,” he adds, hoping to entice her to say yes.

Harry glances between Y/N and Nick again before focusing on his book again.

She purses her lips, finishing Harry’s hand and moving onto the anchor tattoo. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t know why I’d say no. As long as I’m not intruding on the throuple,” she grins up at Harry.

He stares at her with his big green eyes, slightly obscured behind his prescription glasses. He raises his brows and wiggles them a little bit, teasingly.

Nick laughs and slyly winks at Harry through the mirror. Y/N none the wiser as she removes all traces of Harry’s tattoos.

“Great!” He claps his hands and stands up. “We’ll talk or I’ll make sure Harry gets you the info or something. I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. My wife’s been wanting to meet you,” he smiles again and walks out of the trailer.

She tilts her head at the last part. He talked about her to his wife. Did he really count her as that close of a friend? She was just a makeup artist and he was a producer… She glances at Harry and he gives away nothing. His jaw looks extra prominent and she knows it’s because he’s clenching it. He did that when he was focused or angry, remembering it bulging on the first day they met and how clenched it had been then.

“Unclench your jaw,” she mutters, “It’s not good for you.”

Harry hums and unclenches it.

He stretches his neck by rolling his head around his shoulders and she glances at the movement. His skin is still beautifully sun-kissed and his pores look so soft, only his moles change the texture of his skin. She loves his moles though, they make him especially unique in her eyes. Not that he needed anything else to set him apart from the crowd. Still, she loved them. His collarbone is prominent as he sits there shirtless and she wishes she could reach out and brush at it. But she gets back to work, knowing the only time she’s gonna be brushing near that part of him is when she’s covering dates in those dips behind his collarbones.

“Y’know, I could just drive you to Nick’s tonight,” Harry says, putting his book down and taking off his glasses. He rubs at his eye with his free hand.

“You’re blind and British, how do I know you can even drive yourself?” She asks sillily, pointing to his glasses.

He shakes his head, “I’m serious, Y/N. Aren’t you staying in the same area as me?”

He asks because they had relocated to Palm Springs a little while ago and everyone had gotten rentals and it was hard to remember where everyone was holed up when they weren’t on set.

“Yeah, think so. But you don’t need to pick me up. I have a car.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been to his place before, don’t want you to have to deal with directions, that’s just silly.”

“I guess...” she resigns relatively easily. She had never hung out with Harry off the set or Nick for that matter. It felt surreal, but she knew the right answer was usually just say yes in these situations. So that’s what she says. “Yes, that’d be great, thank you,” she confirms and watches as Harry’s eyes glimmer softly before turning back to his book. A triumphant soft smirk rests on his face.

The words die out between the two of them as she works on. He hums along to the music and continues reading his book. When she’s done with his tattoo coverage and his face makeup, she sends him off to hair and the rest of his day. He gives a flirty wink as he walks out the door and she rolls her eyes in response. She tidies up her kit and then goes to do some other makeup work.

When she wasn’t working with Harry, she was assigned to some of the minor characters and doing their makeup. They were always her second concern, especially now that she did Harry’s makeup as well as his tattoos. As she works on them, she can feel her mind drifting to Harry. Harry and how they were friends now. She was pretty sure, right? They were friends. He had never really said a mean thing to her if she really thought about it. It was her… She had been rude and mean-spirited and he had just taken it. He rarely had even thrown it back at her. He was so good to her and patient and she realized that he had proven to her that he was good. He was better than good, he was kind and loving. Considerate. Wonderful. All of those positive superlatives, Harry filled them. And she had the audacity to be mean to him.

She paused the brush that was adding blush to an actresses cheek.

Lisa, the actress, looks at Y/N confusedly, “What’s wrong?”

Y/N twitches her head, refocusing on her task at hand. The realization of her pausing her work becomes clear as she looks between her hand and the cheek that has not enough blush on it. “Oh,” she breathes. “...I just realized that I was terrible to someone who doesn’t have a mean bone in their body.”

Lisa nods, “Apologize.”

“Yeah, I mean...We’ve kind of moved past the phase where we don’t get along. Like now we’re friends, but the realization just really hit me.” She sighs, picking up where she left off on Lisa’s makeup. “I’ll make sure to apologize next time I see them.”

Lisa smiles.

-

At the end of the day, Y/N realizes she left her tattoo coverage kit in Harry’s room after their touch-up session halfway through the day. She had run off to help with a makeup emergency for a tiny cut on a minor character’s face and forgotten to go back and grab her things. Another roll of her eyes and a huff of breath and then she’s walking back to Trailer 6, a place that seemed like a home away from home now. She knocks, patiently waiting at the bottom of the steps.

Harry swings open the door and props it with his hip. He’s got a toothbrush held in his mouth, slowly scrubbing back and forth with his left hand. His costume is somewhat taken off, he’s still got the pants on with suspenders hanging down, his chest was completely bare and he looked funny with some of his tattoos only being half covered based on what parts of his skin had been showing today. Her work. His skin looked half silky smooth and half tattooed like usual.

His naked skin seemingly left her breathless because as her eyes returned to Harry’s face, she breathed a soft, “Hi.”

“Hey,” a smirk twists onto his face. “Forget something?”

“Yes,” she nods, coming back to her senses and entering the trailer at Harry’s gesture.

She begins to pack up the kit that had been left haphazardly strewn around on his counter. “I’m sorry I left a mess like this, I got called over to something else and forgot.”

“Don’t worry darling,” Harry grins at his joke.

She looks up from her work and sees Harry in the reflection of the mirror. He’s wiping off the makeup from his chest and his beautiful tattoos reemerge as entire images.

She laughs humorlessly, “It gets less funny each time you use that.”

“That’s not true,” he looks at her through the mirror now, his green eyes trained on her face, “Everyone else still thinks it’s hilarious.”

“They’re humoring you and your fragile ego,” she winks and watches as Harry’s smirk twitches from his perfect face.

“You’ve got a very mean disposition, you know that?” He asks.

He finishes his chest and moves to remove the makeup from his left arm, glancing at the mirror every so often to check himself and to flicker his eyes over Y/N’s face.

She genuinely laughs at that, but scolds herself internally for being mean when she had planned to apologize the next time she saw Harry. This was the next time so why was she doing this instead?

“Rewrite sweet disposition for me?” Her voice honeyed. Clearly stubborn and terrible at saying sorry...maybe her and Harry were a better match than she realized.

Harry twists his lips as he slips on his t-shirt he was wearing today.

“Pick you up at 6:30?” He says as his head pops out from beneath the rainbow striped sweatshirt he slipped on top of the shirt. His chestnut hair had been toweled out and was flopping over his forehead slightly.

She sighs and zips close the kit, standing from the seat she had taken at his counter and turning to face him now.

“6:30 is perfect. Thanks again for doing this. I just can’t believe Nick Kroll is inviting me over for dinner!” She smiles, shifting to lean against the counter as she waits for Harry to finish up. She didn’t have to but for some reason she felt like she was in no rush.

“Are you serious?” He’s moved on to changing his pants now and he’s slipping on black sweatpants.

“Yeah…” She blinks and her eyes widen as Harry appraises her expression.

He straightens up after fixing a cuff on the pants and he can’t tell if she’s being genuine or sarcastic. It was always so hard to tell with her.

“I mean, Nick Kroll is like a huge celebrity and I know in the entertainment business you’re not supposed to get starstruck but when I was in college my sister thought he was weirdly hot and my friends and I would shit talk him. I don’t know, it’s just kind of surreal to be having dinner at his place. Like I’ve watched him on tv and now I’ll be eating with him...so weird.”

He shakes his head, beginning on his dirty vans now. A small laugh escapes his mouth and he glances between her and his shoe, scratching his head quickly. “I still can’t tell… It feels like you’re fucking with me right now.”

“I’m not!” She insists, her hands coming out in front of her in a confused fashion. “I used to watch that guy’s tv show then he’s my boss now he’s inviting me over for food? It’s a lot to process.”

“How come it’s not surreal to be having dinner with me then?” He asks semi-joking, a hint of offense tinged within it. It’s visible only in his knitted brow and twisted lip.

“Careful there, sailor. Venturing into some dangerously self-absorbed waters.” Her eyes light up, a quick raise of her brows accompany the shine, and she decides now is her time to head out. Especially as she thinks about getting ready for this soiree tonight. She needed to shower and pick out an outfit with less than two hours to prepare.

Harry sputters at her response and fumbles with his pink shoelace. “That’s not...that is - You’re being unfair. My question is valid.”

She shrugs her shoulders and skirts Harry’s attempt at grabbing at her arm to stop her from leaving. “Okay, Mr. Big Man On Campus. I promise you you’re the most popular boy in school.”

She blows him a kiss and walks out the door as he attempts to get her to come back by calling her name a few times and slightly shouting “C’mon! I wasn’t being insecure. That was a reasonable ask…”

He sighs and shakes his head again. Every interaction would end with one of them either rolling their eyes or shaking their head and usually a sigh on both of their lips. It was exhausting, but exhilarating too.

20 minutes later, Harry receives a text from Y/N: “You’re still picking me up right :))) ?”

He’s in his car, getting ready to finally leave after getting held up with last minute schedule changes that he had to be informed about by some PA that he had forgotten the name of. His lip quirks to the right and he closes his eyes for a second enjoying seeing her name on his phone screen for a moment.

He types back: “Of courseeee”.

“Fab.” She sends back, immediately followed by: “Fanks BMOC ;)”

A full smile rolls onto Harry’s face after he swipes his tongue over his lower lip. “Yeah, yeah, save it for the next guy” he types out quickly before throwing his phone gently beside him and driving back to his apartment. She made him feel young, not that he wasn’t young, but generally his friends didn’t text like she did.

-

At 6:28, she receives a text from Harry Styles - his name in her phone. A name she had never expected to see in her phone unless her Spotify was on shuffle. Yet, instead, his name popped up under messages and it read “Here!” followed by a quick “I think” and then a phone call coming through from the apparently anxious man himself.

“Hello Harry.” Her tone even. She throws little items into her purse, making sure everything she needs is there.

“Could you peek out your window? I’m not quite sure I’m at the right place and people are staring…” nerves laced in his rushed tone.

She ambles to the window and opens up the shade she had closed to change. Below her, she sees a sleek black Range Rover with a slightly disarrayed hairdo and big dark glasses peeking below the windshield. She ignored the instinct to retch at the sight of the Range Rover and peered at the lamp lit sight below her. It was definitely Harry, but she searched for the prying eyes he was worried about and saw none. Well, maybe a few, but it wasn’t a lot.

“I see you, I’ll be right out, dude. Just deep breaths, it’s mostly crew staying here right now so they’re just seeing that it’s you, another guy they work with. They won’t come up for pictures...I would hope.”

She hangs up with no farewell, snatches her purse from its place on the bed and races out the door. Harry smiles anxiously at her when she stands next to the passenger’s door and he unlocks it. She bites her lip and raises her brows, waiting to hear if anything terrible happened in the minute and a half it took her to come downstairs and out to the car.

“Hi,” he exhales.

A smirk crawls onto her features and her eyes sparkle with a bit of a childish glee that normally she didn’t exhibit as she glances at him. “Hi.” She says quietly. “Alright big boy?”

“‘M fine.” He huffs but balks at her smile that she maintains while she stares at him. “What?”

“Just happy to see you, I guess,” her smile returns after speaking and Harry glances between her face and the windshield in front of him.

He can’t tell if she’s being serious or not once again. But he fears that conversation of her either ridiculing him for thinking she is serious or being offended that he still can’t tell. Instead, he will keep his mouth shut. For the most part.

“Happy to see you, too,” his lips create a closed mouth smile quickly before turning out of the parking lot.

She watches him. Their first time together outside of work. And they were friends. She needed to get used to simply thinking that. He picked her up to take her to dinner with her other friend and his wife. This was normal life, just with big names behind those terms of relation. Jesus, she always said it didn’t bother her to be around celebrities so why did she think about it so damn much?

She twitches her head and refocuses on Harry and his driving. His jaw is clenched again and she wants to reach out and sooth it herself. Instead she starts to open her mouth to correct him, but stops herself from that as well. They weren’t at work and it didn’t feel like something just a friend would say right now. She refocuses on the view of his eyes that are barely visible while he regards the road. His large eyes that she had grown acquainted to are surveying what he’s doing, every so often drifting to the right side of the road to check out the lane beside him. But then, always back to right in front of him, leaving a crescent of green visible to her.

“Can feel you staring at me…” His voice sounds like it’s rolled around in gravel after the long work day. It makes her wonder if he’s supposed to have a vocal rest when he’s not at work, but then again it’s the weekend now so maybe it was fine. Maybe she should ask him. Or maybe she should stop worrying so much about him.

“Have I got something on my face?” His low register bumps her from her racing thoughts. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but she can see he’s widened his eyes in wonder.

“No! Of course not, I just was...making sure you weren’t going to crash us or something.” She grasps at straws, desperate to not be caught by Harry.

A low chuckle bubbles from his chest and he spares a small glance over at her bundled up in his passenger seat. She matches his gaze with something of distrust hidden behind her eyes. She hopes to convey that she’s being silly and when Harry turns back to look at the road unassumingly, she feels like she has won. The harmonies of the beginning of a Queen song take over the silence, Harry’s spindly fingers thrumming against the wheel.

They arrive at the Kroll’s Palm Springs residence at 6:50. 10 minutes early and the two twiddle their thumbs for a few minutes, trying to pass the time and not intrude earlier than they were supposed to. She appreciated that Harry liked to be timely but not early, similar to how she was.

“So what is the fascination with Range Rovers?” She queries, leaning against the door’s armrest. The back of her head touches against the semi-tinted window.

Harry shifts in his seat, seat belt no longer constricting him and no road requiring his attention as they sit in the driveway. He rushes a hand through his hair and lets a single strand of hair fall over his prominent forehead.

“Dunno,” he shrugs his shoulders and allows a hand to fall onto the steering wheel absentmindedly. “I don’t really prefer them anymore, but when I’m in LA and doing work, it makes things easier. My other cars are a little flashier...have more privacy in this.”

“Yet the effect is similar,” she muses.

Her head tilts to take in Harry’s appearance, sharp black silky button-up and dark green plaid slacks, and she rubs a hand over her jaw. His eyes flicker to the movement and attempt to really take it in, even in the dim glow of the lamp light outside barely peeking into the dark interior of the car.

“Effect?”

“Y’know…” She arches her brow at him. He feigns innocence or possibly the expression is genuine. She’s begun to realize Harry was as genuine as they came, but she just didn’t think he was that unaware. An assumption that was likely correct, but even Harry liked to pretend he was a completely unassuming individual.

“Forget it,” she finishes when he gives no indication that he knows what she is hinting at. She doesn’t want to get into it with him again. Especially when he plays at this game where he has no idea what she’s talking about. It made her feel like she was crazy for thinking he made these calculated decisions to get his desired outcomes.

They move on, neither of them quite sure what the other was getting at in that conversation. The two of them walk into the house a minute before their expected arrival time side by side and are greeted happily with Nick and his wife. They’re ushered in and Y/N is happily received by the happy couple.  

“So, Y/N, how’s it been for you working with these two? I know they can be more than a handful - especially together,” Nick’s wife, Lily, asks after a sip of wine.

The group of four had been eating for a while with Nick and Harry bantering for quite a bit at the beginning about whether or not Harry would be willing to hand feed Nick. The answer was settled at “another time”.  

Harry seems to have a very specific habit of watching whoever is speaking - no matter what. So after Lily has finished speaking, his gaze flickers to Y/N, the person his brain expects to speak next. He watches her attentively as she wipes her mouth on her napkin before speaking.

Her hair was styled differently tonight than it usually was on set, she had it down rather than up in a ponytail or braids. He hadn’t had time to really look at her when they had been in the car, his mind occupied with stress and exhaustion that he refocused into driving and deep breathing. Now, in the comfort of a trusted friend’s home, he was far more relaxed and able to truly take in her appearance, which he couldn’t help but think was beautiful. He’d have to tell her that at some point. That he thought she was beautiful. Not that he didn’t see her on set and think she was beautiful...he just hadn’t really thought about it before. She was his wily makeup artist who was critical of him most times, but occasionally sweet, who had an amazing taste in music and good aesthetic style. The beauty part of it all, he guessed wasn’t something integral to their relationship before.

But now he was sitting beside her at the Kroll’s nice dining table and she had her hair splayed in front and behind her shoulders with one side tucked behind her ear and her outfit fit her impeccably. The top she had on had capped sleeves that cinched with buttons at her delicate wrists and a severe drop to create a small sweetheart neckline just above the curve of her breasts. It was silky and shiny, a blush pink that complemented the high waisted dark grey slacks that flared over shiny black boots that he wasn’t sure where they ended beneath the pants.

“Well,” she starts, chuckling under her breath when she meets Harry’s stare, “Harry and I spend a lot of time together, covering up all his tattoos, and he yaps a lot. So, it’s actually pretty refreshing when Nick comes in, because Harry’s then talking half the normal amount.”

He huffs a scoff, while Lily and Nick laugh happily. Nick interjects an “ouch” for the bite she just took out of Harry, but she thought it was fine, he can take it.

Harry thought to himself that if she can serve it, then she can definitely take it. His eyes remain on her as he opens his mouth to speak, but then look at Lily when words actually come out. “Well, Y/N, she thinks she can read people really well, but it’s actually quite the opposite. She had me completely wrong when we first met, so I talk now in hopes that she’ll really understand me.”

His head tilts to her when he mentions her name, but otherwise doesn’t glance her way away again. He scrunches his nose at the end of his comment, implying he converses with her out of pity.

It’s her turn to scoff and stare at him unamused. Nick and Lily share a look, unsure of what was going on, they had concocted this dinner date idea in hopes to set the two up but the way this conversation was going, they seemed to be pushing each other further and further away from one another.

“That’s simply not true,” she says curtly and takes a sip of her quickly emptying wine glass.

“Which part?”

“Almost all of it, I’d say,” her eyes glaring back at him, fiery with a disdain he hadn’t seen in awhile. “You’re proving my original perception of you with every passing second,” she adds.

“Care to elaborate exactly what the original perception of me was for the class,” his eyes are wide and wild, any extra adoration he had started to feel towards her slipping away just as quickly as it had come, like a wave along the beach.

“You know, so why don’t you?”

“I want to hear you say it,” he grits out the command.

She shifts in her seat, glancing at Nick and Lily who are watching on and she has a feeling she won’t be getting an invitation again anytime soon. Lily gives her a semi-reassuring smile like she was sorry to have asked the question at all, but Y/N knows this is kind of her fault, not that she would ever admit that. Her comment could have been taken innocuously, but Harry’s pride wouldn’t let it slide. Like she said, she should have known better, the weeks of friendship were flying out the window and she was helping them along.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Have fun calling an uber at this time of night,” he shrugs, malice dripping in his tone.

She truly was taken aback at this. A slight sound of shock leaving her mouth. Harry was many things, impatient and anxious usually, but downright cruel with her, she had yet to see it. Arrogant and pompous, definitely, but this wickedness that was starting to creep from the shadows worried her. But the little fiery demon within her wasn’t going anywhere either - yet she might back down to save herself some money and hassle.

“Fine,” she raises her brows in a challenge to him and restates her original take on him - possibly adding a bit extra malice in her phrasing, “You are a shell of a man, held up by the people around you, creating the illusion of a completely genuine and down to earth rocker who dabbles in acting, philanthropy and all around goodness. No one’s ever had a bad experience because no one’s ever truly met you. Not the real you.” She takes a deep breath as she shakes her head in disbelief now, a sarcastic laugh leaving her mouth, “And I thought, I really thought, that I had been wrong. Because these past months you really fooled me with your sweet smile and deep eyes. But when it comes down to it, you tricked me just like everyone else.”

Harry stares at her blankly and she shakes her head once more, feeling foolish. For thinking Harry was someone he wasn’t. For thinking the past few months had been real. For thinking that tonight would go off without a hitch. And the shit part of it was that she had really hoped that all of it was true. She wanted this to be her life, but her instincts had been right. Beware of the picture perfect because it always is just a mirage of deceit and lies.

“All I’ve got to say is you’re a damn good actor Harry, so at least you’ve got that going for you.” Then she pushes back from the table and stands, turning to Nick and Lily. “I really am so sorry, I understand that you probably want me to leave, so I’ll just be going,” her voice faltering at the end, she wasn’t as strong as she liked to pretend and she was pretty sure she just ruined her chances of working again in Hollywood. You’d have to be an idiot to be an enemy of Harry Styles and she feels like she just became his first.

“No!” Nick says quickly, standing too, “I think things just escalated really quickly and some things were said that both of you didn’t mean. Um...just, let’s take a few minutes to cool off. Harry could you and Lily deal with the dishes and I’m going to talk with Y/N alone.”

Everyone nods and Y/N follows Nick down a hallway, a little confused but following after he beckons her with his hand. They go out a side door and end up on a porch in the backyard. He stoops down and opens a little sitting mailbox she didn’t see and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He places one between his teeth and then offers one to her. She accepts, not usually a regular smoker, but right now seemed like a fair time to indulge in the bad habit. She needed to calm her rapidly beating heart.

He lights the cigarette for her when he sees her shaking hands and then in turn lights his own. They stand on the porch beside each other and stare out into the dark night sky.

“Well, this wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go,” Nick starts, after a few exhales of smoke.

“No,” she laughs nervously, her foot toeing at the wooden slate on the porch. “I shouldn’t have tried to make a joke.”

“No one’s to blame,” Nick says quickly, glancing at her, “You and Harry...you both have really strong personalities and I don’t think either of you are used to being challenged.”

She nods along, she definitely had to agree after the argument they had both willingly gotten into in front of other people.

“I think that can be a really good thing, challenging each other, because then you two can both grow. But what happened in there was more of a battle to the death rather than a friendly spar.”

“Yeah,” she exhales, flicking at the burning cigarette between her fingers, “I don’t know why he gets under my skin sometimes in a way I’ve never dealt with and it’s kind of uncomfortable so I lash out, I guess.”

Nick stays quiet, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Ugh,” she groans, “I wish I hadn’t done that. We were doing so well, it’s like I don’t even really know what I’m saying, it’s like I can’t handle a friendly spar, I always end up going in for the kill - as you put it.”

She rubs at her face with her free hand and then takes a drag herself. Nick bites at his lower lip, trying to think of a solution.

“Y’know? Lily and I had concocted this plan to try and set you and Harry up tonight,” he says slowly, revealing the plan that had clearly been taken off the table as they just needed to attempt to salvage cordiality.

“Really?!” She’s in complete disbelief and slight dismay that the plan was seemingly ruined.

“Well,” he sputters, “When the two of you aren’t throwing verbal fireballs at each other, you’re actually quite sweet to one another. Those fond little glances you hope no one sees, well he does that too, and you both fail miserably because I see it all the time. I’m sure plenty of people do too.”

“Oh,” she states, visibly deflating. She looks to the ashtray conveniently on a table behind her and presses out the rest of the cigarette. “Should probably talk to him, huh?”

Nick nods, stamping out his nub of a cigarette as well. They go back inside and into the kitchen where Lily and Harry have plated dessert. Harry looks a little sheepish, likely having a similar conversation with Lily and she wouldn’t be surprised if her expression looks similar, if not a bit more flushed from the outdoor chill.

Lily murmurs that she and Nick are going to eat their dessert in the living room, a fair bit away from the kitchen and the two now deflated counterparts nod and then stare at each other, knowing what they need to do.

“Can we talk?” Harry rasps out, his voice even lower as he speaks softly, a mere foot away from her in the kitchen.

She nods, but moves further from him to lean against the counter and tuck her hands behind her. She’s lost her appetite and doesn’t want Harry to see her shaking digits.

He’s ducked his head and a stray curl falls over his forehead, laying there softly. He doesn’t move to fix it, just stares at his feet until she begins to talk. He can’t not look at her face when she speaks.

“So…” She slowly starts, not enjoying the tension in the room. Her eyes can’t meet his though, his stare dark and unnerving like usual, but almost painfully so now. “I can start.” She kicks at the tiling on the floor like she had done outside as well, trying to not think about the eyes trained on her right now. “I’m sorry I lashed out on you, Harry. I didn’t mean what I said, it was just a heat of the moment response.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Harry says immediately once she finishes speaking, “I shouldn’t have gotten upset over a silly joke and brought up a sensitive subject. Then it escalated…”

“Yeah, I really liked the friendship we’ve garnered these past few months and I just can’t believe I almost ruined everything - including my career…” she squeaks at the end and tears start to roll from her eyes. “Oh god,” she is hit with the gravity of all that she almost ruined as Harry stares at her again. “I’m so sorry, Harry, I really am. Do you forgive me? I don’t think I could stand it if you didn’t.”

She stands there and feels sobs wrack through her and her hands go to cover her face out of embarrassment. She had caused a scene and now she was making another one. In front of Harry.

In an instant his arms are wrapped around her frame and he’s hushing her cries. They had never hugged before, but now seemed like as good a time as ever. His arms were strong around her and she pressed her face into his chest, not caring at all about how she looked or whether this was worse than getting in a fight and running off.

“Of course I forgive you,” he says and then begins repeating her name over and over, trying to soothe her. He definitely had been hurt by her words, but it seemed like she was more upset about the whole situation than he was and he didn’t think bringing up what specifically had hurt him would help her frame of mind.

She settles after some time, her whimpers and tears subsiding after being rocked into a more peaceful mindset with the help of Harry’s calming voice and reassuring embrace.

“I really am sorry,” she whispers again.

Harry pulls his neck back and his head off the top of her head to look at her face. It was tear stained and her eyes were glassy, lips slightly puffy. He gave her a soft tight-lipped smile. “No more apologies,” he states sternly and then softens again at the slight quiver in her lip. He pulls from her a little more, leaving her at arm's length, with his hands still attached to her hips, fingers slipping over the plaid fabric. “I meant to tell you this earlier, before things…” he stares at her face again and she holds it this time, “You look beautiful tonight.”

She scoffs and her eyes immediately drop to her feet, “Definitely not anymore.” She doesn’t believe Harry.

“‘M serious,” he insists. His right index finger goes to rest beneath her chin and brings her face up to look back at him.

“Sure,” she says, still not convinced but not sure how else to respond. She feels herself warming at all the positive attention he’s pouring into her.

His gaze won’t falter from her face, he’s intent upon making her understand him. He whispers her name, “Accept the compliment.”

“You’re stubborn,” she notes.

“So are you,” he counters quickly.  

“Fine, thank you,” she sighs when he won’t stop giving her that look of his. That look that makes her want to melt into the ground because it feels like she’s the only person in the world. “Though you looked especially good tonight, too,” she adds, her hands rubbing over his shoulders softly.

“Thank you,” Harry states lowly, the words only traveling to her ears. His hands fiddle with the sides of her top, thinking about the night and where they were now. Her eyes were red from crying and overall she looked tired beyond her years. “Do you want me to take you home?”

“That’d be nice.”

They make a quiet farewell to Nick and Lily, as well as apologies from both her and Harry. They don’t speak in the car and the music plays loud enough for it to not seem unreasonable for them to be silent. Harry’s hands don’t tap against the steering wheel, they sit in their spots stoically doing their job and nothing more. She watches the window, legs crossed and hands clasped in her lap. She’s thankful for the music because she knows that even though they had talked, it wasn’t enough. What she had said was hurtful and one apology wasn’t enough for how she had behaved. She didn’t think her and Harry would be the same after tonight, but the silence made it possible for her to pretend none of it had happened.

Just as Harry’s car is pulling up the apartment complex that is far darker now, the harsh splatter of rain begins to fall on the pavement and the sleek black car the two are still sat in.

“Oh,” she comments offhandedly, just responding to what she had noticed.

The rain grows louder when Harry parks and then turns off the car. He glances at her for the first time since they got into the car. She registers the look out of the corner of her eye, her face still looking out at the rain. She loved the rain, but there wasn’t always a lot in Southern California, especially not in Palm Springs. It seemed that tonight was different.

“Well,” Harry breaks his silence, she thinks that’s her cue to leave and unbuckles her seatbelt, but he continues. “This certainly wasn’t how I expected this night to go.”

She stops moving, her hand hovering over the handle of the door. She sits back and settles into the seat, feeling her teeth bite into the plush of her bottom lip.

“That’s what people keep saying,” her eyes remain on the rain hitting the front of the car, the splatters of seemingly black liquid that form when the clear rain touches the onyx hood of the car.

“Huh?” Harry grows perplexed at the rather wistful tone of her and how she won’t look at him again. He was still hurt, but he had hoped them talking in the kitchen had straightened some things out. During the car ride he hadn’t wanted to talk, but it didn’t mean he was still angry with her. Just confused, and growing further confused by the second.

“Oh,” she repeats, “Didn’t Lily say? Her and Nick concocted that dinner in hopes to set us up.”

Harry hums, knowing that because Nick had left out a little part of that plan. That he had been a part of it. He had been talking with Nick about getting to know her better outside of work and how Nick had thought it’d be a good idea to have dinner so he had told Lily and they set it up like a casual dinner party. Harry didn’t know how to respond because her knowing that he was in on the plan might just make matters worse. He really didn’t think things could get much worse, but it seemed that they always managed to make it happen so in the end he decided to keep his mouth shut.

“I don’t know if we’d ever be able to work out differences out for that,” she decides to continue, when Harry stays quiet. She scans the interior of the car and watches Harry for the briefest moment before going back to looking out the window. “Nick said that we challenge each other to grow, but all I see us do is hurt each other.”

Her voice is just above the rain pattering outside the car and Harry thinks it sounds almost melodic if it weren’t for the sadness laced in every word.

“I disagree,” he states before wetting his lips.

“Of course you do,” she laughs in spite of herself.

“Even after all these months together and you still don’t get it. I like you.”

“You don’t like me, I don’t know how you could ever like me,” she shakes her head. “We just...we get under each other’s skin. You can make me so angry sometimes and I know I make you angry too. And when we’re not angry, we’re focussed on something that doesn’t have to do with ourselves.”

“I don’t think what you feel for me is anger,” Harry insists, “Just because something feels burning and fiery, frustrating even, doesn’t mean it’s anger.”

His body shifts closer to the center divide and she turns to face him finally. His eyes are extra dark in this lighting, which is barely there from a streetlamp a ways off. She longs for the comfort of his light green eyes, the soft pale glow of the moss that seems to have been trapped within his iris. Maybe for that reason she unknowingly leans closer to him.

“Then what is it?” She whispers, eyes blinking slowly as her breathing grows strained.

“Passion.”

Immediately, her head is tilting to meet his lips. Her mind knows one thing, she needs to be kissing Harry right now. And then she is. His left hand goes to cup her cheek as his lips attach themselves to hers. His soft lips press to hers in a long searing kiss. They stay there for a moment, pressing all of that passion and frustration into the kiss.

She presses impatiently forward, her lips starting to move more, wanting to kiss him deeper. Harry obliges, parting his lips and kissing her more vigorously. He licks into her open mouth and smiles at the sound she makes in appreciation for his actions.

She’s shifted to have herself kneeling on the leather seat and she’s leaning over the console. One of her hands finds purchase on Harry’s thigh and grasps tightly, her other at the back of his neck, pressing him closer if it were possible.

His chest is pressing against hers as he pulls her closer. He kisses her and his fingertips rub softly at the apple of her cheek. Eventually they run behind the shell of her ear and trail down her neck.

Eventually, she pulls away and stares at Harry. She watches as his eyes flutter open gently. His soft eyelashes dust his cheeks before moving away, allowing his eyes to peer at her in the dark.

Her breathing feels a little irregular after the kissing and she’s sure she is heaving her chest slightly, likely mirroring Harry’s chest as well.

“So, where to now?” She inquires, lips quirked up at her suggestion.

Harry giggles and scratches his nose against his index finger.

-

Harry doesn’t stay the night, he walks her up to her apartment door though. He kisses her chastley in front of her door and wraps an arm around her waist as he does so. He bids her a goodnight and a promise of seeing her soon.

They don’t see each other for a month. Both of them had been so blissful after the endorphins of kissing their person that they had forgotten that filming had wrapped. They weren’t set to work for a month. Harry texted her the next morning informing her that he’d be in England until filming resumed. She was still going to be in California, filming was moving back to Los Angeles, so she’d be back in her place there. Her family knew she was working, so they had sent her presents ahead to her place instead. Angie, her only true friend in the area, was spending her time with her actual family and Y/N didn’t want to intrude.

So the holidays were going to be spent alone. Those four weeks alone passed surprisingly quickly. She practiced techniques on herself, bought a tiny Christmas tree like the one in A Charlie Brown Christmas, watched A Charlie Brown Christmas and just about every other holiday movie possible. She fell in love with young Hugh Grant and Colin Firth for the thousandth time. She sang carols to herself and decorated her place with decorations from Target. She jammed out to the new Miley Cyrus album and held dance parties for herself in the house. She baked cookies and even attempted a trifle after watching a Great British Bake Off episode. She did and she did all in hopes that her mind wouldn’t wander to the guy who hadn’t called.

Harry texted occasionally, but it was infrequent at best. He was a busy person, she knew that. She knew who he was. And she didn’t want her mind to have enough time to feel sorry for herself. For her to think that she was just somebody to pass the time with while at work, because if she stopped doing things that’s where her mind would wander. Why did her mind spiral like it did? She had no idea, she’d always been like that.

His absence, their separation, made her question if her own feelings were even true. She wondered if when she saw him he would act as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t said their relationship was passionate and she had kissed him until she couldn’t breath.

Too much time alone, she needed some fresh air. On January 2nd, after an uneventful night at home and a lackluster countdown washed down with cheap champagne, she decided to go and walk around near her place. There was a coffee shop that wasn’t extremely expensive that she also liked that she figured she would get coffee from. After a brisk walk, she walked through the store's doors and ordered an iced green tea. As she waited, she watched the other customers around her, wishing to see a friendly face, someone she knew. And seconds later, she was met with half of that wish. Someone she knew, not necessarily a friendly face.

“Autumn.” She states with a grimace when someone taps her on the shoulder and she spins around.

“Y/N? It is you!” Autumn, one of the PA’s from Don’t Worry Darling who was especially in Harry’s business, exclaims overly happy as per usual.

Y/N bites the inside of her cheek and gives a tight lipped smile, trying her best to be cordial.

“How’s your holiday been!” Autumn asks.

“Great. You?”

“So great!” She’s quick to lean closer and say in a hushed tone, “But I miss working on set, especially getting to see that Harry everyday. He’s just so gorgeous.”

A breath gets stuck in Y/N’s chest at the mention of Harry’s name. Her brows can’t help but raise a bit at Autumn’s comment. Even lowering her voice didn’t make it feel alright to talk about Harry like this. He was her friend after all.

“Sure.” Y/N nods abruptly, realizing Autumn wants some recognition of what she’s just said. Y/N’s eyes glance around the room, hoping for an out like her drink is ready or something - no such luck.

“I mean,” Autumn keeps talking, of course, “You’re so lucky. You get to see him shirtless, like what? Everyday practically? Don’t tell me you don’t miss that just a little bit!”

“I miss working,” Y/N says, avoiding what Autumn is trying to get her to say. “And Harry’s my friend, could you maybe not talk about him like that with me?”

Autumn’s eyes widened in shock, her lips parted dumbfounded by her co-worker's response. Y/N’s name is called for her drink and she’s thankful for the serendipitous nature of that sound getting her out of the awkward situation she had just been in.

When she gets back to her apartment, she surprisingly has a text from Harry himself. She’s always telling everyone; speak of the devil and he will appear, in one way or another. It’s a Happy New Year well wish followed by a separate text asking how she was.

It was sent a minute ago so she decides to try and give him a call. She preferred talking on the phone over texting.

It rings a few times and then, again surprisingly, he picks up.  

“‘Lo?” His voice is nice and deep and sounding extra British after his weeks surrounded by family and such.

“Harry,” she sighs contentedly.

“Happy to hear your voice,” he says her name and she can tell he’s smiling just like she is, from ear to ear.

She bites at her lip, hearing him say her name.

“I’m well, thanks,” she says after a moment of happy silence.

“What?” Harry laughs, confused.

“You texted asking me how I was and I called to respond.”

“Got it,” Harry chuckles, and she hears him shuffling around, likely sitting down on something.

“How are you?” She continues.

“Good, starting to wind down for the day,” he lists off the things he’s been doing over the past few days. Some of it work related, some of it family activities. All of it fun, he insists. “What did you do today?” He finishes, knowing she was an avid activity doer based off of the snaps she had sent him over the past few weeks.

“Tidied my place, went to the coffee shop and got iced tea…” she tries to think and then she gasps, “Oh! And I saw Autumn, one of the Don’t Worry Darling PA’s -”

“The one who’s obsessed with me?”

“Exactly!” She laughs, “And I may have kind of told her off… accidentally.”

“Accidentally told her off?” Harry repeats, incredulous. “How’d you do that?”

“Well,” she doesn’t want to tell him the rest, but there’s also a tiny part of her that really does, “She was gushing about you, which, ew. And then she asked if I missed seeing you shirtless everyday.”

“Well do you miss seeing me shirtless?” Harry smirks.

“Oh shut up!” She’s quick to reply.

“So you do?”

“If I really wanted to see you shirtless, all I’d have to do is type in “Harry Styles sh” and it would come up,” she rolls her eyes even though she knows he can’t see them. “Wouldn’t even need the whole word. Guaranteed.”

“Uh-huh?” Harry questions still, “If you want me to send you shirtless pictures that the rest of the world hasn’t seen, Y/N, all you have to do is ask.”

“I do not want you to send me shirtless pictures of yourself!” She exclaims. She feels like jumping out of a window right now. This conversation had escalated so quickly and she felt herself flushing, maybe even perspiring a little bit. And she also knew that she also would probably like it if he sent her shirtless pictures, which made this whole thing worse.

“Offer stands,” he says, smug as he normally was, happy he got to banter with her again. It had been dull without her, if he was honest with himself. “If you ever find yourself in need, just send a cheeky text and I’ll whip one out for you, no matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

“See this sounds like you’re saying something sincere, but really you’re just telling me you’ll send me nudes at any time.”

“No one said anything about nudes!”

“Shirtless, nude, sounds like you’re getting too caught up in the details, hon.”

“No!” He protests, “You’re the one who’s supposed to be flustered right now, not me!”

“Aww, you’re flustered,” She coos.

Harry groans. “Whatever. I’ll be back on the 8th, be ready to go out on the 9th. I’m taking you on a proper date.”

“How do you know I’m going to say yes?” She bite her lip again, she’s really sweating now. She couldn’t believe he had just asked her out on a date out of nowhere. Out of them just joking about nudes. Maybe she didn’t know Harry as well as she thought.

“Because you called me,” he says confidently.

“I call everyone.”

“But I don’t offer shirtless pictures to everyone.”

“That has nothing to do with me saying yes to this date.”

“Or does it?”

She laughs at his words, at how his voice still manages to convey every facial expression and quirk of his lips. She knows there’s a smile on his lips as he stares in the distance, imagining her face just as she is his.

“Yes.” She smiles.

“Yes!” He repeats happily.

She hears him stand up and spin around possibly and she chuckles slightly, amused at the silly man across the world who had seemed to have stolen her heart.

“See you soon, Harry.”

“Not soon enough.”

-

On the Saturday of their date, Harry insists on picking her up. He meets her at her door and winks at her after pulling away from their short hug. He laces his hand in hers and she follows behind him as he all but drags her to his car that is downstairs. He seems giddy. His hair has grown out in the month he’s been gone and she knows they’ll cut it when filming resumes. He’s wearing Gucci flared blue jeans - she knows from the big logo on the bottom left pant leg - a ‘Waiting for Sunset’ graphic tee beneath a black cardigan with little animals and items knitted in it. And of course, his dirty ass vans. She had hoped that maybe Christmas would bring him a fresh pair from someone, but it seemed there was no such luck.

Either way, he looked good and upon scanning his outfit, she was pleased that she had dressed correctly for the occasion, knowing one of the sins of Los Angeles was being improperly dressed wherever you might go. Harry had said casual, but casual can always mean so many different things. She got it right with light wash high-waisted levi’s, a brown cream rib-knit long sleeve that buttoned like it could be a cardigan, and some fun chunky boots that added some height to her normal stature. She had contemplated between this and possibly twenty other tops and a few other bottoms. Landing on this felt right, plus it didn’t clash with Harry, the color of her shoes actually matched the color of the snake on the cardigan.

They both compliment each other on the way out to his car and she giggles when he stops and twirls her around. He says he didn’t get a “proper look” before for him to compliment her adequately. After the twirl, he nods and starts them off again, complimenting the specific pieces of her clothes and says she looks beautiful again. His giddiness was contagious.

“No Range tonight,” she muses when Harry stops them in front of a Mercedes-Benz cream convertible, top up.

“Not working,” he replies, unlocking the car with the key into the passenger’s side door handle.

She smiles and slides into the car and watches him jog around to his side and unlock it as well.

“Tonight is going to be fantastic,” he says, leaning over the console and kissing her cheek, just beside her lips.

And when he pulls away with that smug smile of his, she knows he kissed her there on purpose. But the little tease only makes her smile more. He was good at this. And he was right.

The night was fantastic. As was every night after. And she learned that Harry was so much more than anything she ever thought. She counted herself lucky to be loved by a man like him.

[sweetyyhippyy]

Late Arrival. Spencer Reid x Reader.

(Not my gif)

Summary: Spencer is coming back home after an out of state case runs long. You fall asleep waiting for him, and when he finally does come home, he sees your outfit and there is no way he can’t wake you up for a proper homecoming.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

TW: Brief mentions of masturbation (male and female), sleepy sex?? (I don’t know how to refer to it), calling Spencer daddy (duh), fingering, reader trying to be dom and Spencer teasing, unprotected sex, creampie, a lot of praise kink.

Word Count: 3.2k

A.N: I saw @fics4arainyday​ put that she wanted someone to write this concept, so i did! I hope you like it! Also, I’m bad at ending fics so 😬... sorry! 

link for lingerie I refer to: x 

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It had been 3 agonizingly slow weeks since your fiancé had been home.

Being engaged to an FBI profiler wasn’t always easy. The days, even weeks being apart, Spencer coming home at all hours of the night too exhausted to stay awake and spend time with you, missing birthdays, holidays, anniversaries being states away on those occasions.

But in all honesty, you still wouldn’t have it any other way.

Nobody else could make you laugh the way Spencer did. Nobody else could make you think the way Spencer did. Nobody could lovingly annoy the crap out of you the way Spencer did. And most importantly, nobody could fuck you the way Spencer did.

He has been gone for 3 weeks, but the week before he left, there wasn’t a lot of sexy time going on since you were busy with your own job. It was the occasional quickie before having to rush getting ready for work in the morning, a quick mutual masturbation session on a lazy weekend, but no real “wake the neighbors” fuck that you were so desperately craving. Keeping a healthy sex life was important to both of you.

So when you got the call from Spencer that the case was finally over and he would be coming home that same night, you knew it was go time.

You didn’t have much self control when it came to online shopping when Spencer was gone, what else were you supposed to do? The goldfish you two had as a pet wasn’t much company.

So you had treated yourself to a few new pairs of lingerie. Spencer was going to love all of them, but there was one in particular that you knew he was going to lose his mind over. It was baby blue see through with a floral pattern throughout the slip. It left very little to the imagination but that was your favorite part about it. Technically you were supposed to wear some sort of underwear but the slip looked better without it.

You took a hot deep shower and pampered yourself a few hours before you knew he was going to be home, that way you were nice and relaxed and ready for his arrival. You kept your hair simple since Spencer would be pulling at it all night. But you did put some makeup on just to enhance Spencer’s favorite part of your face, your eyes.

The mood of the room was set; the bed was perfectly made, the candle you had given Spencer for a “just because present” called “Bookstore” smelling like mahogany, leather, and coffee; lit on the bedside table. It was meant for him but you enjoyed it much more than him. All that was missing was Spencer.

You looked at the time on your phone, only 10 more minutes before Spencer was due home. You lay on your side of the bed, flipping through tv channels to find something to watch to occupy your time.

***

Spencer turns the key to turn the car off, he drops his hands from the steering wheel into his lap, letting out a deep sigh. He could have been home over 3 hours ago but the jet back home was having engine issues, so the team had to fly through a regular airport… which meant waiting for a flight.

The case wasn’t particularly a rough one emotionally, it was just long. Spencer missed you like crazy within the first few days of being away. Late night phone calls weren’t the same as physically being with you.

Spencer grabbed his satchel, leaving the rest of his baggage to lug up to the house until tomorrow when he had enough rest. As he’s walking up the driveway he can see the light on from the kitchen, signaling you were awake and waiting on him. He knew how much you hated waiting, so by now he knew you were seething with rage. There was about to be a lot of apologizing he was going to have to do. Spencer unlocks the front door, dropping his bag next to the front door and kicking his shoes off right next to it.

“Babe?” Spencer calls out, removing his jacket and hanging it up on the back of the couch. He listens for an answer, but all he hears is the slight murmur of the tv from your bedroom.

Spencer begins to unbutton his shirt as he walks down the hallway to the blue hue of the tv shadowing onto the floor. He steps into the room, spotting you curled up on top of the comforter fast asleep. Before he could appreciate how adorable you looked, softly snoring, he noticed the little outfit you were wearing. You laid there on your belly, one leg straight while the other bent up on the pillow next to you.

He scans your body through the see through fabric, spotting the lack of underwear on your lower half while your butt was fully exposed to him. You were practically a step away from being naked. He quietly walks over to the bed and touches the hem of the slip and carefully hikes it up your butt, not earning a reaction from you.

Spencer quickly sheds his shirt off and throwing it off to the corner of the room along with his dark slacks, kicking them off quickly. Spencer carefully climbs into the bed behind you, laying on his side and palming himself through his boxers to get himself hard, which really didn’t take much as his eyes rake over your body and his imagination runs wild about all the things he was about to do to you. He hisses as he strokes himself harshly, his cock growing harder every second.

Your body shifts next to him, a low grumble coming from your mouth as you shift in bed onto your side, your ass now completely facing him.

Spencer’s eyes widen seeing you move, he didn’t want to get caught stroking himself less than a few inches from where he wanted to be. He finally scoots closer to your body, resting his hands on your bare hip, your skin a little cold from the lack of bed sheet or clothing on you. He lines himself up with your entrance, slowly slipping in between your folds, not yet sliding in. He rubs the tip of his cock up and down you, finding you were already a bit wet.

Your whole body jumps a loud gasp filling the room which makes Spencer pull himself back. Your head turns quickly behind you to look at Spencer, a little glimmer of fear in your eyes. “What the fuck?” You whisper yell at him.

“I’m home. And I see you left a present for me.” He says, whispering in your ear. “Is this okay?” He asks, his hand moving down your thigh and lifting it slightly for easier access.

“I don’t know. I’m pretty annoyed you were so late. I’m kind of not in the mood anymore.” Your voice was laced with sarcasm as you cocked your eyebrow at Spencer.

He licks his lips, a smirk on his face appearing as he picks up on the little game you’re playing with him. “No? Well I think I have some apologizing to do.” Spencer says, moving the strap of your outfit out of his way, kissing up your shoulder and over to your neck.

Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling of his soft lips pecking at your skin, a low hum coming from deep within your chest.

“You know I missed my girl so much while I was gone.” He says, his hand traveling up the underside of your outfit all the way up your stomach and up to your breasts, kneading one in his large hands as he spoke in your ear. “I missed waking up to you.” Kiss. “Seeing your beautiful face.” Kiss. “Hearing those sexy moans about how good daddy makes you feel when I’m touching you.” Kiss. “And how wet you get without me even trying.” Kiss.

You were putty in his hands, the game of trying to be tough was no longer working, and Spencer was fully aware of it.

His hand leaves your breast and goes back down to between your legs, his fingers running over your inner thighs, intentionally skipping over your core.

You whine as his fingers tickle you, scooting your body back against him. “Spence.” You pathetically whine, taking his hand and leading it to your throbbing middle. You keep your hand on top of his as you feel him play with your slit, feeling all the wetness that was seeping out of you.

“You want me to touch you?” He asks, kissing the spot below your ear.

“Please, baby?” You beg, turning your torso enough to look at him, pouting your bottom lip out ever so slightly.

His fingers part your lips, finding your bud immediately and slowly drawing lazy circles around it. Your body reacts immediately, relaxing against his body as he massages you. Your hand moves back to tangle in his hair, pushing his head closer to yours, your lips meeting for the first time in 3 weeks. His fingers continue to work their magic, as you two heavily make out with one another; his tongue slipping into your mouth and yours into his.

Your body quivers as Spencer drops his fingers down to the pool of wetness between your legs, two of his fingers slipping inside.

You pull back from the kiss, gasping loudly. “Fuck.” Your eyes flicker to his face, your mouth agape.

“It amazes me how tight you are. I’ve been with you for almost 6 years and it’s always so amazing.”

You moan in response, not being able to form words at the moment.

The room is filled with the sounds of the wetness Spencer is drawing out of you and your breathy moans. Your high was coming quicker than anticipated, Spencer could feel it in your body and could see it in your face.

You cling onto his forearm, keeping him in place. Spencer liked to play games like denying you of your orgasms, but you weren’t going to let him this time. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you fought to keep them open but you were far too overstimulated at this point. The knot came undone as you clenched around his fingers, a string of curse words and desperate moans fall from your mouth as you ride your high out.

“That’s it. Good girl.” Spencer coos, still slowly drawing what you have left out as you try to regain your breath. He kisses your cheek and moves his fingers out of you carefully. “Do you want to taste?” He questions.

You roll over onto your back, nodding your head and grabbing his hand, bringing it up to your lips, and letting him slip his middle and ring finger in your mouth. You swirl your tongue around his fingers, sucking on them harshly.

Spencer looks at you in admiration as you look up at him with innocence in your eyes. “I love that I’m the only person that knows how much of a dirty girl you are.”

You open your mouth to let his fingers free, smiling at him. “And I like that I can be your dirty girl.” You say, wrapping your fingers in his curls and bringing his head down to kiss him. “Come here, I want to give you your welcome home celebration.” You say, moving him off of you.

“Normally I’m all for that, but I need to be in you. I’m not going to last long if you use your mouth.”

You sit up on the bed and get up onto your knees, pulling Spencer up to sit up too. You straddle his lap, cupping his face in your hands, rubbing both of your thumbs on his cheek, feeling a bit of stubble in his face. “You look tired, my love.”

Spencer smiles, wrapping his arms around your back, pulling you into his chest. “Not too tired to finish.”

You laugh, kissing him softly. “No? You can go all night? Multiple times?” You teasingly question.

“We can test that theory tomorrow. But right now, we have 3 weeks worth of tension we need to work out.”

“Can I ride you?” You ask.

“Be my guest. I like the view.” He smirks, laying back down against the mattress, his hands gripping both of your thighs.

You get into position, holding his cock steady while you lower yourself down slowly.

Spencer rolls his head back on the pillow, grunting loudly as he feels your tightness around himself. His hands move up your thighs and under your outfit to your hips, gripping them tightly.

You rest your hands on his chest to keep balance, slowly starting to rock your hips against him. Your eyes stay glued to him, watching how his lips were parted and light moans were falling from him. “Do you like that?”

Spencer nods his head, his eyes focusing on your chest bouncing up and down in rhythm of your movements on him. He was trying to focus on anything else in the world to prevent himself from cumming too early.

“Tsk, tsk… words baby.” You tease, scratching his chest with your nails. “You never don’t know what to say.”

“It’s cute when you try to be the one in control.”

“I know I’m cute. You tell me quite often.” You retort with a wide grin.

Your comment earns a laugh from him, playfully rolling his eyes at you. Spencer begins to buck his hips up quickly, taking you by surprise. His fingers move the straps down your shoulders, helping you move your arms out of the straps as you continue to move on top of him. He moves the top half of your outfit down under your chest, his hands like magnets and begins massaging your breasts.

“Fuck, daddy,” You whimper, holding his forearms as he fucks into you. “That’s so good, you’re so good.”

Spencer sits up, letting you take control again. His thumb finds your clit, starting to rub it slowly, his soft brown eyes watching you melt into his touch.

Your eyes roll into the back of your skull, small whimpers leaving your mouth. You lean your body forward and nuzzle your head into Spencer’s neck. You start to kiss his pale skin, raking your teeth against it.

“Mmm, fuck.” Spencer moans out, applying more pressure to your clit as he feels a small pinch on his neck. “You going to cum for me again, pretty girl?”

“Not yet.” You whine in his ear.

“I’m going to move you. I want to fuck you.” Spencer says, moving your body off of his, earning a whine from you as his cock leaves you. “Bend over for daddy.” He says, helping you lay flat on the mattress while your butt is in the air, facing him. “Mmm, you’re so pretty, my girl.” He says in a low voice, both of his hands kneading your ass.

You whine pathetically, pressing yourself against him. “Daddy, please.”

Spencer smiles, grabbing his cock and slowly sliding back inside you. “It’s cute when you try to take control, but even cuter when you’re a whiny mess.” His hand grips the back of your outfit to hold onto as he fucks you from behind. This was his absolute favorite way to have you because of how hard he could slam into you, but the reaction you gave was even better.

Your hand finds his wrist and holds onto it as he  thrusts into your dripping pussy. He could feel how you were coating his cock every time he drew himself back out of you. “I love your cock.” You mutter out.

“This is your cock, baby. You take it so fucking well.” He grunts out, now struggling to keep from exploding. Anytime you fully submitted to him, he was done for.

You had such a strong personality outside of the bedroom that most people wouldn’t believe you were submissive 9 times out of 10.

“Am I your good girl for taking you so well?” You question, looking behind you to look at Spencer with innocent eyes.

His heart and cock fluttered at both your question and your eyes, you always played the innocent card so well. He grabs all of your hair in his hand and gently pulls it back toward him, making you whimper again. “You’re always a good girl for me, my love.” He responds. “Such. A. Good. Girl.” He thrusts into you harshly with each word.

You start to rub your own clit, bringing your second orgasm to the surface for the second time tonight. “You’re going to make me-fuck-me cum. Don’t stop, please don’t stop, daddy.” You were gasping as you spoke, desperate for your release.

“Cum for me, let go my girl.” Spencer says, taking over for your fingers to help bring you to your height. He rubs you quickly, trying not to lose it before you.

Finally you feel your walls clench around his cock, both of you moaning loudly. You moan Spencer’s name along with multiple curse words as he continues to rutt into your sensitive hole.

Spencer pulls out quickly, rubbing himself as he feels his own climax coming to a head.

“No, come back. Put it back in me, please.” You whine, reaching behind you to find Spencer’s cock and lead it back into you.

“You want me to cum in you? You want it inside you?” Spencer groans, seconds away from losing it.

“Please. Cum in me, Spence.” You beg, meeting his thrusts.

Spencer thrusts one last time before he spills himself inside of you, his grip on your hips squeezing as you slowly stop throwing your hips back against him. “Fuck, you’re so good.” He whispers, his eyes shutting as he feels the tip of his cock tingle.

Both of you stay in place as you try to regain your composure. You can already feel your eyes flutter closed, heavy from being tired. Spencer finally pulls out of you, making you hiss and lay flat on the bed.

“Baby, come on, we gotta go clean you up.”

“No.” You whine, closing your eyes again.

“You need to use the bathroom and clean yourself up. We have this conversation every time you’re too tired to get up. Come here, I’ll help you.”

You poke your bottom lip out into a pout as you reluctantly get out of bed, holding Spencer’s hand as you walk into your bathroom together. He helps clean the mess inside you up with a wet towel before leaving you alone to use the toilet.

Once you’re all settled, you walk back into the bedroom, finding Spencer getting the bed ready for both of you to lay down. You wrap your arms around his waist and hug him from behind tightly. Spencer happily hums, reaching behind himself to touch your arm.

“I love you.” You say, giving him a squeeze.

“And I love you.” He says, pulling you around to give you a kiss on the lips. “Do you want to sleep?”

You nod your head, climbing into bed first and getting comfortable right away as you watch Spencer slide in next to you, laying on his side to face you.

You grin ear to ear, kissing his chin. “Hi baby.”

“Hi pretty girl. You good?” He questions, lightly touching your cheek. You lean into his touch and nod. “I’m perfect.”

Spencer brings you into his chest, his fingers rubbing small circles into your shoulder. “Yeah, you are perfect.”

[helianskies]

day 1: writer & artist

written for @hwsrarepairweek2022, welcome to the first work of ~a selection~ that i hope to share with you this week!

rating: teen+ ⠀ words: 1.7k

pairing: turkey/portugal 🇹🇷🇵🇹

read it below or over here on ao3!

João woke up to the sound of scratching, quiet and a bit distant, but still invasive. He stirred and dared to pry open an eye, unsure of what time of day he would potentially find himself immersed in, but otherwise quite certain of what it was that had disturbed him. For one, the bed was empty besides himself; secondly, this was not the first, nor third, nor tenth time that he had received such a wake up call…

…what was that thing they said about history repeating itself?

“Dammit, Sadık…” he groaned, rolling onto his back, arms flopped over his face in an attempt to block out the stream of sunlight hitting the bed.

“Good morning,” Sadık replied, nevertheless, still working away in the corner of the room. “Did you sleep okay?”

João had to bite back a laugh. “I was sleeping fine until you decided to start drawing again, querido.”

“Oh, uh… Sorry about that…”

“‘S fine, at least it’s a weekend. I don’t have to be in a good mood for anyone, like clients or co-workers…  A day-long strop sounds kinda fun, really…”

“I’m stopping, I’m stopping!” Sadık professed all the while, and sure enough, João heard the scrambling and rustling of paper being hastily set down on the floor—the only place for it to go—and he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

Sadık was good. Sadık was good to him—amazing to him, really—and João treasured that. Sadık was funny, caring without being suffocating, and incredibly wholesome. But, oh my God, was he also a bit of a dork (granted, one of João’s favourite things about him).

While his partner sorted himself out, João sat up in bed and stretched. A yawn fought its way out of him—he tried to smother it behind a hand—and the next thing he knew, he was the one being smothered by kisses, a barrage against his cheek. João could not stop himself from laughing.

“Okay, okay, I accept the apology!” he assured the other, only half-heartedly fending him off.

Sadık seemed relieved. “Good!” he replied. “Am I allowed to continue drawing now?”

João stammered over a response, the words escaping him before he eventually settled on: “Are you going to let me actually see what you’re drawing this time?”

“Well, maybe. Depends how it turns out.”

“You never show me your sketches,” João huffed, giving a pout as though to exaggerate his point (and guilt-trip him). “Considering that I’m the thing you draw more often than anything else, and also bearing in mind you normally paint places and not people, I’d kinda like to see what I actually look like. I hope you’ve been drawing my good side!”

“Every side is your good side,” Sadık promised him. A hand tucked João’s hair back over his shoulder and out of the way, and the intimacy of it, minimal as it was, certainly helped to mellow him. “I’ll show you later on. There’s some things that need fixing, and I’d hate for you to see an unfinished sketch.”

João conceded—compromise was far easier and than pushing for something—and in the same breath, Sadık agreed to take a break. That was all João wanted to hear.

With that settled, he got up from bed, a sudden burst of energy in his body (which seemed to startle Sadık somewhat), and he stretched once more. There was some tension in his shoulder—a massage would surely help, he figured—but rather than getting the hint, Sadık had other priorities:

“You should probably stop giving the neighbourhood a private viewing,” he said, a blanket appearing and wrapping itself around the lower half of João’s otherwise very naked body. The latter was amused. The curtains weren’t even open that wide but bless, if the paranoia wasn’t adorable!

“And here I thought you liked it when I was naked,” he teased.

“I do,” Sadık replied, “but only when I get the private viewing.”

“Mmmh. Noted.”

Still, João took custody of the blanket and kept himself wrapped up, mostly because that blanket was nice and cosy, and he was in no real hurry to get dressed. What was on his mind more than anything was the drawing—Sadık’s little obsession with grabbing whatever medium he had to hand and just beginning to transfer João onto paper. Sometimes, it was nice. He really was a talented artist, and seeing his passion and focus was quite the inspiration, as well as just generally endearing. But sometimes, the real João wanted the attention—wanted the dutiful gaze, the gentle fingers, the artist’s appraisal…

“João?”

“Mhmm…?”

“I’ve upset you.”

“No,” João said, shaking his head (but otherwise unsure how to reassure him). “You haven’t upset me, it’s fine.”

“Something isn’t fine, though,” Sadık nevertheless noted, “and I’ve got a funny feeling it’s still the drawing thing.”

João, knowing how transparent he could be around the other, was hardly going to deny it now. “It’s always the drawing thing,” he said. Not in a confrontational way, however, so much as just a dismissive, ‘it doesn’t really matter’ sort of way. This little thing hardly warranted a serious discussion, he felt. “Like I said, querido, it’s fine. I don’t entirely hate it.”

He just hated it when it got in the way of Them.

(Well, and his sleep… but that was less important.)

Just as João was ready to move on, start the day, debating between a shower and a hug, he was interrupted. Sadık stepped in his path and blocked his route to any exit from their bedroom (for less intimidating reasons that it sounded, of course). João was ready to dig his heels in, either way, so sure that the other wanted to address this blip. He didn't want the talk, he didn't want the coddling, he didn't want the, 'there there, it's okay' because he despised it—had seen it too often in previous relationships. That, and he quite simply didn't want to get in the way of Sadık and his craft. So further discussion was off the table!

Yet, words and diatribe did not appear. Not right away.

Instead, Sadık’s hands came to hold his face, cupping his cheeks and ensuring that João listened to whatever it was he had to say. The way he smiled held a warmth that only Sadık was capable of—a warmth that spread right from his chest, through his fingertips, and into João’s very being. Silly as he thought it was, for the other to draw him so frequently and to be the subject of the other’s gaze in such a way, João... did love it. He appreciated it. Sadık loved him, and he never had to say it for it to be believed.

“Listen,” his partner duly began, “I can’t help it, and you should know that by now. There’s just something so beautiful about you, canım, and I don’t know what it is—but you are just… I can’t resist drawing you, loving you…”

Warmth became poorly-hidden surprise.

“Beautiful?” João repeated, trying to mask his wariness of the word behind a light scoff, a half-laugh. What followed was a brief but awkward pause, an uncertainty about how to respond… “Very cute and romantic of you,” he eventually managed to say as the other’s hands fell away again, “but flattery will get you nowhere. You woke me up with your endless scratchy sketching, and you still have to make it up to me!”

“Ah— Coffee?”

“And?”

“Breakfast in bed?”

João tutted. “I’m not in bed anymore, what’s the point?”

“On the balcony, then,” Sadık suggested. “Coffee and a light breakfast.”

“Better. it’s almost perfect, in fact…”

“Almost…?”

João tapped his cheek. Sadık understood. He leaned in and a peck landed on his cheek (warmth blossomed from the spot, a raindrop rippling in a lake) and, just when João was ready to let him get on his way, Sadık saw fit to then steal a heartier meal from the other, lips on lips, hands on waist.

Yes, well, when Sadık had suggested a light breakfast, João had not expected himself to potentially be on that menu.

(Maybe for lunch...)

“Go on,” João laughed, gently pushing the other away before someone got too greedy (as much as he would have loved to carry on). “Go and make a start on food, or something. I’m going to have a quick shower, okay?”

“Aw, didn't you fancy sharing with me?”

“Just go!”

Satisfied with his jesting, Sadık scarpered off, snickering away to himself through the apartment, and leaving João to himself.

A shower was indeed a good idea. His hair was in need of some attention (really, those dead ends seriously needed trimming; he would have to ask Sadık if he minded helping him with that later on) and, just in general, he preferred to feel properly refreshed and awake before getting on with the day. It put him in a better mood.

Before he did that, however, there was… something he had to quickly do.

With Sadık gone, João returned to his bedside table and opened the middle drawer. From it, he retrieved an old pen and a notebook, already half-filled with scrawl and mess and explosions of random thoughts that came to him at all times of day. But he needed it. It may have been chaos, but it was also important to him—an ongoing project that, much like his hair, required some serious attention.

Sitting down on the bed, João hurried to find where he had left off: a chunk of dialogue more matted than his own locks. Bad, bad, bad. He turned to the adjacent blank page, wielded his pen, and began to write an… alternative exchange:

“I can’t help it, and you should know that by now. There’s just something so beautiful about you, and I don’t know what it is—but you are jus—”

“Beautiful is a big word, and a very sweet one, too. But what makes me beautiful is you—your love. You give me a reason to be. Without you, there would be no one to be beautiful for; I’d be a garden with no flowers, a ship with no sea. You are why I am the way that I am, and I love you for it—more than these words could ever truly say.”

Yes, yes… That was much, much better…

Now, if only he knew how to say that, not in a book, but to a face…

[lumosandnoxwriting]

Photoshoot Fantasies - Fred Weasley

Title: Photoshoot Fantasies Pairing: Fred x Fem!Reader Warnings: NSFW!!! Dom!Fred, daddy kink, spanking, masturbation (male and female) oral (male receiving), unprotected sex, choking, begging, dirty talk Summary: Fred doesn’t like it when his girlfriend gets naughty without his permission A/N: this is….pure filth. For the anon who wanted some smut with dom!fred. this is literally like 3% plot and 97% smut lmao so I hope you enjoy!! Requests are open and feedback is always welcomed!!

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“Oi, lover boy! You’ve got a letter from your girlfriend,” George calls teasingly from the kitchen.

Fred groans as he rolls over in bed, his hands coming up to rub the last bits of sleep from his eyes. He squints as he opens his eyes, due to the bright streaks of sunlight coming in from the break in his curtains. Fred takes a moment to mentally prepare himself for the day before he heaves himself out of bed, and shuffles into the kitchen.

“Good morning dear brother of mine,” George greets far too cheerily for the early hour.

Fred grunts in response and takes a seat across from George, waving his wand so a cup of coffee lands in front of him. He usually isn’t one to need caffeine in the morning, his own natural energy is usually enough to clear the sleep induced fog from his head, but he’s been having trouble sleeping lately since Y/N hasn’t been by his side.

After graduation, Y/N landed her dream job in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at the Ministry. Fred had been so proud of her, and he loved how excited she was each night as she told him about her day over dinner. Unfortunately, her job had one huge drawback: traveling. Every so often Y/N would travel to different parts of the UK and Europe to get updates on the population of certain magical creatures or to help develop and implement conservation plans. A week ago, she left for her longest trip yet, an entire month, and Fred hasn’t been able to sleep well since.

“Where’s this letter then?” Fred asks after he has a few sips of coffee. He can feel the caffeine working its’ magic, and his brain is finally clear enough to string a sentence together.

George rolls his eyes and tosses a thick envelope at Fred. “You two are sickening, you know that? I think she wrote you a bloody novel about how much she loves you and misses you,” George says, pretending to throw up.

Fred flips George off, trying to contain the blush forming on his face. “Don’t act like you didn’t stand in the doorway for 15 minutes last night kissing Angelina goodbye, git.” Fred can feel George’s eyes on him as he fiddles with the envelope. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he bites.

“Someone is feeling feisty,” George retorts with a laugh. “Come on then, open the damn letter. Let’s see how long it takes her to start waxing poetically about your eyes.”

Fred glares at George as his fingers quickly rip open the envelope. Normally he would wait for George to go and busy himself with something else or he’d retreat to his room so he could bask in Y/N’s words by himself, but it’s been far too long since he’s seen her and Fred thinks he might explode if he waits any longer to read her letter. “Oh,” he says softly in surprise, when he only pulls out one piece of parchment. The envelope hadn’t been bulky from the lovely letter she wrote him, but the half a dozen photographs she had included. His eyes scan over the short note, a small smile appearing on his face.

To my dearest Freddie Eddie Spaghetti,

Things are going well up in Scotland, Niffler birth rates are through the roof thanks to the plan we implemented last year. We’ve spent the last few days prepping a large cohort of them to send off to Egypt to assist the rune breakers Gringotts has out there. I’ll be off to France in a day or so to check up on some of the Thestrals we brought to a conservatory outside of Nice a few months ago, hopefully they’ve acclimated well.

I’ve been missing you like crazy, Freddie. You’re all I seem to think about these days, it’s been quite hard to focus on my work. I don’t know how I’m going to manage going three more weeks without seeing your face or being held in your arms. You better rest up, because you won’t be getting any sleep for days once I’m finally back home with you.

I’ve included a few photos that will hopefully keep you company while I’m still away.

Love you lots and lots and lots, Y/N

“That’s it? One stinky piece of parchment?” George asks, clearly annoyed. “There’s my day, ruined. Thought I’d get a nice laugh at least since you’ve been so miserable. What else is in the envelope then?”

Fred’s eyes are still scanning the letter, trying to commit the words to memory and he absentmindedly grabs the stack of photos to show George. “She sent photos,” he responds, finally putting the letter to the side. “Probably of all the baby Nifflers,” he adds with a chuckle.

“Let me see, then,” George says excitedly, reaching his hand out. “Remember when she sent those photos of the baby dragons dressed up in onesies? That was jokes. Bet she put hats on them this time.”

As Fred goes to hand George the stack of photos he gets a glimpse of the one on top. His eyes widen and he quickly pulls his arm back, cradling the photos against his chest. “Nope, sorry. You can’t see them.”

“What? Why not?” George watches as Fred starts to fidget in his seat and a red flush starts to take over his face. “Oh my god!” he says suddenly with a laugh, realization hitting him. “She sent you nudes! What a little minx. You two are far more disgusting than I ever could have imagined.”

Fred clears his throat, choosing to ignore George. “Well I’m going to go back to my room and uh, respond to this letter. See you later.” Fred tries to act as normal as possible as he heads back to his room, desperately trying to ignore George’s cackling. He breathes a sigh of relief as he shuts his door behind him, leaning on it for a moment.

Fred rids himself of his T-shirt and climbs back onto his bed in nothing but his boxers. This isn’t how he planned on spending his morning, but Fred is more than happy to change his plans. He sits up in bed, his back pressed up against his cold wall and his legs splayed out. While Fred would consider himself adventurous in the bedroom, this is the first time Y/N has ever done anything like this, and he can feel himself getting aroused already.

“Merlin,” he groans as he allows himself to look at the first photo. Y/N is laying in the middle of a bed wearing nothing but a lacy red bra and the matching pair of panties, a set Fred is all too familiar with.  Her whole face isn’t visible, just her mouth, and as the photo moves her tongue comes out to lick her bottom lip and her hand lightly trails down her torso to her thigh.

He balances the stack of photos on his lap for a moment, his right hand pushing his boxers down to his thighs. Fred had planned on drawing out the experience, but he’s already rock hard from the first photo. He throws the first photo on the bed beside him as he wraps his hand around himself, and he picks the stack back up.

Fred starts to slowly stroke himself as his eyes rake over the next photograph, his mouth running dry. Y/N is laying in the same position as before, but the bra she was wearing in the first photo has been discarded, and as the photo moves her hands massage her breasts and she bites her lip.

“Oh fuck,” he moans, as he moves onto the next photo. Y/N is now completely naked, and as the photo moves one of her hands trails down her front from her breast to her core while her other hand pinches and toys with one of her nipples.

Fred starts to stroke himself faster and is unable to contain the grunts that fall from his mouth as he moves to the next photo. His thumb rubs the sensitive tip of his cock, spreading around the precum that has started to accumulate, helping his hand glide easier as he strokes. In the next photo, Y/N’s mouth is open, and Fred is sure a breathy moan is leaving her lips, as the movement of the photo shows Y/N starting to slowly rub her clit as her other hand fists in the sheets underneath her.

“Oh, fucking shit,” Fred groans as he looks at the second to last photo, his hand stilling on his cock to stop himself from finishing just yet. Y/N’s feet are now flat against the bed, her knees bent and open wide. As the photo moves Fred can clearly see Y/N sink two fingers into herself as her thumb rubs at her clit. Her other hand tugs at the sheets and her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, a telltale sign that she’s on the brink of her release.

Fred starts to stroke himself again as he reveals the last photo, his orgasm quickly approaching. Y/N’s entire body is flushed red and as the photo moves her back arches, her toes curl, and her whole body trembles as she reaches her orgasm.

Fred’s thumb teases the sensitive head of his cock as his eyes wander over all of the photos. He focuses on the last one, and as Y/N once again reaches her climax Fred does as well. His head tips back and he lets out a low moan as he releases all over his stomach, his cock twitching in his hand. Fred continues to lightly stroke himself as he comes down from his high, his breath coming out in hard pants.

When he gets to be too sensitive he releases himself, letting his cock lay against his stomach. He reaches for his wand so he can clean himself off with a simple spell. But an even better idea pops into his head.

“Accio, camera,” he casts, watching as the top drawer of their dresser opens and his camera starts to fly over to him. He grips the camera and points it at himself, so his body from his torso to the tops of his thighs are in shot. Fred makes sure that his limp cock and the come on his stomach is the center of the photo, and once he’s pleased with the shot he clicks the shutter button.

Fred places the camera on his bed as the photo prints and develops, grabbing his wand and cleaning himself off with a spell. He pulls his boxers back up and gets out of bed, rummaging around for some parchment and a quill. Once he finds what he needs he writes out a quick letter to Y/N.

To my dearest Y/N,

I’m glad to hear everything is going well with work. I’m so proud of you and the things you do. Things at the shop are going well, the new range of whiz-bangs sold out in just a few days. I’m missing you like mad, I can’t wait for you to get home.

Those photos you sent me were very naughty. How dare you pleasure yourself like that without Daddy’s permission. I think Daddy’s going to have to punish you when he finally gets his hands on you. 10 spanks sounds fair, doesn’t it princess? I think you deserve it, after the mess you caused Daddy to make all over himself.

Love you lots and lots and lots and lots, Freddie Eddie Spaghetti

Fred grabs the now developed photo from his bed as he reads over the letter, a satisfied smile on his face. He folds up the letter and tucks it into an envelope along with the photo before he seals it and addresses it to Y/N. As he goes to leave his room he spots a piece of folded up parchment on his floor and he grabs it, opening it up as he heads towards the window in the kitchen.

I’m going to Angelina’s. Use a silencing charm next time you perv.

Fred laughs at George’s note as he sends their owl away with his letter, already thinking about taking advantage of his brother’s absence.

-

“Someone is in a good mood this morning,” George muses as Fred saunters down into the shop just before opening.

Fred adjusts his tie as he joins his brother at the till, a huge smile on his face. Just like last week, a letter had arrived from Y/N this morning with another filthy set of photos. This time she was in a lingerie set that Fred didn’t recognize, and she brought herself to her climax using one of the toys Fred had purchased for her as a Valentine’s Day present earlier in the year. Fred had just enough time to bring himself to his own orgasm and write her back before he had to get dressed and head down to work.

“And why wouldn’t I be?” Fred asks as he unlocks the door and turns the open sign on with a wave of his wand. “The sun is shining, the birds are chirping. It’s a beautiful day, Georgie.”

George looks Fred over before he scrunches his face up in disgust. “Y/N sent you another letter today didn’t she?” When Fred sends George a wink he gags. “Bloody disgusting. I hope you washed your hands.”

“And why would Fred need to be washing his hands?” Verity asks as she comes back from the storeroom with some more love potions to be stocked.

Fred’s face flushes red as George start to laugh. “No reason in particular,” he stutters out. Fred turns to George and glares at him. “You’re such an arse.” Fred moves to hit George upside the head, but he ducks his brother’s advance and heads over to help the two customers that have just walked in the door.

“You lot don’t pay me enough to deal with this,” Verity says as she chuckles and shakes her head.

-

Fred sighs to himself as he sits up in bed, his eyes scanning over some of his notes. He and George are in the early days of developing some new products, and he’s working out some of the initial bugs before they start production next week. At least that’s what he’s supposed to be doing, but his mind is definitely elsewhere. Y/N’s third letter had arrived a few days ago, and he can’t help but let his mind wander to the new photoset sitting in his bedside drawer. It seems that his threats of punishment have fallen on deaf ears, because the photos Y/N has sent have been dirtier each time, and he can’t help but imagine what will be waiting for him in the envelope when her final letter arrives in a few days.

“What do you want?” Fred asks dully when there’s a knock at his door, not bothering to look up at George.

“That’s an awfully rude way to greet your girlfriend after you haven’t seen her for nearly a month,” Y/N says, the smile evident in her voice.

Fred’s head snaps up immediately, a smile taking over his face. “Y/N? What are you doing here?” He immediately climbs off the bed and heads over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Y/N drops her bag on the ground and wraps her arms around Fred’s neck, pulling him down so she can kiss him sweetly. “We finished everything up a few days early. Figured I’d come home and surprise you.”

Fred presses their lips together again hotly, his hands moving down to Y/N’s thighs. He lifts her up, his hands gripping her tightly and moves her over to the bed. “God I missed you,” he murmurs into their kiss, before he tosses her onto the bed.

“Couldn’t have missed me too much, not with all the photos I sent you,” Y/N giggles as she lays back on the bed.

Fred’s eyes darken and he can’t help but let out a groan as he thinks about those pictures. He can feel himself start to get aroused, and he grabs his wand, waving it so that his door slams shut, and locks and a silencing charm falls around his room.

“Such a naughty girl you were, Y/N. Taking those photos without Daddy’s permission,” he scolds, his voice low and rough.

Y/N squirms on the bed, looking up at Fred as innocent as possible. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I just wanted to make you feel good while I was gone,” she explains sweetly. “And clearly it worked, that photo you sent me made me so wet, Daddy.”

Fred bites his lip as he watches her squirm on the bed, taking pride in the fact that he can see a blush forming on her cheeks. “Oh, you made Daddy feel very good, princess. But you were still being a little brat. And you know what happens to brats? Don’t you?”

Y/N can feel herself getting wet as arousal starts to build in her stomach. She’s been waiting for this moment since Fred mentioned spanking her in his first letter. “They get punished,” she responds airily, fists clenching to keep from touching herself.

“That’s right princess, they get punished.” Fred pauses, letting his eyes roam up and down Y/N’s body. “Daddy think 30 swats is good, 15 on each cheek. Don’t you think, princess?” Fred smirks when Y/N lets out a whine as she nods wildly. “What should I use, hm? My hand? Or should I get the paddle?”

“Your hand, please,” Y/N begs. As much as she loves the paddle, she craves the feeling of Fred’s hand on her ass.

Fred smirks down at her. “Normally brats don’t get what they want. But you asked so nicely, princess.” Fred tears his gaze away from Y/N and takes seat on the end of their bed. “Get naked for Daddy and come stand in front of me.”

Y/N immediately gets off of the bed and rids herself of all of her clothing. Normally when they play this game she loves to drag it out and tease Fred endlessly. But she’s been on the edge for nearly 4 weeks and Fred has already been preparing to punish her, and she doesn’t want to find out what he’ll do if she’s even more naughty now that they’re finally back together. Y/N comes to stand in front of Fred, feeling shy under his intense gaze.

“God you are so gorgeous, princess,” Fred compliments, his hand reaching out to lightly grip her hip. He rubs circles into the bare skin, reassuring her. “Come on then. Get in Daddy’s lap.” Fred helps Y/N get situated across his lap, laying on her front. “Such a good girl,” he whispers, letting his hand run down her back, over her bum and to her thigh. “Do you have anything to say to Daddy? Before he gives you your punishment,” he drawls, his hand pushing in between her legs to rub at her wet folds.

Y/N gasps at his touch, her eyes falling closed. “I’m sorry for being a naughty girl, Daddy,” she moans out as Fred rubs her clit ever so slightly.

“Thank you princess,” he says softly, removing his hand from her core. He places it on her bum instead, lightly massaging one of her cheeks. “Daddy’s not mad at you, princess. But you still have to be punished, do you understand?” When Y/N nods he smiles. “Good girl. I want you to count for me, okay?”

“Yes Daddy,” Y/N responds, getting comfortable in Fred’s lap. A squeak leaves her mouth as Fred lands the first slap to her ass. “One,” she counts breathily. Before she has a chance to recover from the first hit, Fred is landing another hit to her cheek causing her to moan. “Two.”

Fred smirks down at the writhing mess Y/N has turned into after her first 15 spanks. Her right bum cheek is bright red, and Fred resists his urge to lean down to kiss it. “Are you doing alright, Princess? Can you take 15 more?” Fred asks quietly, reaching up to stroke Y/N’s hair. As much as he loves being rough with her, he never wants to hurt her or make her uncomfortable in any way. He’s rock hard in his trousers already, and he wants to make sure she’s getting as much pleasure from this as he is.

“Yes, Daddy. Need more. ‘M a naughty girl, I need to be punished,” she responds desperately. Y/N is soaking wet and her stomach is a pool of arousal. A few tears have snuck out of her eyes from how turned on she is, and she’s basking in the warmth left behind on her bum from Fred’s hand.

“Good girl,” Fred praises, leaning down to press a few kisses to Y/N’s shoulder. “You can use your safe word at any time, you know that right?” When Y/N nods he presses another kiss to her shoulder and starts to massage the bum cheek he hasn’t hit yet. “Count for me again, princess, okay?”

Y/N nods, letting out a moan a Fred lands the first hit to her cheek. “One,” she whines, lifting her hips up to encourage him to spank her again. Fred suddenly lands three hits in a row, causing a few more tears to leak out of her eyes as she moans. “Two, three, four,” she stutters out.

By the time Fred lands the last hit to her ass, Y/N is desperate for release. She’s slowly moving her hips forward, desperate for any kind of friction against her clit. “Daddy please,” she begs.

“Look at my desperate little baby,” he coos, moving Y/N’s hair out of her face so he can see the desperation on it. “Such a good girl you were, princess. Such a good girl for Daddy. C’mere let me kiss you.”

Fred helps Y/N straddle his waist and tucks a few stray hairs behind her ear. He kisses her deeply, his tongue immediately licking into her mouth. Y/N moans into the kiss, rolling her hips against the rough fabric of Fred’s trousers. Fred groans at the contact on his clothed cock, his hips rolling up to meet hers. “God, so fucking desperate for it aren’t you, princess?” he asks as his lips start to trail kisses down her neck.

Y/N nods, tipping her head back to give Fred more room to kiss. “Need you so bad, Daddy. Missed your cock. That’s what I was thinkin’ about in all those photos. Thinkin’ about how much I love your cock and how good it feels inside of me.”

Fred groans into Y/N’s neck and pulls away so he can look at her. “That’s so fucking hot, princess. Imagining you lying in bed, touching yourself and thinking of me.” Fred kisses Y/N again. “Go on and show Daddy how you touch yourself, princess. Get in bed and pleasure yourself for me.”

Y/N crawls off of Fred’s lap and onto the bed, settling down in the middle of it. One of her hands starts to pinch and twist her nipple, while the other runs down her body and settles at her core. She watches as Fred stands up and starts to undress himself, her index finger starting to rub small circles on her clit. “Oh fuck,” she moans, tilting her head back.

Once Fred is fully nude he kneels on the bed next to Y/N’s head and takes himself in his hand. He starts to slowly stroke his cock, his eyes crawling over every inch of Y/N’s body. There’s a flush that creeps up her chest, over her neck and to her cheeks and her hips are slowly rocking as she teases her clit.

“So pretty, princess. You look so pretty touching yourself for Daddy,” Fred praises.

Y/N turns her head to look at Fred as she feels her orgasm approaching. She opens her mouth, silently asking Fred to let her suck him off. When he doesn’t immediately give in, she whines. “Please let me suck your cock, Daddy. Please.”

Fred reaches down with his free hand to cup Y/N’s cheek. “Fucking hell you’re desperate for it princess.” He pushes his hips forward just enough so Y/N can wrap her lips around the head of his cock.

Y/N whines around Fred’s cock, her head starting to move up and down. She lets her tongue wrap around the head on each pull back, wanting Fred to release into her mouth. When he starts to slowly fuck his hips forward she hums around him in encouragement. As her climax builds she starts to rub harder circles on her clit, desperate for release.

“Fuck princess, gonna make Daddy come,” Fred moans, his eyes watching his cock disappear into her mouth.

Y/N’s eyes flutter shut as she reaches her orgasm, her whole body trembling. She moans around Fred’s cock as pleasure flows through her, causing him to suddenly release into her mouth. Her motions on her clit slow down as Fred’s cock twitches in her mouth and she swallows his release. As Fred slowly pulls his cock out of her mouth Y/N stops her movement on her clit, bringing her hand up to clean off her finger.

“Holy fuck,” Fred pants, watching Y/N’s lips wrap around her finger. “You are so fucking amazing,” he says in awe. Fred’s cock which hadn’t even gone fully soft starts to harden again as Y/N looks up at him. “Look at what you do to Daddy, princess. His cock is already hard for you again.”

Y/N smiles as she gets up to her knees. She wraps one hand around his cock and starts to slowly stroke it, while her other goes to his neck so she can pull their lips together. Fred’s mouth immediately overpowers hers, and he forces his tongue into her mouth. Fred is fully hard in Y/N’s hand now, and as they kiss he maneuvers them so he’s sitting with his back up against the wall, and Y/N is sitting in his lap.

“Need your cock Daddy,” Y/N whines, pulling her mouth away from Fred’s. “Fuck me Daddy, please.”

Fred chuckles, his hands falling onto Y/N’s hips. “Go on then, princess. Fuck yourself on my cock since you’re so desperate for it.” Fred suppresses a groan as Y/N grinds down against him. Fred and Y/N have tried nearly every sexual position either of them could think of, and they both know that being on top is low on Y/N’s list of favorites; she much prefers it when Fred holds her down and fucks her into the mattress.

“Daddy,” she pouts, grinding down against him again.

Fred narrows his eyes at her and resists his urge to kiss her. “Princess,” he warns. “If you wanna be a desperate cock slut, then be a desperate cock slut and fuck yourself on Daddy’s cock. Maybe if you’re a good girl and you come on Daddy’s cock he’ll give you what you want.”

Y/N perks up at that, and she leans forward to kiss Fred slowly as she rises to her knees. One of her hands’ rests on his shoulder, while the other reaches back to grasp the base of his cock.

Fred breaks their kiss so he can watch as Y/N lines him up with her entrance. Y/N whines as she sinks down, her eyes fluttering shut at how full she feels. She sinks down until their hips meet and Fred is fully inside of her.

“Fuck you’re tight, princess. Always so tight for Daddy,” he praises. He groans as Y/N starts to roll her hips, his grip on her tightening. “Go on, baby,” he encourages. “Get yourself off on my cock.”

“Oh,” Y/N moans, her hands gripping Fred’s shoulders tightly. She starts to slowly pick herself up, stopping when Fred is only halfway inside her, before she slams herself back down. “So good, Daddy,” she pants.

Y/N fucks herself on Fred’s cock like that for a few minutes, growing frustrated when she fails to hit the spot inside of her that will bring her to her orgasm. “Daddy please,” she whines.

“Come on, princess. You know how to fuck yourself on Daddy’s cock. Come around Daddy’s cock and he’ll give you what you want,” he encourages.

Y/N leans back, placing a hand on each of Fred’s thighs and uses the leverage to lift herself up. “Oh fuck,” she gasps as she sinks back down, the tip of Fred’s cock finally brushing her sweet spot.

“You look so pretty, princess. Getting yourself off on my cock,” Fred praises, helping Y/N to lift her hips off of him. “Such a good girl.”

Y/N moans as she fucks herself on Fred’s cock, already feeling her orgasm approaching. She starts to move her hips desperately, searching for her release. “So close, Daddy. Touch me Daddy please,” she pleads.

Fred smirks before he leans forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to Y/N’s lips. “Come on, Princess, come on Daddy’s cock,” he encourages, one of his hands leaving her hip so he can rub circles on her clit.

With one more downwards movement of her hips Y/N’s walls tighten around Fred as she comes, her body shaking as her orgasm rolls through her. “That’s it, princess. Such a good girl,” Fred coos quietly, his thumb slowing its motion and his hips rocking slightly to help her through her orgasm.

Fred kisses Y/N slowly as her breathing starts to return to normal. She shifts around on his cock as their lips move together and it takes everything in Fred to not come right there. “You’ve been such a good girl for me tonight, princess. Doing so well,” he says, breaking their kiss. “Can you take more, baby? D’you want Daddy to fuck you into the mattress?” Fred pecks Y/N’s lips. “It’s okay if you don’t baby. Daddy just wants to take care of you.”

“Want you to come inside me Daddy,” Y/N tells him, looking into Fred’s eyes. “Want you to pin me down and fuck me into the mattress.”

Fred doesn’t need to be told twice. He kisses Y/N hard and flips them over so her back is on the bed and he’s hovering over her. He throws both of her legs over his shoulders, pinning her to the mattress with his hips. He braces himself with one hand as his other comes up to grip Y/N’s throat and he pulls all the way out before he slams back into her.

“Oh fuck, Daddy,” Y/N moans as Fred starts to fuck into her relentlessly. The tip of his cock is brushing the spot inside of her and she’s already so sensitive from her previous two orgasms, and with the way Fred is gripping the side of her neck she knows she won’t last long.

“God, princess,” Fred grunts as Y/N’s walls clench around him. “Such a good pussy. You always feel go good wrapped around Daddy.” Fred lands a particularly hard slam as Y/N moves to touch herself. “Hands off, princess. Want you to come just from my cock. Can you do that for Daddy?”

Y/N nods, too busy moaning and whining to answer Fred verbally. Her body feels like it’s on fire, her toes curling and her back arching as she reaches her climax. “Daddy,” she moans lowly, as she comes around Fred’s cock, a few stray tears falling from the corners of her eyes.

“Fuck princess,” Fred moans. Y/N’s walls tighten and twitch around him, bringing him to his own release. His hips still as he empties himself inside of her and he crashes their lips together. Fred slows their kiss down as they both recover, unable to stop the smirk that forms on his mouth when Y/N whines as he slowly pulls out of her. Fred collapses on the bed next to Y/N and she immediately cuddles into his side as he wraps his arm around her.

“I love you,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth.  

Fred turns his head so he can kiss her properly, not pulling away until they both need to breathe. “I love you too, Y/N,” he says softly. “Are you alright? Did I go too far?”

Y/N shakes her head, chuckling at Fred’s concern. “Not at all, love. It was incredible.” She pauses so she can press a kiss to his neck. “I’m glad I have the next few days off, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to walk tomorrow.”

Fred laughs and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Good thing I have you all to myself because I have quite a few plans for us.”

Y/N looks up at him, a gleam of mischief in her eyes. “Oh yeah? What might those be?”

“Let’s just say our cameras are definitely going to need more film when I’m done with you.”

[illfoandillfie]

Kinktober Day 7: Somnophilia (+Double Penetration - 2 holes)

Kinktober Masterlist | Regular Masterlist

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Words: 2,397

Warnings: Somnophilia, double penetration, anal sex, sex toys (dildo + plug), dom!Roger, protected sex, light degradation (slut), edging

A/N: This was kind of inspired by a couple of different posts I saw on a (now deleted) porn blog. I’ve been wanting to do something with the concepts for a little while now and this seemed like the perfect opportunity!

I guess I was picturing 70s rog since its a flatmate/fwb type relationship but go nuts imagining whatever you want lmao

It hadn’t been Roger’s idea to set up a friends with bennefits type arrangement, but he’d liked the suggestion when you made it and before the end of the night was out you’d sealed the deal, so to speak. He’d been a touch tispy at the time, as had you, but when he woke up in your bed the next morning he hadn’t believed it to be a mistake, even if you were his flatmate. And so the arrangement (or as Roger dubbed it, The Fuckbuddy Pact) stuck. In an effort to make sure neither of you would feel weird about what happened and to avoid anything becoming too much like a relationship, Roger suggested that you should get all your kinks and weird fetishes out into the open straight away. 

“That way we’ll both know what we’re in for from the jump,” he said, looking at you from the opposite end of the couch, “None of that getting to know you shit, or taking our time. We’re both here for sex so let’s just figure out what sex we’ll both like and get straight into it, right?”  “Sounds excellent,” you’d said, cheersing his bottle of beer with your glass.   It was how he’d discovered your interest in somnophilia (a term he’d not heard before and had needed a thorough explanation of). But once he knew what it was, Roger had been keen to try it out with you. There were other things too but the somnophilia was the newest to him and, thus, the most exciting. Before the month was out you’d figured out a system to incorproate it into your sex safely. The main rule was that if either of you was asleep and naked, it was okay to initiate sex. Eventually there ended up being a few exceptions or addendums added to that rule – it was still okay if the sleeping party wore a top of some kind as long as they were pantsless, and once or twice lingerie had been deemed to not count as clothes, but only on special occasions when you’d prearranged it. It became a regular part of your sex lives, which was especially useful for Roger who often didn’t get home from playing gigs until the early hours of the morning. If you were in bed and undressed, he’d take the opportunity to blow off some of the adrenaline without having to use his hand which was underwhelming compared to your cunt. But, more often than not, you’d do what most sexual partners did and got it out of your systems before bed time.  

Roger already suspected that you were hoping for a quick tumble when he heard the knock on his door, but he had other things on his mind too as he told you to come in.  “Hey, Rog, you busy?”  “Uhhh yeah, sorry, running late for rehearsals but I can’t find my fucking drumsticks,” Roger said, moving things around his desk as he searched for the missing sticks.   “Oh, damn.”  “Let me guess,” he said, pausing in the hunt and turning to face you, “horny?”  “My friend recommended a porn thing and I kinda got worked up.” You shrugged, unembarrassed to admit what you wanted.  That self-confidence was enough to make Roger wish he could stay and give you what you wanted but he was already late and couldn’t afford to be later. Instead he laughed and turned back to double check his backpack, “I would but, I’m leaving as soon as I fin- Aha! Bloody things must have rolled off the bed. Sorry, Y/N.”  “Oh, no worries. I’ll take care of myself.”  He smiled at the thought, “Well I better go. See you tonight?”  “Yeah, see ya. Have fun.” 

It was later than he’d expected by the time Roger got home. Part of him (the part in his pants mostly) vaguely wondered if you’d still be up for something but the bits of him controlled by his brain thought it more likely that you’d have had a nice couple of orgasms on your own and called it a night. Still, he thought he might at least check in on you once he’d dropped his bag in his room. To his surprise though, his bed wasn’t empty like it should have been. He jumped when the light from the hall softly illuminated you, on your back and deep asleep, but his shock quickly turned to delight as he realised you were naked.   “You little minx,” he muttered under his breath, impressed by the invitation you were giving him. But as he walked closer he paused again, noticing something he hadn’t been able to see from the doorway. There, beside your hand, was your favourite glass dildo, as if you’d passed out after using it.  “Oh you are naughty,” Roger chuckled. He traced one hand down your body, between your breasts and over your stomach, and softly said your name, checking if you’d rouse. But you were deep asleep and not likely to wake up any time soon. A plan for what to do with you forming, Roger stepped away from you for a moment to strip down to his briefs. His cock was already beginning to stir at the sight of you. He reached out to touch you again, less cautiously this time, palming your breasts before dipping his hand lower and lower, down to your cunt, pleased to find you still wet from whatever you’d been doing before you fell asleep.  You let out a soft hum as he explored you, thumb teasing over your clit as he wet his fingers between your folds.   Roger paused at the sound, not ready for you to wake up yet, but once it was clear you were still asleep he sank two fingers into you. Slowly they penetrated your heat, pausing to make sure the sensation hadn’t roused you at all. But you slept on. Carefully Roger partially withdrew his fingers before sinking them in again, gradually working up to a consistent thrust that had your unconscious body sighing and spreading your legs wider.   “Good girl,” he whispered, watching you carefully. The hall light was still on but his door wasn’t open fully so the darkness was only dimmed slightly. He twisted his fingers inside you, easily finding the spots that usually made you scream his name but which now just made your eyebrows knit together. By this point in your relationships Roger was quite confident that he could understand your body. He’d made you cum enough times, awake and asleep, to know what you liked and just how much you liked it. And he knew what it looked like when you were close to orgasm. Which is how he knew to stop, to still his fingers and wait for you to calm down.  

There was no real reason to edge you. If anything it just made it more likely you’d wake before he’d got his dick wet. But he had fun with it. Watching the way you’d shift, your chest rising and falling more rapidly, your lips parted as whimpers fell from them, your hips automatically rolling to meet his hand. And then he’d stop again. It made him chuckle quietly to himself. Knowing he could control your body so easily was thrilling. It made him want to do it more. So as soon as your face had relaxed again, your limbs loose and limp, he’d settle into the rhythm once more, curious how much you’d take before you woke up and begged him to finish you off. It was tempting to just keep going. He pictured you waking with a moan, your first words a plea for release or better yet for his cock so he could fuck you properly. Roger groaned. In the time he’d taken to edge you a handful of times his dick had well and truly stiffened and, as much as he enjoyed toying with you, what he really wanted was to cum in you so when you woke you’d know you’d been used. With that thought in mind he withdrew his fingers fully, taking a second to suck them clean and enjoy your taste. Having you on his tongue just made him want to fuck you more so he carefully knelt between your legs, shifting one to give himself a better angle. He was moments from finally taking what he so wanted to take from you, when something caught his eye.  

It didn’t glint as much as it did in the day but he could see it’s outline all the same. And when he double checked that he wasn’t imaging it, pressing his thumb against the hard end of it, you groaned.   “A dildo and a butt plug?” He asked you, knowing you wouldn’t respond, “Is that a surprise for me? Or is it just because nothing satisfies you like I do?” Roger’s hand slipped down to his underwear, pushing his briefs down enough that he could get his cock out. He hissed as he spread his precum along his length, contemplating how he should use you. “Could fuck your cunt now and hope you stay asleep long enough for me to get back there. Or maybe I should just go all in, have your arse straight away. That’ll mean wearing a condom though. Or would it?” he shook his head, now was not the time to try anal raw for the first time, “No, condom definitely.” He was still trying to decide what to do when you shifted in your sleep, rolling onto your side. The new position you lay in made it much easier to reach your arsehole.  “That decides it then,” Roger said to himself, shedding his underwear and opening his bedside draw for his lube.  

Carefully, he settled himself behind you and slowly began to remove your plug. It took a few stops and starts, pulling out and sinking in, almost fucking you with it, as you whimpered in your sleep but you seemed to press yourself back towards him as if trying to encourage him.   “Just can’t get enough of me, can you?” he chuckled as he set the plug aside and spread the lube around your hole. He rolled the condom down his shaft and spread the lube along it too, humming at the slick friction of his hand, knowing he was about to feel something a hundred thousand times better. And then he lined himself up, pushing the head of his cock into the ring of muscles you’d so generously stretched out with your plug. He went slowly there too, partially so you’d sleep on and partially so he wouldn’t cum embarrassingly fast.   When he finally began to fuck you, you moaned into your pillow, able to feel it in your sleep.   Roger bit his lip to keep his own moan from getting too loud.  You moved in your sleep again, your legs opening more as you half rolled onto your front. It let Roger fuck you deeper and gave him better access to your pussy too.  “You’re a bit of a whore when you’re alseep,” he said softly, reaching for the dildo. You were still wet enough that it sank into you easily, like it remembered where it had been earlier and fit into your cunt perfectly. The way you lay meant he didn’t have what he’d call easy access to you but it was enough that he could thrust the dildo somewhat rhythmically. He faltered here and there as the feeling of fucking you distracted him but he didn’t feel too bad about the slips, knowing it was keeping you from reaching your release. Your sleepy sighs and moans got louder as he filled both your holes which just made him fuck you harder, enjoying the sounds you were making and wanting to hear more.  

You woke with a broken moan in your throat, jerking under Roger’s hands but he shushed you, his palms warm against your skin and his voice familiar and reassuring.   “Stay right there, baby. Being such a good set of holes for me to enjoy.”  You couldn’t do much more than moan again, dazed from the sudden way you’d been pulled back to consciousness and realising what you’d felt in your dreams had been very real indeed.   “This was what you wanted wasn’t it? When you fell asleep in my bed.”  You nodded, the sound of the fabric of the pillowcase loud against your ear.  “Uh uh, words Love. If you’re going to be a slut the least you can do is admit it.”  “Yes, Rog. Want-wanted this.”  “Good girl. And how do you feel now?”  “Oh god, close. So close.”  Roger slowed the pace of the dildo, putting more effort into thrusting into you, his hips slapping loudly against your skin.   You keened at the loss of friction.  “Slut-s don’t com-complain.” Roger grunted as he used you, “They t-ake what they’re giv-en.”  You whined but that just made Roger laugh, louder now you were awake but broken by groans and moans of his own.   It didn’t take much more for him to cum, stuttering out, “Fu-ck Y-Y/N,” as he did.  

Roger was panting as he eased himself out of your arsehole, replacing his cock with the plug and giving your hip a light tap of thanks. The dildo was still inside you, but he’d not been moving it at all as he reached his climax so it wasn’t much help.   “Did you cum?” he asked, his breathing still heavy as he flopped onto the mattress beside you.  You shook your head and sighed, “And after I waited here all night to surprise you too. Thought you’d be home sooner.”  “Is that why you had the toys? You got bored waiting for me?”  “No, I was expecting you to come home while I was using them. Only then I came and fell asleep.”  "Of course,” Roger laughed, “you still got your shag though, don’t know why you’re complaining.”  “I’m really fucking horny still, that’s bloody why. What are you smirking about?”  “Nothing. Just nice to know edging you in your sleep works just as well as when you’re awake.”  “Prick!” you squealed though unable to contain your smile at the idea.  “Don’t worry. Give me a few minutes to clean up and get my stamina back and then I’ll make you cum as many times as you want.” 

Taglist: @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @ilovequeenmorethanyou @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @cherries-n-rocknroll @rogersslave @scorpiogemini

[merakiui]

Apricity

yandere!albedo x (gender neutral) reader art credit - miHoYo cw: nsfw elements, yandere, captivity/restraints, unhealthy behaviors note - please come home to me and take care on the journey, albedo! :D also kindly heed the warnings. thank you!

His eyes are unnaturally pretty. Like twin crystals glittering in an expansive, dismal cave, searching for secrets unheard of within Mondstadt. Somehow you’re always in his peripheral, not too close and yet impossibly far at the same time. The distance is harrowing, terribly so, and Albedo knows it should be nothing short of a coincidence. When he shows up at your quaint stall with Sucrose, claiming to be in need of the exact wares you happen to sell, you pay it no mind. After all, you’ve met your fair share of regulars, and their support is what keeps you afloat. 

But there is more to those beautiful irises than he lets on. Whether it’s intentional or not, you can’t exactly say. You suppose you would rather run into someone as well-respected as Albedo as opposed to an unlikable stranger with ill intent. And it’s always great to see a familiar face, especially when he chooses to peruse your stall rather the others around you. It isn’t all that strange; you’ve even become friends with Sucrose during your short interactions. Albedo has indulged in stiff conversations with you before, but most of them were meaningless. Simple throwaway chatter between two acquaintances. 

Oddly enough, Albedo finds himself wanting more. He doesn’t want to talk about the weather or the transitioning seasons; he wants to listen to you explain how your day was and if you made more profit than the day before that. He wants to stand there and immerse himself in your pleasant voice, ignorant to the hustle and bustle of the people around him. And yet he just can’t. For a variety of reasons that pull him out of the haze of intrigue, you’ll always remain in the background. And he simply can’t bear the thought of that.

It’s rude to deteriorate a relationship that’s only just begun to blossom. If your meager acquaintanceship with him were to wither away into dust, he would feel obligated to keep it going—as if he were simply beating a dead cow with a stick. Although your hobbies differ from his, it’s nothing he can’t handle. A genius must familiarize himself with other areas of study if he intends to craft solutions that are outside of the box.

“Albedo?” 

Your tone is meek and small, tinged with the slightest shiver. Part of him feels bad for lying to you, but you were just so trusting. It’s almost comical how easily you fell into his trap. If he gets to see you in such a delicious way all the time, he’s more than willing to forsake the truth to meet his own desires. A selfish wish, yes, but it’s absolutely wonderful.

“What is it?” 

He eyes you from his spot behind the easel, and even though you can’t see him you can feel his piercing gaze. Like the sun shining brightly in a wintry afternoon, his eyes smolder with unbearable heat and yet his expression is cold with brilliant focus. 

“A-Are you almost done? It’s really cold.” Your bare back touches the wall and you flinch, an instinctual response that makes Albedo’s brow quirk. “And this is sort of...weird.”

“How so?” 

He says that in such a dismissive manner, acting as if your current position isn’t compromising. As if this was a normal exchange between friendly strangers. You have trouble finding your voice in this situation, especially since talking seems like such a chore. You’re worried you’ll say the wrong thing and then it’ll leave a false imprint of who you are on Albedo. But you’ve always been nice, unable to refuse those who are kind in return, and so you’re forced to endure the discomfort that comes with modeling nude for this peculiar alchemist. 

“Think about it.” You distract yourself with a ramble of an explanation—certainly more than what’s necessary, but Albedo doesn’t mind. He finds solace in your voice. “You’re looking at me and I’m...n-naked. And we don’t really know each other. I’m not trying to vilify you when I say this, but I don’t want you to do anything bad to me. N-Not that you would! It’s just—this is really weird. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Hm.”

“And do I have to be tied up like this?” You shuffle in your bindings, fingers scrabbling over the cuffs and chains that jingle like horrible sleigh bells. 

“You were moving too much earlier. I won’t be able to get your anatomy right if you’re constantly fidgeting.”

But it’s uncomfortable, you think, chewing on your lip out of habit.

“I guess I understand. It must be an artist thing, right?”

“You could say that.”

His work on the canvas offers a display that’s just as lewd as the real model, down to the way your nipples perk and harden in the cold. He’s not even close to finishing and that’s a blessing in itself. He could stare at your figure for hours on end, committing every inch of your flesh to memory, and he wouldn’t grow weary. 

“Do artists normally blindfold their models? I don’t really know anything about this stuff, but it’s okay if it helps with the process.”

“I find it to be interesting,” he answers, simple and vague as ever. “It adds a mysterious touch to the finished piece.”

“So you draw the model with the blindfold?” You’re used to gazing upon paintings of flowers and portraits of influential historical figures rather than blatant nudity. “Artists are definitely unique.”

Albedo hums in response, secretly reveling in your naïveté. At the end of the day, you’re just a normal citizen of Mondstadt, who stands behind a wooden stall every single day and happily chats with potential customers. You excel in business, but when it comes to the inner workings of art you’re at a loss. And that makes it all the more easier for Albedo to spin all sorts of wild tales. He fears that gullible nature will harm you in the future, yet there isn’t a threat in sight. Not when you’re here in front of him, no longer confined to his peripheral. And you’ll stay there for however long it takes him to finish this painting. 

It’s a twisted infatuation. Albedo knows he shouldn’t take too much of your time or else he’ll become addicted and it will be impossible to focus on his studies. But he can’t stop himself or his wandering gaze, which trails up your midriff. Higher and higher until he’s staring at your face, eyes obscured behind the soft fabric of a blindfold. Your body is a temple he wishes to worship, and perhaps that’s a sacrilegious thought that ought to have him consider the weight of his emotions. 

And yet you’re far too irresistible. His thoughts are dangerously potent, swirling within his brain like a maddening hurricane. Surely your missing presence in the market won’t be questioned if he were to keep you just a little longer. Longer than the boundaries of sanity will allow, that is. There are other vendors who sell the same things you boast; the economy won’t shatter if you’re not there to provide.

The paintbrush moves along the canvas in even strokes and suddenly Albedo’s mind is wandering between subjects. From art to alchemy, love to lust, and the wondrous crevices in your anatomy that call out to him. The brush stills in his hand. If he’s not mistaken, Sucrose will be stopping by to assist him and the last thing he needs is staining his appearance in a suspicious color. 

“Albedo?” His name rolls off of your tongue in such a delectable way; it’s almost sinful how his thoughts race and race in an endless track. “Are you almost done? My back is sore and the floor’s really uncomfortable.”

“Sorry. This will take longer than I thought.” He sets his brush and palette down, and you listen to his footsteps as they draw near. “Something has come up, but I promise I won’t be long.” 

“Wait. You’re not going to leave me, are you? I need to get back to the marketplace!”

Before you know what’s happening, the blindfold is coming off and you’re locking eyes with Albedo, who peers at you with intense scrutiny. Certainly the look of a genius studying a textbook. You grow flustered all at once, just now coming to terms with the fact that he looked at your body for longer than you’d like to admit. Shyly, you shut your legs to obscure your private parts, but it’s not like that will help the embarrassment that claws its way onto your expression like a persistent beast. 

“You’re better off waiting here.” He shrugs off his coat, draping it over your shoulders as if that’ll keep the dreadful chill away. “As much as I would like to finish this now, I have other work that must be taken care of.”

“I get that, but you can’t just leave me here! That’s practically kidnapping!” you protest, hoping he’ll heed the desperation in your trembling vocals. “At least, that’s what this feels like.”

“I wouldn’t kidnap you,” he says, amusement flashing in his eyes. “You’re too funny.”

Yet he isn’t laughing and neither are you as you helplessly watch him depart. The floor is too cold for your liking and the idea of entrapment settles under your skin like a million maggots feasting on a decaying, chilled copse. Devoid of warmth and carrying an air of measured grace, Albedo doesn’t spare you another glance.

He doesn’t need to. He’ll have all the time in the world to study your body like it’s the finest artwork, and you’ll be powerless to object.

[sillyrabbit81]

The Instructor - Part 5

Summary: Augusts confronts your betrayal.

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader

Word Count: approx 4k

Warnings: Dark, violence, abuse, choking, hitting, punching, orgasm denial, orgasm control, sex (p in v), mdom/fsub, switch, praise kink, degradation kink, name calling, dubious consent. I tried to mention everything if I missed something I sincerely apologise.

Authors Note: FINAL PART. There are probably going to be massive plot holes, sorry about that, this was never meant to be a series, so I didn’t do anywhere near the set up needed. However, I’m glad I did do a series because I enjoyed playing around with some of the darker aspects of the story. If it sucks, I'm sorry, I just went for it and this is what came out! It probably also isn't strictly cannon, but I made use of some aspects of the MI cannon.

Unbeta'd and unedited, there will be errors.

Masterlist

Part 4

The Instructor Part 5

You thought you had felt true fear before this moment, but you were wrong. Confronted with the unyielding stare of August, your stomach twists and your mouth goes dry. You’re completely and utterly fucked.

You try to answer August, make up a believable lie, beg forgiveness, say anything. But you can’t, it’s like he can see into your soul and you know that any lie you tell him will only make him angrier.

Quicker than lightning, August’s hands grip your throat. He pushes you to the wall, uncaring as your head hits it so hard your vision swims. Both his hands push into your neck, compressing your arteries and you feel the blood pooling, building pressure behind your eyes. This wasn’t the subtle choking he engaged in when you played. No, this was Special Agent August Walker trying to kill you.

You are stretched against the wall, your toes barely touch the ground. You are a trained soldier, but August is a trained assassin, you know you won’t last long in a situation like this, you will pass out in less than a minute. Then all August had to do was keep squeezing and you would be dust.

“Why, pet?” August asks through clenched teeth.

You can’t speak, you have no air. You plead to August with your eyes, silently begging him to stop. His hands press harder and you feel him crushing your trachea with his leathal hands. You scratch at his hands, his face, his eyes. You kick with your feet, frantic, feeling yourself get weaker by the second. You get one lucky shot in and for a moment August’s grip falters as he doubles over retching in pain.

You slam the palm of your hand into his forearms and he lets you go. You run for the door, your nudity the last of your concerns. Your throat hurts as you run, bruised and raw, you gulp breath in, coughing you try and fill your lungs again. You reach the door, pull the handle. It stops, not making a full rotation.

“Fuck!” you scream in frustration. You turn the lock and try to open in again. It does and for a brief moment you taste freedom.

A foot kicks the door closed and August is in front of you. You back away from him as he locks it again. In the unlikely event you live through this night, you will never forget the snarl on his face. You look into his eyes, expecting to see the eyes of a killer and August doesn’t disappoint. His azure eyes burn with such murderous intent, for a moment you think you are going to lose control of your bladder.

But there is something else there, something he tries to hide behind his fury. You search his face, trying to see past the mask and find what he is concealing. You wince when you see it. August was hurt. Your betrayal had hurt him.

“This is even more fun than the first time we fucked, Pet,” he says, mockingly. August advances on you with a bullish intent. He is magnificent as he stalks you, his loose pyjama pants hang low on his hips, his chest is taut and his thick ropey arms flex as he readies them for a fight.

You try and think clearly, maybe you should confess everything. He’s going to kill you if you don’t. If only you had long enough to check his records, but you couldn’t put your associates at risk if you weren’t sure.

Lifting your chin, you accept your fate. You ready a fighting stance, and August does too. You understand you can’t beat him, but you won’t die without a fight.

You dodge his first attack, and you’re not surprised that he led with his fists. He only needs one to land and he would break your bones. You retreat to the kitchen, praying its laid out the same as yours. Opening the draw with the knives, you pull one out. It’s not ideal, its weight wasn’t distributed well for fighting, but it was better than nothing. Your gun is in your room and you have no idea where August keeps his.

Turning the tables and going on the offensive, you make August back up and you move to the door. You hold the knife expertly, and as long as you keep August from getting his own weapon, the fight might be a fair one. You have so much adrenaline pumping through your veins you start to shake. The blade accentuates the tremors and August see’s, of course he would find your weakness.

“Put the knife down, Pet,” August orders, his voice was smooth, calm and commanding. You nearly stumble, his words sent shivers down your spine. How can he still have an effect on you? “You know I can’t let you out of here.”

You gage the distance to the door, it was still so far away. Your fear made you want to run to it again, but you knew it would be a mistake. Better to keep advancing slowly, forcing August back.

But August stops retreating and plants himself in front of the door. He stretches his neck, rolls his shoulders, his naked torso hides nothing and you see his muscles ripple under his skin. Your body and mind are in conflict, confused by the stimulus. You’re terrified of August, but fear of him and what he is capable of was part of his appeal, part of his savage, dominant sexuality. Your body can’t tell the difference and you feel it responding, your centre grows warm, throbbing and your arousal moistens the apex of your thighs.

“Please,” you murmur. Confronted with August’s obstruction and his dismissiveness of your threat, you lose hope. You feel weak and exhausted. Again, you contemplate confessing everything, but you aren’t a coward, you were realistic.

The cruel snarl on August’s face becomes a smirk as you plead. “I love hearing you beg, Pet,” he taunts.

He attacks again, this time grabbing a chair from the dining table. You try and duck but he is too fast for you and the solid wood chair cracks you over your head and shoulders. You stumble to the ground; your vision wavers and you nearly pass out. You try and get to your knees, but your arms won’t cooperate and you fall to the floor, no doubt you have a concussion. You look for the knife, see it about a metre away. With your head thumping and your heart racing, you scramble for it, but August reaches you first.

Gripping both your ankles, August uses your legs and body weight against you, flipping you onto your back. He pulls you to him, your skin rubs against the carpet and you howl with pain as you feel the fibres burn your ass and back. August climbs on top of you, his hands are at your throat again, squeezing the life from you.

“You’re killing me, August,” you try and say, but all you hear is your pathetic whimpers. You feebly punch and slap at August, but you are spent. You give up, you tried. You get angry at yourself for even thinking of giving up, but you didn’t know what else to do. You can’t win. Tears well in your eyes and start to roll down your cheeks. You squeeze them shut, ashamed that you cried in your last moments, that you gave up, that you didn’t fight.

The pressure on your throat relaxes, and you gulp in air, coughing and retching as your inflamed throat protests. You try to roll to your side to breath easier, but August doesn’t allow it, his body still traps yours and one hand still grips your throat. You feel his whiskered lips on your cheeks, kissing away your tears. You open your eyes and are consumed by his and the fire that burns within them. You wonder what your eyes are saying to his.

August shifts his hips and you feel him, hard under his thin pants. Your eyes widen, he really had been enjoying the fight. It scares you, feeling how hard and fully erect he his, aroused by trying to kill you. But you knew how hypocritical that was, because even now, terrified, a moment from death, you ache for him.

You roll your hips, sliding your bare, slick slit against August, the fabric of his pants harsh against your clit, but you feel him beneath it, and you can’t stop. You don’t want to but your craving for him was too strong.

If you didn’t know August as well as you did, you may have missed the surprise in his eyes. It came and went so quickly. His lip curled, triumphant, he had you where he wanted you, desperate, without fight left and completely his.

August’s arrogant look, his smug sneer, his complete domination of you made you lose the last shred of dignity you had and you beg for him.

“Please, please,” you whimper.

“You’re such a little whore,” August scolds you. “Do you think you can fuck your way out of this?”

You shake your head, “No.” You cry again, fat tears rolling down your cheeks in a constant stream, but you don’t stop your wanton grinding. You need to feel him inside you.

“Why are you so fucking wet, Pet?” August asks, his jeering tone warmed your face with shame.

“I don’t know!” you cry.

“Yes, you do, Pet.”

You try to turn away and hide from his knowing eyes. August won’t let you, griping your cheeks with his fingers, digging deep, the soft flesh pressing painfully against your teeth. Through your sobs you say, “Because I want you.”

“Beg me,” August’s voice changed, becoming low and hoarse. He starts to move with you, teasing you. “Beg for my cock.”

You don’t try to hold back, the words fall freely, “Please August, please.”

August tuts, “You can do better than that, Pet. Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me, August,” you sob. You’re ashamed of yourself, of how wet you are, how badly you want him, how easily you submit. But it feels too good, playing on the edge as you were, where fear and arousal become interchangeable, you had never felt such bliss.

Taking his pants off, August fists his cock as he takes you in, his gaze rakes over you, lingering on your desperate cunt. Lining himself up, he teases your entrance. When he slides himself over you, he groans as his eyes close and he throws his head back. You realise, you’re not as powerless as you thought, he wants you too and just as badly.

Bringing his head down next to yours, he growls in your ear, “Keep going, Pet. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck your hot little cunt.”

You start mumbling, “Please August, please. I need you.” You throw your arms around him, grip his ass and pull him closer. Your nails dig into his skin as you urge him into you.

With a violent thrust, August enters you. Both of you cry out, your twin shouts echo in each other’s ears. “You feel so good, pet. So wet and so fucking tight.” You mewl under him. He is stretching you, painfully. He offered your core no preparation and it protested his invasion, clamping down hard. August wasn’t fucking around, if he had taken any pity on you in the past, he wasn’t this time. He pumps into you, his pelvis making long driving strokes, your walls straining against the force of his cock, unready for his intrusion.

August hooks your knees over his arms and forcing your legs wider, he is finally sheathed. Increasing his pace, he uses you, furious, punishing and without pity. He offers you no pleasure, he takes what he wants. His face above you is twisted, angry, and hateful. This is payback, revenge, hurt me and I’ll destroy you. But despite that, or maybe because you feel you deserve it, a familiar pressure starts to build between your legs.

“August,” you beg. “I need to cum, please.”

Leaning down, pushing his weight onto your already strained legs, he brings his face to yours. His eyes are dark and sadistic as he says vindictively, “No.”

You groan. You were so close, you don’t know if you can stop it. “Please!” you howl. Fresh tears fill your eyes and you implore him.

“No.” August says, his voice cruel and merciless. “You cum and I’ll fuck your ass raw.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You try and think of all the parts of your body that hurt. Your head, shoulders, legs, the skin on your back rubbing against the carpet. But it doesn’t work. Your body is so warm, tingling, your skin feels alive and the pain is dull compared to the rapture you feel.

Your body is suddenly wrest from the floor. August withdraws from you and flips you onto your knees and violates you again. You feel August’s hand in your hair and he forces your face into the floor. You heard a thud next to your head, his foot is there, and he continues his assault, kneeling on one leg anchoring himself with the other.

You bite your hand to muffle your shouts, you don’t want to give August the satisfaction of hearing your pain or pleasure. You thought he was deep before, but now you feel every impact in your gut, your core uncomfortably full from his brutal jabs. You can’t stay on your knees, your legs too weak to withstand his punitive thrusts. August doesn’t care. He digs his fingers into your hips, holding you in place as he continues his ruthless assault.

Unable to stop it, you feel your release approach again. You try to deny it, but the savagery of August is too much. The feel of your bodies slaming together, the slapping of his balls against your clit, the sound of his grunts of exertion overwhelm you and you can’t stop yourself from whining, “Please, August. Please. I’m fucking begging you.”

You hear August’s malicious chuckle. “No, Pet.”

August seizes you by the nape, pulling you up to your knees and your back presses against his chest. Wrapping his hand around your neck, he holds you against his shoulder. His other hand moves over your breasts, kneading into them, squeezing them. His face is close to yours, you feel his ragged breath tickle your cheeks.

He starts whispering in your ear and he presses his rough hairy lip into you. “You fucking little bitch,” his voice was low, harsh and dripping with venom, but August can’t stop his desire from seeping through. “Who sent you to me? Who told you to whore yourself for me?” He pinches at your nipples, and you shudder against him writhing. His insults pushing you towards your climax as much as his touch.

“Was it the CIA?” he asks, sliding his hand down your belly to between your legs. Fear makes your heart skip, if he touched you there you would not be able to stop your orgasm. You try and pull away, but he is too strong.

“Did those useless government hacks, turn you into a fucking whore, or did you volunteer, Pet?” He slid his fingers over your slit, and one grazed your clit sending your core pulsing around his cock. You want to tell him he has it all wrong, backwards. He thinks he’s been caught, he doesn’t know he’s being recruited.

He slaps your clit with his palm, a quick flick of his wrists that shocks you and if August wasn’t holding you up, you would have doubled over in pain and ecstasy.

“Don’t fucking cum.” August orders, rubbing a calloused finger over your oversensitive clit. Then, he says, sadly and with regret, “You could have come to me, Pet. Told me. I would have protected you. I could have gotten you out.” His voice almost cracks as he adds, “We could have gotten out together. BE together.”

You want to tell him, you want that too. You didn’t mean to fall for him either, none of this was planned. His fingers dance over your hard nub, coaxing from you the orgasm he forbids. Frustration suddenly pours out of you. You fight him again, punching the arm he had wrapped around your waist, and between your legs.

“Why do you fight so hard, Pet?” he asks. Those simple words he said to you all those months ago rock you. It was his invitation to submit willingly rather than be pulled under by the force of his will. But it was different this time, it wasn’t just you at stake.

You beg again, “August…” It’s all you can say through your short gasping cries. You break out in sweat, the need in you was so strong it took everything you had to fight it.

“Answer my question and you can cum,” He says. You nod, vigorously, you don’t even feel shame at giving in so easily, you’re too far gone. He brings his face in front of yours. Your whole body is shaking under his touch as he draws your orgasm and confession out of you.

“Were you sent by the CIA?”

You shake your head, and whimper, “No.”

August looks into your eyes for a hint of a lie. When he can’t find one, he coos, “Good girl,” and you wriggle at his praise. He kisses you roughly, lips hard against yours. “You can cum now, Pet.”

With unrestrained cries, you finally allow the pressure in your core to grow. You feel your release roll over your contorting body. Your guttural shout signals you’re the arrival of your long denied ecstasy and tears streamed from your eyes as you succumb with immense relief.

August watched every second of your orgasm, his face studying yours as if to memorise every expression, until you were done and can’t hold yourself up anymore. He removes himself with a gentleness that was unexpected and he tenderly carries you to his room. Cradling your head against his chest, he kisses your forehead, muttering something you can’t catch and were too far gone to ask.

He lays you on your side, and you are so malleable and weak, you let him curl you into a ball before he leans over you. He lifts your chin and turns your head so you are looking at him. You give him a half smile, which he returns with a soft hum. His eyes go to your collar and a look of sadness crosses his face, a grief so intense you feel it too.

You don’t know what to say and neither does August. He does the only thing he knows how to do when he feels what some people call love. He fucks.

When August enters you this time it’s different. Although his thrusts are brutal and powerful, it’s not punishment. He is trying to make a connection, to see if there is something salvageable between you. He needs to know if he means anything to you. He drops his forehead onto yours, resting there while his eyes met yours. He holds your throat and his thumb plays with your thin golden collar.

“You’re still mine, Pet,” August says, firmly.

“Always yours,” you reply with certainty. And you were. But by the end of this night he would know he was yours too.

As if to seal the promise you made, August kisses you. His lips pry yours open and his gentle explorative tongue massages yours. When you kiss him back, you are surprised by the growl he makes in his throat. Feeling bold, you place a hand on his cheek as you kiss. He doesn’t pull away so you slide your other hand into his hair and you expect him to shake you off, like he did before. He allows it, and he slides his free arm around you, pulling your bodies together. The rhythm you find together is nothing like the primal fucking you two are used to. It seemed as though he was making love to you, as much as someone like August could.

You feel the warmth grow again and radiate from your core. August instinctively knows your close again and stops your kisses watch you again. “Come for me, my sweet girl,” he utters.

You fall apart. Your fist tightens in his hair, you tremble beneath him, while you call his name.

“Fuck,” he grunts while you fall over the edges, and he forces himself deep within you, splitting you, owning you as you feel him thicken and pulse, releasing his seed into your milking core. Then he breaks you by growling your name as he makes his final throes.

You’re both slick with sweat, but August doesn’t care and he brushes your face with kisses. He looks like he wants to say something, opening his mouth and closing it again without saying a word. He helps you get up and he walks you to his bathroom.

August runs you a bath, and he sits on the edge for a while, watches you while you bathe. He showers quickly before returning to his spot.

Finally, he speaks, but he looks away as he says it, and for the first time you see August doubt himself, “If not the Agency, then who?” He asks.

“We have no government affiliation,” you say.

He nods, “Why did they send you, was the plan always to use sex?”

“No, August,” you say honestly. “This was not part of the plan. I was only supposed to be assigned to you while I did my training. This assignment was last minute, I don’t even know how it happened.”

He turns his attention back to you and looks for the lie he believes he will find. When he doesn’t find it he asks, “Your aunt, was that a lie?”

“She’s officially missing,” you say. “Unofficially, she brought me into group.”

“Something doesn’t add up, Pet,” August says. “I’m don’t know anything that a hundred other agents don’t also know. What did they send you to find out?”

“You don’t get it. We don’t want to bring you down, we want to recruit you. I had to make sure you are who we think you are.”

You see a glimpse of understanding in August’s eyes. “Go on,” he prompts.

You watch him carefully as you explain, “My assignment was to find out if you were the one who wrote a certain manifesto making the rounds in certain circles.” He doesn’t blink. You smirk, realising he’s trying too hard to keep his face smooth. He is the one.

“And, am I?” he asks.

“You are,” you say moving down the bath. Unbelievably, knowing he wrote that poetic and chaotic brilliance made you hot again. “This operation is all wrong, too big for simple arms traders. You’re using the CIA to get the connections and resources you need.” You run your finger down August’s bare arm, tracing the ridges of his muscles and the slight protruding veins on his forearms. August watches you intently, trying to appear cold, but you see his breaths grow shallow and his jaw clench. “We have the resources to help a man like you,” You reach his hand, turn it palm up, and lay a kiss into it before holding it to your cheek. “’A man with vision’ Lane calls you.”

“Lane?” August says, he seems confused, and he should be.

“Yes, meet with Solomon Lane and you will get your new world August.” You take his hand off your cheek and fold down his fingers except for the middle one. You take him in your mouth curling your tongue around him, and sucking.

August can’t look away. Already thrown by being discovered, he is completely transfixed by your sudden seduction.

“How?” he breathes.

You open your mouth and show August his finger sliding down your tongue. You get out of the bath and stand in front of August. You move his finger down your body, between your breasts, over your belly and between your thighs. You slide his finger between your warm folds and you hear August groan as you rest him against your entrance.

You ask him, “Have you, ever heard of the Syndicate, Pet?”

End

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