#the body language when dealing with cons

[geeky-nightphilosopher]

What I think the Leverage Team is truly afraid of:

Nate: Losing. Not just losing the con- but more importantly losing the team. Of course he never voices it. However the team knows. It's why they always come back. Nate already lost his son, his job, and his wife- can't lose his team. He can't lose his second family.

Sophie: Broken Masks. This may be a jump in the dark- but. Sophie has SO many personas. Mask's she's created all on her own that I don't think she even knows who she is anymore. I think she's afraid of somebody finally figuring her out and that terrifies her. Not only because she'll lose all sorts of control- but she'll think if they figure out the real her, all they'll see is a women that's weak.

Parker: Abandment. She's finally found people who are like her. In a way that of course their different- but still they are like her. These people know what it's like to be alone. To be lost. Having to figure out a way to get out, because it's a way to survive. She's afraid that one day- they'll walk away. Just like everyone else. And I think that's why she pokes and pushes. Trying to figure out what it'll take for them to walk away. They don't.

Hardison: Uselessness. I think this is why he's so outgoing. Why he's so out there and personal with everyone. He wants to be seen as strong. As being useful. I mean- he hacked into Sweden(?) to pay for his Nana's surgery. He felt useful then. Now, he's in a team- and with all these useful members. He's afraid they don't need him. That's why he's tried multiple times to be the mastermind. And of course he fails- not because he doesn't know what he's doing. But because even with the "I know what I'm doing," attitude- he's terrified that he'll do it wrong.

Eliot: The Dark. This I can't explain fully. Maybe it's from the tidbits I hear in conversations. But he's afraid of the dark. Not the actual dark. No. The darkness that's in him and that he tries to keep control of. It's the darkness he had when he was working for Monreau. The monster that was created in him every time he spilled innocent blood. Eliot is afraid that the darkness will come out and his family will see just how much of a monster he is.

[reveriebae]

You Wrote That For Me, Didn't You?

pairing(s) : Idol!Yunho x Atiny!reader

word count : 1931

summary : After casually revealing your face on Tumblr, a well-known smut writer attend an ATEEZ fan meet, unaware of the consequences. When you sit in front of Yunho, something feels off—the way he looks at you, the way he lingers. Then, just before your time is up, he drops a bombshell. He follows your account. He’s read everything. And he’s not letting you go that easily.

genre : suggestive

warning(s) : Slight dub-con vibes (power imbalance), heavy tension, teasing, suggestive language, explicit themes, idol-reader dynamics, Yunho being way too confident and knowing, mild obsession undertones, reader’s worst (or best?) nightmare coming true. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N : this one got my toes curling SKSKKSKSKSK. Here's the part 2!

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐fic under the cut🪐

You never thought twice before posting your fics. Why would you? It was just writing—just words strung together for thirsty Atinys who craved something a little more. Some of your works had gone viral, and you had a loyal following of readers who loved every filthy thing you put out.

So when you finally did a face reveal on your Tumblr, you didn’t think much of it. A casual selfie, captioned with something dumb like “Since y’all keep asking… here, take it”. A few hundred likes, some teasing comments, and that was that.

No big deal.

At least, that’s what you thought.

The excitement of the fan meet buzzed in your veins as you finally sat down in front of Yunho. Seeing him this close was unreal—the warmth of his presence, the way his smile reached his eyes, the deep, smooth hum of his voice as he greeted you.

But something felt off.

You couldn’t quite place it at first. It was subtle—just the way his gaze lingered, a little longer than it should. The way he studied your face like he was placing you, as if you weren’t just another fan in his long line of meet-and-greet interactions.

Then came the compliment.

“You’re really pretty in person,” he murmured, and his voice had a weight to it, like there was something more behind the words.

Your heart skipped a beat. “Ah—thank you!”

The response felt automatic, but your brain was still trying to process the way he was looking at you. Not just with the usual idol-to-fan warmth, but with something… different. Like he knew you.

His fingers tapped lightly against the table, rhythmic and patient, as if he was waiting for something. Then, just as the staff was about to signal your turn was up, Yunho leaned in ever so slightly.

And then he said it.

“You should be more careful about what you post, Jagiya.”

Your body stiffened.

Your mind blanked.

Did he just—

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at him, eyes widening in pure, unfiltered panic. But Yunho? Yunho just smiled. A slow, knowing curve of his lips, dark amusement flickering in his gaze.

“I follow you on Tumblr,” he continued, voice dropping just enough that only you could hear. His tone was smooth, casual, like he was discussing the weather. Like he wasn’t completely wrecking your reality in real time.

Your stomach twisted. No, this had to be a joke. A coincidence. There was no way—

“Mm.” His fingers brushed against the table, casual and lazy. “I recognized you the moment I saw your selfie.”

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

You had so much smut on that account. And not just any smut—detailed, filthy scenarios that had Yunho doing things that could get you banned just for thinking about them too hard.

“I—” Your voice came out weak, shaky, and you were suddenly painfully aware of how warm your face was.

Yunho chuckled, the sound low and pleased. “You look flustered,” he mused. “Why? You weren’t shy when you wrote all those things about me.”

He was teasing you.

No—he was toying with you.

Your fingers clenched around the edge of the table as you swallowed hard, trying to force your brain to work. But you could barely breathe under his gaze, let alone form a response.

He leaned in just a little more, close enough that you could catch the faintest hint of his cologne. His voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the edge behind it when he said—

“You wrote that for me, didn’t you?”

Your time was up.

The staff was gently urging you to move along, but you couldn’t move—wouldn’t—until Yunho tilted his head, gaze flickering to the line behind you.

Then, just before you stood up, he murmured one last thing—low, quiet, for your ears only.

“See you later, baby.”

You walked away from the table in a daze.

The voices of other fans, the bright lights, the excited chatter—everything blurred into a distant hum, like white noise. Your body moved on instinct, following the line toward the exit, but your mind was stuck. Frozen.

Yunho knew.

Yunho read your fics.

Yunho—Jeong Yunho—had been watching your blog, scrolling through your late-night thirst posts, reading every filthy thought you had ever put into words.

Your breath shuddered as you stepped outside the venue, the cool night air doing little to calm the heat burning under your skin. Your heart was pounding—too fast, too hard—like you had just run miles instead of sitting for a harmless fan meet.

Except it wasn’t harmless.

Because Yunho’s voice was still ringing in your ears.

"You wrote that for me, didn't you?"

A shiver ran down your spine, and you had to physically shake your head, trying to snap yourself out of it. No. No, there was no way this was real. Maybe you had misheard him. Maybe he was just teasing.

Maybe—

Your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You nearly dropped it when you pulled it out, fingers trembling as you glanced at the screen. A notification from Tumblr. Someone had just liked one of your posts.

A post from two years ago.

Your stomach dropped.

Slowly, hesitantly, you opened the app. The notification led you straight to the post—a particularly filthy piece about Yunho, one that had gone semi-viral when you first wrote it. And sitting right there, at the top of the notes—

A new like.

From a user you didn’t recognize.

Your pulse hammered as you clicked on the profile. It was nearly empty—just a default avatar, no posts, no bio. But there was one thing.

The blog name.

"ateezyunho1999."

Your mouth went dry.

No. No, no, no, this had to be a joke.

Then another notification popped up.

A message.

Your vision blurred for a second as you forced yourself to tap on it, breath shallow as you read the words.

"Come outside."

A pause.

Then—

"I'll be waiting."

Your hands shook as you stared at the message.

You could feel your own pulse in your throat, hammering like a warning. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Yunho was an idol. A celebrity. There was no way he would actually—

Your phone buzzed again.

The third message.

"Don't make me wait, baby."

The air in your lungs turned heavy. Your brain screamed at you to walk away, to ignore it, to go home and pretend none of this ever happened.

But your body?

Your body was already moving.

Like you had no control over yourself, your feet carried you toward the back of the venue, slipping past groups of lingering fans, past the staff still bustling around. You shouldn’t be doing this. You knew you shouldn’t be doing this.

And yet—

As soon as you turned the corner, stepping into the dimly lit alley behind the building, you felt him before you even saw him.

Yunho.

He was leaning against the side of a sleek black car, one hand tucked into the pocket of his coat, the other holding his phone. The glow of the screen lit up his face, casting soft shadows along the sharp angles of his jawline. But it wasn’t the way he looked that sent a shiver down your spine.

It was the way he smirked when he saw you.

Slowly, he slipped his phone into his pocket, pushing off the car as he took a step toward you.

“You listen well,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk. “That’s good.”

You should have said something. Anything. But your tongue felt heavy, thoughts tangled into knots as you stood frozen in place.

Yunho tilted his head, eyes flickering over you in a slow, deliberate sweep. His gaze was too knowing, too intimate—like he had already stripped you down in his mind.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d actually come,” he continued, his tone almost teasing. “But then again…”

A pause.

Then—

“I know what you want.”

Your breath caught.

Yunho chuckled, the sound deep and satisfied. He took another step forward, closing the distance between you inch by inch. He was so tall, so effortlessly imposing, and when he finally stopped in front of you, the heat of his body was enough to make your skin prickle.

“You didn’t think I’d notice you, did you?” His voice dipped lower, smooth like honey but edged with something darker. “You wrote all those filthy little things about me, and yet, when I look at you now…”

He reached out, fingers brushing along the side of your jaw, so lightly it almost wasn’t a touch at all.

“You look so shy.”

A slow smirk curled at his lips as he leaned in, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

“Tell me, baby.” His voice was a whisper now, barely audible, but it wrapped around you like a vice.

“Do I match your imagination?”

Your breath came shallow, uneven.

The question sent a violent shiver through you.

You wanted to deny it. To shake your head, pretend you weren’t completely unraveling under his gaze. But the moment you tried to step back, his hand moved.

A firm grip on your chin.

Not rough, not forceful—just enough to keep you still. Enough to make your knees weaken.

He hummed, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. His thumb brushed along your lower lip, and his gaze darkened.

“You’re not answering,” he murmured. “That’s cute.”

Your heart pounded so hard it hurt.

This was dangerous. This was a situation you had only ever fantasized about—except now, reality was so much worse. Because in your fics, Yunho was just a character, a version of him built from your own desires.

But this Yunho?

This Yunho was real. And he had read everything.

His thumb pressed against your lip, just enough to make you part them. The smirk that followed was pure sin.

“Mm,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “I wonder…”

He let the word hang in the air as his fingers trailed down, a featherlight touch along the column of your throat. A tease. A warning.

“Does the way I touch you match your imagination, too?”

Heat pooled deep in your stomach, a slow, unbearable ache curling at your core. Your body betrayed you before you could even think—back arching just slightly, like you were reaching for more.

Yunho saw it.

And he liked it.

A quiet chuckle rumbled from his chest, deep and pleased. “Ah,” he sighed, thumb tapping against your chin. “So responsive.”

Then, just when you thought he might close the distance completely, he pulled back just enough. Enough to leave you breathless, desperate.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was deceptively gentle, like he wasn’t the same man who had just whispered filth into your ear moments ago.

Then, his lips curled again. That smirk.

“I should get going,” he said casually, like he hadn’t just ruined you with a few words and touches.

Your body screamed in protest, but before you could even think of stopping him, he was already turning toward the sleek black car parked nearby.

The door opened. He paused. Then—

He glanced back over his shoulder, eyes locking onto yours one last time.

“Don’t stop writing,” he murmured. “I like seeing what you come up with.”

A slow, teasing wink.

And then—

He was gone.

[enhalouv]

hyung line - when you want his attention while he's on the phone

a/n: another lil easing in w some pov !! hope u enjoy hehe

pairing: enha hyung line x fem!reader

warning: SMUT!, corporate!enha hyung line, derogative language (c!nt), oral, unprotected sex, voyeur, public-ish sex, a mention of a foot, cursing, lil dub-con

w.c: 1,541

Heeseung

“Well, I’ll be in the office quite late, so there shouldn’t be a problem with finishing it.”

Heeseung’s playing with the papers on his desk, a contract awaiting his signature. He knows it’s important, but it’s 3 hours past work hours and he’s finding it difficult to concentrate on the vital information dump. 

Nonetheless, he tries his best. Soon enough, he finds himself absorbed in hearing what his colleague says regarding a business deal they’re both working on. 

He’s so distracted, he almost misses you walking in. 

Almost. 

It’s hard to miss you when you’re in the lingerie set he brought you back from his business meeting in London. You look beautiful. Heeseung leans back on his chair, hand gripping the armrest as he shifts his legs forward to relieve the pressure of his growing erection. 

The set was something he noticed in the shop window of a high-end sex store. Heeseung imagined your beautiful body gripped tight by the material of the lingerie. He hadn’t even hesitated to buy it, disregarding the quadruple-digit price tag entirely. The lingerie was barely concealing anything. Mesh and lace exactly hugging your skin the way Heeseung knew it would. God, he’s drooling. 

“Well, the client needs to confirm the fee estimate before we can get started. But he’s barely responding…”

The voice of his colleague flows in one ear and out the other, his attention solely on the way you stroll into his room. His breath hitches when you drop onto your knees in front of him. 

“Pay attention to your call, Hee. It must be important.” You’re being cheeky. Lips pulled into an innocent smile like you’re not working to unbuckle his belt. 

Heeseung’s straining through his slacks, his grip on the armrest of his chair tightening as you palm his cock. 

“Heeseung?”

His attention gets drawn back by the call of his name. “Yes?”

“Were you listening?”

“Sorry,” Heeseung chuckles, a hand going to grip the back of your head as you mouth at his cock through his underwear. “Just got a bit distracted there, what did you say?”

“I was saying…”

The call drifts out of his mind, his phone dangling precariously in his fingers. His business partner continues to update him on something- Heeseung doesn’t care. All he cares about is the warmth your wet mouth provides as you suck his cock down your throat. 

Jongseong

You’d been acting up. Whined and tugged at Jay to give you attention while he answered an important work call. 

You were being a brat. 

Jay wasn’t so nice when you acted out. So, now you’re on all fours, being pounded by your boyfriend from behind. A hand firmly covering your mouth to prevent any noise from coming out, less the person on the other end hearing how Jay makes your head spin. 

He’s relentless with his thrusts, a hand pushes your back into a deeper curve, and the other holds a phone to his ear. He’s responding with a steady voice, one that doesn’t give away the way he’s got you unravelling on his cock. 

“Actually,” Jay cuts the other person off, slowing down his thrusts and pushing in deeper. “Can you relay that to my assistant, she’ll be much better at ensuring this job gets completed.” 

You’re barely paying attention, the new pace making you drool from how deep your boyfriend is going. 

“She’s here right now, let me pass you to her.”

Without hesitation, Jay leans forward pushing deeper into you and puts his phone against your ear. You begin to panic as Jay shows no signs of stopping. What the actual fuck is he thinking?

“Hello?”

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!

“Go on, love,” Jay’s voice is low as he speaks to you, careful to not let it get caught by the phone’s microphone. “Answer him.”

You grip the phone hard against your ear, trying to breathe deeply to steady your voice before responding, “Yes, h-hello, I’m Jay’s assistant. Please c-continue.”

The voice on the other end filters in and Jay’s being kinder and slowing down his thrusts, hips resting against your ass as he pushes shallowly into you. You’re thankful that he wasn’t being heartless, and you try your hardest to listen to what’s being said. 

But before long, your hand slaps against your mouth as Jay pushes your back as deep as it curves and grips your hips and thrusts in so deep, you see stars. Jay begins a brutal pace, uncaring of how hard you’re trying to be quiet. 

You’re absolutely fucked. 

Jaeyun

He should be listening to his colleague on the other end of the call. This was an important business deal that would cost his company thousands if he fucks it up. 

But you’re right in front of him with two fingers deep in your cunt, and his attention was otherwise occupied. There’s no way his eyes, let alone mind, could drift from the way you play with your pretty pussy.

You’re spread out on his desk, one leg up and the other hanging between his own. The heel of your foot presses against his hard-on, the pressure not being enough for his cock. His hips subconsciously grind up into it, his slacks straining against his thighs at the motion.

“Will you be in tomorrow? I want us to delegate some tasks to the team.”

Jake hums absentmindedly, lips tucked between his teeth as you slip your fingers out and lead them up to your mouth. He tries his best not to groan into the receiver as you lick your fingers clean, spit dribbling out your mouth in an obscene mess. 

Fuck this. 

He puts his phone on speaker and places it on the other end of his desk. With his now free hands, he grabs your hips and pulls you closer to the edge of his table and immediately shoves his face in between your thighs, desperate to taste your sweet cunt. 

Your thighs wrap around his head, hands gripping his hair tightly as his tongue flicks against your clit and slides against you. His fingers creep up your leg making you shiver. You're straining hard to be quiet, biting onto the palm you've clasped over your mouth.

Jake's fingers circle your hole, huffing out a laugh when your whole body jerks at his teasing, and slides two in. He works two digits into your cunt, cum squelching as he pushes in deep. His mouth is back on your clit, sucking the sensitive nub into his mouth, loving the way you tense in his hold.

“Jake, you there? What was that sound?”

Parting from your clit, Jake still fucks his fingers into you. Uncaring of the way you're gripping his dress shirt, eyes squeezed tight as you're nearing closer and closer to orgasm. There's no way he's going to stop now.

“Yeah,” Jake sighed, his voice strained. “I'm listening. Just getting ready to head to the gym. Uh- stretching and stuff.”

“oh, okay… anyways-"

Jake doesn't hesitate to get his mouth onto your cunt just as you shake in his hold, cumming straight on his tongue. So worth it.

Sunghoon

Sunghoon’s barely paying attention to his boss in the other line as it is, but the moment you walk in with the cute loungewear set he bought you, his attention entirely zeros in on you. 

The shorts are tiny and ride up your thighs as you walk towards him. There’s a cheeky smile on your face, and Sunghoon should know by now that’s never a good sign. But really, he can’t find his attention deterring from how glorious your legs look. 

With no words being exchanged, you perch yourself on his lap. Sunghoon’s free arm immediately wraps around your waist, and he pulls you in close. He stretches his arm out with the phone so the microphone doesn’t pick up the chaste kiss he leaves on your lips.

“Hi there, darling.”

Sunghoon is infatuated with you, eyes never straying away from your face. He can’t find himself caring about the possible reprimanding he’ll get tomorrow for not listening to his boss’ instructions. His girl is in his lap, looking unbelievably gorgeous and grinding down into his half-hard cock. 

Wait. 

His mind short-circuits as you continue to roll your hips, a devious smile on your face as you watch Sunghoon’s reactions. 

You pull his pants down until they’re halfway down his thighs, gripping his cock to stroke him a few times. Sunghoon’s hips jump at the contact, thighs tensing at the feeling. 

You eventually lift yourself up with Sunghoon’s help, pulling your shorts to the side to show your dripping cunt. No panties. Good God. 

Your hips circle the tip of his cock, teasing. He hisses when you slide down on his cock, you’re tight and so, so warm it has his head tossing back in pleasure. 

“Sorry? What was that, Sunghoon?”

His boss’ voice filters through and Sunghoon has to remind himself he’s actually on a phone call. But the way you’re rolling your hips in his lap is making it a difficult task to remember. 

“Ah, sorry, I just got a paper cut,” he lets out a fake chuckle, gripping your ass harder. 

You continue to bounce on his cock and Sunghoon continues to lose his mind.

[venusbyline]

Gift ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 16, oct.

— pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x servant!reader x Aemond Targaryen x Gwayne Hightower x Criston Cole

— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: punishment + exhibitionism

— summary: Your bravery to face King Aegon II would be admirable, at least if he did not humiliate you in front of his brother Aemond, his uncle Gwayne and Ser Criston.

— word count: 1.9k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 16th day, female!reader, dark!Aegon, dark!Aemond, dark!Gwayne, dark!Criston, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, punishment, exhibitionism, rape/non-con, nipple playing, degradation, non-consensual touching, blood, face slapping, face punching, implied gangbang, dacryphilia, public humiliation, public nudity, crying, breast worship, body worship, sexism, oral (male receiving) mentioned, curse words, dom!Greens, sub!reader, canon divergence (Pre-The Dance of the Dragons), porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n @lina-lovebug @moonnicole @badger-reads @turdettethefirst

— crossposting: AO3

You had not been working at the castle for a long time. Alicent had hired you just days after the coronation of her firstborn, Viserys' second child, Aegon II. She needed more servants to deal with her son's stupid demands.

You would rather have gone to the Red Keep to serve the Queen Consort, Helaena, or specifically care for hers and the new King's children. You would rather have been chambermaid to other members of the royal family, any task that you did not have to deal so directly with Aegon.

However, it was impossible. Alicent had specified that you take care of the King's private chambers. Not the matrimonial chambers, where he rarely went to sleep with the Queen, but the room where he took the Ladies, the prostitutes or even some maids. The room that was always stinking of wine, sweat and male fluids. Sometimes even his urine. You hated your work and you hated Aegon.

Alicent ordered you to clean Aegon's chambers even though he was still asleep that morning. She had not explained the reasons why you needed to clean with the King's presence still there, but you did not dare question her. You loosened the ties on your uniform as a precaution, as you already noticed how Aegon always smirked when he saw your curves accentuated by the tight fabric. Even though it was Alicent who gave you the clothes on your first day in the Red Keep, you knew very well that it was probably Aegon who demanded his mother that his servants wear only smaller and tighter sizes. After all, where would the fun be for him if they always dressed appropriately?

Upon entering the room, the smell of wine immediately hit your nostrils. You had nothing against drinking alcohol, but the strong stench present inside the room made you hope that all the wine from Westeros would one day run out.

"You look angry." The King's deep husky voice caught your attention, and you swallowed hard as you approached with the two buckets and some rags.

You ignored his words and lowered your head, positioning the buckets on the floor to begin carrying out your task. "Excuse me, Your Grace. Your Lady Mother has ordered me to clean your chambers immediately."

Still lying in bed, Aegon's sleepy eyes fell on your kneeling figure, your delicate hands cleaning the wine stains spread across the floor. Aegon did not remember very much about the night before, only that he had drunk a lot and ordered the guards to bring him some random maid for him to have fun with before bed. He wanted to ask for you, order the guards to bring you even if you were dragged by your hair.

However, he was so drunk that he could not even say the order correctly, then he had to fuck the servant his men brought. She was pretty. She was hot and had a tight cunt. But she was not you.

"You look so fucking beautiful when you are angry..." Aegon continued to tease, making you take a deep breath and look up at him. His milky white skin remained covered by the silk sheets, his blond hair was messy and probably tangled, his lips were still reddened by wine and there were dark circles under his eyes. He was quite a sight, even if you hated admitting it to yourself.

"I am not angry, My King." You went back to mopping the floor with the wet cloth, trying to ignore your thoughts and the fact that his cock was so marked under the sheet.

"Yes, you are." He chuckled, especially when you got up to clean some other part of the room. The glimpse he saw of your pretty breasts pressed into the neckline of your uniform was enough for Aegon to grab your hand, stopping you from moving to the other corner. Preventing you from continuing your task or continuing to ignore him. "Do not play that fucking shit with me. Do not you dare ignore me."

As harsh and angry as his reprimand was, you could not help but look at him with contempt. Those fingers that were inside another servant's cunt during the last night now held your wrist as if he wanted to mark you. The smell of alcohol and sex around became even stronger. "I am not ignoring you, Your Grace. I am just doing my task."

A humorless laugh escaped the King's lips. "Your task? And what would it be, uhm? To look with disgust at my chambers? Or perhaps to loosen the ties on your uniform because you know I am always looking at your body like a hungry man? Is your task to hate your King?"

Your gaze moved away from his hand squeezing your wrists and shifted to his violet eyes, his pupils so dilated when you stared at each other that you could not tell if he wanted to push you onto the bed and fuck you rough or if he he wanted to order the guards to send you to the guillotine. Perhaps both.

"My task this morning is to clean your chambers, something you, My King, are not letting me do properly."

Aegon's jaw clenched at your boldness. He was not used to receiving sharp words from his own servants. It stressed him out and turned him on with equal measure. The way you were staring at him like you wanted to kill him, the way you did not flinch from his grip, the way you ignored his other questions, and most of all... The way you did not deny that you hated him and did not even beg for forgiveness.

Aegon felt his heart accelerate with anger and his cock begin to throb with arousal. He released your arm from his hands, and brought his calloused fingers to your cheeks, caressing the soft flushed skin for a few seconds. "You are a brave little thing, you know that, my dear?" He purred, lips pulled into a dark smile, before silencing what you were about to say with a slap.

The sound of his palm hitting your face left you in disbelief and fear, your eyes wide and filled with tears as Aegon shouted for Ser Criston Cole, who was doing his daily patrol in front of the outside of the King's private chambers.

"Yes, Your Grace? What does the King desire?" Criston asked, positioning himself and looking curiously at the sight in front of him, you with a redness mark on your cheek, Aegon's fierce and at the same time sarcastic gaze. It was clear what had happened.

Aegon let out a slight chuckle before saying. "I have some things to sort out with my brother and my uncle Ser Gwayne in the Small Council room. Please take this girl there when she finishes cleaning here." Aegon murmured, getting up from the bed, letting go of the sheets and starting to walk to the washbasin, his bare ass and his boner catching your attention when he looked at Ser Criston one last time. "Take her naked, preferably. Aemond and my uncle need some distraction and fun. Just like me"

When Criston pushed you into the Small Council, a weak whine escaped your swollen cut lips from the punch he had given you a few minutes before when he had to drag you through the corridors. You flinched as you held the tray with three glasses of wine, entering the room with red cheeks, the gazes of the three men sitting at the table landing on your naked and vulnerable body.

"Your Grace..." You murmured with a sad and shy reverence, walking over to them and placing the tray on the table, handing the largest glass to King Aegon, who smirked excitedly at your presence.

"Oh, finally! My most beautiful servant!" Aegon clapped his hands before taking the drink and taking a sip, admiring the view of your ass when handed the other glasses to Aemond and Gwayne. The prince looked at you with the same cold gaze as always, although he was enjoying watching your shivering body, completely vulnerable. The knight, Aegon and Aemond's uncle, widened his eyes, taking the drink and whispering an embarrassed thanks, your breasts so close to his face. "You can sit with us, Ser Criston. I am sure my other guards will not mind."

Criston nodded silently, sitting on the chair, but remaining with a severe face as he looked at the hairs of your cunt.

The awkward silence followed for a while, despite Aegon's amused smile when he saw you standing naked next to him, your hands clasped in front of your body, waiting for any more orders.

"What did the girl do to deserve a punch on those pretty lips, Ser Criston?" The King teased, the tip of his thumb rubbing circles on your waist, an involuntary sigh escaping and making you squeeze your thighs together reflexively. Your reaction did not go unnoticed by any of the men.

"She tried to refuse to walk naked through the castle halls while I brought her here." Criston looked at you with a little anger and you lowered your head so as not to see their reactions, but Aemond let a low 'uhm' escape coldly, along with Aegon's laugh as if the royal guard had told him the best of jokes.

"Oh, I see... She is a pretty stubborn little whore. Sometimes too brave for her own good." Aegon's mockery was like a knife spinning inside your chest, further adding to the humiliation when even Gwayne Hightower smirked too.

As much as you wanted to take the dagger from Criston's armor and stab the King to death, until his blood ran all over the marble table and permanently stained the green robe he wore, you forced yourself to look at him with false regret. "Forgive me, Your Grace."

It was an absolute lie and everyone knew that, but Aegon did not address your insincerity words. He caressed your bare waist again, moving his large hand up until it rested on your nipples, playing with them for a few minutes, enjoying your pathetic whimpers and the way your body twitched, without even trying to move away. It would be worse for you if you fought his sadism.

"Do not you think she is beautiful?" Aegon's smile was macabre, his thumb and forefinger wringing the small buds becoming hard like rocks, quite reddish and painful.

Aemond and Criston let out a similar scoff, but nodded in agreement. "She is pathetic." The prince added, looking your body up and down. "But she looks better than most of the stupid maids you fuck."

Aegon chuckled and nodded too, turning to Gwayne. "And what do you think, uncle?"

Gwayne looked at you, his red hair matching his flushed cheeks as he gave his nephew a mischievous smile. "She is quite a sight, My King."

Aegon laughed again, moving his fingers away from your breasts and scratching his chin to think of something that could humiliate you a little more. He knew this would be crossing the line and would make his mother reprimand him furiously, ashamed of the firstborn that came out of her womb. However, it did not matter anymore. He was the King now, and a King should decide how to punish his own people.

"I think you would like to receive some pleasure after the tiring journey to King's Landing. Right?" Gwayne seemed a little shocked by the suggestion from Aegon's words, but it did not take long for him to agree.

"Yes, my nephew. It would be very useful." Gwayne ignored the tears that streamed down your face when Aegon forced you to kneel in front of his uncle, lifting your face so you could see the lust on Gwayne's face.

Aegon petted the top of your head like a puppy, before smirking and whispering. "Well... then take her as your welcome gift, uncle."

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[ckret2]

One of my favourite things about the book of Bill has to be how hard it has cemented that, for all the airs Bill likes to put on, he's actually awful at manipulating people. Like if you look at the just the show, on the surface his record isn't bad. 2 1/2 successful manipulations out of 3 shown on-screen is solid. ((That is until you examine it further and realize that the 2 successful ones were done to 12 year old children who 1. Weren't exactly in the best states of mind at the time due to severe sleep deprivation/a difficult emotional state and 2. he still had to trick via his power (the fake timer on the laptop/possessing blendin so Mabel didn't know it was him)) But now? Oh man! Ford wasn't just lucky, he joined a tradition dating back all the way to humanities beginnings! Bill has been trying to get people to do his bidding literally since people had gotten good enough at resource-gathering and tool-usage to be able to potentially build his portal! And he failed over and over and over again and he never learned shit! That would be bad enough but not only did he fail at manipulating several civilzations worth of people, they ALSO constantly thwarted him in ways beyond that! He got himself banished, trapped, and annoyed to hell and back and thats just the stuff he told us! Thats not even speaking of his latest and possibly greatest fumble, failing the convince us, the reader of the Book of Bill who is canonically a fan of Bill or at least Gravity Falls into striking a deal with him. In short, if I asked Bill to manipulate a child into eating ice cream with just his words I wouldn't trust him to get it done within my or the kids life time.

Except, Bill IS good at manipulating people. You JUST DESCRIBED several examples of him being good at manipulating people.

Identifying the most vulnerable targets, the "weakest link" most likely to cave and do what you want—like children (or elderly people with dementia, or immigrants who don't understand the language well)—is part of being good at manipulation.

Identifying and taking advantage of people in a compromised mental state when they're not thinking clearly and are more likely to do what you want is part of being good at manipulation. (He didn't try to persuade Mabel to destroy the laptop, BECAUSE HE KNEW DIPPER WAS MORE VULNERABLE. He didn't approach Dipper or Ford dressed as Blendin—BECAUSE HE KNEW MABEL WAS MORE VULNERABLE.)

Just straight up lying to people—about a situation (the timer), about a person (Blendin)—is a manipulation tactic.

Fabricating a totally artificial emergency and pressuring a target to ACT NOW to prevent disaster is a common con artist trick. (See: scammers who cold call strangers, say they're from the IRS and the stranger is behind on taxes, and demand they transfer a large amount of money from their bank RIGHT NOW or go to jail—WHICH ACTUALLY WORKS A LOT, especially because people CAN'T THINK AS CLEARLY when they're panicking.)

Disguising yourself as somebody trustworthy or somebody intimidating to trick a target into obeying you is also a common con artist trick.

Not to mention ALL the work we see into how he manipulates Ford: he makes note of Ford's social isolation and how Bill can use that to his advantage; he identifies the thing Ford wants most (respect & acknowledgment for his intellectual achievements) and weaves that into his manipulation; he uses both Ford's ego AND Ford's insecurity against him; he almost effortlessly turns Ford against the one friend who adores him, making Ford think his friend's kindest attempts to help are evidence of backstabbing; and even though ultimately it didn't work, you can't say that threatening to destroy Ford's life from inside his own body was a BAD manipulation tactic.

Plus the entire muse schtick. Fooling people into thinking you're doing something magical or supernatural is such a common manipulation tactic that there's a whole name for it: "mystical manipulation." Bill does this NON STOP with Ford, and with many of his other victims.

We see him successfully talk an entire tribe into helping him build a working redwood portal—and they only turned against him when the portal started petrifying people, unleashing monsters, and creating bottomless pits. He talked the Aztecs into sacrificing 9,000 people to build a portal that didn't even work. He talked not-Disney into making a cartoon about Bill that included UNLEASHING LIVE BEES IN THE THEATER. Who the hell would think that's a good idea!

And to top it all off, he formed multiple successful cults that were ride or die for him until the bitter end. That's like the crown jewel of being good at manipulating. Bill talked a whole town into joining his cult in under a month in spite of the fact that he kept calling them plasma bags and chugging formaldehyde. Based on the dates in the document about Silas Birchtree, people were marrying into Ciphertology at least five years after Bill's puppet disintegrated and he ditched them.

Bill was good at manipulating people!

Do you know what Bill WASN'T good at? Getting people to finish and open a portal.

Largely because portals are difficult to make, and because he can only get so far into the process before it becomes obvious that this thing will destroy the world and that's usually enough to override any other threats or promises he makes.

Yeah, he says some stupid things that should obviously give him away—like talking about setting off all the nukes. He's kinda pathetic and a bit of a dumbass sometimes. But, here's the thing about successful manipulators, con artists, and cult leaders: MOST of them are kinda pathetic dumbasses. Cult leaders are idiots. There's a cult leader who preached his followers should be on minimal vegetarian diets, had his chauffeur take him out to a big fancy steak dinner, then told his chauffeur he did that to test his faith—and the chauffeur was like well okay. Cult leaders are idiots, AND YET SUCCEED. When Bill says you can get anyone to hum along with your tune if you've got charisma? He's right—that's true in real life.

Manipulators get away with manipulation not because they tell such brilliant impeccable lies that the most clear-headed rational person in the world would believe them... but because they know to tell their lies to people who aren't clear-headed and rational, and because they know using cheap tricks and false identities and lies that the victim WANTS to be true works better than a flawless story, and because they know most people tend to give other people the benefit of the doubt that what they're saying is probably true.

So yeah, he's too cocky, he's a bit pathetic, he lost a lot, he loses at the end of the book... but that doesn't mean he's a bad manipulator. It means that being good at manipulating can only carry you so far, and Bill didn't have what it takes to carry him the rest of the way.

[haztory]

['sex' by the 1975]

⤷ atsumu miya x f!reader; best friends, references to infidelity, pining, sexual content (w.c 3.1k)

“it’s not sex.” he insists between mouthfuls. a drop of mustard dots the corner of his mouth. you stare incredulously.

“are you joking?” you ask. atsumu just shrugs his shoulder, intense focus saved for the burger held in his hands. practically inhaling a third of it in one bite as he brings it up to his mouth.

“‘s not like it’s the real thing.” he bobs his head side to side in consideration of the sandwich before he’s grabbing at the fries in your lap, “can i haf some.”

the carton lays practically emptied from his pilfering next to your abandoned chicken nuggets. three remaining, absent of consumption in favor of a bewildered stare at the man seated beside you on his bed. 

“fingering is penetration, that’s sex.” you say simply.

atsumu raises a brow, “yer gyno having sex with ya?”

“that’s different.” you level a stare at him, one that’s serious and fierce and that communicates everything you mean in the single look alone. he meets it with one of his own, familiarity and uncommunicated languages all the rage between the two of you. “she doesn't make me cum.”

“neither does yer boyfriend.” he shrugs, taking another large bite of his burger as you screech in offense. your hand meets his bicep with a sharp slap and he grabs at it in pain. “ow! ya were the one that told me that!”

”some people take a minute to figure it out.”

”sounds like its taking a lot longer than a minute.” he mutters to himself. “look, its a lost cause. just dump the guy before it gets anywhere. ya haven’t had sex yet, he’s got a weird face, dude cant tell a fake orgasm from a real one. why are ya fighting me on this?”

“fingering is sex! your body count would be zero if fingering didnt count.” you insist loudly and atsumu rolls his eyes. he crumples the foil his burger came in and throws it across the room, cheering loudly when it makes it into the bin in the corner of his room. 

his room is much the same since the last time you visited. photos of passing years sit framed on the desk— an image of he and osamu with their arms wrapped around each other, taken right before atsumu left for the olympics. another of you and atsumu placed right next to it, you leaning over his shoulder and him laughing loudly, beer bottles held deftly in hands and drunken flushes decorating your faces. momentos of faded high school memories, interspersed with flashes of young adult realities. 

its more sophisticated than it once was. minimal in furniture, and of the items that decorate the room they’re the perfect reflection of a twenty-four year old athlete. his closet is lined with designer gifted clothes, but his desk chair remains stacked with undone laundry, the basics of his everyday life found in the plush cushion more than on the hangers. the jacket you’re currently wearing was stolen from the top of that pile just after delivering a pointed comment at how cold he keeps his apartment. 

its a far cry from the bedroom he used to share with his brother, the one you remember at the dusk of previous memories. it was cramped and contained, lines between the two boys constantly blurred and you having to learn rather quickly where to step and when. but even now, as he lives on his own in a city a bit further from you than you’re comfortable with, not much has changed. you still sit on the left side of the bed and he takes the right; you still eat burgers on his bed and steal his jackets, and he throws papers into trash bins and insists he could’ve made it professional were he not already in volleyball; you still moan and complain about the woes of daily life and he still listens to them endlessly, interjecting the same amount of dumb enthusiasm as you know him to have. 

there is still much in common that remains between he and you. trusted familiarity, endless comfort; a bubble that remains whole and precious, unaltered despite life dealing its hand to you. you’re convinced there’s no one else in the world that gets you quite like atsumu does. 

there’s also no one in the world that works you up, quite like atsumu does.

atsumu stands from the bed, retrieving your own trash from your lap and chucking the rest of it in the bin. lithe and lean, he moves with a body that is sculpted to perfection as he turns off the overhead light and instead turns on the desk lamp, submerging the room in the lowly warmth of its glow. days are shorter now and the sun has just made it return home, leaving you to the dim luster of a pleasant comfort. 

its quiet, intimate. words entirely inappropriate to describe the weekly hangout with your best friend of seven years. 

pushing thoughts aside, you fight to remember what the whole point of the conversation was about. a boyfriend, right. your boyfriend.

right. 

“and he does not have a weird face, he’s just… interesting. it’s what i liked about him.” 

“revolting. i’m this close to spiking a ball in his face. it would be plastic surgery for the dud.”

“you’re being mean.” you tell him. 

atsumu scoffs loudly, “and yer being stupid! yer the one that’s complaining to me about it. yer really gonna date a guy who can’t figure it out when he fingers ya? what happens when ya actually have sex with the bozo?”

“it takes practice. i don’t blame him for not being able to get me there on the first try. i see him later tonight so i’ll talk to him about it. it’s hard to figure out how to turn someone on and then try to, you know, get me there—“

“woahwoahwoah—timeout.” atsumu hold his hands perpendicular to one another, forming a ‘t’. his eyebrows practically touch the hairline of his bleached hair. “he doesn't even turn you on?”

“not everyone is good at everything, like you.” you mean it sarcastically, but it comes out short and meek. it’s embarrassing to have to cover for the misgivings of your current beau, but there’s an obligation to. a point to make, especially to the man in front of you. 

you’ve met the ex-girlfriends, heard their feedback for the man before you. an average of six out of ten in boyfriend material, but he knocks the ball out of the park when it comes to the bed—or so you’ve heard. 

(aya, the most recent girl to have made her grand exit, followed you on instagram and asked you to not be a stranger. whether that was so she could have her in for atsumu or because she really wanted to be friends is still up for debate, but the gesture ended with a message in your directs.

[9:17] it sucks, he’ll always be more in love with volleyball than any girl he could ever date. and even if he didn’t, you’re his number two anyway, so there’s really no way i can win.

[9:20] i’m super sorry, aya. if it’s any consolation, i really liked you two together. he’s just slow, i’m sure you guys will figure it out.

[9:20] you were our biggest argument. 

[9:20] so no, i don’t think we will.

[9:21] i’ll miss that dick tho, best orgasm of my life. rip

there’s not much you can say to a message like that. there’s not much you can say to the surge of smugness that courses through you either, so you don’t.

you don’t tell atsumu about it.)

“alright. sit up then.”

his voice startles you. “what?” 

suddenly, he stands before the side of the bed, looming horribly tall over you as he peers down at you. he shoves his hands in the pockets of his gray sweatpants, the fabric unintentionally pulling down ever so slightly and the waistband of his black boxers peeking out in greeting. the light of the desklamp casts a halo over his silhouette.

your attention is drawn upward and it’s hard to deny the familiar pang that tends to strike through you every so often in times like this. the simple effect of being near him. atsumu is unfairly handsome, and while it’s hard to put a name to the feeling that pulses inside of you when the light catches him just right or when a smile is even more charming than usual, the ache is always the same.

it’s fleeting, you convince yourself. something you refuse to settle on for too long. contexts and suppressed hopes pushed to the back of your mind along with the other unspoken things.

“come on.” he gestures two fingers upward. “i’ll show ya how easy it is to turn a girl on.”

its curiosity that has you standing up on your knees on the comforter, nothing more. its the wonder of how exactly your best friend makes his move on women that leads you to be so close to him, chests practically touching. breaths intertwining as atsumu stares a kind of serious into you that you’ve never been in the receiving end of before.

“im gonna touch ya.” his voice is low and your heart beats erratically in your chest. you nod. 

lifting his right hand, cold fingertips run across the heated skin on the back of your arm. digits trailing upward as he paints a pathway up. and it’s nothing—just his hand on your arm, nothing new or different, and yet your breath hitches. innocent in theory, but something solidifies on atsumu’s face, the familiar signs of determination playing out on his face. it’s less babied now, more formed and angular with the growings of an adult man, but it’s the same focus in his eye, the same clench in his jaw. 

his fingers trail up then down, repeating a circular figure on your skin. the sounds of your mingling breaths the only whispers between you two. your eyes dart down to his lips, but his stay fixed on you. studying every flicker of your eye, every inhale. 

his fingers break from their pattern and trails down to your wrist, then your palm, then your own fingers. tracing them, dancing with them, intertwining them slightly only to pull them away. 

“we should stop.” you whisper after a moment of his caress.

“why?” he asks and a quick glance to his gaze reveals that he knows why. he’s just making you spell it out.

it’s unfortunate that the only reason you want to stop is out of principle, and not because you truly have any reservations about any of this. your boyfriend of three months all but an annoying buzz in your ear.

“this feels like cheating.” you tell him simply. atsumu cocks his head to the side, charming smirk pulling across his lips. 

“i’m touching yer arm. this isn’t anything, yet.”

“you shouldn’t be touching my arm like this.”

“why? cause it’s working, right?” his voice drops to a low rumble, words vibrating through you and shooting straight to your core. “see how easy it is?”

“that means this is cheating then, right?” the question is posed, but it’s obvious it’s more to convince yourself than him. because all that he’s done is touch your arm and you’ve felt the bubbling of that unnamed something heat within you. it feels the exact same as it did seven years ago when you met him; feels identical to the moment four years ago when a drunken night led to a drunken kiss that was forgotten about the next day; feels the exact same whenever he looks at you like he does now, like you're open for the taking. a pointedly very different response to the dread that comes when getting intimate with your actual boyfriend. 

and while atsumu may be doing this to prove a point, to rub it in your face that he was right and you were wrong, you don’t trust that you’ll be able to not carry this with you. to not want more than you should. 

“nah.” he says simply, knowingly. “if i kiss you then it’s a problem.”

“oh, so kissing is cheating, but fingering isn’t?”

“can you shuddup? always runnin’ that damn mouth.” he renders you quiet. 

satisfied with your silence, he brings his left hand to cup your jaw, thumb and index finger grasping your chin and tilting your head to the left, leaving your neck exposed. he leans in, nose tracing a line up the column of your neck until he meets the juncture between that and your jaw. it’s a simple movement, and yet it feels like eternity in his hands. his breath hits steadily against the expanse of your cheek as he whispers into your ear.  “does he touch ya like this?” 

the gasp you release is guttural.

the arm previously fiddling with your fingers quickly wraps around your waist, pulling you flush to him. you have no choice but to embrace him with your own arms, hands cupping the back of his neck to steady yourself. it’s impulse to run them down the expanse of his back, to feel the muscles that he’s worked so hard for, but you resist. keeping yourself locked on his neck and nothing more, as though you being pliant to his ministrations wasn’t jeopardizing enough.  

his thumb inches upward, stroking the corner of your lips sweetly. “does he take his time with ya? cause i would.” 

its then that his lips meet the skin of your neck, tingles erupting from the connection. all of its effects causing an inadvertent clench within you. “it’s not about shoving fingers inside and just doing it. its about doing it the way you like it. and i’d make ya tell me how ya like it. since yer always runnin’ that damn mouth, might as well put it to good use.”

its all-encompassing, the traitorous burn between your thighs. and yet, this is the unnamed something, all that you’ve pushed away.

“astumu—” you whine and its in that exhale of yours that he releases a sigh of his own. one that almost sounds restrained.

“tell me to stop.” he says quickly, lips mouthing against your neck as he utters the words. 

and you don’t want him to. not really. the desire is feverish, unlike anything you’ve felt before and to end this is to end the sweetness of something you’ve yet to taste. if it were to be with anyone you would want it to be with him.

you could take the teasing, the “i-told-you-so” from osamu, the obliteration of a friendship for the uncertain promise of something more. but it isn’t right. not like this. if mountains were to come to a head, you want it to happen because they were gravitated to each other, not because the earth told them to do so.

“stop.” you tell him, and it’s like a hot brand that strikes him. he’s immediately pushing away from, untangling his limbs from you and stepping back into the swath of darkness in the room. 

his breaths are deep and heavy, that much you can tell from the distance. shuttering exhales that wrack his chest. you can hardly make out his irises, only see the intensity of dark pupils. it’s hard to believe that he could be feeling the way you do, just from the simple touch alone. a quick glance down to his grey sweatpants proves otherwise. 

a moment, then two, pass by. ragged breaths filling the distance, words spoken in the silent language you’re both fluent in. 

“does this mean i’m easy then?” you ask quietly, an effort to ease the wall of tension. 

“no.” he shakes his head gently, “just means i know ya.”

he knows what he means to say, the words and all of their yearning practically knocking against his teeth to escape. it’s the long haul, almost a decade long game of carefully advanced chess pieces to get to this point. blocked, temporarily, by the appearance of the new guy. a boyfriend of yours that atsumu met once, a guy he barely attempted to learn the name of. for reasons of his own, their knowing pertinent only to him. held deeply within the urges of being seen, the desires of having you wholly, completely.

there are plenty of other ways that he could do this—probably be more eloquent about it. admit pushed away feelings when you’re not in the midst of ranting about how your boyfriend just can’t get you off. 

but the tension irks him. thick enough to cut a knife, always following the two of you in the long held stares and closeness in which you two gravitate towards each other. the answer to your boyfriend problem is standing right in front of you. he knows what he wants you to do when you see your boyfriend later tonight. 

there are certain shoes that atsumu is convinced he could fill better than your boyfriend.

your face is flushed, and the desk lamp makes you look angelic under the lowlights, and you're wearing his jacket like you always do in a way that makes him believe it was always meant for you. and he’s not entirely convinced, even without the cloud of lust that hangs over him, that you don’t want this just as bad as he does.

osamu once said that atsumu wouldn’t admit his feelings to you even if they hit him over the head. they’re here, now. settling in the distance between you two, bobbing in the capsizing waves of want. they ache to be spoken, knock repeatedly against his gritted teeth. 

but a choice is made in that moment, with you looking at him as wild as you are. atsumu will admit to the selfish and prideful part of himself, but this—you— aren’t something to just take. the taste of your neck, the feel of your body against him, it must be given to him, earned. not because he needs to make a petty point, but because you want him to. 

he cares for you too much to be reckless in how he plays his cards. even if osamu will bust his balls for it later.

you have a boyfriend. and he can’t force you to change that. it wouldn’t be right, he’s given you the taste, he hopes it will be enough.

“like that.” he says after a moment, pushing down his pride and long held desires for you. “tell him ya like it like that.”

a/n: why is it that whenever i stop writing for kuroo, the one i always want to write for is atsumu. also big ups for my beta who entertains me and proofreads me at all hours of the day. i love you sanju!!!!!!

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤLOVING WITHOUT RESTRICTIONS * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Y/N and Chris have been keeping their relationship a secret for just over a year until one day where Y/N feels ready to announce it; OR, where Y/N and Chris soft launch their relationship.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

It was a typical Thursday morning, with the sun shining strongly against the outside walls of the house, keeping it warm. Inside the comfort of the room, Y/N and Chris were lying on their bed, wrapped in each other's arms after waking up. The rays of warm LED lights danced softly over their skin as they exchanged caresses, each touch filling the room with tenderness.

Chris, with his messy hair and a lazy smile on his lips, watched Y/N with adoration. His eyes conveyed a mix of love and gratitude for having her there.

Meanwhile, Y/N was in deep thought. Her eyes were fixed on the white ceiling as her mind studied the complexities of keeping their relationship a secret. As she stroked Chris's hair and felt the comforting warmth of his embrace, her mind was in a whirl, revisiting the moments when they agreed to keep things a secret.

She considered the reasons that led them to this decision. The pressure of the triplets' fandom, the intense attention from social media, the invasion of privacy that comes with public exposure - it all weighed on her mind. The girl vaguely remembered the heartfelt conversations they had, the mutual concerns about how fans would react to their relationship. It was a delicate dance between the desire to share her happiness with the world and the need to protect her own privacy.

However, despite all the rational arguments that accumulated in her mind, there was an undeniable desire that consumed her. She wanted to be able to shout to the world that Chris was hers, without restrictions. She wanted to be able to walk hand in hand with him down the street without worrying about some fan seeing them and commenting on Twitter about it. She wanted to be able to appear in the triplets' videos as Chris's girlfriend, not as just a friend.

While reflecting on the pros and cons, Y/N noticed that, despite all her fears, her love for Chris transcended all worries. Despite the challenges they would face, their connection was stronger than any of it. She knew it was time to put aside her fear, despite not knowing how to deal with his fans or fame, she wanted to be able to look Chris in the eye and say with pride that he was hers, in every sense of the word.

So, between the light pecks of Chris's lips on her skin and the caresses of his fingers on her hip, Y/N felt her heart speed up, and she decided it was time to take a step forward.

"Chris..." She began, her voice soft and somewhat hesitant.

Chris's eyes met hers, a mixture of curiosity and concern reflected in her gaze.

"What is it, babe? You look serious." The boy frowned, sitting up slightly and keeping his upper body supported on the bed by his left elbow.

Y/N took a deep breath, gathering all the courage she had within herself.

"I... I think I'm ready."

"Ready? Ready for what?" Chris asked, confused.

"Ready to no longer hide our relationship." Y/N declared, her voice firm and determined. She turned her body sideways, still lying down, but now facing him.

Chris was momentarily stunned, processing her words. Then, a radiant smile spread across his face, his eyes shining beautifully.

"You mean... You mean you're ready to make our relationship public?" His voice came out high-pitched, a sign of euphoria.

"Yes, Chris. I'm ready. I want this, I want to be able to say I'm yours. No restrictions." Y/N nodded, a nervous smile playing on her lips.

"But, are you sure? I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with." The brunette pressed his lips into a thin line, his heart racing in anticipation.

"I've never been so sure before, pretty boy." Y/N nodded again, a smirk decorating her face, feeling light as a feather.

Chris sat straight on the mattress abruptly, pulling her up with ease, ignoring the small scream of surprise that escaped her lips. He sat her on his crossed legs, spreading several kisses over her cheeks, nose, and forehead repeatedly, eliciting loud laughter from the girl, her heart overflowing with happiness.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The sun was setting over the horizon, painting the sky with shades of orange and pink as the triplets were in their usual seats in the car, recording the video that would be posted on the following Friday.

"Her beauty is crazy, I watch her from the crowd." Chris sang suddenly, a small smile on his lips, looking at Matt sideways.

"I wrote a couple of things down that were in my brain..." Nick began, ignoring Chris's sudden singing. "I love citrus. Anytime I can get my hands on a citrusy fruit, I want it. The juice, the flavor... it's delicious." He continued, a smile on his face as his eyes went from Chris to Matt and back again.

Nick's random remark caused Chris to jump excitedly in the passenger seat. His eyes lit up, and a smile grew on his face.

"Citrus drinks?" He asked, turning his upper body to the side so that he was closer to the oldest triplet.

"Yeah, I love it! Orange juice, lemonade, anything with a hint of citrus." Nick responded, pulling out his phone to look at his notes for the video, not noticing the change in Chris' behavior.

Chris felt his heart start to beat faster in his chest as his mind raced to a single person: Y/N. She also loved citrus drinks. It was one of her most striking characteristics.

"This is awesome!" Chris exclaimed, barely able to contain his excitement. "Y/N also loves citrus drinks, you know? She's obsessed with orange juice and lemonade! Also, I always get her lemonade when she participates in one of our videos, remember?"

As he ramble, Chris felt his face heat up, a red color spreading across his cheeks and neck. It was difficult to control the shyness when talking about Y/N, even if it was just mentioning her preference for drinks.

Matt and Nick exchanged amused glances in the rearview mirror, immediately noticing Chris's change in mood.

"Wow, she really likes citrus, huh?" Matt commented, with a playful tone, raising his right eyebrow.

"Uhm." Chris nodded, his involuntary smile growing even wider on his face, quickly pressing his lips into a thin line, trying to stop himself from continuing his barrage of comments he could spend hours making about Y/N.

Nick planned to delete the short minutes while editing, but he ended up forgetting it, creating an intense mess in the comments.

extra - comments:

"wait, did yall see how Chris blushed while talking about Y/N? 🥺"

"omg Chris talking about Y/N was the cutest thing I saw today 😭"

"Chris and Y/N? how long did I sleep?"

"omg omg omg are they together?"

"date someone who talks about you like Chris talks about Y/N 😫"

"Chris getting super excited JUST TO SAY THAT Y/N LIKES CITRUS DRINKS 😭😭"

"I really hope Chris and Y/N are together, they would be super cute together 🥺"

"there's something going on that we don't know about 🤨🤨"

"spill the tea guys 😔✋🏻"

"I think this part wasn't supposed to stay in the video LMAO"

liked by sturniolo.triplets, yninstagram and 408,823 others

christophersturniolo oops, forgot to mention it 😬🤍

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© vanteguccir

[corazondebeskar-reads]

get some on my love

QZ!Joel Miller x f!reader

my masterlist | joel fic recs

This is for @justagalwhowrites' Birthday Celebration for Joel. I picked the prompts for QZ!Joel and breeding kink. It, uh. It got away with me. Title from "Gasoline" by Seether because that's what made this get so feral. Please read the warnings.

dedicated to @covetyou bcus it's your tumblrversary bb! and also because of SWAT, the ultimate slutty qz joel fic that lives in my head and pays rent

words: 1.6k

summary: You visit Joel Miller to get what you need.

warnings: dub-con, dubcon due to sex in exchange for drugs, and he kind of springs the breeding kink on her (but there's not a risk), abuse of prescription medications, QZ!Joel Miller, dealer!Joel Miller, smuggler!Joel Miller, filthy!Joel Miller, breeding kink, creampie, menstrual sex, inappropriate uses of period blood, spitting, pussy pronouns (she/her), vulgar language, god i don't even know it's just nasty and they like it, kind of hate fucking, no y/n, no betas no proofreading no nothing lol

dividers by @saradika-graphics

also on ao3

“Well, well. Look who’s come crawlin’ back,” Joel drawls when he opens the door. 

You scowl. “You gonna let me in or not?”

He leans against the frame, a lazy smirk curling. “Gee, I don’t know. You had some mighty strong things to say ‘bout me last time.” He does step back, though, ushering you in. 

“Pretty sure you said you were never gonna look at my ugly mug again,” he adds as he shuts the door behind you. 

“Yeah, well,” you mutter. 

He tips your chin up with two fingers. “Yeah, well,” he mocks. “Well, what? No one else want that sloppy pussy as payment?”

“You like my pussy, jackass,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Yeah, I do,” he says, cornering you against the door, your back hitting it with a thump. He leers, leaning in. “You know why it’s so sloppy? ‘Cause I fuckin’ ruined it, and you loved it.”

You scowl again, turning your head sharply to the side so you don’t have to look at his smug smirk. The worst part is how right he is. 

“Look,” you mutter, heat rising to your cheeks, “I-I can’t pay today. But I need them, bad. I’ll… I’ll make it up to you.”

It nearly kills you to say. The only thing worse than dealing with Joel Miller is owing Joel Miller. 

“Whaddya mean you can’t pay today? Cunt closed for construction or somethin’?”

You shove him away roughly, ducking out of his grasp to stalk into the living room. “No, dumbass, I’m… bleedin���, you know.”

His responding grin is feral and full of teeth. “I don’t give a shit. Go bend over the bathroom sink.”

“Are you fuckin' serious?”

“You want the fuckin’ pills or not?”

You could scream. Of course you do. There’s not a part of your body that doesn’t hurt. It’s settled into every joint and crevice, an ache you can’t stretch out or shake loose. 

You’d know. You’ve tried. But you’re losing sleep, and the pain makes you too nauseous to eat. His drugs will only take the edge off for so long, but god, you’d do nearly anything for a few hours’ respite. 

“Fine,” you whisper finally, and make your way to the apartment’s tiny three-piece. 

He follows, watching you with amusement. “Strip,” he says. 

You glare, and he shrugs. 

“Or don’t. But I ain’t responsible for what happens to your clothes.”

Oh, fuck him. Fuck him. But you strip—all the way, even though you could have left your top on, but because mother nature has you on her shit list, your usual pain is compounded when you’re menstruating. And when you’re ovulating. Really, so many women don’t even have a fucking cycle anymore from all the stress and malnutrition, but noooo, you were cursed with a fertile fucking uterus. 

The point was that your titties were sore and aching, and the thought of his warm hands groping and pawing at them sounded nice, so off goes your shirt.

He chuckles when he enters the bathroom. “Well, look at that. Eager?”

“Hurry up,” you snap. “It’s cold, and there’s gonna be a mess.”

“Gonna be a mess either way,” he taunts, his hands rough against your hips.

And ain’t that the kicker? There’s gonna be a mess. Your cunt is already sore, and he’s gonna leave a trail of destruction in his wake. 

“Don’t look so grossed out, sugar,” he says, cupping your breasts and looking at you in the mirror. “It’s all natural. Plus, I gotta say, it’s been a long time since I got to do this.”

You’re busy meeting his eyes in the mirror and pulling a face, not catching his last words. He rolls and pinches at your tender nipples, but it’s the kind of pain that sits on the right side of pleasure. As expected, his meaty hands grope unmercifully at your breasts, and you moan in relief at the free massage.

“That’s it. That’s what I like to hear. You ready for me, huh? That greedy pussy o’ yours ready?”

“Uh-huh,” you say distractedly. “Wait—”

“I didn’t forget,” he murmurs in your ear. “Open.”

You open your mouth obediently, sticking your tongue out. He sets a round, white pill on it and turns your head with a firm grip on your chin, his spit landing right on the pill.

You swallow and avert your eyes as he watches your reflection.

“Get on with it,” you rasp.

One hand wanders down between your thighs and strokes through the folds, working you open with two thick fingers scissoring side to side. He doesn’t spend long there, dragging them up to rub at your clit for a moment.

“Make some fuckin’ noise; I can’t tell if you’re wet or not with all this goin’ on,” he grumbles, withdrawing his hand and showing you the slick blood coating it.

You wince, and he laughs. “Y’ain’t scared of your own period, are ya?”

“Fuck off, ‘course I’m not. Doesn’t mean I wanna look at it.”

He grins. The expression is always unnatural on him and usually heralds something vulgar.

You’re not wrong. He brings his hand up to cup your breast, leaving a smear of blood on your tit. 

“Somethin’ kinda hot about it, don’tcha think?” he muses.

“If you say so,” you mutter, but you can’t look away. It’s striking, blood against your skin that isn’t borne of violence.

The thick tip of his cock interrupts your thoughts as he pushes down on your shoulder. You bend, gripping the sides of the vanity as he buries himself inside with one slow thrust.

He groans, gripping hard on your shoulder. “S’better than lube.”

“You’re so gross,” you say, shaking your head.

“Yeah? Then why’re you clenchin’ around me like a goddamn vice, huh?”

“You always talk this much when you fuck, or am I special?”

“Oh, sugar, don’t flatter yourself,” he says with a slap on your ass. “Y’ain’t special.”

“You—ahh—you hate-fuck all your customers?”

He snorts. “You ain’t even special enough to hate, honey. And you can hate me all you like, but we both know you’re gonna keep comin’ back.”

As you scowl up at him in the mirror, you almost wish looks could kill. But he’s right. He’d be no good to you dead because no other dealer in this godforsaken QZ will dose you in exchange for sex.

As it is, he only lets you once a week. You need more than that? Gotta pay like everyone else. Even when you can afford it, you find yourself back here or on your knees or however he wants you every fuckin’ Friday, because a free pill is a free pill. It’s 3-4 hours you can nap without nearly killin’ yourself to afford it.

Today’s pill hasn’t begun to set in yet, but that’s the other thing about Joel. He’s good at making you forget.

Real good.

His hands are on your body, roughly gentle. He’s not careful with his touch, but not careless, either. He wants you to come, wants you to shake and fall apart on his dick, so he can flash you that little self-satisfied smirk borne of bravado he’s rightly earned. 

And you do. You come for him, with his hands on your breasts and your clit. You tremble and moan and your pussy tries to stake a claim on his cock, clenching and hoping to never let go. But it will, and you will. In the end, you always let go.

He’s a different kind of beast tonight. Panting and grunting in your ear, teeth on your neck, sweat dripping and blending with yours. After he’s rung pleasure from you, he settles one hand on your hip and another on your shoulder and ruts into you like a jackhammer. Like he can’t get deep enough, can’t stop until he’s carved a spot for him within you.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he mutters, pushing you down further. “Fuuuck, darlin’, you want this, huh? You want me to fill you up?”

“Wh-what?” you gasp, air knocked from you with each punch of his cock against your cervix.

“Gonna fill you up good, gonna—nnng— gonna make it stick.”

You reach back and smack him. “The fuck are you—” 

But he doesn’t let you finish. He holds on tight and grinds his dick deep. “That greedy pussy, sugar, she fuckin’ wants it. Oh fuck, I-I’m gonna fuck this pretty little pussy ‘till she’s full o’ me. And you’re gonna take it, right?”

You whimper, holding tight to the sink while he loses his fucking mind or whatever is happening. You don’t know. It feels too good to question.

“Thas’ it,” he rambles. “Gonna look so good, stuffed up, and ev’ryone—everyone—will know you let me fuckin’ breed you.”

Oh god. It shouldn’t be hot. Those words should be stopping your heart, you should be pushing him away, but your dumb cunt has a mind of its own and holds tight to him, each thrust of his cock squelching as you come around him again. 

“Jesus, baby, it’s been too long, too long since I got to fill up a cunt like yours,” he groans, hips stuttering, “oh shit, take it—fuckin’ take it.”

His cock pulses inside you, and you think maybe you die and go to heaven for a little bit—just a little, because when you open your eyes, you’re still in Joel’s grimy bathroom—but there’s a sweet moment where you think he’s right. It’s been too long. Far too long since a man’s come undone inside you, let you feel that hot burst and twitching, it’s divine, it’s—well, it’s making you come again. 

When he pulls out, you stumble right to the toilet, glaring at him as you try to clean up the mess before it happens. “Gross,” you grumble.

When you look up, the way he’s looking at you makes somethin’ awful churn inside, and it’s not just the apparent buckets of cum he filled you with. 

The silence between you is thick. Finally, he jerks his head to the shower. “Get cleaned up ‘n get out,” is all he says, and the door clicks shut in his wake. 

[pedge-page]

Crash

Sequel to Cravings

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary: Frankie is reeling from the night you two had sex and can no longer differentiate between his addictions.

Notes: Great y’all, now he's got feelings . Hope you're proud. Anyway, thank you all for the overwhelmingly positive feedback from Cravings: alas, here’s part 2! There will be a part 3 finale following after this (because it was getting too long and I like making you all suffer). Thank you all again for the love and reading so far!

Warnings: Oral (m and f receiving), F and M masturbation, dry humping, drunk reader, slight dub con drunk sexual activities, references to sex, mentions of drug usage,  language, Frankie is kinda mean in this one :( , poor communication King and Queen

18+ONLY

- - - -

Frankie feels like a stranger who's overstayed his welcome in his own home. When he knew you were deep asleep, he crawled out of bed and sat on the couch for what felt like a simultaneous eternity and quantum leap of time, wrestling in his mind over what just happened.

He knows you'll be waking up soon, and the thought of seeing you now makes him feel so anxious. In direct contract to how he's felt seeing you every morning since you moved in. How much of last night stuck with you? You were tipsy, but not as fucked up drunk as he was. Did he come on to you too strong? Misread your signs? Did he force it on you? Would you regret it?

And even if you wanted it, was it just all for him? Was this just another "helping Frankie get over his coke problem"?

He can't just go back to seeing you as a substitute for his "problems". His hands shook at his side, leg bouncing. You were slowly transitioning from being the solution to his problems to becoming the reason for his new problems. He's never been afraid about how to act around you before, and that even includes trying to touch and kiss you in front of some guy you were flirting with at the bar.

God, what a shitty friend he is. You should have had the chance to go home with that guy, not have to deal with your coke addicted friend so he hog your cunt all night for himself.

Then again, why would you want to go home with that fucker anyway? Like he would know your body as intimately as Frankie does. As if he could even come close to bringing to the edge black out pleasure and back over and over all night. Catfish doesn’t pride himself on much except two things: flying a chopper under any condition, and making you cream on his tongue.

He feels even more guilty as his cock hardens in his pants, the memories of your sweet moans and perfection flood his mind. How he'd wanted it for so long and was so sure he was dreaming. But he could never mistaken: the hot tenderness of your sweaty skin, hair sprawled over his pillow, your nails sifting through his curls and scratching along his shoulders, the way your legs shook around his head, the taste of your over flowing juices needing him more than before, the sounds like honey pouring from your lips, the insatiably tight, wet grip of your pussy swallowing around him like a perfect fit, and the way you wrapped yourself around him like you never wanted to let go.

He wants you. Again. And again, and again. So much that he doesn’t think he can trust himself around you anymore.

-

You wake to a cold bed. It takes you a moment to orient yourself, recognizing the room is not your own.

You sigh relief when you hear Frankie shuffling in the kitchen, the smell of burning toast filling the air. You quickly run to the bathroom to freshen up, wiping your messy eyes. And surprised to find the once mess between your legs from last night had already been cleaned, probably while you had slept.

You can't help but feel like a shitty friend, hogging his bed, having him clean up after you when he was the drunk one who needed caring to.

You bounce into the living space, announcing your presence with an exaggerated yawn.

You rub his broad shoulders over his shirt, feeling him tense at your sudden touch. Slowly, your hands snakes down the chiseled lines of his back, wrapping around his waist. You felt his strong forearms flex the spatula in his hand.

He turned to you, his eyes warm but clearly sleep deprived. His breath is short when looking at you, eyes dilated. He can't stop your hands drifting south and feeling the clear tent in his pants that has been there all morning. He closes his eyes and groans as you palm his erect cock.

"Why didn't you wake me?" You asked, turning off the stove as you stare up at him.

Frankie swallows the lump in his throat. He brushes your hands off his crotch and holds them in his. “I’m okay. Besides, you needed your rest." He leans down to kiss your cheek, lacking his usual affection despite the gesture before coldly turning back to his cooking.

You pull away and sit down at the table, just a moment before he's plating your breakfast.

Frankie cooked you breakfast?

He brushes your hair out of your eyes before leading himself down the hall and into his room without another word.

Sheets, pillow cases, clothes, all of it gets balled up and tossed in the wash. He glances at you down the ball, your feet dangling over the island stool as you catch up on your news feed.

You couldn’t be any more oblivious to how much his heart is shattering—just from doing absolutely nothing.

-

He's annoyed at how well you carry about your business from then on. So much so that he's trying so hard avoiding using you as much. Yes he WANTS to fuck you again, wants to ravish your cunt every waking minute of the day like before, and then fuck you until you're pleading him to stop, tell you how good you look taking him, and how you were clearly made for him. But how much of it did you want for yourself?

After the first night, he’s been doing everything in his power avoiding sex with you because it’s dangerous. Because he can't control what happens next. Can't keep it platonic, and pretend he’s ok with it just staying sex. He almost lost it and confessed everything the first time—and what would happen when you didn't want that from him? If you didn't feel the same?

You'd leave him.

So of course you make it that much harder for him to resist you everyday since.

Did you realize how sexy you looked wearing nothing but panties, bending over your bed with the fan on after a shower to cool off? you left your door open, casually waving to him, breasts smushed between your chest and the soft blanket on your bed. Did you know he swells with pride when can he still see the obvious markings of his fingerprints bruised on to your hips, your thighs, your stomach, after spending so much time holding your shaking body against his mouth? The way your nipples pierce through his t-shirts that you manage to dig out of his closet, and how they do nothing but aide the memory of you underneath him, begging for him to use you?

Every time he sees you, he gets hard. And he immediately tries to ignore you, walks away, goes to do anything other than giving in to the desire of pushing you down, spreading your legs and taking his frustration out on the one who's causing it all now.

He can tell you're starting to catch on. You notice his curt attitude, the way his eyes avoid you when you’re in the same space.

You two were sitting on the couch watching tv as always, but he was uninterested, leaning back against the sofa with his eyes closed almost in annoyance. You had interpreted it as a sign of him holding back his urges. Sliding down the couch, you glide your hand across his chest, starting to undo your buttoned night gown. when he opened his eyes and saw the first sliver of your breasts opening for him he stood abruptly, throwing you off. He only mumbles 'goodnight' and headed straight to his door.

It's been a few days since the last time he ate you out, last time he really cared to touch you. And you should be glad, really. He's getting so much better. Clearly craving you less. That was the whole fucking point of all this.

But FUCK if you aren't needy as of lates. You can feel the hot flush of embarrassment as you drag yourself to your room. Wet and bothered and for the first time in months, left unsatisfied to your own devices without Frankie's tender and a bit selfish care. You don't remember the last you needed to masturbate, let alone wanted to.

It shouldn't be embarrassing. And yet as you dip your fingers down your panties and through your slick folds, you feel wrong. Empty. Like something isn't there thats supposed to be. The idea that you're so used to him getting you off whether you asked for it or not that you're now incapable of doing it yourself is—troubling.

You huff in frustration and try your best to work yourself to a minimal slickness, remembering all the times Frankie has brought you over the edge again and again. But thinking about him only makes you slightly perturbed by the fact that he's right down the hall and could be doing this himself, if he only needed you as badly like he used to.

You don't notice your friend is right outside your closed door, ear pressed against the wood as he listens to your hushed sighs. His cock is hard in his hand, pumping it with long strokes to your beautiful yet strained moans. He wants to be buried between your legs. Wants his tongue to lap at your folds, fingers craned deep in that tight hot wet heat thats been calling his name all night. Make you flinch away when the stimulation becomes too much, because he knows you'll still take it like his good girl until he decides to stop. He knows all the right places to push, nothing secret between the two of you. In fact, in the amount of time thats passed with your fumbling attempts to get off and his pulsing dick in his hand, he could have made you cum twice now.

His body has been on overdrive trying not to take you again. Trying to be respectful for a change. Everything hurts, even his cock, which no matter how much he tugs on it, it's nowhere near close to giving him that sweet release. He's feral, nails digging in his thighs with the need to feel you against him again. Needs to just fuck, let it out, and then he can deal with his brain, his guilt, afterwards.

And when he hears you softly moan his name, he can't stop himself from barging down your door, wild eyed, dick slapping against his abdomen as he crawled over top of you and captured your lips.

Stop, stop stop, he's telling himself. But with the way you're wrappings your arms around his shoulders, deepening the kiss, delicate hands cupping his aching cock, all his needs he's been denying for days have overtaken his movements. 

You're so bad for him. An unavoidable addiction.

Worse than candy, worse than coffee, worse than cocaine.

He flips you on your stomach, his hand engulfing the entirety of your lower back, pinning you there as his elbows spread your knees. He lies between your thighs, ass up in front of his face, and spreads your soaked folds, enamored with your clit twitching for him. Your little hiccup goes quiet when he presses his face into your mound, nose dragging along the line as his jaw works you open, fingers pulling your cheeks apart so he can suffocate himself properly.

His fingers dig into your waist, and he's rocking your body back and forth, dragging so deliciously against the sheets below you. His tongue is plunging in and out of your hole, and you realize he's fucking you on his tongue. You hum in relief, rocking with his movements, earning you stinging slaps on your ass cheeks. He kisses them better before biting your folds and gorging himself on your slit again, his appetite voracious after denying himself of your sweetness all week.

He ignores that bubble of guilt wedged deep in his stomach as he let's instinct bring him the relief he desperately needed, your squelching cunt and satisfied sighs tampering his cravings for you once again.

He watches you shake with your orgasm, encouraging him to keep taking. You babble: "Thats it, baby" "so hungry today aren’t you?" "Use it the way you like" and he closed his eyes, wishing he could block out the clear direction of how you saw this transaction. You were never this vocal before, but now when he's tossing and turning all night with his thoughts about wanting you, here you are telling him plainly. Almost as if you're reminding him the truth, discrediting his hopes for a different outcome.

He sits upright and slaps his cock between your ass cheeks, grinding down on you so you're still pressed flat on your bed. God, he wants to do it again. Spread your folds and split you in half with his fat cock. Make you weep and pass out, and then fuck you again. "Gorgeous fucking ass, mi hermosa. So pretty under me," He grunts as he slicks his member up with your arousal, just barely holding on the last bit of sanity he has by refusing to enter you. You whine in protest, but he has both hands on your lower spine, crushing your hips into the mattress as he uses your ass. "So good spoilin' me. Always there for me." He grits his teeth, rutting his cock against you, occasionally sliding back down to your folds to lather himself up. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" He growls as he spills his cum over your lower back, breath catching in his throat.

The guilt creeps back in to his clear mind, and he's angry at himself again.

He can't stop himself.

"Frankie, why didnt—“

Before you could finish, he was storming out your door and slamming it behind him.

-

He used to be so loving. Used to worship your body, warm praises about how perfect you are for him. Sometimes he'd take his time, and other times he'd be fast, but still always with warm hands, attentive to your reactions, even when he was so fucked out of his mind needing you.

But now he's rougher. More sporadic than before, even as he decreases the number of times he's engaged with you. Silent now, too. fewer loving praises, less warmth behind his touch or his eyes, and in fact, spends more time having you in positions where he doesn't have to look at your eyes. He leaves you cold afterwards every time.

He's been acting like it a lot more lately: ignores you all week, being uncharacteristically polite when you corner him but managing to ditch whenever possible. And then he caves all at once, crashing in on you and takingtakingtaking, before going back to ignoring you. It should be a good thing: that he needed you less. That his cravings were subsiding more and more that he could actually go a while before needing a hit. It really should have been like this from the start: Cold. Transactional. Indifferent.

So why did you feel so awful now?

The only reason you haven't lost all hope is that very occasionally, that sappy, wet puppy dog of a mess shows his warm side again. You were showering when you heard him slip the curtain open behind you and step in, his arm immediately wrapping around your stomach, loving kisses adorning your shoulder, neck, and up to your ear. You sigh, relaxing in to his touches. He just held you there and kissed your body. He didn't even try to touch you, although you knew you were growing a different wetness between your legs. He didn't let you touch his obvious erection either. Just peppered you in kisses, dragging his lips over your stomach, combing through your hair, up to your elbow then down in the palm of your hand. There was no rush behind hid actions. No urgency. All gentle.

All Frankie.

YOUR Frankie.

But incidentally as he brought his eyes to yours, his chest seized with coldness again, and he's suddenly leaving you and the now cold shower without a word.

You didn't know how to make it better anymore.

He was so agitated again recently, and you could tell he didn't get any sleep again. You suggested he take the day off, the two of you could spend it "however he wanted", slyly offering yourself to him to take the edge off. But when he ignored you and went to watch the football game, two beer bottles dangling between his fingers, you rolled your eyes.

So fed up with his change in attitude, you spent an hour getting ready in your room, walking down the hall in heels, your tightest shortest shorts, and a low hanging crop. It had been a month since you and Frankie first fucked: combined with his recent behavior, stress with work, and lack of action, you needed a night out, needed to get wasted. Needed to stop being the baby sitter.

You needed sex.

"Where the hell are you going?"

"Out."

You grabbed your keys and left.

You hadn’t even closed your car door before opening your phone and texting Frankie that you were going out with Santi to help alleviate any worries he might have of the company you're keeping. Pope’s just as close a friend as Frankie is: he shouldn't have any problems about the fact that you’re in good hands tonight and just need some time to drink and be out.

Away from Frankie Morales just for the night.

-

It’s like you’re perfectly doing everything wrong to him.

She's out with Santi. Fucking Pope. The same Santi who told Frankie years ago you're smoking hot, and he wouldn't hesitate to jump on you if you let him. His best friend, the one who knows him better than himself, and yet here he is making a move on his girl—

But you aren’t his.

In fairness, he has been a total ass. He keeps trying to curb his desires, punch away his uncontrollable feeling about you, only caving all at once on you like a bullet train. Then the emotional brick wall of regret builds immediately after release, desperate to shut out his overwhelming feelings and the rough actions he’s taken against you. It keeps repeating. 

He vainly hopes he'll actually stop wanting someone who doesn't want him any more.

He curses himself for only having enough alcohol to get slightly tipsy. It's been a week since the two of you did anything sexual, a month since "the incident" so it's a good thing you're out.

It doesn't make him feel better.

To his annoyance, his phone buzzes next to him as Santi's contact pops up. He puts it on speaker, can hear loud giggles and music outside, barely registering his friend saying you're completely wasted and need to be taken home. He doesn't even send a reply, already throwing his jacket and cap on and walking out the front door.

-

"FISHY!"

You're leaning over Santi outside the bar when you spot Frankie walking towards you two. Your mascara smeared across your eyes like you had been wiping them all night. You're mumbling incoherently, throwing your head back in a fit of laughter. Pope is barely holding you up right, sheepishly smiling to keep your morale up.

"Hey man. I’m sorry, She lost her keys and I walked here. Otherwise I would have..."

"It's fine. Gimme her," Frankie said curtly. How Santi would ever let you drink this badly, he'd have to berate him later.

"M' Pinocchio!" You gasped as Frankie slung one of your arms over his neck and hoisted you up on one of his shoulders.

Why? Full of lies? he wonders.

“I’m gonna be swallowed by a great big FISH." You hiccuped, cackling upside down with a nice view of your besties tight ass. Frankie readjusts your body like a sack of potatoes on his shoulder and stands up, holding your thighs securely. If Santi wasn't here, he'd smack your ass to get you to shut up.

Frankie nods once at Santi and goes to turn around.

"Hey Fish? Take—take care of her. Please."

No shit.

Frankie is pushing open the apartment door as you're mumbling "fishy fishy fishy—hic!— squishy fishy."

He drops you down carefully on your bed. "Get undressed."

You giggle even more, seductively biting your lips as you pull yourself up to his body, hands roaming his abs and down to his hips. "You first."

He stared down at you, your lust ridden eyes meeting his, as you're pulling your shirt off so you're only in a push up bra. He tried avoid staring at your supple tits, the faint bite marks and bruises from his past ministrations almost completely faded by now. A fresh canvas practically begging to be marked up again...

He shakes his head. "We're not doing this. You're getting in your pj's and going to bed," he said, scolding you like a brat.

"Ppfftttttt." You ignore him, lifting his shirt and kissing his belly button, tracing down his happy trail and pausing at his belt. "At least someone here misses me."

He hasn't even noticed how hard he was in his jeans until you were rubbing your cheek against his clothed bulge, doe eyes staring up at him. He hears the soft pop of his pant's button undone, zipper slowly being dragged down by your teeth.

"When was the last time I blew you, Fishy? Let me relax you. I know you've needed this..."

His jaw clenched as he avoided your eyes.

“Know you want me,” you purred.

 Those fucking words again. If you KNEW how much more he actually wanted from you...

"He's positively aching, Fish. Shouldn't ignore a big man in need."

He doesn't stop you when you pull his cock out of his pants, having foregone the underwear in a rush to get you. He closes his eyes when your pretty nails wrap around his thick length, lips ghosting over his tip as you press an innocent kiss to his slit.

You hadn't blown him in a long while, and not often enough as you would have liked. you don't normally take charge, but he's been so distant lately that you can't help but use the alcohol in your system as a newfound confidence to forcibly get him to unwind. Your cunt throbs with need, forgetting just how indescribably big he is until felt him swelling in your mouth. It's sinister how well his dick reacts to your tongue, like you had been practicing as often on him as he had intimately gotten to know your pussy.

Your lips suction his tip into your mouth, causing him groan. His stomach flexes above your forehead. He's resisting again. Your tongue swirls around the tip as you lightly bob your head, swallowing an inch more and pulling out with a pop, teasing him slowly. You needed to get him worked up so he could let go, relax for once.

Maybe not be so cold to you for a while...

He feels your hands gently grasp his own that were down by his side, guiding them up to the back of your hair. You squeeze them in permission before returning your hands to wrap around the length of his cock that didn't fit down your throat.

You experimentally swallow around his shaft, eliciting a soft "fuck" from his breath. He collects your hair in a makeshift pony tail in his hand so that he had a full view of your face, submissively staring up at him as you gulp more of his cock into your inviting mouth.

You feel him twitch against the roof of your mouth, the veins in his v-line in front of you throbbing. Other than holding your hair up, he continues to let you set the pace. His eyes are fixed on you, head slightly titled to the side, entranced by your spell, his tongue just hovering between his teeth.

You push your face a little further, nose brushing against his public hairs, the first jolt of your esophagus resisting the intrusion. y|You hold yourself there, holding your breath for a moment before sucking him again. He's breathing deeply with long, staggered huffs.

You tilt your head back up, eyelashes fluttering as he watches his shaft rest on your outstretched tongue, slowly tracing the veins on the underside of him.

He fists your hair a little tighter, struggling not to grab your face and fuck your throat raw until you choked.

You swallow around him once before letting his dick fall from your mouth with a slick plop.

You stand up, eyes challenging his dominance despite the height difference as you drag him to sit on the bed, and while his eyes are emotionless, body stiff, he doesn't try to stop you. He rests against the headboard as you crawl over his lap. You waste no time to kiss him.

He’s not accepting your tongue, just letting you work over him. What the fuck is his problem? it's never taken him this long to give in. You can tell he WANTS to kiss you back, his jaw clenching so hard he could shatter his teeth. It's never stopped him before.

Truthfully, what you didn't know was that he was tired of you today; from trusting Santi over him for fuck knows what reasons, then having you come home drunk out of your mind, trying to tempt him with more emotionless sex. It's putting him off of your antics mentally. He wanted you, but not like this. He couldn't handle the aftermath of giving in to you again, but not having you.

Sexually, his mind was losing the war over his body's needs.

If it wasn't coke, it was you. And if it wasn't you...

It can only be you.

And Jesus, just when he thought he had a grip on being able to block you out for good tonight, you somehow managed to be an irresistable siren:

"'M so wet for you," you slurred seductively against his lips.

He can't hide the growl rumbling lowly in his chest. His lips part to let out a breath he had been holding and you take the chance to engulf his mouth with the hot kiss you'd been dying to get all week. His lips quickly mold to yours as you whimper pathetically, his hands sliding down to grip your ass in his warm, rough hands. You prop yourself higher on him, cupping his face in your hands, forehead nudging his Standard Oil cap off. You can feel his hot breath panting quickly against your cheek, his resolve crumbling.

He's right there. He's so close to relaxing. Just a little push...

You pull away, his lips almost chasing after yours. "C'mon big boy, wasn't it soooo good?" You playfully bite his ear. "You've got suck a nice cock here," you whisper, fisting his dick once again with the remnants of your spit, pumping his shaft easily. "Shame if it wasn't pounding me tonight...C'mon. Let's do it again."

He finally brings his eyes directly to yours. Your pupils were blown wide, crowded with evident lust. But it was what he could see beyond your eyes that told him exactly what he feared all along:

Nothing.

He doesn't stop the words from tumbling out of his month. "Why? so you can just use me for sex?" he said matter-of-factly, his face relaxing into a mix of coldness and spite.

You stop giggling and pull away, eyes widening with the most seriousness, and hurt, he'd ever seen on you. "And how is that any different than how you've treated me for the past year?"

His jaw is slack with panick, immediately wishing he could take back what he just said. No I—shit, I didn't mean —I didn't mean it like that—“

You get off of him with a hostile sense of urgency, ignoring his hands trying to caress your elbows, to keep you on him. You dig in your back pocket and then you're throwing something hard at his chest. "No, you know what? Fuck you, Frankie." You storm off to your bedroom and lock it.

He covers his face with both hands and leans back against the sofa. Looking down at his lap after a minute, he sees the pair of keys you've had to his apartment for the past year.

What he'd give to be high right now and to forget everything.

-

You spend the entire night packing. He's right at your door first in the morning when you open it, his stomach churning with pain at the image of your eyes bloodshot from exhaustion, hangover, and tears.

You brush past him before he can even apologize, settling your belongings on the kitchen counter. As you toss your scattered items in to your tote, he watches you, fingers twirling in on themselves with anxiety.

Now, now, do it now! he's screaming in his mind.

“I—“

You interrupt him, and it's only now that he sees you're not shaking in anger—you're trembling in tears: "I'm s-sorry that I snapped at you last night. I wasn’t— in the right head. I c-came on to you. You had your reasons for doing what we've done, and last night I was just genuinely u-using you for no other reason other than self interest and I'm s-so sorry." You swallow and take a deep breath before continuing: "I gave up a lot coming here, trying to help you, letting you use me to get better. But I can't do it anymore. I wanted to help you, but then when we had sex, I didn't know if things would change, I didn’t want things to change, and when I woke up, you weren't there, and then you treated me so coldly afterwards. I don't know what I did wrong.” Your voice cracks, sniffling away the running of your nose. “And it felt awful. I just wanted to go back to the way things were. But you s-seem like you hate me now, and I—“ you pause, rubbing your eyes on your sleeve, suddenly changing tone in a polite manner, like you were address a principle and ignoring your previous breakdown. "I'm very happy you're clearly doing a lot better and don't need me anymore. Sorry, I don’t—I don't mean to cry like this.”

Frankie is frozen.

You're crying. You're crying in front of him, which wasn't a first; you've cried to him about stupid boys before. But what IS a first is that you're crying for the first time over the stupid boy right in front of you. You're crying, Because. Of. Him.

Just tell her tell her tellhertellhertellherNOW 

But as he opens his month, his words get caught in his throat, like swallowing a lump of coal and puking a ball of fire all at once. His chest aches unlike anything he'd experience before. All he can say is "I... understand."

Nononononoyoudumbfuckwhatareyoudoing!

You nod and sniffle, clearing your throat. "I'd like to just go back to being friends. Before all of this. I'll still support you, I swear. I want you to still feel like you come to me for anything else. But I need some time. To get myself in check." You calmly collect your things and make for to the door.

"Wait!" he goes to grab your arm but his hand freezes up, like touching you would give you painful blisters. You pause and look over to him as he stands a bit closer. “I—I think you should keep this." He puts your key in your hand. "In case. Something happens."

Your lip quivers with empathy, eyes softening for him. "Please. I don't... I don't want to think about..." I don't want to think about seeing you lying face down OD'd on the carpet.

"Just. Hold on to it. Just in case. I'm asking as your friend. We're still that at least. Right?" The words feel like hot iron in his mouth, a heaviness in his heart desperately trying to convince himself more than you.

He wants to hug you. but if he did, he wouldn't let you leave. The warmth of his hand draws away from you after depositing the key in your palm.

You nod, rub his shoulder affectionately yet with clear distance, and leave.

He stands there like a statue in the hall, unable to comprehend just how much quieter and colder the apartment is now than it has been in months.

- - - -

Tagging people who either requested a part two or directly requested to be tagged. At least what i can remember (sorry if I missed you!)

Part 3: Insatiable

Series masterlist

Taglist: @paleidiot @pedropascalsbbg @tonakings @nerdieforpedro @thewritermj @ahintofkiwistrawberry @perfectly-imperfect-me23 @sammy-4103 @survivingandenduring @millercontracting @emilyjustemily

[pennyserenade]

money (that's what i want) | tom (the party) x reader

summary | tom and reader are pragmatic about their situation. rating | (explicit) tags/warnings | post the party, power dynamics, power imbalance, age gap (a little bit of a sugar baby/sugar daddy ordeal), pinv, fingering, greed of slightly biblical proportions, money hungry tom (as per usual), unprotected sex, mentions of drugs and alcohol, she doesn't make him better, capitalism jump scare, no use of y/n or you. word count | 3.0k+ a/n | week two of cillian murphy's beatles birthday bash celebration. this week's song is money (that's what i want) from the beatles second 1963 album, with the beatles.

Tom liked these work mandated “cultural outings” best when the art part was blotted out by extravagance opulence, and tonight it certainly was: an arthouse gallery full of his money-hungry co-workers dressed in their most expensive apparel, looking at the pieces peppered throughout the gallery with distracted focus. He relished in the moneyed sounds of their champagne flutes being clacked against by their one million dollar bracelets and rings as they talked politely of all they intended to spend, obtain, and offer.

Money was the language he spoke best of all, and this made these places familiar territory to him. It was somewhat curious, then, that the only person in the museum actually paying attention to the art pieces as she passed by them was the one that he had come to, as of late, tentatively refer to as his partner. He knew this, but he couldn’t bring himself to really care.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, Tom pulled her gently back into him as he stood behind her. He was happy to see that the perfume he’d given her months ago was finally on her skin, luxurious and smelling of vanilla. “Hey,” he told her, kissing up her neck. Patently ignoring those who turned to look at them, he added, words muffled against her skin, “What happened to not leaving my side, eh?”

She turned in his arms to look at him, smirking already. “Your company was boring. That’s what happened.”

The dark lipstick she wore on her lips tonight made him feel insatiable. He wanted to kiss it all off right then and there, but knew better than to act on the impulse; he figured his co-workers could only take so much. While they all openly admired and envied his ability to date someone like her—younger by half, prettier by miles—Tom had long suspected that they all thought this relationship was some midlife crisis that would sort itself out in time. 

And perhaps they were right. Theirs was an odd relationship and they both knew it. It was a thing borne of her necessity and his stupidity—or, his necessity and her stupidity, depending on who you asked. 

Months ago he had met her at one of their mutual friend’s book readings, and they had slept together that night because she had been introduced to him as “a budding writer.” He, having been made a cuck by a creative woman a year before, had been long craving a sort of revenge and when he saw the girl, hardly out of university then, he thought about what his ex-wife would think if she found out that he had fucked the younger, flashier version of herself. When he imagined the upset it might cause, how broken up to pieces she’d be to know he could fuck other people too, Tom felt good. So he did it. 

It was meant to be a one night fling, but Tom came to pity the girl because she was poor the way all budding writers her age tended to be. It began as a little thing: paying for the breakfast in the morning and the taxi home, and later, when he asked if she might like to meet up again sometime, the taxi back. Then, quietly - but obvious to anyone who knew them for more than an hour - Tom had begun to pay for a good deal of her expenses: her rent, her phone bill, the red satin dress that hugged her body beneath her leather jacket tonight. Hell, probably even the lipstick, too. If she was using him for simply money and he was using her simply for sex, it would be a considerably less complicated endeavor for them both. 

Tom rolled his eyes at her, but his lips curled up into an undeniable grin. “They probably wouldn’t like you too much, either, you know?”

“Oh, I’d certainly hope not,” she teased, moving out of his arms and on to the next painting. Tom lingered close behind her. He could sense that she was happy, even if she didn’t particularly like the people at the event, and he liked seeing her happy. It made him feel good. It was funny, how little effort it took on her part to make him feel that way. 

“We could skip the dinner,” he told her, just to see the faint lines around her mouth crease again. “I know you don’t want to go.” 

“I was really hoping you were going to say that. It’s Becca’s turn to cook tonight and I really wanted to see what she’s making. She’s gotten quite good at it ever since she started taking classes at the university.” Catching Tom’s lip curl up in distaste, she added, “What? Have you no regard at all for the proletariat anymore?”

“It’s got nothing to do with being poor,” he said humorlessly, “I just don’t want to hang out with your flatmates.” 

She had told him once—when he’d asked her about her flatmates’ often dismissive attitudes towards him—that they didn’t like what he stood for, or what he believed in.  When he had pointed out the fact that what he believed in—money, any way you put it—had benefited all in some form or the other, and that they never objected to his own when he bought them dinners or drugs, she’d shrugged. The conversation had begun and ended there. Tom knew the score, though: they were all okay with him being rich when he bought them shit, but besides in those specific instances, it was an offense.

In truth, he didn’t like them either, and never had. Even at first glance, he could tell they were the self-important artistic types that had marred his life when he’d been married to his ex-wife. 

“Let’s just go to mine, yeah? Order chinese.” He could hear the whine in his voice, but didn’t mind it, as it always seemed to soften her. One of his hands moved down lower on her back as he turned to look at the painting with her. Purposefully, he brushed his fingers over the top of her ass. She leaned her body into his. “I don’t understand how you can stand here and look at this shit all night. It all looks the same to me,” he told her. 

“That’s how I feel about your…people. I couldn’t stand listening to them for more than five fucking minutes. It was like watching the wild-life channel,” she replied. She didn’t sound disgruntled, though. She never did. “I don’t really want chinese.”

“What do you want?” he probed.

“Oh–�� She considered it for a moment, her bottom lip jutting out. Then she grinned. “Hm…everything you’ve got, and the very best of it too.” 

He liked the way he wasn’t quite sure she was being serious or not. “So you’re coming over, then?” 

“I’ll have to think about it. I’m no class traitor, as you know.” 

He smiled a fool back at her, forgetting for a moment the type of man he thought he wanted to be. 

——

Her lace underwear was on his kitchen floor and her dress was up around her waist. Sat on the edge of his kitchen table, with his body between her legs, Tom had her just where he’d been wanting her. 

“Tell me you want my money,” he murmured against her cheek.  It amazed her at how gruff and demanding his voice could sound when he willed it. It was like a hidden power he stored away for moments just like these.

She dug crescent shaped indents into biceps, uncaring of the way it creased the expensive fabric of his suit. There was nothing she would not tell him when he asked for it like that. “I want your money,” she drawled, rubbing her nose against his. The quiet desperation etched into her voice was specific only to him, only to this. 

“I know you do, baby,” he teased. His fingers slipped beneath the band of her underwear. They both breathed in together as his fingers reached down and grazed along her clit. “My greedy, greedy money hungry girl. What would your friends think?” 

“Fuck,” she gasped, arching up into him. Her ass drew nearer to the edge—nearer to his body. Against her thigh, she could feel his erection beginning to strain against the fabric of his suit. Her fingers twisted up in the lapel of his coat jacket and she watched him. 

Tom’s eyebrows drew together. He looked solemn, but he wasn’t; it was how his face set, his natural way of being when he didn’t think about it. She liked it. It was far more genuine than whatever he put on around his fucking evil co-workers. 

He rubbed two fingers along her cunt, eyes flickering up to catch hers as he did. The tease of his touch made her ache. “You didn’t answer me,” he said. He leaned down and kissed her shoulder as his fingers teased his fingers against her again. “Do you tell them you’re with me for money? Do you say you fuck me because I pay for your rent half the time? Do you tell them—“ He teased over her hole with his finger. His voice caught for a moment. “Do you tell them I’ve got a nice house to myself, and that I never say no? Do you tell them you need me to survive so they don’t hate you? Do you believe that, too?” 

He slid a finger inside of her. The stretch of it was overwhelming, but also not enough. Tom prodded the tip of it in and out of her, watching her carefully, proud to be in control. But there was not a hint of malice in his eyes, or in his voice. He did not care what she did, what she said, who she aimed to please, because he knew the truth. He was happy to be her moral qualm, the piece of complexity she and all of her self-righteous friends chewed on and made sense of in their myriad of self-righteous ways. 

He wanted to tell them money didn’t just make the world turn, money built the world. It was in their favorite pieces of art, in the theater they watched, in the universities where they learned to be so self-important and pompous. 

“Yes,” she whimpered, hoping it would encourage him to go faster—or to do more with his finger. It didn’t. He stilled his single finger inside of her and let her pulse achingly around it as if to prove the depth of her want. 

Aggravated, she reached between them and unlatched his belt. He let her as he kissed her, vaguely aware of the earthy sweetness on her tongue from the wine. He sighed against her. “You know, you drink 300 dollar wines carelessly when you’re with me.” He was so hard, he was surprised he could speak at all, let alone so clearly. His words became measured, slow. “You even taste like money right now, your dirty little thing.” 

She pulled his underwear down only enough to take his cock out. He watched wordlessly as she began undulating her hips, fucking herself on his finger as she had him in her hand. His composure began to slip when she nibbled at his bottom lip.

At times hated himself for how much her cleverness turned him on. Once he’d gotten hard reading one of her stories, not because it was erotic, or even because he understood it — he hadn’t. It was the simple fact that she’d thought it up. The idea of her sitting there, laboring over her laptop as he’d seen her do on the rare occasion he’d stayed at hers, whispering her own words back to herself, drove him crazy. Everything had all been too much for him. 

Tom withdrew his finger from her cunt. Before she could say anything in protest, he brought it up to her mouth. She wrapped her lips around it, her eyes connecting with his as her cheeks hallowed as she sucked. She swirled her tongue around him, tasting her own self, her eyes dark and proud as they fixed on him. How pathetic he must’ve looked, watching her. 

She was not like his ex-wife, as much as he’d thrilled about the idea of it when he met her; Marianne had been pragmatic, posh, not the sort to fuck older men until much later in her life. She’d always had a leg up in everything, from her career as an artist, to her relationship with him, to her general position in life. People loved her: loved to hear her talk, to see her move, to see her smile. The world was Marianne’s to take. Tom felt on equal footing with this woman, only out of his depth in ways that didn’t matter very much to him. 

Not that it meant she was worse than Marianne. She wasn’t. Not at all.

She guided his cock inside of her, both of them conveniently forgetting that he wasn’t wearing any protection—a fire they both liked to play with. She hummed around his finger as his cock stretched at her entrance. When he jutted forward, easing the rest of himself inside of her, the table groaned beneath them, unable to take the strain.

They felt intertwined, one of her legs wrapped around his ass, his finger sat, heavy, on her tongue, their bodies pushed so close together that he could feel her hardened nipple through the fabric of his dress shirt. She gripped onto his suit jacket and he began to thrust inside of her, his hips focused on making her emit the delightful little moans she could never seem to stop, even with a finger in her mouth. 

The heat of his suit was becoming a bit much, but it paled in comparison to the pleasure he was getting from driving himself, unsheathed, into her. She was the wettest she’d ever been and she seemed nearly as reluctant to let him go as he was to let her go. Tom buried his head into her neck, and let his finger slip from her mouth in favor of clenching up the fabric of her dress around her waist. He laid his head against her chest and watched as his cock plunged in and out of her cunt. She clenched around him again. 

“So good at being money hungry,” he purred against the dampening skin on her chest. She tasted like salt. The words were coming out of his mouth before they were thought now, things deep inside of him. “So fucking wet and horny just from admitting it. Because you like fuckin’--” He clenched his jaw as she began to match his pace, pushing herself down onto him. “You like winners. You like to be taken care of.”

“Fuck,” she panted. One of her hands ran through his hair, uncaring of the way sweat was beginning to bead through the dark locks. She held the back of his neck, fingers burying just beneath the collar of his shirt. Tom lifted his head to kiss her on the mouth and caught the words, “I’d be anything for you,” against his top lip. 

He gripped onto her hips with bruising intensity. His mouth began to go dry as his thrust became shorter and more sporadic. “Touch yourself,” he demanded. She did as he told her, her hand wedging between their bodies. 

He attempted to delay his thrusts, hoping to stop his quickly rising orgasm, but it didn’t help. Seeing her reach between them and take what was hers without any sort of shame or delay, seeing the way the pleasure etched across her face, her chest, her whole body, feeling the way it traveled through her as she tightened around him…it was one of the finest drugs he’d ever been on. Irreplaceable. Devastating. He didn’t care about anything at that moment but her, but what they were when together: A blaze of desire, two bodies and people who understood what they wanted and needed, and then took it. 

“Tom,” she whimpered, “Oh, fuck. Tom, you feel so…Oh. Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“Fuck. Yes.” He clenched his eyes shut. All he could feel was her: the wetness, the warmth, the clench of her cunt around him as he began to pull out. His fingers wrapped around the back of her neck as his cock twitched and his cum drippled down the inside of her thighs, dangerously close to her cunt. He dipped his head, and accidentally kissed her teeth, catching her mid-moan. He didn’t care, though; every part of him was in a state of unbridled ecstasy. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Tom laid his head against her chest, listening to her heart pound in her chest. His free hand rubbed soothingly over the hip he’d been gripping viciously at. 

“And they say the best things in life are free,” he joked against her lips.

“Mm,” she laughed, running her fingers through his unruly, sweat-damped hair. “I think sometimes two things can be true at once.”

His nose nudged against hers affectionately. Kissing her on the lips again, he said, “No you don’t. But that’s okay, because I wouldn’t want you to.”

“No?” Her eyebrows furrowed. “You wouldn’t want me to want you even if you were poor?”

“No, because then you wouldn’t be very clever.”

“But I’m poor, and you like me.”

He laughed, swiping his thumb against her cheek. “I consider you an investment. In my line of work, those are just as good when the stock is promising.”

She shook her head, grinning. He kissed her again, once, twice, three times, liking the way he could feel her smile curve his lips. “You’re odd, Tom,” she said. “Which is why I like you only for your money.”

He laughed too, his finger sliding the thin strap of her gown down her shoulder. His eyes flashed down as her breast became exposed. “Mm,” he hummed, arousal forming already in his groin. “Just as I expected. Think we should fuck again in a little, just so we can both get our worth.”

She nodded in agreement, guiding his hand down to her nipple. “Yeah, and then you’ll order us an expensive dinner and snort your worth in coke, I’m sure.”

His eyes darkened, the blue of them drowned out by his pupils. “And you’ll like it, because money is what you want.”

“Because money is what I want,” she echoed.

[gael-garcia]

SAG-AFTRA deal on AI is looking terrible, actually 😬

#SAG Actors, I want to make you aware of some of the language in the #AI portion of the tentative SAG agreement.

Though SAG leadership made much effort to protect members in AI, there are many issues you should look at. I have saved the most serious issue for the end. 1/

If a “digital double” is made of you during a film, they must get your consent and inform you of their intentions for its use, EXCEPT "when the photography or sound track remains substantially as scripted, performed and/or recorded.”2/

This is going to be left up to the studios/streamers’ interpretation. And so, any subtlety regarding how you chose to look or move for the character during the shoot could potentially be changed. Your hair, your clothes, your make-up, etc. 3/

Also, your physical placement in a scene can be changed, like your nearness or distance from another character, or even moving you from the front seat of a car "to the back seat of the car." This suggests not much agency on your part to control your character or performance. 4/

Under “(Digital Double) Use Other Than in the Motion Picture for Which the Performer Was Employed,” it says that "No additional compensation shall be required for use of an Employment-Based Digital Replica that was created in connection with employment of a performer who was… 5/

… employed under Schedule F.” It appears that if you were paid Schedule F for the first film, you don’t get paid for the sequels, where they’re just using your digital double instead of you. I suggest members get sharp clarity on this. 6/

If a “digital double” was made of you in a separate manner (on another film or privately made by you), it's referred to as an “independently created digital replica” (ICDR). There is no minimum compensation listed for studios/streamers to use an ICDR of you in… 7/

… any film they want; only consent. You will apparently need to negotiate any compensation on your own. 8/

Neither consent nor compensation is necessary to use your “digital double” if the project is "comment, criticism, scholarship, satire or parody, a docudrama, or historical or biographical work.” So, you could find yourself in a project you never consented to… 9/

…doing things you never were informed of, for no compensation at all. This is the “First Amendment” argument the #GAI tech companies are fond of trotting out. 10/

Another consent exemption is granted to "adjusting lip and/or other facial or body movement and/or the voice of the performer to a foreign language, or for purposes of changes to dialogue or photography necessary for license or sale to a particular market. 11/

The substitution of swear words is not new, but that your “body movements” would be changed suggests you’ll be used like a type of rag doll in post-production. 12/

There are still a few concerns with the Background Performers’ details, but there’s one that stands out as especially sad. "If the Producer uses a background actor’s Background Actor Digital Replica in the role of a principal performer, the background actor shall be paid… 13/

…the minimum rate for a performer… had (they) performed those scene(s) in person.” So, if an extra is “bumped up” to a principal cast member, they never get to experience that position on a set. But you get a check after the fact. 14/

And the most serious issue of them all is the inclusion in the agreement of “Synthetic Performers,” or “AI Objects,” resembling humans. This gives the studios/streamers a green-light to use human-looking AI Objects instead of hiring a human actor. 15/

It’s one thing to use GAI to make a King Kong or a flying serpent (though this displaces many VFX/CGI artists), it is another thing to have an AI Object play a human character instead of a real actor. To me, this inclusion is an anathema to a union contract at all. 16/

This is akin to SAG giving a thumbs-up for studios/streamers using non-union actors. This would be like the @Teamsters putting in their contract that it’s A-OK for the employer to utilize self-driving trucks instead of them. 17/

@Teamsters I find it baffling that a union representing human actors would give approval of those same actors being replaced by an AI Object. And don’t forget, those AI Objects are a mash-up of all actors' past performances, adding insult to injury. 18/

@Teamsters Bottomline, we are in for a very unpleasant era for actors and crew. The use of “digital doubles” alone will reduce the number of available jobs, because bigger name actors will have the opportunity to double or triple-book themselves on multiple projects at once. 19/

@Teamsters The use of these “digital doubles” will most likely preclude the need of a set or the use of many @IATSE crew and @Teamster drivers. 20/

@Teamsters @IATSE @Teamster Audition odds will change. Winning an audition could become very difficult, because you will not just be competing with the available actors who are your type, but you will now compete with every actor, dead or alive, who has made their “digital double” available for rent … 21/

@Teamsters @IATSE @Teamster … in a range of ages to suit the character. You also will be in competition with an infinite number of AI Objects that the studios/streamers can freely use. And a whole cast of AI Objects instead of human actors eliminates the need for a set or any crew at all. 22/

@Teamsters @IATSE @Teamster You are a complex & remarkable human. Don’t let the CEOs convince you otherwise. Seek out filmmakers & showrunners who value your basic worth & committed to human workers on their projects. These are the ones who will make work that matters. We’re going to be OK. Just hold on. /

[venusbyline]

Prince ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 08, oct.

— pairing: Aemond Targaryen x aunt!reader

— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: somnophilia

— summary: Aemond needs an heir if Aegon finally dies. Gwayne Hightower's wife is too drunk to notice his manipulation.

— word count: 1.7k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 8th day, Targcest (aunt/nephew), female!reader, Gwayne Hightower's wife!reader, dark!Aemond, somnophilia, dubcon/non-con, age gap (older woman/younger man), breeding kink, drunk sex, creampie, sexism, manipulation, fingering, infidelity & mistaken infidelity, curse words, marriage issues, dom!Aemond, sub!reader, baby fever, Aegon II Targaryen mentioned, Helaena Targaryen mentioned, Alicent Hightower mentioned, mentioned Jaehaera Targaryen, minor Gwayne Hightower x reader, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n @lina-lovebug @moonnicole

— crossposting: AO3

At the moment, Aemond Targaryen possessed everything he desires. All the power he had envied his entire childhood was now no longer just a pure stupid illusion and becoming reality. With each passing hour, he became more powerful and also more ambitious.

The hunger for power was consuming him from head to toe.

As the Prince Regent, he practically had the throne to himself. He commanded and dismantled whoever he wanted. He made the main decisions. He could demand anything, and no matter how much the Small Council questioned and irritated him, it was Aemond who had the last word. He was running the war now.

Aemond had the commoners and Lords at his feet and was also and the fear that his family felt of him. Nothing was missing in his life for now. But his brilliant mind thought far ahead of the present time. Aemond Targaryen was not just cunning and greedy. He had an incredible sense of strategy and an incredible ability to manipulate all situations.

Now that part of his revenge against Aegon was already done, he needed to focus on the present and the future, leaving the outrages of his childhood aside for a few moments.

He was the Prince Regent, perhaps the future Lord of the Seven Kingdoms if Aegon's body finally decided to give in to suffering after the severe burns.

Aemond could be the new successor to the Iron Throne very soon. And a King was nothing without an heir.

Aemond had not known you for a long time. When his uncle, Gwayne Hightower, came to King's Landing to join Aegon's army in battle, you came along with him. Aemond did not like the idea of having another noble Lady in the castle. Alicent was already a pain in the ass since he kicked her out of the Council, Helaena was being useless since Jaehaerys' murder and little Jaehaera was just a silly child. He was afraid that you would irritate his patience just like his family's women did.

However, you were too focused on worrying about your husband's safety and praying for him in the Sept along with Alicent. Aemond often found himself thinking about you more than he wanted to. The way you sighed by frustration every time Gwayne left to solve some problem with the Royal Guard... Aemond could barely hide his smirk when he realized how neglected you felt.

If it was about someone else, Aemond would say that you were just spoiled needy whore and that his uncle was right to put the safety of his family first. If it was about anyone else, Aemond would never consider giving you what you seemed to want so much when you looked at Helaena playing with Jaehaera.

He needed an heir and you wanted a child to distract yourself from the neglected marriage. There would be no better deal than that.

That night, when Ser Gwayne Hightower left your chambers early because of a random emergency, the Prince Regent could not miss the opportunity to offer you a glass of wine to drown your suffering. At first, he started a brief and respectful conversation with you, noticing how your cheeks flushed as you drank the wine.

You were not used to drinking with any man other than Gwayne, much less your own nephew. Making criticisms about Gwayne to Aemond seemed too bitter and cruel. Gwayne did not deserve all that. He was a good husband, even if the focus of his life was not on your marriage.

When Aemond brought up the conversation about the absence of children in your lives, you immediately tried to change the subject, just saying that Gwayne did not want to have babies.

Aemond noticed how the subject bothered you. He noticed the way you curled up on the edge of the bed and tightened your grip on the glass. Before you could think of something less uncomfortable to talk about, Aemond took control of the situation, lying about Gwayne meeting a prostitute in one of the brothels on Street of Silk.

At first, you thought he was just joking. Afterwards, you thought the Prince was lying to mock you. But when Aemond kept coming up with false explanations, you finally gave in and believed what he was saying.

He served you another five glasses of wine, putting up with your crying and drunken outbursts. Until your body finally gives up and you fall asleep.

Aemond checked more than three times to see if your chamber's door was indeed locked. When he was sure that no one would come to interrupt anytime soon, Aemond moved to the edge of his bed, kneeling down and observing your drunk and sleepy figure. He looked at your rosy face from so much wine, as well as your reddish burgundy-stained lips.

He smirked as he ran his thumb over your cheek, the soft texture of your skin being one of the most delicious things his calloused fingers had the pleasure of touching. It was so different from the brothels prostitutes. It felt innocent and pure, even though you were married and no longer a maiden.

You still had enough innocence to be worthy of carrying the possible heir to the Iron Throne.

Aemond lifted your nightgown, hearing your confused and sleepy whimper as the soft satin fabric came off and exposed your skin to the light night breeze that came through the windows.

Your face moved to the side, your sleep becoming disturbed when Aemond ripped off your underwear. The sight of your bare thighs made him growl lowly, placing his large palms around your legs, spreading them apart so he could get a better look at your cunt, already so wet that it made your pubic hairs gleam even in the dark room, lit only by the candle flames.

The prince ran his thumb between your folds to collect your essence that was leaking from the little hole, moving his hand up so he could rub your bud. You contorted your body, your drunken state preventing you from waking up for now, but your legs still shook as Aemond's finger increased the pressure applied to your clit.

When your cunt was prepared enough to at least avoid so much pain, Aemond allowed himself to waste considerable time so he could take off all the pieces of clothing he was wearing, his cock already well marked in his braies. He swallowed hard for a moment, undoing the tie and lowering the fabric. After throwing it in any corner of the room, Aemond brought his hand to his mouth to spit on the palm and rub it on his own cock, sighing at the sensation and paying special attention to the pink glans.

He rubbed himself a few times until he was hard enough, then used his free hand to spread your legs even wider. His thumb made gentle circles on your clit again, as he slowly leaned in, entering your tight cunt and letting out a growl at the overwhelming sensation.

"Fuck..." He bit his lip, arching his head up and with his eye closed, resting one hand on your waist and the other remaining caressing your bud.

It took his thick cock a few seconds to fully enter your tight walls, blood dripping from his bottom lip as he bit down to avoid too many sounds, even though your confused whimpers were starting to fill the chambers. “A-Aemond…” You opened your eyes, your vision blurred when you tried to sit up, but too weak to do anything as he thrust into you.

"Shhh, dear aunt..." He opened his one eye, giving you a breathless smirk, rubbing your pearl roughly enough to make you moan with a mixture of fear and pleasure. Gwayne had not given you enough attention during the past months, your body was desperate for any good feeling now. "Am I not making you feel good?"

You fell silent, pathetic whimpers escaping your mouth. You wanted to lie that it was not good, that you were hating it and feeling violated. That he should not do these things. That you loved your husband more than anything in the world. But what would be the point? Aemond had given you absolute certainty that Gwayne was having affairs with random women. That would explain a lot of things, including the lack of sex in your marriage since then.

Your brain was too drunk to reason what made sense and what did not, so you just nodded, affirming the pleasure he was giving you.

"Good girl... Tightening my cock with that pretty tight cunt of yours." The prince smiled with an almost sweet and affectionate way and you blushed innocently, vulnerable from the alcohol. "Do you want to continue, darling?"

You should say no. You should scream with panic for the guards to come and save you, even if no one would go against the Prince Regent's wishes. However, you should try anything to get him out of you, try anything to stop him from contaminating you. You should try to say no, but you don't want to.

"Please, nephew. Keep going..." You whimpered, your hands shaking from the drink going to his muscular shoulders and bringing him closer to you, the head of his cock hitting you deep.

Aemond chuckled at how easily you gave in, every glass of wine being worth it. You moaned beneath him like a dirty whore, but you were still as beautiful and pure like a Goddess, your cheeks flushed, your eyes rolling back in pleasure, your legs shaking... "Oh, my dear... It looks like you really want to keep going." He scoffed and you nodded silently, closing your eyes as the rhythm of his hips began to become more violent. "How about if I give you a little baby? Did you want that, aunt? To carry my heir? To finally be a mother?"

Watching you nodding with confusion and moaning his name was all Aemond needed to fill you with his seed, his cum staining your thighs as he continued fucking you even after his orgasm. He would deal with Gwayne Hightower's fate later. He was the Prince Regent, he could fake an accidental death for his uncle and marry his wife before your belly started to get big and swollen with his baby. Aemond had time to think about what to do. At the moment, all he needed was to make sure your cunt did not waste a single drop of his seed. All he needed was to make sure you were pregnant that night.

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[mandowifey]

Bury

Miguel O'hara x Fem!Reader

Miguel Masterlist

Warnings: Reader is 18+,NSFW, oviposition, creampie, breeding mentions, non-con mentions, dark!Miguel, my version of Miguel, dub con, violence, aggressive heroing, Miguel being a massive ass, pet play, reader is held against her will. Oviposition - the process of having eggs laid inside of you.

Another one I needed to do before my brain exploded. Not proof read, enjoy!

× × ×

One face in a sea of millions, and he picked you. Miguel liked to say,'I saved you,' but you knew better. You were taken. Whisked away from your home and locked somewhere unfamiliar and daunting. Most people swooned at the notion of being rescued by Spider-Man, but they didn't know the truth like you.

Spider-Man wasn't a hero.

He was a monster, and you were his prey.

Miguel liked to watch you. When he was in thought or pondering his next move, he would often linger in your presence and quietly observe. You hated it, feeling like a zoo animal under scrutiny. Sometimes, he'd cross the room and sit down on the bed near you with his face towards the wall. Other times, he would lay his head on your lap and rest his eyes to the sound of your pattering heart. If you felt brave, you'd tassel your fingers through his brown curls. Being soft with him helped to temper his mood.

That afternoon, he came to you as usual and climbed onto the bed. You folded the book you were reading and sat up, adjusting the silk blue nightgown he'd given you. The look on Miguel's face is different. There is uncertainty in his eyes, and his body language feels off. You watch him for a moment before tentatively touching your hand to his back. "Miguel?"

"I'm going to need you to do something for me today."

The weight of his tone makes you jump. A man who had done nothing but take from you was asking you to help him. You felt uneasy, watching him as his expression twisted into disgust, and he looked away. Ultimately confused, your eyes track him in silence as you wait out whatever internal struggle he was dealing with.

"You aren't going to like it."

Now you laughed.

His head swiveled, and his eyes went from that warm, chocolate brown to hellish red. Bristling, his clawed hand grabbed your cheeks and squeezed until your lips stuck out. "You think it's funny?" He spits, his lip curling in a snarl. "You have no idea, not a one, of what I'm going to do to you today." With a shove, he sends you sprawling onto your back and knocks the wind out of you. You are left flailing, arms and hands catching yourself before you could topple off the bed.

"I'm sorry," you squeak, heart hammering. "I'm sorry, I just -" The way he looked at you made you panic. "You have never asked me before." It was honesty. He had taken you from your home, stolen your virginity, and hadn't stopped using you since. Spider-man's dirty little secret, locked away in his tower forever. You press your knees together and turn your eyes downward, your shoulders slanted. "I'm sorry." You reiterated, as it was the only thing you could think to say now.

Miguel watches you tense like a snake in the grass. "You're right," His voice growled. "So what's the use in asking now. Come here." A fist closes around your ankle, and you're torn closer to him in an effortless display of his strength. The gown you wore rode high, exposing your underwear and soft stomach. His eyes flick over you, taking in what he'd claimed as his long ago. Tonguing one of his growing fangs, Miguel leans down to cage your body with his own. Balanced on his knees between your legs, he brings his mouth to your ear.

"You are special, Y/N. You think I picked you randomly, that I just happened to like you for your looks?" He smiled into his words now. "It's much more than that. You see," One of his hands touches your knee and causes you to jump, a whimper tightening in your throat. "What happened to me didn't just give me fangs, or venom, or red eyes and this charming disposition I know you love so much," A breath wafts against your neck, and you shiver. "My body, every couple of months, goes into a sort of rut." Miguel adjusted himself between your legs, leaning his weight into you to let you feel the growing bulge he sported.

Sucking in a soft breath, you close your eyes as he kisses the nape of your neck. Of everything he did to you, you hated the fact he was able to make you melt. Miguel knew everything you liked and enjoyed using it against you. Grazing your flesh with his fangs, Miguel continued. "It doesn't just make me violent, hungry, and territorial, but in fact, it also makes me produce eggs." Hearing that made your eyes open and head turn to look up at him. With your faces so close, Miguel ghosted his lips over your own. "That's right," He continued. "Every time it's happened and I've tried to pass them manually, it doesn't work. The pain is fucking excruciating, Y/N." Sighing, he nips your mouth. "I came to the conclusion that for this to work, I had to find the right incubator."

That wasn't a compliment. It struck fear in your chest, and another wave of nausea rolled through you, making you hot. "Oh god," you gasp, your voice twisting in distress. Miguel was unflinching, his eyes - now back to brown, staring down at your distraught expression. "It's going to hurt, I'm guessing, but since you're such a good girl, I know you'll take them just fine for me." A sickening smile crossed his features as he kissed you, bruising your lips before drawing upwards.

"W-wait, wait, wait- Wait, Miguel, f-fuck, Miguel wait -" You babbled, helpless as the super human moved your body around to his liking. "P-please, please let's talk about this!" Tears stung your eyes and clouded your vision as he drew you close and pushed your legs apart. The only thing hiding you from him now were your panties. "Nothing to talk about, kid." He sighed finally. "Maybe you'll even like it, who knows." Miguel was unbothered by your tears as he let his suit crawl back until he was bare.

This couldn't be real, and most certainly couldn't be happening to you.

Heaving a sob, you put your face in your hands as he rips your underwear off and exposes your soft folds. "Besides, you used to beg me to stop before and now look at you, I practically make you cum every time we fuck." Chuckling, Miguel wrapped a fist around his cock and dragged the weeping tip through your slit, collecting moisture. He tuts at you. "You're kidding me! You're wet, too? Sheesh, I'm starting to think you really do like me, princess." You were humiliated and frustrated at your body for defying you. In no way did you want to be used by some maniac to harbor his clutch, and certainly didn't want to cum for him.

Miguel rumbled above you, brooding and large as he notched at your entrance. "Try not to tense up this time." He smiles when you peek at him from between your fingers, then shoves forward. His cock stretches you brutally and bottoms out as he hilts. Your hands fly from your face to grab the blankets while a scream bellows deep from your diaphragm. "Shh, shh shh, you're doing great." Cooed the hero, his body leaning forward so he could balance on his forearms above you.

He begins to thrust, drawing back until only the head is left submerged before slowly shoving back to your end. The drag of his cock is maddening, stroking the deepest reaches of your cunt and making you mewl like a cat in heat. Miguel drops his head to yours, stealing a kiss to swallow your cries and lapping into your mouth. You felt smothered as he rocks his hips, driving deep into you with each brutal thrust he gave. "Ghh-god, f-feel so fucking good." He hisses against your lips, his breath fanning your face as he bucked. Your body bounced helplessly under him as you tried so hard to fight that rising heat in your abdomen.

"That's it." Miguel purrs against your gaping mouth, dipping his tongue over your teeth and breathing in your scent. Your cunt squishes around him, embarrassing you further as it made his girth pound easier within you. "M-mi-guel-" You choke, your words broken by each impact. Finally winding your hands into his hair and scratching down his back, you cave. As hard as you fought, he fucked you well, and you couldn't deny it.

Spurred by your affection, Miguel thrusts harder. His cock pounding into you rough enough to bruise, pulling cry after cry from you. Your nails scour his back, making him snarl as his head drops to your shoulder. The both of you are panting in tandem, your mouths brushing as you breathe eachothers air. He was losing it, his thrusts becoming uneven and frantic as he draws closer to his end.

"H-hah, t-too m-much-!" Your voice breaks, nearly sobbing as he rocks just right, the tip of his cock forcing against your gspot and bringing you closer to your own release. The sounds you make encourage him, and he suddenly sits up to grab your ankles and fold you at the hips. With this knee-to-chest position, you gasp. Miguel looks down at you, his eyes cloudy with emotion and need. Some of his hair came loose and dangled in strands in front of his face.

"C'mon princess, cum for me."

And that was all it took.

The mans cock brushes something explosive and sets you off. Your world becomes white hot, body tensing and arching as you clamp down around him in waves. Later, you will hate yourself, but now you ride out your release while you cry out and rock your hips to his. Miguel, now satisfied that you finished, braces himself on his hands by either side of your head. His face changes to a look of near pitiful desperation, the sounds escaping him paint a different picture of the man who held you against your will.

As you come down from your high, you watch as he unravels. Eyes closed lightly, and head lowered, Miguel bucks into you. He sought your warmth and the comforting squeeze your little cunt gave him. Harder, until he bumps your cervix again, and you keen softly, then he crumbles. You feel him throb, followed by a hot spray of thick, heavy fluid. It doesn't hurt, even when he begins to frantically rabbit his hips into you.

He's muttering in Spanish, like he's talking to himself. The thrusting slows, and you feel strangely full and warm. Miguel eases down until his larger frame is resting against yours, caging you under him while leaving his cock nestled inside your walls. His lips press to your neck and jaw, peppering you in what felt like gratitude. You were apprehensive and uncertain if this were really all there was. It gnaws at you, but you bring your arms to wrap around his neck.

"Does it hurt?"

Your eyes open and catch Miguel's worried stare. "No. Should it?" The man frowns and moves one of his hands to pet and paw over your abdomen. He looks unsure, and you realize this was equally new to him. After a moment, he reluctantly pulls out of you and moves to curl around your body. You were dwarfed by him as he wrapped you in his arms and drew you into his broad chest.

Affectionate was not a term you would ever associate with Miguel. He presses kisses into your hair and inhales your pleasant scent, his hand drifting down to cup your abdomen once more. As you settle into him, you look down and notice the slight bloat under his hand, like you'd pulled a muscle and were pushing it out. Fear prickles up your spine as he pets you there, your mind racing with dozens of thoughts.

Are there really eggs inside of me?

What happens when they hatch?

Miguel can feel you starting to tense, and he kisses your temple. "You'll be just fine." He churrs into your ear, making the color drain from your face. "Motherhood will suit you." He nipped your neck before laying his face into your shoulder. Miguel was giddy at the notion of any of those eggs taking. Imagine you swollen with his child, giving him a new life to love and raise, an opportunity to be a father again. It was all he wanted.

He falls asleep curled with you, his hand planted against your growing abdomen. You mourn the loss of your bodies autonomy, silently laying there in his arms while dozens of tapioca sized eggs clung to your hot womb and begin to grow. You were certain you could feel the process as it underwent. The sensation made your throat dry and eyes wet, knowing that Miguel, your captor, left a part of himself inside of you. He claimed you in every way, violating you so deeply that you knew there was no coming back.

As the day descends into night, you listen to him sleeping soundly and wonder if he was right.

If motherhood would suit you.

[lurochar]

What would it be like if yandere! Alastor was in heat, with a foreign reader and they were not yet in a relationship with Alastor. What would happen?

I wasn’t sure if this was a request or just my thoughts on the scenario, so for now, I’ll just give my thoughts.

Sorry, I left the foreign part out because I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant exactly (foreign as in speaking a different language? Foreign as in from a different world?) Am I overthinking that? Plus, I honestly could not really figure out a way to fit it in, in a significant way. I’m sorry for that.

Warnings: Mentions of dub-con

--------------------

Alastor in a rut, yet not in a relationship with you – well, that just screams dubious consent (dub-con) to me. His body is desperate for a partner – but his mind is still somewhat rational. And no matter how frenzied he gets, he will not lower himself to behave like a filthy animal – like a rapist.

Instead, Alastor traps you in his room and uses his magic to seal you in there with him. At this point, almost anything goes in order to get your ‘consent’ to stay with him during the remainder of his rut.

He will use his silver tongue, offering you deals (nothing to do with souls, this time around anyway, as he knows that will scare you away for sure) and favours that, for the most part, benefit you more than him. Still, this is Alastor we’re talking about, there must be something more to it that you aren’t seeing.

Alastor is starting to get irritated, but it doesn’t show.

If you don’t think of his comfort, why should he think of yours?

Most of the furniture has disappeared and now you have nowhere to sleep but on the floor with no blankets or pillow. It takes a long while and just as you’re about to drift off, you think you hear a snap.

The next morning, you wake up only in your underwear.

Alastor has taken your clothes too and refuses to give you anything to cover yourself with and he openly leers at you. He slips into the shadows and appears behind you, whispering lewd things in your ears, just how good he can make you feel.

You decline again.

Your defiance is certainly amusing, but he’s not in the mood for it at the moment. So he goes for the next idea that he knows will work.

Starvation.

How long can you last without food? (He’ll give you water, he isn’t that much of a monster). It might take a little longer than he wants, but eventually, you will crumble. 

Alastor will go out of his way to eat in front of you and it takes a week for you to finally crack – exhausted from no food, body aching, cold, and humiliated from sleeping on the floor with nothing but your underwear.

Alastor may have your ‘consent’, but is it really consent at all when he trapped you in a corner with no escape?

[yesmansyesman]

Fanfiction added (Yes Man x Reader)

AN UNUSUAL NEW UPDATE

[ Includes ]

Wireplay (Sort of?)

Filthy, filthy smut

Dub con (I guess?)

Really, really enthusiastic con the immediate next line

Overstimulation

Robophilia

[ Read at your own discretion! ]

[ Heavily inspired by this AO3 Fanfiction]

It was a relatively slow day at the Lucky 38. Well, as slow as things can be around here. You’d sent Yes Man out on a small quest on your behalf; getting rid of some remaining Caeser’s Legion members hiding out in Freeside.

It wouldn’t be even remotely challenging for the both of you, especially compared to the other things you’d fought in the wasteland. Compared to an army of charging Deathclaws, a couple of Rome cosplayers were trivially easy to deal with. So, you sent Yes Man out by himself. It would simply be more efficient. 

Quest completed

PICKING OFF STRAGGLERS 

Ah, speak of the devil.

Almost like clockwork, the doors to the Lucky 38 swung open, a blood-soaked Yes Man entering the building. Needless to say from his now crimson chassis, the mission was a success. 

“Hello Courier! I’m glad to say the last few members of Caeser’s Legion have been properly dealt with!”

“I could tell. You might want to clean yourself off, bud. Dried blood doesn’t come out too easily.”

Yes Man inspected his dark red chassis, examining his arms, coated in dried blood.

“That sounds like a great idea!”

Yes Man began to make his way to a backroom in the Lucky 38, when he suddenly paused, and turned to face you.

“Oh, I almost forgot! On the way, I also paid a visit to Mick & Ralph’s!”

A hidden compartment revealed itself on Yes Man’s chassis with a satisfying hiss and click, as he reached inside, unveiling a slightly rusted holodisk. It looked fairly normal on the outside, only with a small label plastered on; ‘From, Ralph’.

“A man in a Buffalo Check shirt gave me this; he told me he’d ‘heard about how things turned out for you’ and asked me to help him deliver this! I’m not sure what it does, but boy, does it sound interesting!”

“Interesting, indeed. I’ll have Raul take a look at this.”

“That sounds like a great idea! Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to be thoroughly scrubbed down! Really, really thoroughly!”

Quest added

TALK TO RAUL

“Hey boss, how can I help ya?”

You passed over the holodisk, placing it gently on his desk. 

“Could you help me take a look at this?”

“Sure thing. I’ll see what I can do.”

He delicately picked up the holodisk, examining it closely. Inspecting the label, still on the device.

“Ah, from Mick & Ralph’s, I see.”

Raul lightly dusted the holodisk, before loading it into the personal terminal located on his desk. With a few swift clicks on his keyboard, the screen lit up, green text rapidly loading onto the display. He read the gibberish on the screen carefully, like it was a language only he could understand.

“Luckily for me, it ain’t some kind of malware.”

“Then, what is it?”

“It looks like some package of code intended for Securitrons. It’s not even anything major by the looks of it, just changes up some button inputs.”

Raul scrolled through the brief paragraph of code, discovering more text, this time actually understandable, product information, it seemed. Raul read through it thoroughly, scoffing when he finished. He rotated the terminal, facing the CRT monitor towards you.

“Boss, they wrote down what this thing does right here. Come and take a look, I think you’ll be… interested.”

Quest completed

TALK TO RAUL

Quest added

READ THE FOOTNOTES

Quest completed

READ THE FOOTNOTES

Quest added

INSTALL THE DISK

“Courier, are you sure about this?”

“Yes Man, I promise you; this holodisk won’t affect your personality in any way, and if you feel otherwise, you can always tell me to stop. You had that personality upgrade installed for a reason, right?”

“I-I’m not telling you to stop! I just sure hope you know what you’re doing, because you aren’t, this Securitron body may self-destruct! And that would be bad, really bad.”

“Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

You carefully installed the holodisk. Yes Man’s, unlike other Securitrons, circuits were haphazardly placed all over the inside of his chassis. Whatever Benny did to him, he sure did it messily. Eventually, however, after working through piles of unsorted wires and mismatched machinery, the disk was installed. With a brief system reboot, Yes Man had been successfully updated.

Quest completely

INSTALL THE DISK

Quest added

UPGRADE PLAYTEST

“Hm, that’s odd. I don’t feel any different. Or explosive. Well, that’s a good sign!”

“Not so fast, Yes Man. There’s still one more thing I need to do. I need to see if the upgrade works as intended.” “Sounds interesting! How may I help you with that?”

“Don’t worry, just stand still. You’ll find out what that holodisk does very, very soon.”

Gently, you lead your hand towards Yes Man’s keypad. You deftly place a finger on a key, pressing it before he had a chance to react. 

“O-oh!”

“How was it?”

“D-do that again…please?”

“Sure thing, big guy.”

Click!

“A-ah!”

Click!

“Ngh-!”

Click!

“M-mph!”

Yes Man was losing his composure more and more with each deft click, his antenna spinning rapidly and a cool layer of condensation forming on his display. Of course, how could he have forgotten, Mick & Ralph’s had experience working on robots before with Fisto, didn’t they? Of course their idea of an upgrade would be… this.

Not that he was complaining, though.

“W-wow! That feels really, really good…”

You carelessly push a few buttons all at once.

“H-Hah-!”

There you go, just let me hear those beautiful noises.

“O-oh! S-six!”

You decide to go all in, discarding any resemblance of self-control. Using and holding as many keys as your fingers could reach. 

“O-oh my-y-!”

“Having fun, bud?”

“I-I love you I love you I love you-!”

"I'll take that as a yes."

Yes Man’s vocal processor was being pushed to its limits, the audio scratched and staticy as Yes Man wore his metaphorical throat out singing moans of pleasure, screaming to the heavens above. His display was drenched in condensation as water droplets visibly dripped down his chassis. The tornado-like buzz of cooling fans were the only other audible noise amongst the squeals of pure ecstasy.

“Y-you’re my everything-g-g-g-!”

“Glad to hear it. You ready?”

“P-p-please!” Silly boy, his processors were already turning into melted plastic from the overstimulation.

“I’ll just press one more button, alright?”

“P-please please please please-!”

Click!

Quest completed

UPGRADE PLAYTEST

Quest added

CRASH LANDING

Quest completed

CRASH LANDING

“Yes Man? You there, bud?”

“W-what?”

“Oh thank god, you’re still alive.”

“Oh, hello Courier!”

Yes Man scanned his surroundings, having woken up on the floor of Raul’s workshop. His circuits were exposed, connected by several multi-coloured wires to a terminal being manned by the mechanic himself. He must’ve crashed. 

“Luckily for you, your main circuits aren’t badly damaged. You just blew a few fuses.”

“Wow! That was… sure some upgrade!”

“Some upgrade, indeed.”

You deftly place a hand on his keypad, with a touch so feathery light that it didn’t manage to push down on any of the keys, but merely tease him with the warmth radiating for your hand. A sensation he could barely even feel, but felt so, so good.

“So, how about a round two?”

“Y-yes please!”

Raul scoffs, turning off his terminal and unplugging the several cords connected to it. He lifts himself out of his chair with a grunt, and makes his way to the door.

“I’ll let you two do your thing then, boss.”

Quest added

JUST A FEW MORE ROUNDS

[lindsaynathi0n]

Don’t write it it stinks of toxic love

synopsis: Nate never found someone to love, Rafe was never loved and Y/N was never taken serious Maybe their entry into college will change their lives.

Frat Rafe x Reader x Frat Nate.

[English is not my native language❗️❗️] TW: toxic, smut, sex, penetration, fingering, non-con, manipulation , insult, fight, humiliation, misogynistic attitude. [PART1]

______________________________________________

______________________________________________

NATE 

The summer vacation had not been easy for Nathaniel Jacobs. Between the divorce of his parents, Cassie who was just stalking his and his going to college, nothing was right.

Two weeks before homecoming, he decided to go to Chris Mckay’s, he was happy that Mckay was still talking to him about what happened between him and Cassie.

They were in Mckay’s room playing a fighting game. They were focused in their game when Nate was talking. "Dude?". Mckay turned his head to look at him. "Yeah?" he said.

"How’s college, I mean is there a lot of hot chicks?" Mckay and Nate laugh, Nate laugh to hide his anxiety.

Nate wanted to leave, college was one of the best ways. What Nate was afraid of was not being number one. He was afraid that he would not be THE best football player. That he is not indispensable to his team.

"Nah, man, college is where you can fuck whoever you want, it’s not like high school, people don’t give a shit about who’s fucking who, as long as it’s not cheating." Mckay said.

"How do you get respect?" Nate asks. Mckay seems to think long." I had sex with the cheerleading captain and the opposing college captain. Nate opens his eyes wide. "Two cheerleaders but not the same team or the same college?"

"You’re gaining huge popularity and a huge repsect. You’re teammates will trust you after that." Mckay laughed." So if I understand correctly, a good fuck with a cheerleader captain is the deal?" asks Nate. "Got it all figured out, man. But one advice, close the door of your room when you’re inside."

Mckay’s expression changes, it becomes empty and hard. Filled with hate and sadness. Nate nods, and as he was about to speak the door opens. Drawing the attention of Nate and the latter.

"Chris, your aunt is here, comes to help her carry her boxes." said his mother. "Is she already there?" asked Chris sighing." Yes, she’s already here, with her daughter, so be nice and come now." Demands her mother.

Chris gets up and Nate follows him, they go outside where, his head car is parked. Chris hugs his aunt and takes boxes, Nate only says hello and helps her carry her boxes.

Nate poses where he needs to, he goes back out when he crosses a small head out of the bathroom.

Nate looks at the girl and he feels something, he doesn’t move me and she doesn’t either. He looks at the girl.

She is small, her hair is black braided, long eyelashes that put her brown hazelnut eyes in values , black skin but which shone thanks to the passage of the sunset in the long corridor. Nate begins to detail her body, she has beautiful boobs, a slim waist and beautiful hips that enhance her legs.

She’s wearing a Brazil jersey with black shorts, a cyclist? He doesn’t know, but anyway, this girl makes him feel what no other girl has ever made him feel not even Maddy.

"Y/N" says Chris enthusiastically. Y/N looks at Nate looking away at Chris. "Did you miss me?" she asks trotting towards him.

Chris laughs and hugs her. Nate remains in his thoughts for a short time.

______________________________________________

Nate learned a lot about Y/N. She’s her age, she likes to read, write and fine art, she doesn’t have a boyfriend and something that makes Nate want to have her, in two weeks, they’ll share the same campus.

They go to the same college, she looks so pure and kind, Nate intends to make sure that she lives only by him.

Nate falls in love every time she talks to him and that’s a big problem for our football star.

Especially when Y/N won’t just attract his attention.

______________________________________ [PART 2]

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