#Beard Straightener for Men's

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Just a little turned around.

Honestly, it wasn’t as if Y/N was defenceless.

It just so happened that on this one damn day, some asshole had managed to pickpocket her pouch. Not her wallet (that was back at the hotel), not her phone, just her money pouch, which contained the currency of the foreign country she was in. Being prepared and somewhat responsible, Y/N had only put in a day's worth of money into that pouch. In fact, it amazed her how he hadn't gone for her passport or even her phone. No, just the thing that would be most inconvenient for her.

Staring a hole into the ground, she pressed her fingertips to her forehead in an attempt to calm herself down and gather her thoughts. She had chased this slippery bastard all the way to this street where he turned the corner and into a dead end. Then he-, wait.

Y/N straightened up and her eyes darted around frantically. Where was she?

Nothing was familiar. A cafe on the cobbled stone street, a flower shop and a bakery. None of which she had seen before.

Wonderful, now, as well as having no money in a foreign country, she was bloody lost.

“Fuck me dead and sideways till Monday morning.” She huffed, while once again rubbing her forehead with her hand. Honestly, at this point, nothing could particularly get worse.

“That coul’ be arranged!” An accented voice called out from behind her. Scottish perhaps?

“Has a mouth on her.” Another replied in amusement while another voice just grunted in acknowledgement.

Y/N turned around to spit back a witty retort that quickly died on her lips.

“Uh..” She stuttered out intelligently.

Three men, each a prepossessing sight. One was wearing a cap, a blue denim jacket and some black jeans. He was brown eyed and dark skinned, nothing short of a model. His friend was leaning on him, crossed arms, a short mohawk, blue eyes, scruffy looking beard and a cheeky looking smirk. He donned a biker jacket with the small Scottish flag where his breast pocket would be and seemed to be wearing dog tags over his grey t-shirt. The last of them was a hulking man dressed fully in black, his face was obscured with a face mask akin to those of celebrities, however his presence was less of a star and more intimidating. Almost menacing. Maybe he was their bodyguard?

Y/N shook her head and replied,

“Yeah no thanks mate, I’ve got a bit on my plate at the moment, maybe in another life?” She nodded at the three before turning back around and walking towards the coffee shop.

“Oi, Bonnie, we can help ya if ya need. Besides, yer lookin' a bit peely wally.” The man with the mohawk called out.

“What the bloody hell are you on about mate.” Y/N asked, bewildered clearly not understanding the Scottish man's accent.

“ He thinks you look pale.” The large figure behind him rumbled helpfully.

Y/N blinked,

“Is he saying I look sickly?” She turned around and glowered at the man.

“No love, what we mean to say is, you look like you need some help?” The man with the baseball cap stepped forward carefully, as if not to spook her.

“Well, unless you’ve got a tracker dog, a body bag and a large metal pipe, I don't think you’re going to be much help to me.” She crossed her arms defiantly.

“Tha’ can be arranged bonnie.” The mischievous looking man grinned, stepping up while the man behind him followed while giving a non committal grunt.

“I’m Kyle, the annoying one is Johnny and that’s-”

“Simon.” The masked man grumbled while the other two threw a quick look at the third man.

She wrinkled her nose.

“Y/N, pleasure to meet you.” She nodded at the men before sighing, “Alright, I’m here for a holiday, trying to feel out if I wanna move out here for work. I was just takin’ a look around when some asshat came up and fell on me and grabbed my money pouch.” She spoke quickly, somewhat embarrassed that she was admitting to three strangers that she had been duped so easily.

“Ah lovie, unless you remember what he looks like or what he was wearin’ s’ gonna be hard for you to get it back. Do you remember how much you had in there?”

She shrugged, “It was meant to get me lunch and dinner before I checked out of my current hotel to find another one. The rest of the cash is in my hotel room.” She hung her head and sighed.

“Honestly I just need to find my way back and then I can sleep over things. I can skip a meal or two.”

“Gonny no dae that!” Johnny exclaimed, “Yer look like yer already skippin’ meals lass. We’ll take you to lunch and dinner! We got nothin’ ta do anyways!”

The one dressed in all black, Simon was it? Grunted out an agreement.

“You ain't gonna find much around here. You’re not far away from the military base.”

“Whaddya you say love? Let us show you around?” Kyle hummed, cocking his head akin to a begging puppy.

Y/N quirked her lips in thought. Would it be a smart move to let these strangers escort her around? Was she hungry enough to make a questionable decision?

“Well…”

“We’re not strange men, we promise miss.” The taller Brit offered.

“That's exactly what a strange man would say LT.”Johnny quipped, earning a light bonk on the head from the taller man.

Y/N shoulders relaxed when they saw the playful display of banter between the men. Surely this meant they were safe. Right?

[jamiefartt]

richmond's receptionist

part 2.

pairings: jamie tartt x reader, basically all of richmond is mentioned tho

summary: where you're the receptionist at richmond fc and you slowly but surely form a close bond with star striker jamie tartt

words: 6864

warnings: none just swearing and a little bit of rude jamie

—

day in and day out you watch the people of richmond fc enter and exit the home of their beloved football team. you spend your days behind the blue reception desk doing admin; sending emails, taking calls, and making sure everything is running smoothly. you've been the receptionist at Richmond for a little over three months, and you had no complaints so far. your favourite part of the day was watching Rebecca arrive to work. you always hear her heels before you see her, then she struts past your desk with a swift 'good morning' every day. not one day has gone by where she hasn't greeted you that way, and the acknowledgment lightens your mood each time.

as you're checking the company emails one morning, you hear Rebecca's footsteps approaching. you look up to smile at her, expecting the usual greeting, but instead she goes off-script.

"ah, good morning y/n. i'm not sure if you've seen the email but we are implementing a new daily register system. every morning, when our staff and players arrive, they must tick the box next to their name and note what time they arrive at. for visitors, they will have to sign their name on the bottom." you nod along attentively to her new instructions.

"okay, great! so, in the evenings, should everyone just do the same thing; tick the box, add the time?"

"you catch on fast. see, this is why I knew we needed a better receptionist," she smiles at you genuinely, adjusting her handbag on her arm before turning to walk to her office. "oh, and everyone should have received the email so I hope that saves you wasting time to explain this to everybody."

thanking her with a kind smile, you bid your goodbyes. you open your personal staff email, only to find an email from Higgins including a pdf of the sign in sheet. you take it upon yourself to print a week's worth, attaching them to a clipboard and placing it on top of the tall desk. you smile to yourself, looking forward to getting to know everyone's names and have more opportunities for small talk in the mornings.

the clock is nearing 8:30am, and you're already deep in your inbox forwarding and responding to emails. you've only had to explain the new system to a handful of staff, including Laughing Liam who, naturally, laughed at it. the players should be arriving soon, so you take the time to straighten your blouse and sit up straight in your chair. presumably, these men don't check their emails first thing in the morning, so you're expecting to have to repeat yourself a lot this morning.

"good morning y/n!" Colin chirps. he's the first of the team to arrive, as per usual.

"hey Colin! I thought I heard tires screech outside." you joke. "I'm not sure if you saw the email-"

"stop right there. i saw the email this morning." cutting you off, he picks up a Richmond pen before sliding the clipboard towards him and signing in. you chuckle to yourself and wave him goodbye.

soon after, the rest of the Richmond players flood into the building. some are in pairs, others in groups, and they even form a small queue as they wait their turn to sign in. Dani's excited by the new organisation plan, Roy grunts but still cracks a small smile, and Ted holds up the line talking to you whilst Beard signs both of them in. the only person to arrive alone, and last, is Jamie Tartt. he rolls right past you, not once looking up from his phone. you quickly call after him: "Uhm, Jamie!" you've never spoken to him, nevertheless called him by his first name.

his head lifts at the unexpected sound of your voice, and he looks around trying to find the source.

"sorry, Mr. Tartt. I didn't mean to shout... or call you Jamie," your voice goes quiet as he turns around to look at you, eyebrows raised in confusion. "what?" he replies, slowly walking towards the desk.

"basically, there's a bit of a new system here now. every morning and every evening you'll have to check in and out on this sheet. just tick the box next to your name and then add the time you arrive and leave." you explain with a smile, holding his questioning gaze the entire time.

"right, right, okay... what if, instead of me wasting me time clocking in and out, you just do it for me. you see me arrive, you sign me in. you see me leave, you sign me out. simple as." he states, and he sends you a quick wink before spinning around and heading straight for the locker room.

your mouth snaps open and shut a few times, surprised at his refusal to cooperate. you knew he had been a pain, despite his talent, but ever since he returned from manchester city he'd dropped his act a little. still, all you could do was watch his back, his bright orange jacket disappearing around the corner.

—

the sign-in system is easily integrated into richmond fc's daily routine, everyone dedicating those few minutes every day to tick the box and smile at you. some even taking the time to have a chat with you and soon enough, you know everyone's names.

while your typing up an email to Keeley about a new sponsor, someone walks up to your desk and drums his hands atop it. your eyes snap up and a smile takes over your face at the sight of Ted.

"hi Coach, how are you doing?"

"I'm doing great, y/n, thanks for asking! I would ask how you're doing but I'm here about someone else..." Ted's gaze narrows and your smile shrinks slightly.

"what's up?" you turn your chair to face him to show your full attention is on him.

"my pal Higgins has informed me that one of my players hasn't been signing in with you every day."

"yeah..." you trail off, "Jamie hasn't really been making the effort. I'm sorry if I should have been doing it for him I just wasn't sure if that would be... against safety regulations... or something?"

Ted raises his eyebrows at you, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "did he ask you to sign him in and out every day?"

"yes, he did. he said I should just watch out for him coming and going then write down the time."

"oh okay, I see. I will talk to him at lunch. Don't you worry, y/n."

as he walks away, you sigh in relief, worried you were getting in trouble for Jamie's slacking. you turn back to your computer, cracking your knuckles before getting back to your work.

later that day, as you log out of your computer and start packing up your stuff, the team pours out of the locker room. some sign themselves out, some sign themselves and their mates out. you make sure to keep your eyes peeled for anyone trying to avoid the responsibility, but the only person who strides past the group with no remorse is, once again, Jamie Tartt. your eyes meet Ted's who is looking at you with an apologetic look. you shrug in response, brushing it off. Jamie is his own person, you're not in charge of him.

the next morning, the day starts as usual; Rebecca is the first to arrive, followed by some members of staff, before the coaching team and players pour in from the car park. despite people greeting you and talking, you only half-respond. you're too busy looking over everyone's heads trying to spot the stubborn player you just haven't been able to crack.

"I've spoken to that prick. he can't keep fucking you over. let me know if he causes any problems." Roy grumbles, interrupting your focus.

"cheers, Roy," you smile at him warmly, wondering if his words will have had any effect on Jamie.

when the clock strikes 9, you sink back into your chair. the last of the staff have arrived for their day, and training is about to start – but still, no Jamie Tartt.

you grab the clip board and flick through the pages, making sure you didn't miss him signing in. still, on every page, the boxes next to his name are left blank. you sigh, shaking your head, unsure of how to tell Rebecca you got through to everyone expect for one measly player.

"y/n?"

"that's me," you say, before looking up from the list of names.

there's two coffee cups in front of you, both with the name Jamie scribbled on the sides in black marker. you lift your gaze, and funnily enough, Jamie is stood in front of you.

"listen yeah, I jus' wanted to say sorry for not doin' the whole... sign-in sheet shit. Roy had a proper go at me yesterday, so... I brought you coffee. hope this makes up for it." he can barely meet your eyes as he speaks, but ends his apology with a small smile.

"oh, wow, thank you. that's very kind, Jamie." you genuinely smile at him, hoping his might lift even a little bit more. instead, his eyes soften.

"I just got you a latte. I hope that's okay, I weren't sure what you liked and didn't have time to ask Keeley so,"

"that's perfect, Jamie, thank you so much. you really didn't have to do this."

"yes, I did, I think. it's not fair for you to be worrying about your job because of me."

thanking him again, you take one of the takeaway cups, taking a small sip of the warm coffee. Jamie nods at you as if to say goodbye, and you return the nod with a cheeky wink. you can't be sure, but you think you see Jamie's smile finally reach his eyes as he turns around.

the following morning, as you're talking to Isaac about becoming the new team captain, you're interrupted by none other than Jamie. your face lightens up at the sight of him, and you laugh as he pushes Isaac with his shoulder, making him leave the front desk.

"what's this for?" you ask as he sets another coffee cup down in front of you.

"I dunno... I was already getting meself coffee, so I thought I might as well get you another latte."

"you don't have to do that, Jamie. but if it means you come to the desk to sign in then I won't complain."

you can't seem to take your eyes off his hands as he picks up the pen Isaac had just used. his fingers seem to move slowly over the page, smoothing over everyone's names until he reached his. you admire the rings on his fingers, taking a special interest in the gold signet on his pinky as it supports the pen gliding along the form.

"do you like it?"

you blink a few times before snapping out of your daydream, looking up to see Jamie smirking down at you.

"hm?" you ask, gulping down the embarrassment of being caught in your daze.

"do you like my ring?"

"what? your pinky ring? uhm, sure, yeah. it's nice..."

"good save, love. it's me granddad's. he gave it me when I first went to play for Man City."

"it's beautiful..." you say, smiling before looking down at the ring again. you notice how delicately his hands move as he puts the pen down. you didn't expect such a machismo to have such nice hands but you can tell Jamie takes good care of himself.

he smiles, huffing out a small chuckle at your admiration. "see ya later, y/n." "

"bye, Jamie." you smile, taking the clipboard from him. you glance down at his name, spotting a small heart drawn beside it. it's uneven and a bit jagged, but the doodle still tugs at your heart strings.

from then on, every single morning, you are greeted by a latte and a chat from Jamie. every day, he lingers more and more as you talk to each other, and you always end up drinking half of your coffees before he pulls himself away from your desk. in the evenings, he's always one of the first to sign out. instead of saying goodbye, he simply winks at you. you hate to admit it but you start memorising what times Jamie arrives and leaves. as much as you love talking to him, and especially him winking at you every time he leaves, you love waiting for him. you love the nerves that build in your stomach as you watch the clock, and by the time he finally reaches you, you're already slightly blushing. when he turns to leave your desk, your eyes follow his figure and you let the blush take over your cheeks completely.

—

"hey, y/n, have you got a minute?" Isaac walks up to your desk.

"Isaac! of course!" you chirp, taking the last sip of your latte. Isaac reads the name written across the cup and raises his eyebrows knowingly.

"ah, speak of the devil,"

"what?" you turn the cup around, running your thumb across Jamie's name, "oh, yeah,"

"about Jamie... I really hate to involve you in actual football shit but he's been slacking a bit in training."

"oh, okay, would you like me to pass on the message to Rebecca?"

"no, no, it's just... he's been showing up late to training and then leaves early. during trainings, he's always... agreeing?" you raise your eyebrows at Isaac's words, "he never puts up a fight anymore, and we kind of need that Jamie Tartt for our big game this Saturday."

"I'm sorry, Isaac, but I'm not really sure what I can do about this. I really would love to help but there's not much I can do."

"I really hate to ask this from you, but," he takes a deep breath, a small smile appearing on his face, "I need you to piss him off a bit this week."

you laugh out loud, attempting to brush off his obvious joke by turning back to your computer.

"I'm not joking." his smile drops instantly, and your laugh falters before your face goes serious. "he likes you, so if you start acting cold towards him, it would really throw him off." Isaac's smile returns, and you giggle at his idea. trying not to read into his phrasing too much, you take a deep breath and nod.

"got it, Captain." you salute towards him. his eyebrows furrow as he curtly nods at you before turning around and jogging away.

what does he mean with Jamie liking you? a blush creeps up your face at the thought of him mentioning your name every time he's late, making up some excuse about the sign in taking too long. you start to brainstorm how you're going to turn the cold shoulder to Jamie this afternoon, feeling ever so slightly bad but trusting Isaac's judgement at the same time.

sure enough, Jamie is the first person out of training. you look up at him, and he smiles at you from the end of the hallway before jogging towards you.

"hi, y/n," his fingers drum on the desk, clearly excited to see you.

"if you'd just like to sign out for me there please, Jamie." you speak up, not looking up from your screen.

Jamie's immediately taken aback by your tone and from the corner of your eye you can see him pull his head back in confusion.

he chuckles awkwardly, attempting to diffuse the situation, "uhm, okay... what's the time, y/n?"

you don't respond, instead you point up at the clock on the wall behind you.

Jamie scoffs, quickly scribbling down the time and dropping the pen with a little bit of force. you don't react, as much as you wish you could just look up and meet his eyes.

"okay, bye then." he sighs deeply then heads towards the car park. as you see Isaac approach your desk, the rest of the team in tow, you hear an engine roar off into the distance.

"sounds like you've already pissed him off," Isaac says, "how did you manage that?"

"I just didn't look at him." you shrug nonchalantly.

"mhm, yeah he hates that. good job, bruv." he holds out his fist for you to bump. your knuckles meet his as you wink at him.

—

"hi, y/n, you alright, yeah?"

you hear Jamie place down a coffee cup. he whistles a little tune trying to get your attention, but when you still don't look up at him, he just picks up the pen and quickly signs in.

"listen, I'm not sure if you're just busy or what, but we play the Spurs tomorrow and I'd really like to see you there."

before you can even look up at him, Jamie turns around and leaves. you wait until he's a few feet away before looking up to take your coffee. you stare at his back, sighing to yourself. you understand the Captain's orders but it doesn't feel right ignoring Jamie. you would never tell him but your little routine has become your favourite part of your day at Richmond. you watch as his pinky signet ring catches the bright lights of the hallway and you take the opportunity to rake your eyes over Jamie's figure. his grey skinny jeans hug his legs perfectly, and his black jacket accentuates his broad shoulders. you lift your gaze to see his hair is gelled back neatly. you continue to stare at him, and as he's just about to turn the corner, he turns his head to take one last look at you. your eyes just about meet before you quickly snap your head down, pretending you weren't looking at him.

"y/n! I heard you fixed Jamie!" Keeley squeals as her and Roy walk up to the desk.

"I know, I hate it!" you reply, slumping your shoulders.

"don't worry, y/n. he'll be back to normal after tomorrow's game." Roy helps.

"sure but I don't want him to hate me."

"trust me; he doesn't fucking hate you." he adds, raising an eyebrow.

Keeley nods, "it's true. he's got a soft spot for you."

"he still invited me to the game." you shrug, hopeful that means he doesn't hate you.

"ah! brilliant! I'll talk to Rebecca, I'm gonna get you a seat with us. that way, you can watch the match without him even knowing you're there!" Keeley bounces excitedly on the balls of her feet.

"doesn't that defeat the point of me being there?"

"no babe, it's all about the teasing. he's gonna be fuming when he thinks you're not there, and then after the game you can surprise him! it'll work wonders, I swear."

you give her a questioning look, turning to Roy for a second opinion. he stays completely silent, simply giving you a single nod.

"if you think it'll work, let's do it." you hesitate slightly, but ultimately agree. you won't mind teasing Jamie a little bit. it's all he ever does.

your eyes drift to the picture of him plastered on the wall beside you. the cocky smirk on his face taunts you as you consider just texting him an apology.

"good morning! whatever you said to Jamie really worked, y/n. he never passes to me anymore!" a chipper Sam says to you as he signs himself in.

"is that a really a good thing?"

"it is for now. but please, after tomorrow, bring him back to normal. he's almost my friend and I want to keep it that way." he gives you a sad smile before bidding you goodbye.

throughout the day, you take calls and file more admin work. you talk to Higgins, Ted, and Keeley, filling them in on the plan for the Tottenham match tomorrow. it's a struggle to sit at your desk with Jamie constantly filling up his bottle from the water fountain in front of you. there's plenty of others for him to use, but he's clearly making the extra effort to see you in the hopes you'll talk to him. much to your dismay, you continue to ignore him. it's only been two days that you've been ignoring Jamie, but it's still hard avoiding the one thing that makes your day just that little bit better.

all packed up to go home, you wait for the last sign outs of the day. Rebecca's heels descend the stairs, and once again you hear her before you see her.

"y/n, I'm so sorry to keep you waiting."

"no worries. that's my job," you smile at her, moving to exit your desk. you step down from the raised platform, about to shrug your jacket on.

"ah- ah- ah, I'm afraid I'm not the last to go home." Rebecca interrupts your movement, pointing a finger down the hallway.

"oh, uh, who's left?" you ask her, already taking your jacket off again.

"I think there's someone in the gym. oh, and there's a package for you in the coach's office. don't forget to pick that up before you leave."

you shake your head, confused; "uhm, okay then. I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Welton." you smile at her politely, giving her a small nod.

"Rebecca." she assures you with a small which mirrors yours. as she turns to leave, you hold back a sigh and place your jacket and bag atop the desk. you iron down your shirt and fix the pleats on your trousers before venturing down the hallway.

you can hear small puffs and the whirring of a treadmill as you get closer to the coach's office. choosing to cut through the locker room, you look at the large empty space. you look over each name on the far side, reading them out loud quietly to yourself. moving towards Sam's locker, you smile at the photo of the Nigerian national team he keeps on his shelf. turning around, you read the names on the other side of the room. eyes landing on the locker at the end of the row, you finally let out the sigh you were holding in. "Tartt" you say out loud to yourself. butterflies fill your stomach before a nervous twist takes over. "he likes you" Isaac's words replay in your head. "he's got a soft spot for you" you remember what Keeley said. you ponder on their words, wondering why you of all people were Isaac's choice. Surely Roy could've talked some sense into him, or Ted if he got angry?

you shake the thoughts from your head, quickly looking away from Jamie's locker just in case your clouded mind takes charge again. looking through the window into the office, you see a white parcel on Beard's desk. there's a bright yellow sticky note on top of it:

'For y/n. You'll need this tomorrow! - Coaches'

you smile softly before pulling off the sticky note and picking up the package. the sound of the treadmill is louder now that you're right next to the gym, and the huffing and puffing increases too. loud beeps sound out and suddenly the footsteps on the treadmill seem to be going impossibly fast. pushing your curiosity aside, you cut the corner of the white bag, ripping it open. inside it is a neatly folded jersey – a Richmond jersey. you pick it up by the shoulders, holding it up in front of you. when you turn it around, you let a laugh escape your lips, hoping the treadmill covers the sound. it reads the same as Jamie's locker: Tartt 9.

shaking your head in disbelief, you fold it up neatly and place it back in its package. you hug it tight to your chest as you move quietly towards the window into the gym. you peer in, and to your surprise, you see Jamie almost destroying the treadmill with how fast he's going. his feet barely seem to hit the rubber, running like he is being chased by something twice his size. your smile falls and your brows crease together. he seems pissed, even though you can't see his face, his ferocious speed tells you enough. you turn back around, grabbing the post-it notes from Ted's desk and writing something down. you end your note with a small heart, hoping the coach sees it before the match.

—

"come on Richmond!"

the ear deafening crowds cheer and chant for Richmond FC as they file into the stadium. you're sitting in the owner's suite behind Rebecca and Keeley, with Higgins next to you.

"did you get my package?" Keeley asks, teethy smile across her face.

"I knew it was you! you cheeky little shit!" you laughed loudly, clapping her hands into yours. you take your jacket off, turn around and bring your arms up, pointing two thumbs at the back of your shirt.

"ah, young love..." Higgins sighs.

immediately turning back around, you scoff at him; "pfft, we're not in love! in fact, I'm not even sure we're friends right now."

"don't worry about it, y/n. I promise." Rebecca assuredly says to you, before turning to watch the match begin.

the whistle is about to blow, so you quickly try to find Jamie on the pitch. your eyes scan over the group, and you soon spot him in the middle of the pitch jumping up and down. he spits on the ground and claps his hands together, clearly riled up and ready to lead Richmond to a win.

the crowd roars as the whistle blows, and Jamie initiates kick off. you didn't think you would ever see him run as fast as he was on the treadmill yesterday, but somehow he is beating his own personal record. in the blink of an eye, he runs from one end of the pitch to the other. by some miracle, he seems to always have the ball in possession. after passing it back and forth, any time he's anywhere near the goal, the ball is at his feet.

in the 40th minute of the game, Jamie is crashing through Tottenham players, bumping shoulders with every single one as he makes his way towards their goal. you can see his cheeks puffing air in and out of his lungs rapidly, and after finding himself completely unobstructed, he kicks the ball with so much force that his mouth opens and you can almost hear his shout.

everything seems to go in slow motion. you hold your breath and raise your hands to cover your mouth. the ball flies through the air, magically curving towards the goal. the keeper jumps, hands in the air, and his finger tips merely brush the ball. but he's unable to push it hard enough, the ball crashing straight into the middle of the net.

the stadium erupts in cheers and roars, and you jump into the air with a loud scream. you hug Higgins in excitement and shake Keeley's shoulders before high-fiving Rebecca. you watch the team celebrate by running up to Jamie, who is stood completely still in the spot from where he scored. you can see his chest heaving, catching his breath as his teammates hug him and clap his back. but he doesn't seem to celebrate with them, instead you watch as he looks up and into the crowd without even a smile on his face. your expression falls, feeling your colleagues' eyes on you. Keeley grabs your hand, snapping your attention from the pitch to her; "go." she says, squeezing your hand. you purse your lips and nod at her, squeezing back, before pushing past Higgins and running inside.

as you rush through the VIP bar, you hear the half-time whistle. you head down the stairs and out the back of the stadium. you curse yourself for wearing your boots as you try to run to the main building. running doesn't seem to be your best bet, so you settle on a speed walk as you get closer and closer to the door. finally, you push open the door, passing by the reception desk you would normally sit at.

you continue your journey down the hallway and then turn right, heading straight for the locker room. you can hear the team from far away, cheering in celebration. as you turn the corner, you see all of them fall into the locker room in a line. they're so excited they don't notice you leaning against the wall watching them. the only person who isn't too busy celebrating, though, is Jamie Tartt, who is trailing behind the team like a sad puppy. his hands are wrapped in his shirt, and he's looking at his feet which he's scoffing across the floor. clearing your throat, you hope it catches his attention, his mind clearly elsewhere.

his head snaps up and looks in your direction. stopping dead in his tracks, he drops his hands from his shirt and fixes his headband. quickly glancing into the changing room, he goes unnoticed by the team as he dips his head and does a few long strides towards you.

"Jamie, I-"

"are you alright? like really alright? did I do somethin'?

"Jamie," you sigh deeply, not knowing how to explain Isaac's orders. "I'm sorry for ignoring you the past few days. it wasn't my idea, I promise."

"your idea? what're you talkin' about?" Jamie crosses his arms and shakes his head, a lock of hair moving forward into his eye.

you reach a hand up, gently moving the strand out of his vision. you watch as his eyes soften, dropping to the floor before they meet your gaze again. a sad crease appears between his eyebrows when you bring your hand down to your side again.

after taking a deep breath, you begin to explain; "Isaac said you were playing too friendly during training, slacking a little bit – and yeah, turning up late and then leaving early. he wanted you to be ready for today's match, y'know. so he asked me to rile you up a little bit, just so they could have the old Jamie Tartt back."

Jamie pouts, brows furrowed in confusion, as he blinks at you a few times. avoiding your eyes, he starts slowly nodding, tongue poking his cheek as he thinks to himself. after a few long seconds, the corner of his mouth lifts as he huffs a sarcastic laugh. you look up at him with wide eyes, hoping you haven't upset him. licking his lips, Jamie's smile widens as his laugh grows. you crack a small smile at him and try to find his gaze again, moving a step closer to him. placing a hand on his strong bicep, you try to get him to look at you. instead, he shrugs you off, leaning down and digging a finger into his sock. you stare, confused, waiting for his next move.

"so- if Isaac told you to ignore me a bit... what the fuck is this?" he unfolds a pink post-it note holding it up to you before reading it out loud; "dear Tartt, I don't even like lattes". Jamie raises his eyebrows at you while you stifle a laugh. "what makes this worse is the stupid fucking heart at the bottom of the page!"

"I was just trying to piss you off! Isaac told me!"

Jamie finally lets out a loud laugh, and you do the same, dropping your head into your hands in embarrassment. you don't have the gall to look up at him, suddenly so ashamed of the stupid gag you pulled. you feel warm hands wrap around your wrists, and you lift your head to look at Jamie as he pulls your hands away from your face.

"darlin' I hope you know the only reason I've been late to training is because I can't stop talking to you. and I leave early just so I can see you before the rest of the lads hound ya..."

you blush – hard – and you stare into Jamie's dark blue eyes. his hands slide from your wrists to your hands, softly holding your fingers in his. you sneak a glance at your touch, and when you look back up Jamie's even closer to you. as he towers over you, you can't help but look down at his lips before meeting his eyes again.

"now, don't lie to me... do you really not like lattes?"

"I love lattes." you whisper, smiling sweetly up at him as he shakes his head with a chuckle.

"can I take you out tonight? I wanna celebrate our win since you're the reason for it."

you scoff and shake your head: "Jamie, it's half-time."

"I can give you a lift home after, yeah?" he ignores your obvious statement.

"what if you lose?" you tease.

now it's Jamie's turn to scoff at you, squeezing your hands slightly as he says: "as long as you're in the crowd I'm sure that's not gonna happen."

"Jamie! we need you, buddy!" Ted interrupts the moment, sticking his head out of the door of the locker room to beckon him in.

"see you later, Jamie." you pull your hands from his, although against your will, as if you had it your way you would kiss him right then and there. he doesn't move as you turn around, about to turn the corner into the hallway before you feel a hand grab yours again. Jamie pulls your hand, making you spin around to face him again. as he tugs your hand, he wraps his other arm around your shoulders in a hug. your face presses into his hard chest as he holds you close for a moment. you let out a deep breath as you enjoy the heat radiating off his body.

as he moves back to let go of you, he leans down so his lips brush your ear before whispering: "nice shirt, by the way. my name suits ya."

your breath hitches at his flirtatious tone and a blush already starts creeping up your neck. he pulls back and flicks his eyes up and down your body. as he turns around to join his team, he winks at you, and even though he winks at you every day, this one hits you a lot harder.

as you watch Jamie retreat to the locker room, you lock eyes with Ted at its door. you try to fight the shy smile growing on your face, but fail miserably as a blush takes over your face. Ted lifts his hand to his forehead and salutes at you. you mirror him, bringing two fingers up to your head and saluting him back.

you walk back to the stadium fanning your face with your hands, desperately trying to cool yourself down. after sighing in relief, you laugh to yourself thinking about how your time at Richmond has changed over the past few weeks – and it was all due to Jamie Tartt.

when you return to your seat, Keeley squeals at you, making Rebecca jump. you shuffle past Higgins and sit back in your seat, touching up your hair and taking a deep breath.

"he asked me on a date!" you finally exclaim to Keeley and Rebecca, and the two respond with even louder squeals, which you join in on. your celebration is interrupted by the ref blowing his whistle, and you all focus on the game again.

the guys walk onto the pitch in single file, Isaac leading them out. their faces are stone cold, clearly ready to destroy their opponents. you stand up from your seat, eager to see Jamie after your encounter in the hallway. you finally spot him, and you can see him bouncing on his feet as approaches the pitch. once he's at the halfway line, and all the other players are finding their spot, you see him turn towards your side of the stadium. he looks up at the suite you're sitting in, and you quickly put your hands in the air, hoping he'll spot you. you assume he sees you, as he brings both hands to his lips and blows you a smooth kiss, before patting the Richmond badge on his chest and sticking his tongue out. you cackle at his antics, loving his dramatic entree. you quickly blow a kiss back and wave, praying they win this match so messing him around wasn't just for nothing.

you've never been more nervous watching a Richmond game. you've gone to a number of them since beginning your job as receptionist, but you've never been so enthralled by the sport itself – well, the players... one of the players.

Jamie sprints across the pitch, back and forth and back and forth, the ball at his feet. you, Keeley, and Rebecca scream and shout as you watch Richmond score three more goals. Colin scores with an impressive header, Dani bicycle kicks the ball straight into the net, and of course Jamie punts the ball past half the other players and the keeper, securing the last point for Richmond.

after the match, you find your way back to Richmond's headquarters, pushing open the same door you entered through earlier. this time, Keeley and Rebecca are walking in tow. you all stop at the reception desk, chatting about the game and your weekend plans.

"so how did he ask you out?" Rebecca lowers her voice, just in case Jamie turns the corner. you laugh nervously, shaking your head and waving your hands dismissively.

"no, no, no, he didn't ask me out. he asked me on a date. there's a difference."

"but he's so obviously into you! what's stopping you from just grabbing him by the hair and shagging him!" Keeley exclaims, a lot less subtle than Rebecca's careful tone. you sputter and laugh, Rebecca doing the same, both of you shocked at how direct Keeley spoke about you and Jamie.

"shut up you two! I'll let you know how it goes tonight, you go celebrate!"

Rebecca and Keeley hug you goodbye before walking down the hall. you turn around and giggle to yourself, blushing from Keeley's comment. lifting your head, your eyes fall on Jamie's wall sticker again. just thinking about how close he was to you earlier makes your heart race, your head dizzying at the memory of lips brushing your ear. fixing your hair, you move around the desk and sit in your usual chair. you try to calm your breathing and bring your heart rate down, not wanting to look like a yearning, blushing mess.

after managing to pull yourself together, your heart beat pounds against your chest again when you see the Richmond team crowd into the hallway. Isaac cheers when he sees you at your desk, and Colin, who is on his back, joins in.

"well done, boys!" you call to them while you wave at everyone passing you by.

"bye, y/n! see you on Monday!" Sam says to you with a big smile. you wave him goodbye and sigh happily, genuinely excited for the team.

their cheering goes quiet the further away they get from the door, and you wonder where Jamie is. you check your phone for any text messages, but there's nothing from Jamie. there is one from Keeley, however; 'don't forget to use protection!'

you scoff at her suggestive words, texting back a thumbs up with a kissy face. placing your phone down on your desk you look up, only to see Jamie sauntering towards you.

"hi, y/n," he says as he gets closer to the desk.

"hi, Jamie,"

"how ya been?"

"just fine, what about you, Jamie?"

"yeah, good, yeah... happy about our win."

"I can imagine. you were a proper superstar on that pitch."

wide smiles grow on both of your faces as you continue the small talk; "thanks, love. what can I say? Roy says I've got a right foot kissed by God, so ya'know this is just a regular day for me."

you chuckle at his feigned cockiness, standing up from your chair and leaning over your desk. "don't you want to go celebrate that win with your teammates, Jamie Tartt?"

"nah, that's alright, thanks. I've got other plans."

"oh yeah?" you tease.

"yeah, I've got dinner plans with a really pretty girl,"

you nod along with your eyebrows raised, smiling playfully at Jamie. his hair is still damp from the shower, but he's kept his same hairband look from on the pitch. he's wearing a bright orange t-shirt under a dark green jacket, an unexpectedly nice look on him.

"who's this girl then?"

"ah you'd love her; she's friendly, funny, gorgeous. she doesn't like lattes, though. and she pretended to ignore me but is still wearin' my name on her back."

you laugh, breaking character. you smile at him, raking your eyes up and down his body shamelessly. his eyes widen as you do so, surprised by how forward you're being. you bite your lip at him before saying: "you gonna treat her right, Tartt?"

he teases you back, matching your flirtatious tone. licking his lips, he lets his eyes drop to your lips: "if she'll let me."

———

just something from my mind hope u like it !

[onelittlespiral]

FML: Dominance

I loved my boyfriend dearly, but things sometimes just did not fit. He was perfect everywhere but in bed. I was tired of always having to be the one to top, tired of always needing to take care of always being in control. I decided to make a few changes.

One night, as you were making out I told him I wanted to try something new with him. I told him I was going to turn on some porn while I got ready for some special fun. I had found a website that had promised to provide a video that would change my sweet bottom to someone a little more… gruff. I started up the video, and firmly held my boy in my lap. I looked away as a spiral danced on screen, and I could feel him start to resist. “No, what is this? What is this!?”

I held him firmly and whispered in his ear “Hush, it will be okay babe. Look at how relaxing it is. Just ease your mind, it won’t hurt. You want to be good for me don’t you?”

The spiral continued to turn and I could feel his struggle weaken as he became completely entranced. His eyes were wide and his mouth drooling. His mind was ready for some changes.

I stepped aside and began to watch him as the video began to give its instructions:

“You have always been such a good boy. But good boys need to grow into good men. You want to grow don’t you?”

“You feel yourself maturing, developing into a healthy young man. Men are strong, men take control, men can dominate. They know when to bulk and when to trim the fat.”

Quickly, my boyfriend began to age up a bit. He landed around 27. As he aged, he proceeded to mature. His thin body developed strong muscles as new pecs pushed out of his chest. Arms pulsed as muscle poured in. A deep V was established as abs were sucked out of his body.

“A strong torso needs a strong base. Men support themselves where boys are sometimes weak, physically and mentally”

Legs strengthened and toned, strengthened and toned as they went through years of training. Toes curled as feet cracked wide and reshaped into thick slabs to support the new weight.

At the same time his brows developed a deep furrow, as though his mind was working overtime.

“Grooming is important to strong men, especially gay men. Boyish locks give way to straight hair and fur. They smell and look fresh. ”

His hair straightened as facial hair pushed out of his jaw, leaving a fine mustache and a fine layer of stubble. The patch of hair on his chest wrapped around his muscle, cradling his pecs and abs, emphasizing their strength. I began to quietly rub myself as my new boyfriend was taking shape.

“Men don’t bottom. They… They……”

And the video began to buffer.

My boyfriend quickly came to his senses, and glanced over at me, confused.

“Hey man, what are you doing in my room?”

“Your room? Babe, this is our room.”

“Dude, not this again. I broke up with you years ago. You were always so… boyish. When are you going to mature?”

A sinking feeling hit, “Nonono, come on. Work you stupid thing, work.” I rushed over to the computer and tried refreshing the page.

Right then, the video glitched back on, me standing in front of the computer. I stumbled back to try to avoid it, but my boyfriend caught me. His eyes had already begun to glaze over as I was now subjected to the spiral. My will to.. resist qu…quickly… faaaaded.

“Men… fur…strong. The strong… smell… of men.”

My boyfriend, subjected to a second round, began to erupt in fur. It covered every inch of his torso as he began to sweat with the effort. The thick forest trapped the sweat quickly as a musk began to permeate the air. I too felt electric as my body began to push out a beard of my own, and sweat gleamed on my forehead.”

“Torso… bulk and…fat… accents muscle.”

He began to develop a fine layer of pudge that filled out his body. He looked as though a bulk had gone just a little too far but it perfectly accented the strength in his arms and chest. Myself lacking in much muscle, I began to feel warm as a mix of muscle and fat poured onto my frame together, leaving me panting at the new strength.

“Men…bottom…and top…Dominant…and horny.”

We both began to glance at each other as we felt the next changes hit. Our cocks began swelling….5…6…7…8…9 inches and hard as steel. We began rubbing our bulges as balls became heavy with new sperm. I began to feel the need to pin him down. I wanted to fight him, to get on top, to feel control. At the same time, I wanted him to mount me and ride me like the stallion I was. To feel worshiped. To feel power. I caught him wink at me, out of the corner of my eye, and I needed to pound him right there, but the spiral kept control.

“Support…strength…physically…gay…bro-… mentally.”

I felt my eyes widen as a steady stream of drool poured out my mouth. Exercise regiments and nutrition filled in where college and high school had been. I felt my brain come down to a slog as I just felt the need to… workout and… fuck…just…take…overrr…bruuuuh. A dumb chuckle started next to me and I found myself joining in, unsure what I was even laughing at.

“Good…men…when this video comes to an end… comes to… come… cum… CUM.”

Two shots of jizz arched to coat the screen as to deep grunts were released into the air. I turned to my boyfriend and he looked back at me. God he was beautiful. He was such a good looking bro. I needed to… I needed… I needed him.

———————————————————————

“You ready to submit to daddy this week?” My boyfriend texted, showing off his gains this week. I could smell his musk and taste his cock from here.

“Fuck no bro. You’re going to be moaning on this pole tonight. You better clean out that bussy.” I shot back with a pic of my own.

He was always a bit more cut, both in his muscles and his beard, but I was just as strong and ready to dominate him. I couldn’t wait to get done with our couples workout, grab some fuel, and fuck my man silly. Well, sillier than he already was, bro.

[disasterofastory]

Reward (Brahms Heelshire x Reader)

Reward // Brahms Heelshire Masterlist Brahms Heelshire x Reader Kinktober 2023 - 6/14 Warnings: mommy kink, titfucking, sub!Brahms

Summary: Brahms was a good boy so you reward him.

The tension is thick and heavy in the air. The breakfast on the table is long forgotten since you reminded Brahms of the men coming here to take care of your internet problem. A sigh leaves your lips as you glance at the clock on the wall while the man continues to stare at you with a scowl on his face. There is a deep wrinkle between his brows as he eyes you with opposition and annoyance. His hair is still a mess of dark curls on the top of his head. "We talked about this, Brahms," you break the silence, turning your attention back to the man in front of you. Even though you are afraid he will throw a tantrum even before you can feel the effect of your coffee, you can't help but notice the fullness of his lips as he pouts at you. One of your best decisions was to trim his beard a little. He really looks like a fallen angel.

"Why are you smiling?" He asks, still scowling at you. Even though he wants to use his childlike voice, sleep is still heavy in his tone. "You are just pretty," you tell him honestly, making him blush and turn his gaze away from you for long seconds. "It won't work," he grunts, still not looking at you. Your grin widens at his behavior. Going around the table, you cup his face until he can't avoid your eyes any longer. His large hands slip to your waist automatically to pull you closer. "They won't be here for long," you tell him. "I promise." "I still don't like it." "I know," you nod. "And you don't have to like it, Brahms. I just ask you to be a good boy for me, okay?" He doesn't reply immediately, so you continue. "Can you do that for mommy?" A muffled whine breaks free from his closed lips. Your thumbs smooth over the soft pink of his cheeks. "You can't scare them away, Brahms, and you can't hurt them. They come here to help me." "I won't hurt them if they don't try to hurt or take you away from me." You nod in agreement. "Of course, Brahms, I know you will protect me." His posture straightens at your praising tone. "If you will be a good boy, I will reward you later," you promise him just to make sure he won't cause any chaos behind the walls. "What reward?" "It will be a surprise," you grin at him, playing with the rough hair of his beard. "But we didn't do this before." You already know he will love it.

You can't lie, you are worried about the men the whole time they are in the manor. You watch them from a safe distance while your eyes scan the walls every now and again. You know Brahms is here somewhere. You can hear him. "The house is old," you tell the men when they look at you questioningly when something thuds again. You know your manchild does this on purpose. He can be silent when he wants, but patience is not his strong suit. "Okay," one of the men says after a while. "It should be good." "Thank you," you smile at them, trying to hide your relief when they open the entrance door. "You know our number if something is wrong." "Yes, I know," you nod. "Thank you again, and have a nice day."

When you go back to the living room, Brahms is already there, staring at your laptop with another scowl on his face. "What's wrong?" You ask him. He just shakes his head, still pouting. "You were a bad boy, Brahms," you tell him, getting closer and closer to him. "What?" He asks, almost shocked. "I wasn't." "You made a lot of noises." "But I didn't scare them away," he reasons. "You told me I can't scare or hurt them." Well, he is right. "So you think you deserve your reward?" You coo at him, pushing him onto the couch. You can see his Adam's apple bob as he gulps, staring at you with wide eyes. "Yes," he replies, nodding. "Yes what, Brahms?" Your voice is firmer now, but you can't hide your taunting smirk as you watch him already fidgeting. "Yes, mommy." His tone is already whiny. "I want my reward."

Without saying a word, you climb up to his lap, resting your knees on either side of his hips. Your hands land on his chest and move up to his shoulders to brace yourself against him. "Then kiss me, Brahms." You barely have enough time to end your sentence when he leans even closer and latches his lips on yours. His beard grazes your skin, and his tongue invades your mouth immediately.

He is still inexperienced when it comes to intimate things, but he learns quickly and lets you lead him and teach him the way you want. You love to see him whimper and writhe when you dominate him.

His hands are warm on your hips as he squeezes your flesh there until his hold slips down your ass. His fingers dig into the rough fabric of your jeans, and he grunts with annoyance. "It's okay, Brahmsy," you break away from him for a few seconds. His lips are already swollen and red, and his eyes are glassy with need. So beautiful. "I only need to get rid of my shirt and bra for what I have planned." At the mention of your bra, his hands leave your ass immediately to push and tug on your shirt until they are on the floor. "The bra too, Brahms," you remind him, grinning. You can't help but bask in his star-struck expression.

Maybe your relationship with Brahms Heelshire is not ideal or normal, but you never felt so desired and wanted before him. There are times when you notice him staring at you like you hang the moon, and you can't even imagine leaving him. You are definitely not sane for being with a man who used a doll to live instead of him while he was hiding behind the walls, but at least you found your perfect match.

Cradling his face in your hand, you use your thumb to caress his bottom lip. His mouth opens immediately, tongue peeking out to taste your fingertip. "I love you, Brahms," you tell him, giving him a few seconds so your words can really sink in. His eyes widen, and his lips fall open even more. His hands on you tighten. "Really?" He whispers, shocked. "Yes," you nod, pecking his nose. "I really love you." A loud shriek leaves your throat when he tugs you against him until his face is at the crook of your neck. His breathing is heavy, and his arms around you are almost painful. "I love you too," he murmurs. "I love you so much." For a long while, you just sit on his lap, playing with his hair. Your heart is still wild against your ribcage, and you can feel the vehement pace of his heart on your chest. "So," you break the silence. "Do you want your reward?" You ask him, and even though he nods, he still holds you tightly. "Brahmsy," you coo, leaning closer to his ear so every word you utter trembles through his nerves. "Mommy's tits ache for your mouth." A low whine is your only answer before he pushes you away just enough to take off your bra and latch on your nipple. Brahms squeezes and gropes your breasts for long minutes, letting his saliva soak your skin until it shines under the sunlight filtering through the window. His tongue flicks your other nipple, drawing small circles around the hard pebble as your fingers grab his hair to pull him closer. Your back arches with pleasure. "Make sure mommy's tits are wet, sweet boy," you tell him. "We will need them wet and slippery." "Fuck," he grunts into your cleavage, feasting on your breasts. He sucks, licks, bites, and tugs on you while thinking about how easily he could spend his whole life like this. "That's enough, love," you hum, pushing him away. "It's okay," you peck his lips when he whines and grabs onto you harder. "I promise you will love what I have planned." When he lets you go, still not sure anything is worth enough to let go of your tits, you sink onto the floor between his legs. You sucked him off before like this, but the sight of his hard dick in your mouth still mesmerizes him.

"Don't cum without my permission, Brahmsy," you warn him firmly. Your breath fans over the tip of his cock while your hand strokes his shaft, twisting your fingers around the soft skin. The man can feel his blood pumping as his cock swells into a full hard-on. Brahms wants to whine at your command, but his mind melts the moment you take him back into your mouth, and instead, he grunts as his cock twitches in your wet channel. With your eyes still on the man, your head starts to bob up and down on his erection. Your hand is around his thick base, jerking him in a steady rhythm with your mouth. You slurp and gulp around his cock, letting your tongue swipe over his length wherever you can reach him. Soon, his cock is soaked in your saliva and his pre-cum. Small drops flow down to his balls, making the man whimper and fidget in his seat. "We have to make you nice and wet," you grin up at him when you come up for air, gently squeezing and tugging on his cock to smear your juices all over his shaft while the man huffs and puffs in your hand. A thin layer of sweat shines on his skin, and his cheeks are bright pink. There is a point when he can't even breathe anymore as he watches you spitting on his cock. "Mommy," he cries out, desperate. "Please! Let me-" "No," you tell him, letting go of his cock. The loss of your touch is so sudden that tears gather in his eyes as his erection throbs angrily at you. "Pleasepleaseplease!" "Don't you want to know what I have planned?" You ask him with a feigned gentleness. He can hear the taunting in your words clearly and loudly. "I do," he gasps. "I do." "Good boy," you praise him. "You are my good boy, Brahms. I'm so proud of you." "Fuck!" "Come closer, Brahms," you tell him. "Sit at the edge of the couch." Brahms's whole body feels numb and heavy as he obliges. "Good boy," you tell him again. "And here is your reward because you were such a good boy today." Brahms's inhale is sharp and loud as he watches you cupping your tits to bring it to his cock. His world stops spinning for a second when you press your breasts around him, enveloping his length in your soft warmth. You massage your flesh and his cock slowly and sensually as you stare at him with half-closed eyelids. "Does it feel good, Brahmsy?" You ask him. "So good," he replies. His voice is barely louder than a whisper. He is still shocked at the sight of his cock between your tits and the feeling of your softness around him. The top of his cock appears and disappears in your cleavage, and your nipples are hard peaks between your fingers. "You can move, you know," you grin at him teasingly. "You can fuck mommy's tits if you want."

The angle is a bit awkward and uncomfortable, but Brahms doesn't have enough focus to care about it. Bracing himself on the couch, he starts to move his hips up and down, watching his cock slide between your tits.

Knowing how much he loves your tits, it was a long-time-coming position you wanted to try with him. And you are not disappointed. Your pussy throbs for more, soaking your panties, but your hands are too busy to do anything about it. There is something exciting about the fact that he fucks your tits for his own pleasure. His chest heaves and his muscles tense every now and again. His glassy gaze is on your chest while you stare at his face. His lips are open with occasional whines and grunts falling out of them, and his curls fall in front of his eyes. "You are so beautiful, Brahmsy, fuck," you tell him honestly. The pink of his cheeks deepens. "I don't want you to wear your mask anymore when you are around me, Brahms," you continue. "I don't want anything hiding your pretty face from me." "Mommy," he whines, pumping you faster. You have to tighten your hold to keep your breast around his vehement pushes. With a knowing grin, you bend your neck just the right way so your tongue can reach the tip of his cock every time it appears between the swell of your breasts. Your tongue flicks and swirls around his head, letting your saliva drop as a lubricant. "Fuck!" He gasps again. His balls jerk and his cock swells with blood and the need to cum. "You can cum, Brahms," you tell him. "Cum all over your mommy's tits." The words are barely out of your mouth when his body stiffens, and his cock spurts with cum. His warm seed splashes over your skin, painting your tits and chin.

Brahms has to force his eyes to focus because he will be damned if he doesn't burn the sight of you soaked in his cum deep in his mind.

[siddyyyyyyyy]

You're Only Sixteen

wc: ~3.8k

summary: child soldier joins task force141, stuff is complicated

warnings: violence, brief discussion of child soldiers

a/n: got this idea from somewhere, it marinated in my drafts for about half a year lol; second part

Waiting at the back of the base, Ghost is leaning against the building, waiting on the new addition to the Task Force. As if they even need one. Price sent him to meet the recruit, telling him the new asset should be highly trained and good for the team. Maybe he's right, but five people on the team seem too much for Ghost. Whatever criticism he has, they don't matter now since Price got you into the team anyway, meaning there's no going back unless you manage to mess up badly. Soap passes him by, having a clue on why he's waiting outside right now.

»Waiting on the new recruit?«

He gives a grunt as a response. »Supposedly, they're highly trained and an 'asset' to us.« Soap nods and wishes him good luck, but also prays for the recruit. Meeting Ghost as the first of the team might be scary for the new recruit, but Price probably doesn't really care about that or he wants that to happen. God knows what his plan is; no one really knows.

Some time passes after the interaction before a truck arrives with you in it, a smaller figure popping out of the vehicle once it stopped near Ghost. He doesn't register what he sees in front of him for a moment, too focused on the truck driving away, before properly taking a look at you. While about two heads smaller than him, you have a rather slim build but a gloomy appearance around you. And you're... not older than bloody fifteen. There's no way. That's either a bad joke or you just look incredibly young.

»Name?« Once his gruff voice reaches you, you can't help but already tense up slightly more than before. He looks intimidating, yes, but you're sure he should be your future teammate. Eventually, you briefly introduce yourself, and he is also very sure that he's got the right person in front of him. The new asset. Ghost isn't one to be nosy or ask personal questions, but he needs to really bite back on asking about your age. You look way too young to be here. Let alone meet him in person.

»And you're Ghost, right?« You ask carefully, standing right in front of him with a respective distance. With how stoic your expression is... you're too much like his younger self. Maybe Ghost thinks too much of it, but he hopes you didn't need to go through the same thing he did.

He gives you back a small nod, uncrossing his arms and sizing you up for a second longer before turning around to the door. Walking into the base without saying another word and expecting you to follow him just like that. Pretty scary, to be honest.

You don't know much, but being added to a team of four, not sure what their intentions are with either you or in general. Maybe it's better when he doesn't talk much to you; the less you know, the better. But the base looks too clean and organised for any shady stuff to go on. But you could also be easily mistaken. Looking around, you spot only a few soldiers walking by, how simple it's decorated inside, and it isn't cold like in other buildings. After some long corridors, he stops at a double door, a small sign next to the doors with 'Briefing Room' written on it. Ah, good to know.

Ghost eyes you for a hot second before opening one of the doors and walking in, following behind him once again. Walking in, you see three other men in the room already, looking less intimidating than this ‘Ghost guy‘. »Nice to meet you and welcome to the team.« Another deep but more soft voice greets you, a man with a beard and fisherman's hat giving you a small nod. His gaze hardens for a moment too, like Ghost's did before when first meeting you. He also realises something is wrong. You nod back as a small form of greeting, mumbling out a formal greeting back.

»Kid, tell me. How old are you'?« He asks as he straightens his posture and awaits your answer, tilting his head a bit to the side. It‘s clear this man doesn‘t beat around the bush and goes straight to the point. The other two men in the room stay quiet, silently watching and studying you as well. One with a mowhawk exchanges a look with the tall, scary guy, Ghost, before glancing to the captain.

»There was no age on your file, so I'm just curious.« He adds to his question, sounding polite even though you can clearly hear the suspicion and probably even concern in his voice. Taking a deep breath, you try to be honest, but you're also afraid of the consequences of being honest. There are four men after all, all taller than you, seemingly much bigger and stronger. You know how to fight, but it still gives you chills standing in this room with unfamiliar men, all alone.

»I'm sixteen, sir.« Is your answer and voice steady and calm even though your body language betrays you. Your whole body stays still, with hands behind your back, seemingly waiting for any possible attack or threat to come right your way. It's silent while you look around the faces of them, seeing both surprise and disbelief in almost all of them. Only Ghost stays unwavering, but that might just be his balaclava covering his whole face. He knew something was wrong but wasn't sure enough to ask you that same question earlier, having figured that his captain knew enough anyway to avoid this situation. It stays silent for another beat until the captain sighs out, leaning his hands onto the table in front of him.

»And what's a sixteen-year-old doing in such a place?« He asks you, even though he could ask that question himself. How could he allow this? Is that why there was no age to your file? And are there more poor children like you? It's obvious they're all against something like a 'child soldier‘ in their team, even when you‘re a teen by now. »I was sent here to be an asset to your team.« You answer him, deciding it's better to talk and communicate rather than stay silent and listen to the thick silence.

»Captain, that's-« »Another word and you're out, Gaz.« The guy with the cap is interrupted by the captain's loud voice, giving out a clear warning. You notice how tense it feels in the room, sensing just how badly this could go wrong. Price takes a short breath before turning his attention back to you, standing at his full height once again.

»What do you know? About this, I mean. Do you even know our names? What we're doing?« You simply shake your head, staying stoic and calm even though you have the strong urge to run out of the room, knowing you‘re most likely not welcome in this room. But you won‘t; you've learnt to stay put and stand your ground, to not show any weakness no matter what.

»Kid...« He sighs out, trying to find a way to put this correctly, »Okay, let's start with you first. Tell us about yourself.« This is much kinder than you thought this would be. No one's glaring at you besides one particular shadow in the corner, but that just seems to be in his nature. You answer him, your voice being as steady and calm as possible, while telling them about yourself.

»I've been trained professionally for nearly nine years, been on the field since then. My specialisations are weapon handling, sabotage, sniper techniques, and demolitions.«

You state, carefully picking your words and telling them information about yourself that seems to be most necessary for now. Price stares at you for a few seconds, all eyes on you, while the mowhawk and Ghost are occasionally exchanging looks with each other, seemingly unsure about you. It seems like the captain is thinking before speaking up once more, having decided it.

»That's a lot for sixteen years. You must be real good if you were sent here, no? I think you have potential.« »Price, are you serious-« The mowhawk snaps, glaring at his captain before glancing back to you shortly. »That's a kid.« He hisses, completely thrown off with his captain's easy acceptance of you in their team. »I agree, Cap'. There's no way we'll have a child soldier on our side.« Baseball cap, Gaz, chimes in and tries to convince Price otherwise of you.

It feels both refreshing but also scary when someone talks like this about you, not being used to someone recognising the falseness of this, but you're also afraid if they decide to not accept you into the team. All you can do is watch.

»There's no safer place than here for a kid like this. And the mission is too soon to search for other assets.« He argues back, thinking it's better for you here than anywhere else. He's not wrong; you're in better hands now. The thing is that you have no knowledge of who these people are or what they're fighting for. Or anything else, really.

»Trust me, Soap.« The captain reassures him, Soap, the mowhawk guy, taking his eyes back to you. It's uneasy for you when you know how none of them like the idea of you in the team but the captain. And that's pretty much the only thing keeping you in this task force for now.

»Sorry. We'll keep you in the team, but if you aren't really that good, then we'll have to get rid of you.« The captain's words cut right through you, understanding that this might be a warning for you. That, if you let yourself down or don't show your everything, this might be your end. But maybe he also just said it to scare you. Which worked either way, not wanting to disappoint him. »I understand, sir.« You nod, glancing around the other faces once more quickly as if to remember their faces. ----

Not knowing their names is difficult, having no idea how to ask them for it as well. Wait for them to introduce themselves? Might take longer than some missions. Ask them yourself? No, that's too embarrassing, right? I mean, the captain mentioned their names before in the briefing room, but you just couldn't remember them that quickly. Especially with the situation you were in. But asking them yourself might be a good idea too; practicing social skills and trying to get to know what their intentions are would be a good start.

Looking around yourself, you see only how everyone's preparing for the mission. After the briefing ended, the captain announced that you're all heading out, not able to waste any more time. The mowhawk guy, also the closest to your height, is preparing his guns and picking out some more stuff for himself. Besides him, there's the guy with the baseball cap, and he's doing pretty much the same as his teammate. They look harmless like this, but it's just the fact that these are men, all too unfamiliar to be comfortable around them yet.

Ghost is the only more scary and silent one among them, knowing not to mess with him just by looking at him. The captain is by the helicopter, talking to the pilot and seemingly going over the plan or route once more.

So, there's two people not doing much but preparing themselves, one who's waiting for everyone to be ready and the captain who is busy talking to someone already. Now's your chance, but also not. It doesn't feel right to just walk up to them and start talking, not used to such casual interactions back at your camp. But staring at them isn't really polite either, so you take your eyes off the poor men and instead study the helicopter while strapping on your gear. ----

Sitting in the helicopter is much more interesting, there are more buttons, more extra buttons, interesting technology, and other stuff to look at. Good thing you're sitting next to the captain, too afraid to move the wrong way as if he would care about that in the first place.

He's more focused on the mission and if everything is going according to plan. The others don't seem as nervous or excited in the first place, just like you being rather stoic or focused. To your left sits the scot, he is not looking your way, instead checking out the helicopter's interior as well. Looking straight in front of you, there's Ghost and the most normal-looking one. You could basically ask them their names now, but that could come off as awkward too.

Maybe earlier was a better idea than now... »What's your name again?« Asks the rough voice from your right, looking straight at you. You glance at him and answer him shortly with your name. He nods in response, gesturing to the opposite of him, and goes on.

»That's Gaz. On his right, there's Ghost. And on your left, there's Soap. These are our call signs. I'm Captain Price, sorry for not introducing ourselves earlier.«

Hm, that's very nice of him, actually. You'd never thought he would be so soft spoken, even with his rather rough and raspy voice. But the way he introduces everyone gives you hope that this team might be just a chill and friendly one.

You nod back in return, considering shortly what to say to that. »Nice.« Soap smirks just lightly at your short response, the same goes to Gaz, who after that short introduction looks away once more. Ghost's eyes stay on you for longer, either sizing you up or just staring. Well, there goes your social skills, having thought too much about speaking up and how not to be awkwa-

»What'd you know about guns? You said you specialise in weapon handling.« This is on your left side this time, Soap, if you remember correctly. Your attention is on him now, answering his question after processing it quickly.

»Like, what kind of guns there are or what I have with me?« You ask back, unsure of what to reply exactly to him. He clarifies himself, shifting slightly in his seat to face you better. He tries again, asking you more about what kind of guns are your favourites and if you know some of the mechanics of them and how to tune your gun.

You learn a lot about tuning your gun or rifle, not having been taught that much in your camp. Even though you both haven't talked much, it still felt like you learnt a lot through him. Some would say talking about guns isn't appropriate with a teenager, but is there anything else to talk about with you anyway?

As soon as the helicopter landed and Soap had mostly rambled to you about guns, you're all ready to walk out and officially start the mission. It was rather simple, the plan is to clear a three-story building, get the intel and leave. It shouldn't take any longer than an hour, depends on how many difficulties there are going to be.

After the last few commands of the captain, it starts, pairing up in groups of two while Price goes to the front. Soap is by your side like before, while Ghost and Gaz are in front of you.The atmosphere shifts, and everyone is dead focused, having no place for mistakes. The task of clearing out the building wasn't difficult, it was difficult to actually focus on getting the intel. It was in the basement of the rather big house, only able to get in after having actually cleared out the entire area. After that's done, it goes straight to it, and there was no going back.

Your stomach drops once you reach the basement, it's silent but also so loud you can't hear what the others are saying. Several dead bodies, a dimly lit lamp from the ceiling, the intel in the corner, inside of a USB-stick next to the computer. Price steps in and first puts the stick in to check if it is really what's needed. After a few seconds of loading, it turns out that, yes, it's exactly the information you're here for.

You're finally able to breathe once Price turns around with the intel in hand before giving a firm nod, ready to go back out and return to base. The stench of the dead bodies was torture for you, let alone how dark it was in the room and how silent it was. Walking out was way easier, almost running out as the first one. But outside, there was another surprise. Right as the team went out of the basement, there was another team of soldiers, having just entered the hallway. One wrong move and you're done for, that's for sure.

Your adrenaline skyrockets and makes you act on impulse, shooting two soldiers down with clean head shots. They stop staring and act, one rushing right at you with a knife, probably thinking that’s an easier way instead of shooting at you. Thanks to your aggression that’s mostly caused by your adrenaline rush, you’re quick to block and counterattack him. The enemy soldier is clearly taller than you, but for some reason not hard to fight with at all. You quickly jab his side, which makes him gasp for air; using the distraction to choke him before stabbing him at his other side repeatedly. He cries out and winces before you let go, him holding onto his injured side and falling to his knees. You grab a fire extinguisher from the wall and hit his back with it until he collapses, aiming at his head until you’re sure he is done for. The team took out the rest and glanced to where the loud bangs were coming from, only seeing how you hit the soldier one last time before the fire extinguisher fell from your sweaty palms.

A look of surprise washes over their faces until Nikolai talks into the earpieces, informing you he’s waiting right outside with his helicopter, having about a minute before he needs to fly away.

Once the enemies are out, you're quick to leave the building all together and indeed, see the helicopter of Nikolai. Loaded in and safe, it feels like you've just run a whole marathon. Sitting down at one of the seats with a sigh, you relax your muscles as much as you can. Nikolai’s voice chimes in through the headset you're all wearing once again, all loud and clear and almost as soft spoken as Price's voice. Maybe a bit more warm than the captains, but laced with an accent. The conversation only consists of updating and some light jokes afterwards, it’s mostly quiet. The low grumble of the helicopter is the only thing filling the silence inside, not that it's uncomfortable. It's almost relaxing to finally be safe and at peace for now, even if it's just the way back.

That basement earlier took up some courage in you to go in and stay grounded, not to think too much and focus on the obvious. The surprise attack afterwards sure was surprising but nothing too challenging. The seat was strangely comfortable now after the mission, it's getting darker now anyways as the sun sets and your sore legs are able to have a time out for now. In fact, it's so comfortable that you need to force yourself to stay awake now.

Sandwiched between Price and Soap once more is enough to keep you awake, but not for long. Falling asleep seemed impossible in a room with these four guys at first but now you're napping against the shoulder of Price. Eyes closed and breathing steady, body very much relaxed. Price, on the other hand, is as stiff as a rock right now, not wanting to wake you or make this awkward. Gaz is pretty much amused at the sight in front of him, needing to resist a chuckle. The way you're just so relaxed and napping while Price is as tense as steel is also amusing to the other two teammates.

»We're almost there, just five more minutes.« Nikolai’s thick Russian accent is heard through the mic into the headsets, while Price is feeling relieved that you took your own off headset earlier. It's silent, so Nikolai speaks again, confused on why it's silent.

»Everybody alright?« He asks slowly, awaiting for someone to answer positively. »Rookie fell asleep. Trying t' stay quiet.« Ghost answers quietly back, and Nikolai has to fight back the urge to turn around in his seat and take a look himself. A low chuckle escapes him eventually as he shakes his head lightly and continues flying everyone back to base. ----

The debrief was... calm. Awfully calm. No one's arguing, and no one is yelling for no reason, it's just so casual but professional. Maybe your camp was abusive or at least unprofessional, but this almost feels too calm. It feels as if something will go wrong any second, but it doesn't.

Captain is telling everyone what he found on the USB stick, and the new plan and information are being displayed on the wall by a projector. He's going straight to the point and just tells the obvious, facing the team that is seated at a long table. The next big mission should be in about two weeks until everything is planned, it being a more complicated raid, with the main point of taking held hostages from a big building. Eventually, once he's done, his eyes lock on you and seem to become more serious.

»Before this mission, we'll need to train you as much as possible, so you won't make mistakes. Or worse.« You nod in return, already seeing yourself training day and night and trying to improve impossibly fast.

»We'll train all together and work on our teamwork. As well as spare a few rounds together, hm? Sound good?« You nod once more, feeling like this might actually be more pleasant than hard work like your usual training was. »Good.« You reply back, and once everything is settled, everyone can retreat back into their bunks and rest for tonight. ----

This night was restless for you like every other. Sleeping at a completely different and strange place is always off-setting at first. The bed is normal-sized, and there's nothing you would complain about in your own bunk, you just need to get used to it. Or maybe it was the one-hour nap you took before in the helicopter that prevents you from sleeping now. You're just glad no one addressed it later on after you woke up. Tossing and turning, you eventually fall asleep after several hours from exhaustion.

a/n: don't worry, there will be more chapters, just have to refresh my brain about my plot since I haven't touched it in a while... hope you still enjoyed it!

[gloomwitchwrites]

Misunderstanding

Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, possessive / jealous Thorin, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, established relationship, table sex

Word Count: 1.5k

A misunderstanding gives Thorin cause to remind you that you're his.

A/N: For @protosslady

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

“My queen, how should we allocate these funds?”

You glance at the parchment and frown. With Erebor reclaimed, reconstruction has begun, but with it comes all sorts of complications and roadblocks. Most of Erebor needs serious repair and attention. The majority of the remaining population lives outside, something that Thorin is increasingly growing upset about. He wants his people back home, and that is admirable, but with Smaug previously making a home here, the structural integrity of some portions of Erebor are in question.

Sighing, you consider all the options before answering. “Let us focus on residential areas for these. When those spaces are suitable for habitation, we can begin moving people out of tents and into homes. That is priority.”

“Of course, my queen.” The aging dwarven men around you bow deeply, many of their long, gray beards brushing the ground.

As they straighten, the door to your private study bursts open. Thorin stands in the doorway. There is a fire in his gaze and his chest heaves as if he’s just run a mile. It’s startling. He’s upset, but you’re not sure why.

Everyone around you turns and bows toward their king.

Thorin’s gaze passes over each of them before landing on you. He strides into the room, purpose in every step.

“Leave us,” he commands, his voice ringing loud and clear in the room.

They all bow a second time before quickly collecting their things and making a swift exit. Thorin approaches, and you move toward him, reaching out once the last of them have closed the door behind them.

“Thorin—”

Your husband reaches for you, pulls you in by the waist until you’re pressed up against him. His hand is on the back of your neck, the small hairs catch in his fingers as Thorin slowly arches your throat.

The look of hunger in his eyes is different. He wants you—needs you, but there is something else swirling there, lingering in his heart, making you question this sudden intensity.

“I need to kiss you,” he says, and it’s almost a groan.

“My lips are right here,” you reply with a soft giggle. “You may always kiss me whenever you wish.”

Thorin shakes his head slowly. “I’m not talking about your mouth.” Thorin leans in, his lips almost brushing yours, but his free hand grabs at your upper thigh, indicating where Thorin is wanting to put this mouth.

“Oh,” is all you say in surprise.

The hand around your neck slides away, and then Thorin is gripping your hips, moving to the undersides of your thighs to lift you off the stone floor. You wrap your arms around his neck, and Thorin deposits you on a nearby table.

While he is careful with you, there is an underlying harshness you notice in his gaze. That fire from earlier is still there. It’s like Thorin needs to punish you, or consume you, make you bend to him until you’re nothing but a perfect, pliant thing under his hands. The idea of it warms you between your legs. Your thighs rub together and there is no hiding how slick you are.

Thorin pushes your legs apart and steps between them. He starts at your knees, then your thighs, hips, and up the sides of your body until his hands grip the front of your dress.

“I’m feeling impatient,” he says, before putting all his strength behind his next movement.

With two quick jerks, Thorin rips the front of your bodice open, tearing the dress cleanly in two. Before you can even utter a verbal protest, Thorin’s lips are pressing against yours in a demanding, hungry kiss.

“I’ll buy you more,” he murmurs before his hands return to your body, this time caressing bare thigh. His touch is a forge fire, and you burn, surrendering to him as you begin to fall back against the table, legs widening as he settles between them.

You moan as Thorin kisses his way up your leg and to the inside of your thigh. Every brush of his lips sends pulses of heat from his mouth to your pussy.

“Please,” you whimper as Thorin’s lips brush against the spot that’s aching for his touch. “Please.”

“Tell me,” he says, the pad of his thumb parting you. “Is this for me?”

“Yes,” you reply as you hear just how wet you are.

“Only me?”

“Yes,” you say again, voice nearly breaking as he strokes over you.

Thorin’s hands grip your hips and tug you closer to the edge of the table. Then he pushes your legs wide open until the insides of your thighs feel stretched. He drags his fingertips through your wetness.

Your soft moan becomes a strangled gasp as he licks a wide stripe up your sex. Mewling with pleasure, you grab at him, one hand tugging on the neckline of his tunic, the other digging against the table.

“Delicious,” he groans. The tip of his tongue circles your clit, and without thinking, you pull hard on him, ripping some of the fabric.

His hand snatches your wrist. Thorin guides it down to the side of your thigh. Then, he grabs the other one. Does the same. With one hand, Thorin keeps your hands from straying. His grip is unyielding, and while you tug a bit, you meet firm resistance.

Thorin shakes his head. Then his head dips back between your legs, and you’re completely lost to him. Your eyelids flutter shut as he sucks your clit and traces around your entrance with a free finger. Then he presses in, and you groan loudly.

“Mine?”

“Yours.”

Thorin is inserting a second finger, pumping them in and out of you as his tongue laps at your clit. The coiling tension within your core twists tighter with every drag of his fingers and each swipe of his tongue.

Thorin curls his fingers and your back arches off the table. You feel his grin, and then he stays the course, working you at that perfect pace until you fall apart around him, crying out his name, the sound echoing around the room.

Thorin retreats but he does not back away. Instead, his mouth is on your bare skin, biting and sucking, leaving marks behind as he trails up your body. They are harsh, demanding, possessive marks of ownership. Rarely is Thorin ever like this, but he does not stop until he makes it to your mouth, sliding his tongue inside so that you can taste yourself.

This lingering moment is short. The second Thorin breaks the kiss, he undoes the front of his buckle, and the two of you are desperately pushing it away.

When Thorin slides in, you both moan loudly. You fall back against the table, clinging to his arms as he sets a pounding, steady pace that rocks the table. Each thrust makes the wood vibrate at the legs scrape across the stone floor. This a frenzied mating. A dire need. Whatever has possessed Thorin makes him hungry for you in a way you’ve rarely seen him.

His next thrust hits deep, and the friction is intense, pulling the coil tighter again until you’re keening, leaning up from the table as your body squeezes around him. That orgasm breaks him. His resolve snaps, and then you’re trapped beneath him, your fingernails digging into his skin as Thorin takes for himself.

He groans, leans forward, forehead resting against your own as he finishes. You feel it pooling within you, threatening to escape the moment he pulls away.

“I heard that you spent most of the day with a man,” murmurs Thorin, his nose lightly brushing against yours.

The middle of your brow scrunches in confusion. “I don’t understand. Why would that upset you?”

“It was reported to me that the relationship seemed…close.”

Frowning, you think back to the events of the day. You consider every place you visited and everyone you talked to. As you shuffle through all the possibilities, you pause on one, and then laugh so hard you snort.

“What?” he asks, drawing back slightly.

“Did the person reporting on me mention that man was my older brother?”

The tops of Thorin’s cheeks turn a bright red. “They—no. They failed to mention that.”

While part of you is annoyed that Thorin would immediately gravitate toward the worst, you also know that he’s under immense stress, the kind that might tear away and chip at his own confidence.

“Next time, when someone tells you something like that again, what are going to do?”

“Talk to you first,” he replies, his cheeks growing even redder.

“Although, I did like this.” You emphasize your meaning by rolling your hips, moving along his softening length. “Perhaps I should be a little friendly with an actual stranger. What will that get me?” you tease.

Thorin drags you off the table and into his arms. “That’ll get you bent over the nearest surface.”

“Is that a promise, my king?”

“Willing to test me?”

You grin, knowing that you certainly will.

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @mrsdurin @therealbloom @ninman82

[mamasturn]

how many drinks? benny cross

pairing: benny cross x black fem oc (sennett aliah) summary: she's new in town and the infamous biker benny cross invites her for drinks. warning: suggestive themes. light language. tags: @faephoria @thetaoofzoe @turn-thy-paige @contrarybeliefs @qveendiorsworld @blukit04 @neewrites

She was in a new era of life. Single, childless, and without any burden on her shoulders. On her way through a town with whom she knew not a soul. It was quite bold of her, she had to admit. To trudge into a small town in the heart of Illinois with a smaller Black population than the spectacles on the bottom of her shoe, from a city in Georgia where everywhere she turned, someone looked like her. 

She was far from nervous or afraid. The most they could do was call her out her name, but who was she to get bent out of shape over misplaced anger and lack of intelligence? No one. 

So, she packed her car with her belongings, drove to Illinois, sweet talked her way into a small house for less than it was worth, and began to make herself at home. Home. As best as she could, she figured. 

She kept in contact with her mother and cousin, who both cursed her for going to Illinois, but praised her courage and determination. She’d done what they never would have dreamed of. 

After a long day of packing and sweating like a dog, she took a cold shower, shoved her legs into a pair of old Levi’s jeans, threw a distressed cropped shirt on, slipped on her boots, and hopped into her 1952 convertible. 

Her dark hair blew in the wind as she cruised down the street, no care for the speed limit sign. She glanced at the speedometer. 67 in a 25 wasn’t bad, right? Her fingertips drummed along the body of the car as she hummed along to the song playing through the static radio.

If you’re looking for trouble…you’ve come to the right place. 

She’d heard of a bar in town from a group of men at the gas station. Owned and oftentimes filled by outlaw bikers from Chicago. Dangerous guys, the men insisted. To stay clear of at all times. While she wasn’t easily scared, she wouldn’t do what her heart desired to do. She’d be on her best behavior; just get a drink or two, flirt with a man with a scruffy beard, and go back home to look for jobs in the paper. A solid plan, she thought. 

It seemed like the world grew silent when the door of her convertible slammed shut. All eyes were on her. By their facial expressions, she knew what they were thinking. Who the hell is she? An unfamiliar woman with an unfamiliar face. It didn’t phase her. She simply gave a raspy, “Hello,” and tried to brush past the lunkheads at the door who refused to make it easy for her to enter. 

“What’re you doing?” One of them asked roughly. Her eyes dropped and her lips straightened. The tough-guy act wasn’t threatening; it didn’t put the fear of God in her heart. Hell, she could have laughed at how their chests blew up like a balloon and their arms crossed over them. 

“I want a drink. Heard this was the place to be,” she said simply with a shrug. She stood on her toes for a moment to eye the scenery behind them. Men and women in the corners, bikers’ wives gossipping over cigarettes and cold beer, the sound of balls colliding against each other on the pool table. “So, can I come in?” 

The lunkheads glanced at once another. They were prepared to say no. She could see it by the way their tongues lifted against the roof of their mouths and their lips rounded. She rolled her eyes in frustration. What the hell did a girl have to do to get a drink around here? 

“You know what, forget it.” She threw her hands up in surrender and prepared to walk away. She spent hours driving and even more time unpacking, the last thing she wanted to deal with was a lunkhead rejecting her from the bar, especially when she had money she was willing to spend on a drink. 

Then suddenly, she heard a voice say. “She’s with me. Let her in.” Her head bounced like a spring. The owner of the voice stood behind the lunkheads. He nodded toward the entrance and she knew better than to think too long, so she smiled slyly at the men outside and brushed past them. “Thank you, boys.” 

This was the place to be, she noted. The smell of smoke and strong liquor burned her nose and she loved it. Her eyes closed as she inhaled deeply. Finally. She was brought out of her fantasy world when he asked, “Do you want a drink?” His voice was hardly above a whisper, but his blue eyes on hers forced her attention to be directed to him. She nodded. 

He led her to the bar which was crowded but they were swift to move out the way for Benny, she heard them call him, and some pretty thing from around the way. At that, she became the star of the evening. The men glanced at her like they wanted to eat her or kill her, and the women tilted their heads in interest as to who she was. She chose not to respond. Nothing would keep her from getting the buzz she so rightfully deserved. 

“Pick your poison,” he said, pointing toward the wall of neatly organized liquor behind Johnny, who took on serving for the time being. 

“Whiskey neat,” she told Johnny, whose eyebrows raised. The corner of her lips turned upward. “Need something strong.” 

Johnny chuckled, “You got it, darlin’.” 

The man, Benny, wasn’t a man of many words, she noticed. He only spoke when he needed to. She presumed he was a man of action. He had to be if rather than asking her a million and one questions at the door, he simply told the guards to let her in. Rather than asking her what she wanted, he told her to pick for herself. A man of action, she noted. 

He was incredibly handsome, too. She had never seen herself finding herself attracted to a man again after her split from her husband a year prior. But Benny, he was a sight for sore eyes. Dirty blonde hair styled messily, daunting blue eyes, and a scruffy beard. Lord, she was a goner for beards. 

She appreciated the dirt on his boots, rips in his jeans, and crinkled in his cut. A seasoned biker. She’d never been with a biker before. Was it worth what the women in here giggled and blushed over when their men walked in the room and gave them a wink? She wondered how bad she’d be for wanting to find out. 

“You’ve got a wandering eye,” he said after some time. He didn’t look at her as he said it. His eyes were trained on the liquid he swirled in his short glass. She should’ve been embarrassed for getting caught but she was far from it. “You stare at strangers often?” 

She smiled slyly. “Just the ones who get me a drink. Which, I appreciate, by the way. Haven’t been able to find a decent joint all day.” She thanked Johnny who’d handed her a drink and knocked it back in one go. That caught Benny’s attention. How she didn’t flinch when it went down her throat. How her full lips pursed just slightly, how a drop of whiskey escaped her lips and slid off her cheek down her neck until it settled at the valley of her breasts. He sighed deeply. 

“Look who’s starting now, Benny,” she teased. For the first time that night, Benny met her eyes. God, he was so beautiful. She’d grab him and lick the drop of whiskey right off his lips. He beat her to the punch. She was jealous of his lip; having the ability to be caressed by his tongue. 

“Never caught your name,” Benny said, not directly addressing her comment. He nodded at Johnny, who had filled both their glasses. “I’d assume it compliments that unique personality of yours.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, a smile spreading across her blood-red lips. “Sennett.” 

Benny nodded, intrigued. Sennett. She was something spicy. She moved without a care in the world. She was bold and free. He knew from the moment she strutted to the door after hopping out of her convertible that she was a force to be reckoned with. He wanted to reckon with it. 

“Sennett.” Her name tasted tangy on his tongue. Like a piece of sour candy that he knew would cause a tinge of discomfort before it got delicious. With his hands folded on the table, he asked, “How many drinks do you think you’re having tonight, Sennett?"

She shivered. “How ever many you’re willing to treat me to.” 

His eyebrow raised in interest, “Good.” 

-

She knew how to handle her liquor, but it didn’t mean that it didn’t affect her in more ways than one. Liquid courage was a beautiful thing. It had her pressed against a wall in a dimly lit closet filled with dust and cobwebs but she didn’t mind it at all. 

Benny was mysterious. So mysterious and so under the radar that she didn’t expect his boldness and assertiveness to boil over the way it did. He had his hand wrapped around her throat as he claimed ownership over her lips with a dominance and intentionality that knocked the wind out of her chest. 

Her red nails combed through his dirty blonde hair and tugged at the roots. Her body was on fire, lit up like a flame. She could feel the sweat gather at her forehead and droplets slid down the valley of her breasts. The throbbing between her thighs pounded like a drum. She was desparate to soothe the ache and used his thigh to rid the tension building within her. 

Benny chuckled against her lips, snaking his hand between their bodies. His calloused fingers caressed her stomach, his thumb and forefinger tugging at her belly ring. She winced. Then, they dropped to the crevice between her thighs. Her jeans were thick but she could feel the warmth of his fingertips grazing her clit and she jolted. “Benny…”

His lips fell to her neck and she moaned loudly. He nipped and sucked until her chest and collarbone were bruised. Against her skin he whispered, “Not here…not now.” She released a guttural groan of frustration. Sennett could appreciate a man with logic, but goodness, all she wanted to do was have him take her right then and there. 

“Why not?”

Benny broke away from her. His arm stayed wrapped around her waist with his hand stroking her backside. His right thumb swiped along the sides of her mouth to wipe away the remnants of their oral tango. “Cause contrary to popular belief, I’m a man of class.” His words were stoic but she heard the playfulness in them. “And uh, a closet isn’t comfy for anybody.” 

Sennett’s hand didn’t fall from his hair and his didn’t fall from her waist. She hummed and nodded once. “Well, we’ll see how many drinks it takes you to take me in a closet next time, yeah?” 

His eyebrow raised. A force to be reckoned with for sure.

[bigification]

Gainers Roulette

It's a risky game played by men desperate enough to risk their bodies for a chance at a bigger life. Men come from far and wide to play a game of Gainer roulette, some come out strong and sexy, some aren't so lucky. Although the game isn't all luck, it has a way of punishing those it deems unworthy.

Six needles are loaded, four with a serum that increases muscle and testosterone in the body, and two with a serum that drastically increases age and fat in the body.

The first player is a young man who pulls up on a motorcycle. He learned how to ride a motorcycle so that he could join his dad's group, but now he just gets picked on for being young and skinny. Well regardless, him being skinny won't be a problem after this.

He takes the serum. Immediately his face starts to change. His young and smooth features become more ragged, his clean shaven face quickly grows thick black hairs giving him a bushy beard, and the hairs on his head fall out leaving him with a smooth bald head. At this point it's hard to tell if he's won or not. Aging and losing hair is a common sign of losing, but he did want to look older and tougher so it could be either.

Next his body started to rapidly grow. He grew taller and taller as his shoulders broadened and his chest grew two juicy pecs that burst out of his shirt. His flat stomach grew into a thick six pack with a small layer of fat covering them. His arms exploded with muscle, becoming large and defined. Hair started to grow all over his body, covering his chest, stomach, and arms, giving him a much tougher look.

Moving downward, his previously flat ass perked up and pressed firmly against his shorts. His legs thickened as a thick pelt of hair grew over them, and his feet grew a few sizes, busting out of his shoes. And finally, a large bulge formed in his tight shorts, just for good measure.

Looks like we have a winner. The man leaned against his motorcycle and looked down at his nearly naked body. He smiled before riding off.

Our next player arrives in a luxury car. These never go well, rich guys only have one thing money can't buy them, good looks. So they come here expecting to walk out strong and good looking, let's see how this goes.

An average looking guy in an expensive polo and a gold chain walk out of the car. Not exactly what I expected, but close enough. He appears to be on the phone, and he doesn't seem to be enjoying the phone call. He puts the caller on hold as he approaches and takes the shot without even saying a word to me.

The man's well kept hair quickly falls off his head as his facial features start to age. It's not looking good for him so far. His cheeks puff out as a couple of chins grow under his soft jawline.

His scrawny body bursts out of his expensive polo as his gut grows bigger and bigger. He is left with a big hairy beer gut hanging out of his ripped shirt. His chest soon follows, growing into a thick pair of man tits with cheap looking tattoos on them.

His arms and legs thicken with mostly fat as his hands become thick and pudgy. The man is left old, bald, and fat. This is what usually happens to the rich guys who come here. He resumes his phone call as if nothing happened before getting in his car and driving away.

The next player slowly walks up holding a cane. He is an elderly sheriff who had to quit his job due to his physical condition, but wants to work again.

The man takes the shot, and almost right away his back straightens as he grows taller. Most of the wrinkles on the man's skin disappear as his he grows a clean silver beard. His receded hairline grows back and his skin tans from a pale white to a healthy golden brown.

The man's chest perks up and his shoulders broaden, filling out his sheriff uniform. The fat in his stomach disappears, leaving his uniform hanging off of his pecs. His biceps tripled in size, filling with muscle until they were about to rip his sleeves. His ass perks up and his thighs thicken, filling out his pants.

The man stands tall, smiles and nods at me approvingly before leaving without a word.

Next player is a young man who pulls up on a bike. He says he's close to getting drafted into the football league of his dreams, but he just hasn't been able to put on the weight needed for his position. Well either way I'm sure he'll be beyond heavy enough.

He takes the shot and his body starts to fill out. His skinny arms grow large and strong and his flat chest plumps up into two defined pecs, bursting through his tiny shirt. His pudgy stomach tightens up into a barely visible six pack with a sizable layer of fat covering it.

His legs and his ass explode with muscle and fat, giving the young man the look of a superstar football player. The pressure in his shorts grows until they rip open in dramatic fashion, making his ass bounce as it's released. Finally his face fills out, matching the rest of his massive body.

It looks like we have another winner. He seems to come to after the transformation is complete, an embarrassed look takes over his face as he attempts to cover his dick with his hands. His hands are quite massive, but it would be futile to try to cover up the monster he's got packing down there.

I throw him a towel to cover up and he thanks me before biking off.

The next player is a middle aged man who shows up in a barely functioning mini van. He said he used to be an athlete but had to stop after a serious injury. Ever since he had his kids, he has gained a lot of weight and struggles to do any activities with his kids.

The man takes the shot, and similar to the sheriff from before, his back straightens as his height increases drastically. Within moments the small feeble man with a can has become a tall and imposing man. His height has made his shorts look like short shorts and his shirt look like a bra, exposing his hairy gut. This would not last long however, as the fat in his body rapidly started to drain. As it did, his body began to twitch as an immense amount of muscle started to grow in his body. His hulking gut became a rock hard six pack and his moobs became a juicy pair of pecs. The man's soft arms became solid and defined as his hands became thick and calloused. His legs became strong and sturdy, and his ass became round a perky instead of sagging like it did before.

The man's face slimmed down, making his double chin fade as a thick black beard grew over his face. His receding hairline also grew back a little bit, giving him a more youthful look. Finally, a thick pelt of hair grew all over the man's body. Though the transformation seemed very taxing on the man, and he ended up passing out.

He must have been 6"4 and at least 250 pounds, so dragging his body to a bed was no easy task. It didn't take long for him to wake up. He thanked me profusely before getting up and leaving in the minivan.

Our last player for today is a young man who shows up in a cop car. He approaches wearing a police uniform, he feels he is not being respected by the more senior police. He wants to be more intimidating and demand more respect, but something tells me that his co-workers aren't the only reason he wants to be more intimidating. Unfortunately for him, he has no idea that there is only one shot left and it is not a winner.

The man impatiently takes the shot. Almost immediately, the man's flat stomach distended outward into a beer belly. It grows and grows until rips through his police uniform, leaving him in a tight black undershirt. He is left with a thick ball gut that hangs out of his shirt. His once defined pecs grow into two soft man tits that lay on his gut. The fat in his chest has even forced his arms to lay further out from his body. Speaking of his arms, they plump up under a thick layer of fat, nearly ripping his sleeves in the process. Even his hands look fat, with fingers that look like stuffed sausages.

Lucky for the young man, his uniform pants seemed to be slightly too big for him, so they have enough room to store his new body. His ass explodes with fat, stretching his large pants to their limit. His thighs follow suit, filling his pants until they're about to burst.

Just when the transformation is about to end, it gets worse for the young man. His face becomes pudgier as a thick double chin forms on his neck. But as the fat filled his face, the stubble on his chin went from brown to white. The hair on his head followed suit, becoming a pale white colour as his hairline slightly receded. Wrinkles started to form on his face as he began to rapidly age. From his mid twenties, to forties, all the way to his sixties in mere moments. His body started to sag under its own weight as blemishes formed on his skin.

Police equipment was scattered across the floor as the man was left in a tiny black undershirt and pants that barely fit. He flexed, making his shirt ride up even more, and smiled as he looked at his body. It seems as though he is unaware of how different his body was mere moments ago. He chuckled and states that the station will have no choice but to respect a man of his stature, and besides, he's definitely old enough to get some seniority. He picks up his ripped uniform off the ground and comments that it must have shrunk in the wash and that he needs to get a new one. He thanks me before squeezing into his police car and driving off

[starrystevie]

"it's a vhs night, huh?" eddie asks as he comes out of the kitchen, two mugs of decaf coffee in one hand, a box of oreos in the other. steve's on his knees in front of the tv with tapes scattered around him, a mixture of home movies and mashed up concert recordings and episodes of star trek that are bound to get recorded over eventually. he turns around as his husband enters the living room and opens his mouth for a cookie that eddie happily feeds him.

"yeah, why not?" he gives eddie a half smile that makes the crows feet around his eyes crinkle even more. "just feeling nostalgic, i guess."

eddie hums and sits on his end of the couch before pulling one foot up to cross over his knee. he takes a sip of the bitter black coffee and dunks an oreo in to soften it up then pops it into his mouth. steve finally settles on a video and rewinds it to the start, curling up on his side of the cushions with his feet tucked under eddie's thigh. a hand finds its way around his ankle and a thumb strokes at the soft skin it can find. gentle, comforting, home.

the grainy picture on the screen straightens out and the sound clicks on along with it. the greens of the grass are a little faded and the blue of the sky is dull but it's still clear enough to make out steve on the swings at the park down the road from loch nora. steve's mom is behind the camera yelling for him to pump your legs, good job stevie, there you go, wow you're going so high and the grin on the boy's face is a wide as the sky above him.

"you were so cute, what happened?" eddie murmurs with a chuckle causing steve to slap at the thigh currently warming his feet.

"i'm still cute, thank you very much." steve grumbles out his response which makes eddie chuckle again, leaning over with a groan to smash a kiss to his cheek.

there's little voices echoing in the background as steve continues to swing and the video switches suddenly to him on a red check blanket eating a sandwich. he has jelly on his cheek in the same place that eddie had placed a kiss not a minute earlier and it has them both cooing like the old men they are.

but then there's a flash of something in the background. a little kid runs by followed by what's presumably his mother and it distracts little steve, who turns on his blanket to watch the two running.

"is that...?" steve starts, turning to eddie who's staring at the screen with rapt attention. the gasp he gets in return is the only answer he could possibly need. the hand around his ankle gets a little tighter and he watches as a watery smile spreads across eddie's face, salt-and-pepper beard crinkling up on his cheeks.

"that's me, that's-" he breathes out, curling in on himself slightly to peer closer at the video. in the video, steve's still staring at the little boy in the park getting picked up by his mom and being thrown in the air. his little giggles break through the speakers as his mom catches him, cradling him to her chest as she runs off screen. they come back into frame a few seconds later and crash side-by-side onto the grass. their arms start pointing at the sky like they're finding shapes in the clouds and eddie inhales sharply. "-that's my mom."

steve reaches down and clasps his hand around eddie's where it's still on his bony ankle, trailing his fingers over his husband's. eddie looks up and tosses a bewildered grin at steve who catches it easily and returns it with one of his own. as if they have magnets stored in their hearts from where the universe made them for each other, the two move closer to one another instinctually until they have arms around waists and fingers tangled together and heads on shoulders.

they sit in silence for the next few minutes, reliving a time when they were still boys with their mothers, happy and loved, not even knowing their soulmate was right next to them.

[abiiors]

cherry // ross macdonald x reader

valentine's week - day 1: secret admirer

a/n: before you say anything, yes there will be a part 2 that's literally just a nasty fuck fest. i just wanted to get the plot bits out of the way and it got way too long as you can see. cw: age gap (10-12 years), highkey ooc, incredibly self-indulgent btw, ummm kinda dom/sub? hand kink, kinda corruption kink also wc: 7.8k

it’s been twenty minutes that they’re all sat in this room—concrete walls, a little like matty’s house honestly, simple furniture and minimalist decor. it feels anything but sparse though—there’s the mic guy and the cameraman and a few assistants. there’s the host, a cheery, fresh faced woman dressed to the nines. but ross can’t stop staring. which is a problem because he really should stop staring and focus on his actual job. except the girl in front of him is distraction personified. 

next to him matty babbles on about the cultural and political significance of their latest album—all interesting, thoughtful stuff. ross, however, stares at the girl transcribing it all. and that’s what she is really, a girl. all softness and innocence, gently rolling the end of a pencil between her perfectly pink lips in a room full of lecherous men. unaware. aloof. or maybe he’s projecting. maybe he’s the lecherous one for staring at a girl who’s most definitely in her early twenties; at the pencil between her lips, at her cherry red dress.

every now and then she pulls the pencil away from her mouth and scribbles a few notes—something in neat, curving handwriting that is a little too far for him to read properly. every once in a while she also types something on her laptop, long, painted nails clacking so softly on the keyboard that the mic probably won’t pick up any of the sounds. 

on her notepad, ross can see little doodled flowers—a bit janky and uneven petals, underneath it she’s doodled a box. thin, pencil lines tracing the same shape over and over again until the paper almost rips. 

he tries not to be so obvious—tries not to stare at her face so much, at the curve of her cheek and the long lashes almost touching it, at the sharp line of her jaw, and the claw clip holding her hair up and out of her face. a few strands escape though, blowing gently against the air blasting from the aircon. 

he tries to keep his attention back on the interview. and he tries to give himself little goals—he can only look at her if matty says a certain word. he can only look at her every time the host laughs—all trivial stuff that goes out the window every time she shifts in her seat and he catches the movement from the corner of his eye. 

more than a few times, he catches her staring back—big eyes lingering right on his face with a distinctly interested expression. every time it happenes, he straightens a bit more and runs his hands through his neatly trimmed beard. 

the girl follows the movement with her eyes and ross wonders what she makes of him. 

“ross?” someone calls out for him. the host stares, expectant, and he stifles the urge to curse. searching his memory for the question that was just asked is useless; it’s not like he was listening to a word that was said in the last two minutes. but now everyone’s eyes are on him and the collar of his shirt feels tighter than it is. his cheeks grow warmer but ross laughs it off. 

“yeah, agree with what matty said,” he replies quickly and clears his throat. he has no idea what matty said last but the host seems satisfied and moves on to the next question. the girl looks up at him again and quickly presses her lips together. still, he sees the slight quirk of them, almost like she’s trying to stifle a smile or a laugh. 

this time he stares back just a bit longer, meets her eyes with intention and raises an eyebrow almost in challenge; just to see if she’d keep staring so blatantly. her eyes widen a fraction and the pencil stills on her lips. her teeth graze its end and almost dent her soft lip. 

ross sees the movement of her iris, unsure where to look. she fidgets in her seat, shifting again and crossing her legs. then she averts her eyes entirely and goes back to scribbling on her notepad.

“your head’s in the fucking clouds,” george deadpans the moment they step outside on the balcony. there’s already a cigarette dangling between his fingers and smoke curls around his head. 

ross groans. “haven’t slept properly.”

it’s not exactly a lie. he was up pretty late last night but ross lights a cigarette of his own if only to avoid looking at george. they stand there in comfortable silence for a bit, letting the smoke settle into their lungs and blowing it out. matty’s boisterous laugh floats outside and ross thinks back to the shitshow of an interview. 

there’s a reason he hates doing these, there’s a reason matty always speaks on all of their behalf. but ross knows big publications want all four of them and it’s good to create hype and get the fans excited. and he knows it’s just necessary—

the balcony door open with a creek. 

at first, ross doesn’t turn. it’s probably adam who’s bored of the conversation or matty who’s managed to escape it but out of the corner of his eye, he sees george turn around and straighten imperceptibly. 

and so he follows suit. 

the girl clears her throat. “uh… sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt you.” there’s a slight tremor in her voice and she looks up quickly from george to ross. she’s shorter than he’d realised before, only coming up to the base of his throat, fucking tiny compared to him and george and he pointedly ignores what it does to his brain to see her staring up at him, craning her neck just to meet his eyes. 

“ross…mr macdonald. sir.” she comes to a stop in front of him, all wide-eyed and flustered and calling him sir for fucks sake. he can almost feel the laugh george is trying to hold in. this isn’t the first time a nervous fan’s approached them and he’s had far weirder interaction. still he plans to smack george later for making him lose his composure

“just ross,” he corrects on autopilot then gestures for her to continue. he expects the usual—a selfie or autograph on a vinyl. to his surprise she holds up a phone in front of him and ross almost gapes before reigning it in. 

“your phone,” she says. “you left it on the set.”

quickly, he taps his back pocket and feels nothing. 

up close, he can see the tiny smudge of mascara under her eyelashes and the precise shade of red on her lips. up close he can smell her perfume too—sweet and warm, something that definitely suits her. 

the girls stares up at him expectantly, still holding out his phone. 

“thanks,” he mumbles, voice almost gruff and takes his phone back. his hand brushes her for just a moment—the pad of his finger against the back of her hand. but ross swears he feels a little jolt. quickly, she drops her hand and looks at his chest. 

“you’re welcome,” she says and this time her voice is a bit steadier than before. he’s about to ask her more. anything to make her talk more when george steps forward. 

“thank you, darling,” he says and gives her a winning smile, “he would have made us all search for it later.” 

the girl blushes furiously under all the attention, trying to maintain her bravado from before. ross stifles the urge to roll his eyes but takes the time to quickly look at her again. her hair’s down now, falling over her shoulders and hiding half her neck that was exposed to him before. he has the sudden and visceral urge to touch it, to run his fingers through it and tug on the strands until her chin tilts up to him. until she’s looking right at him. 

what the actual fuck is wrong with him!

he steps back and takes a deep drag of his cigarette untilt he smoke burns, until his eyes water. the girl nods and stammers a goodbye. then she quickly scurries back inside. 

george snorts and ross shoots him a death glare. 

“head in the fucking clouds,” george singsongs under his breath and puts out the rest of his cigarette. then before ross has the chance to respond, he opens the balcony door and disappears inside. 

ross stays back on the balcony and groans in his hands. then he lights another cigarette.

there’s a rot in his brain, gnawing at his neurons and eating through the organ until everything is replaced by a single image of her sucking on the end of her pencil absentmindedly. ross has been through this scenario a dozen times now. it was fine when he was busy, staving the thought away by replacing it with work related things. 

a million things he’s got on his schedule…

but in the comfort of his home, his bedroom, he can’t stop picturing the hollow of her throat—delicate and unmarred skin in direct contrast to her dress, her voice calling him sir. god, she’d even looked at him like a fucking fawn—all wide-eyed and unsure. he would have fucking loved to trace his finger over her bottom lip right then, if only to steal a sweet sound of surprise right out of her. 

he’s going straight to hell for this, straight to the fiery pits for doing what he’s about to do. 

ross props himself up on the pillows, delaying the inevitable, or trying to at least. but the ache in him won’t subside, the throbbing between his legs, the dizziness as all his blood rushes south. the tent in his joggers taunting him as if he were a teenager in heat. he groans. the sound echoes around the room. 

shame courses through him, already overshadowed by the heat that flows through his veins at the speed of lightning. 

he needs to stop thinking about her, this girl who he has barely said two words to. maybe this is how he gets her out of his system. instinctively, his hand creeps towards his thighs. 

he wastes no time dipping a hand in his pants, the other arm supports his head; nothing he hasn’t done a million times since he hit puberty. somehow this feels more electric than ever before. 

ross palms himself, eyes fluttering close and muscles pulled taut. he’s aware of everything—from the stretch of his soft cotton t-shirt against his skin, to his head touching the bedframe. he needs to keep what little sanity he has left, trying to sort through all the depraved and deviant thoughts racing through his mind. what would she have done if she could read his thoughts, if she could see him like this—a mess at the mere thought of her? would she kneel down and crawl towards him, hunger clearly written all over her face, her big eyes hooded with lust. 

ross groans loudly, letting out a string of curses, imagining that it’s her hand wrapped around him—small and inexperienced. stroking him up and down with unsurely; long, tentative, languid strokes making his head swim with deluded thoughts. 

his cock is painfully hard. ross knows for a fact that he’s never wanted to fuck someone with this intensity before, never before has his brain reverted to its most basic instinct like this.

thoughts of taking her all over his house makes him fuck his fist faster and faster. gone are the gentle, sensual strokes from before, now his hips buck as he thrusts into his hand. his mind plays a slideshow of made up images—her bent over on his kitchen island, the marble biting into her hips as he pounds into her. he would speak the dirtiest and filthiest words to her as he watches her squirming with want; her pussy swollen and wet. his brain conjoures up the phantom feel of her silky tresses between his fingers, gripped tightly in his hands. 

ross chokes out a gasp that turns into a broken moan. 

this is wrong, this is so wrong and sinful and every other synonym there is for it yet his mind refuses to move on from her. rather, it conjures up more images—her jaw slack with pleasure, eyes rolled back in her head as she rides him at her own pace, figuring it out along the way. he would flip her at the last second, of course, looming over her like a dominating presence, wrenching another orgasm from her after she’s already cum on his tounge, his hand, his stomach. but she would let go for him again. she would do anything to be his good girl. 

his pumps grow rougher and more erratic, gasps leaving his mouth, echoing around the room. 

fuck. fuck. fuck. 

ross wonders if she’s doing the exact same thing he is, hand buried between her thighs, his name spilling out from her perfect lips. he wonders if that would absolve him of his guilt, his shameless act. it’s the thought of her soft sounds that tips him over the edge until he cums so hard, his vision goes black.

his strokes slow down, back to slow and sensual as he watches his cum flow out of him; milky white ropes splashed on his stomach, on his thigh. his hand is a mess, the tissues he had tried to grab at the last second are nowhere near enough to contain all of it. 

with her, ross wouldn’t need any of that. he would fill her up with his cum, fucking it into her, watching it drip out of her mixed with her own release, making a mess of her thighs that he could clean with his tongue. 

fuck it. he was damned already. he might as well enjoy the ride. 

somewhere in this city, she has no clue about all the dark and wretched things ross wants to do to her. and maybe he could get her out of his mind now, have her out of his system. 

he could just as easily fuck someone tomorrow. and someone else the day after. 

yes. yes, that’s what he should do. he should forget about the girl he’s known for less than twenty-four hours. that’s what he should do. 

he settles on it too, making a mental note to text one of his old flings who might still be in the city. he feels very strongly about his resolve too. the interview is done, he’s likely never seeing her again. 

until she shows up at the studio the morning after.

the day starts like any other. he drives up to the studio, one of the assistants tells him that the band will be shadowed for a magazine profile—some prolific publication that’s going to document their entire process ahead of the release. he doesn’t worry about it too much, talking is matty’s job. sometimes george chimes in. ross and adam speak only as a last resort. 

besides he has his to-do list cut out for him. 

last night—the entire day really—was a momentary distraction. now he’s back on track and focused. the track playing on his headphones is all he is thinking about. all he should be thinking about. until jordan taps him on the shoulder. 

“need you for a few photos, mate. and the magazine people are here,” he turns around to leave, almost walks up to the door too then turns back to ross to mouth something. someone new! followed by a waggle of his eyebrows. 

ross shakes his head, sets his things aside and walks out with jordan. 

everyone’s out in the lobby, and ross hears matty laugh before he sees him. then he hears another familiar laugh and turns the corner to a familiar face. he knows tobias, who shakes his hand and gives him a friendly pat on the back. he’s met tobias before—the man is soft spoken and has a keen ear for good music, a quality ross admires and the thought of him documenting their recording process makes him happy. 

tobias goes around making the rounds, hugging george and joking with the sound engineers. then he stops and turns to look at them. 

“oh i almost forgot!” he claps his hands together, “need to introduce to a fresh face.”

behind tobias, ross catches a movement. and it’s then that everything around him fades away instantly. 

there is no mistaking it. it’s her. it’s the girl, stepping out a bit unsurely from behind her boss and smiling tentatively at the room. he observes how she doesn’t look at him—no, rather she doesn’t look at anyone, cleverly staring at a spot just near them. but never direct eye contact and never more than a few seconds.

unlike yesterday, she’s in a simple jeans and a t-shirt—grey with a faded queen logo on it—but it fits her like a glove regardless. and when she introduces herself in a lilting voice, ross feels his thoughts from yesterday threaten to make a comeback. 

this cannot be happening… behaving like a horny teenager once was enough. he doesn’t need her working here and being close to him constantly, doesn’t need her to constantly be a presence in his thoughts. thoughts that are already way too focussed on the way her eyes light up after seeing him. it’s a trick of the light and nothing else. he’s sure of it.  

she introduces herself—her name, the fact that she’s here to transcribe and take notes and assist tobias. she tells them she really liked their last album and that it was her introduction to them. matty teases her about not being a fan and she blushes deeply, barely making eye contact with him. 

ross, in a world of his own, burns with irrational jealousy. of course, it would be matty who makes her blush and gets her to open up. matty’s a flirt—charming and confident and knows how to get people to come out their shells, even the shy ones it seems. in contrast ross feels about as subtle as a boulder. 

but she seems slightly relaxed after that conversation, even throwing him a look once (and only once) when he plucks on his bass string a bit too loud. ross doesn’t look at her for the rest of the day though, not a single time. no matter how tempting it is. even when she’s buried deep in her transcripts, murmuring to herself and listening to a recording of something adam said over and over again. 

even when she crosses and uncrosses her legs, sucks on the end of her pencil again—clearly a habit, he’s come to realise. not when she stretches and the hem of her t-shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of smooth skin and the hints of cherry coloured lace. not even when she asks him where the espresso machine is. 

the rest of the day ross spends hunched over his bass, glowering at the floor. and he doesn’t manage to focus even once.

day two he’s in the studio bright and early, gasping for some very strong coffee after tossing and turning the whole night (quite honestly, he’s gasping for something stronger but it’s 8 am and becoming an alcoholic now is not an option) 

every time he closed his eyes, his brain would haunt him with images of soft skin and lips caught between teeth and sucking on the end of a pencil. every time his brain sent his body’s supply of blood to one organ and one organ alone and ross has had enough of it. 

starting today he’s focused. he’s serious! 

that is until he walks into the tiny kitchen and sees her on her toes, stretching and struggling to get a coffee mug down. a red one. the same one she’d used yesterday. with some amusement, he also notices that there are at least two mugs near the coffee machine—one plain black and one with a swirly pattern. but she hasn’t cast either of them a single glance. 

she’s stubborn, someone who knows what she wants.

shamelessly, he staggers to a stop at the threshold, watching her lean against the counter and wiggle her fingertips in the air as if that would magically summon the mug. her calf muscles are pulled taut and visible in the dress she’s wearing. each time she stretches, he sees a flash of her thighs. 

his fingers twitch by his sides, desperate to what what it would feel like to drag his knuckles against the inside of her thigh, trailing them up and up and up until he reaches her hip. how she would react if he pinched the skin between his fingers, if he marked it with his teeth. 

“need some help?” in the early morning stillness of the kitchen, his voice comes out a bit too loud and a moment later she startles, whipping her head to look at him and hand coming up to her thudding chest. 

“christ!” she gasps loudly, closing her eyes and opening them again to look at him properly. “ross–shit! sorry, you scared me a bit is all.”

he can’t help the way his eyes linger on her face—big, wide eyes and scarlet mouth parted open as she blows out a breath. when he starts walking towards her, she stays in her spot, practically transfixed on him as he comes closer. ross stops right in front of her, their bodies so close that another inch and he would be pressing into her, or rather pushing her body back against the kitchen counter. with some satisfaction, he also realises how he towers over her—almost a head taller and practically twice her size. 

her breath catches in her throat when he reaches for the mug, pulling it out and setting it next to her. but he makes no move to step back, not until she finally looks up at him instead of just staring at his chest. 

her throat moves, her pupils dilate. almost as if she’s doing it involuntarily, she quickly looks at his lips and back into his eyes. 

for perhaps the hundredth time, he’s blown away by how beautiful she is, how fucking perfect. and everything he’s thought about her comes rushing back to him, all the times he’s pictured her mouth and her hand, her soft sounds and the feel of her hair between his fingers. his train of thought runs him over so thoroughly that ross actually staggers back a bit, averting his gaze and pointing at the mug. 

he has to wait a beat and clear his throat before he can speak. 

“there.”

“thank you…” she trails off unsurely, voice barely above a whisper. “did you want some too? i was just about to brew some fresh coffee.”

all he can do is nod. and when she moves around the room, getting other things out and making coffee, all he can do is watch.

by day ten, they talk a few more times, each time being interrupted by someone or the other—first it’s tobias, assigning her frankly trivial tasks (in ross’ opinion anyway) that she agrees to happily. then it’s matty coming over to shamelessly flirt with her which honestly makes ross want to deck him with his bass even though he knows it’s harmless. 

but at least with matty she opens up slightly—telling him she’s been working for tobias for almost two years now and that it’s her first adult job. ross finds out that she’s not from london, instead she shares a flat with a friend. 

day ten is also when she stays at the studio much later than anyone else, even when the skies outside darken and turn grey and flashes of lighting burst through every few minute. ross watches her anxiously stare out the window once it starts drizzling a little before she buries herself into work again, sorting through the video and audio footage of that day and making her notes that tobias seems to praise so much. 

and so ross does the same, putting on his headphones and focusing of the actual music instead of the tip of her nails digging into her jaw, creating slight crescent moons. this time, he even manages to stay focused for ten whole minutes until he hears unsure footsteps walking towards him. 

ross looks up at her, nervously playing with the ring on her index finger and takes off his headphones. 

“you need anything?”

she shrugs, looking at him and then around him briefly. “yeah i just needed a little break from work and, uh… barely anyone else seems to be here?”

barely anyone. he’d rather there was no one here at all. and even then, the urge to seduce her into the little soundproof recording booth weighs strongly on him. it would be just him and her and the tiny cramped space and all her sounds would belong to him and only him—

“ross?” he jerks back to her looking expectantly at him before her eyes widen. “uness you’re busy, i don’t want to be a bother. sorry.”

he quickly dismisses her apology, motioning for the chair opposite him before ross smirks at her. “so you’d like to sit there and stare at me huh?” 

he feels a little evil for enjoying the way she sputters, trying to come up with a retort or just plain denial or whatever else but he gets a little distracted by the faint red tinge to her face…

what else would make her blush like that? he can think of a few thing for sure.

“what? no! no, i just…” she scrunches her eyes shut, trying to gather her bearings. “i like watching you work.”

oh that’s certainly interesting. 

“just me? not the others?”

“uh, well.” she leans back in her chair slightly, getting a bit more comfortable than before and catching her bottom lip betweem her teeth for a second. just long enough for ross to go entirely rigid. 

“you’re really still when you work,” she continues, “it’s quite calming.” 

oh he’s still alright. if only so he won’t give into the urge of constantly looking at her and following her every move with his eyes like some creep. he has to stay still if he needs to stop himself from going to up to her to try and flirt and like matty does, when he will inevitably end up making a fool out of himself. 

but she’s entirely unaware of his inner conundrum. she’s all too absorbed in her analysis of the band.

“matty bounces and paces around and it makes me slightly nervous. i like watching george when he’s on the drums or the piano but lately he’s been doing more production work so he’s always on his laptop and well, that’s slightly… boring”

“boring?!” he laughs sharply. “i should tell george that.” 

and then he finds it even more amusing when her eyes widen and she scrambles to backpeddle. there’s nothing to salvage it though. so she just sighs in defeat. 

“you wouldn’t! would you?” she looks at him with those big, round eyes and juts out her bottom lip and fuck! she could ask him to sign over half his possessions right now and he would say yes. 

“no,” ross laughs again, softer this time. “your secret’s safe with me.”  

this time he sets the bass aside, all pretenses of work gone as he leans back on the sofa, one arm behind his head. “what about adam? why not him” 

she contemplates her answer for a bit before speaking. “i don’t think he likes other people watching him, he looks a bit uncomfortable.” 

“love, half our job hinges on other people watching us…”

“no, not like that!” she straightens, gesticulating wildly, “not when you’re playing songs you’ve already played hundreds of times. i’m talking about when he’s experimenting and writing new stuff. i don’t think he likes to be watched then.” 

and once again ross is impressed by her astute observation skills. he knows how young she is—younger than him by a decade, yet here she is, reading his best friend of twenty years perfectly in just ten days. 

so he leans forward, properly interested now and scans her face for a bit, trying to get a proper read of her, of what she might say next. “and is that what you like to do? watch people?” 

“sometimes,” she shrugs, “when i find them really interesting.” 

“so you find me really interesting.”

he expects her to blush and stutter again. it is a bold statement after all and yet again she surprises him. “yeah… yes, i do.” 

this time she’s the one with her eyes roaming over his face, maybe a bit over his arms too (something he observes with an immense level of satisfaction) and the way they strain against his t-shirt. 

“good,” he smiles. “now i know i’m not the only one dying to know more about you…”

he tries not to flirt with her too directly but they talk. he tries not to ask anything and everything all at once and freak her out before she’s entirely comfortable with him but with every question she relaxes even more, leans forward and places her chin in the palm of her hand while he’s explaining something inconsequential about his bass. 

it’s only the muscle memory that keeps him going when the strap of her top slides away and a sliver of lace peaks out. 

his fingers still on the strings and she frowns. “no, play! i like the way your fingers move.”

the words slip out before she even realises it. in fact, it doesn’t dawn on her until he freezes completely and she goes bright red!

“i– no, that’s– i didn’t–”

but ross laughs it away, if only so he won’t fucking dwell on it until his head feels like it’s going to explode. 

“let’s go outside for a bit,” he offers and she accepts gratefully. 

the air on the balcony is cool—the sort of breeze before a thunderstorm—and he’s itching for a cigarette. ross looks at her again as she stares out at the trees outside, swaying with the wind. one strong gust and she shivers. her skin erupts in goosebumps. 

“you’re cold.”

she quickly shakes her head. “it’s fine, it’s so nice outside. i don’t mind that much.”

he wishes he was wearing some kind of a jacket that he could give her. the though of her in his clothes does something absolutely primal to him to the point where he has to physically stop himself from grabbing her by the waist and kissing her till she’s dizzy and moaning in his mouth. and she doesn’t help matters by moving a little closer to him, until they’re almost touching, until her arm is almost pressed up against his chest. 

“you’re cold,” he says again, voice tinged with roughness but she clicks her tongue. 

“‘s alright. you’re warm.”

“am i?” he chuckles deeply and takes a hold of her by her arm. “come here then. have a cigarette with me.”

it’s about as bold as he’s been with her. she whips her head up to look at him, and ross doesn’t miss the way her gaze dips to his mouth. just for a moment, maybe even half a second until she quickly looks away and at his chest. 

“i don’t… i don’t smoke.”

“ever?”

that makes her giggle. “no ross. i don’t smoke. ever.”

he wants to say something but the words don’t come out easily. the palm of his hand feels electric just from touching her arm, just from being so close to her. and the breeze all around them makes it impossible to escape her sweet perfume.  

“i’m not opposed to trying though,” she continues shyly and ross quirks an eyebrow. 

“you could try with me…”

“i’d like that.” he studies her face for a moment, looks at her big eyes staring up at him with a mix of sincerity and interest. 

“do you know what to do?”

she mulls it over for a moment, pinching her lips together until they’re in a kissy pout. “sure, i’ve seen people do it. i’ve seen you do it.”

“have you now?”

“mmhmm, seems easy enough.”

so ross pulls out a fresh one from the pack and places it between her lips. his finger grazes her bottom lip, the touch electrifying, making him linger there until her gaze dips to his mouth again and a light flush covers her face. she shivers again and steps even closer to him than before. 

“should i light it then?”

she nods tentatively, and ross flicks the lighter on. the flame wavers, almost goes out until he shields it with his palm and brings it up to her mouth. the fire casts a warm glow on her face, in her eyes. and she’s somehow even more breathtaking than he’s ever imagined. 

once the cigarette lights, she takes an unsure inhale and breaks out into a cough until there are tears brimming on her lashline and she’s pushing ross away lightly for laughing at her. 

“you’re helpless,” he teases. “here. let me.”

his hands graze her lips once again as he takes the cigarette from between her lips. it’s smudged with her lipstick, something sheer and pink. then he places it in his mouth, lazily taking a drag. 

“watch.” she obeys instantly, pupils dialating when her eyes linger on his mouth until her lips part and she swallows visibly. he takes the moment to blow the smoke out, bending down so he can blow it in her parted mouth without startling her too much. her eyes widen and she sucks in sharply but this time she doesn’t cough. instead, she bunches her lips together and tries to blow out some of the smoke she inhaled. it comes out in broken wisps and disappears on the wind. 

“there we go, darling,” he speaks roughly and watches her blush all the way to the tip of her ears. “should we try that again?”

she nods. he takes another drag. this time, he grips her chin between his fingers, tilting it up until her mouth is so close to his and he can practically feel her breath on his skin. her pupils are so blown out, her eyes almost look black. then he lightly brushes her lips to his and blows the smoke out again. 

ross stays where he is. he even pulls her closer until she’s pressed against him and her eyes flutter shut. her breath hitches, her hands move up to his biceps, gripping onto him until she exhales again and smoke caresses his mouth before dissipating once more.

“a-again,” she whimpers but he’s already taking the cigarette out of his mouth and putting it out on the railing. 

“yeah?” he challenges just to see if she’d move away but her hands move up from his biceps, fingers traliing up his arms until they’re at the nape of his neck, nails softly trailing down his skin. and when she shivers again, it’s definitely not because of the cold. 

“yeah,” she nods and presses her lips onto his.

his heart skips at how unsure it feel, how she has to stand on the very tips of her toes and hold onto his just so she won’t lose her balance. he doesn’t give her a lot of time to overthink it though. as soon as he’s over the initial shock, he wraps and arms around her until she’s fully pressed against him, effectively trapped between him and the railing. the light drizzle of rain starts again. ross grabs her face in his hands, keeping her still so her can kiss her properly—the kind that leaves her gasping when he grazes her bottom lip with his teeth, the kind that has her leaning against him entirely for balance when her knees almost buck under her. the kind that makes her moan involuntarily but ross doesn’t let her pull away in embarrassment. instead, he pulls her up until her legs are wrapped around his middle, her thighs pressed against his waist and his hands under her ass. and then he carries her back inside. 

just like he predicted, he fills up the tiny little space of the recording booth. the mic stand clatters and she moves it aside with a ferocity that’s unlike anything he’s seen from her before, it’s a nice surprise, to see just a glimpse into her feral side. 

ross groans into the kiss and slides his hand under her ass. his fingers snake up her neck, gripping her jaw in a grip that’s almost too tight. it’s tempting to mark her up, to leave behind bitemarks and fingerprints everywhere for people to see. she responds in kind and bites his bottom lip just hard enough to make him hiss. 

“someone’s going to hear us”

“it’s a soundproof booth darling, no one’s going to know a thing.”

his hand that’s been cupping her jaw slowly moves to her throat and she lets out a whine so desperate and needy that all the blood rushes straight to his cock. she’s practically begging for more at this point and he hasn’t even properly touched her yet. 

he thinks back to all the times he’s thought of her like this, so malleable in his hands—thought of the feel of her hair between his fingers that damned bottom lip that’s driven him so crazy over the last few days. he can’t resist nipping at it and the sting makes her breath catch. 

“i’ve nev-i’ve never done this.”

his heart thuds in his chest and for a second he worries she’s entirely inexperienced. not that he’d have a problem being her first… but he’d be damned if he let her first time be in a fucking recording booth. 

“done what?”

“hooked up.” she clarifies almost through a gritted tone, almost like she’s trying not to be ashamed of it. “outside of relationships i mean.”

“no? do you want to stop?”

she takes a beat to think then shakes her head. “no, i-i just really want you.”

ross hums in approval. it does stroke his ego immensely if he’s being honest and he can’t help but see how far he can push her buttons. “do you now? what do you want about me?”

just like she had outside, she blushes furiously, to the point where she has to stare right at his chest and take a moment to compose herself. her hands never let go of his chest though. and it’s safe to assume she can feel his racing heartbeat just like he can hear hers. 

“your hands are… i like your hands.”

“do you think about my hands a lot?”

“i don’t–i d—” her eyes go round again, wide as saucers, almost like it’s impossible for her to lie.

“no lying, sweetheart.” he tsks, and then bends down just until his mouth caresses her earlobe. “bad girls don’t get what they want.”

she makes a stragled noise, somewhere between a moan and a sound of protest but ross cocks his eyebrow and that shuts her up effective. a beat later, she tries again. 

“fine. yes. i think about your hands a lot. all the time…”

“and what are my hands doing when you think about them?”

he enjoys it very much when she stutters, trying and failing to meet his eyes, to say the dirty words in her head out loud. that alone is enough for his painfully hard cock to throb again. 

“go on,” he breathes over her skin and lets his hands trail up and down her body, “show me what my hands do.”

she places her palm on the back of his hand, so much smaller in comparison, and moves it down her body. he lets his fingers trail, lets the callouses pads of his fingers brush over every inch of skin he can until she stops just at the waistline of her jeans and looks up at him again. 

“i want you t-to…to touch me. use your fingers on me.”

“that what you think about hmm?” slowly, the slowest he possibly can without jumping out of his own skin, he undoes the button of her jeans. then he pulls down the zipper, all the while letting his knuckles drag across her skin. she shivers at the smallest of touches, so responsive and perfect.

“words, darling,” he taunts again. “i’ll stop touching you if you stop telling me what you want.”

“ross,” she whines, and tries to grind against his hand, tries to push it deeper in her pants but he quickly gathers her wrists together and tuts at how little strength he needs, how easily he can hold both her wrists together with just one hand while using the other to feel her up through her underwear. 

it’s soaked and he can clearly feel her clenching and unclenching, desperately trying to move her hips and grind shamelessly against his hand but he won’t give her what she wants until she forces the filthy words out.

“please!”

“you’re soaked, sweetheart. i can give you what you want but only if you ask for it.”

her eyebrows knit together and she almost looks… angry, about as feral and threatening as a little bunny. “fine…” she huffs, “i want–i want you to fuck me. with your fingers.”

the crass words sound filthier from her mouth, like she shouldn’t be saying things like these to lecherous old men in dark corners on even darker nights. “see?” he grins at her, all sharp teeth ready to almost rip into her, “was that so hard?”

when they kiss again, ross pushes his tongue inside her mouth until all he can taste is her, until all her can smell is her. his fingers move faster against her clothed pussy, making the fabric soak more than it was before and her legs spread wider, her hips move faster until she’s soaking his hand and practically rutting against it. 

she’s shaking, clenching around nothing and looking at him with tears in her eyes—so frustrated now, constantly whining for him to push his fingers inside her. slowly, ross pushes the underwear aside and circles her entrance with his middle finger. before she has the chance to whine again, he plunges the fingers inside and swallows her cry with another kiss. 

she clenches around his finger desperately, slickening his hand every time he pushes into her, more so when he adds another finger and thrusts into her faster. as a reward he lets go of her wrists and she immediately latches onto him, pushes her hands inside his shirt and lets them greedily roam all over his body. she traces his chest and down his stomach, she lets her nails trail up his back, scratching and digging into his flesh every time he thrusts his fingers deep inside her.

her breathing quickens and she starts pressing kisses to his jaw, tracing the golden chain around his neck with her tongue. every so often she tries to nip at his skin, to leave some of her own marks behind. once or twice he lets her… but it’s more fun to hear her gasp and mewl and cry out his name. 

“good girl,” he coos at her, “taking it so well, sweetheart.”

“feel so good,” she whispers and lets her head fall back. under his hand, her thigh spasms lightly and his pulse pounds all over his body—his chest and throat and stomach and fuck even his cock that so hard and leaking with precum now. 

he needs her so bad, bad enough that he entertains the idea of pulling his fingers out and bending her over right there. 

but this might be his one and only time with her and he needs to make it memorable. 

he needs her to feel him between her legs for days and taste him on her tongue for weeks. 

he needs to bottle up her gasps and whimpers and the feel of her cunt around his fingers and keep it hidden away forever. 

so he needs to make her cum over and over again until she can’t remember any other name but his. 

and he’s not about to do all that here of all places. 

“‘m so close,” she moans out, rutting her hips faster now, almost trying to match his thrusts and ross increases his pace, presses his thumb against her clit harder than before. “kiss me.”

instantly, he obeys, getting lost into the kiss and the way it sends little currents through his blood. she’s no better either, exploring the inside of his mouth with her tongue and riding her fingers until he can practically feel her dripping down his hands and wrist. until she lets out a string of curses and her eyes roll back. she lets out a broken moan, louder than all the ones before and he feels her squeeze around his fingers harder then before. 

then he feels her release, gushing onto his hand until he has to hold her up so her legs won’t give out on her. 

ross doesn’t stop though, he pumps his fingers in and out of her, each time earning himself another cry or hiss or groan until the tremor in her body subsides to a slight shiver and she presses her face into his chest, sweaty and barely coherent.

“that was–” she tries and breaks off. “you were–”

“have i left you speechless, sweetheart?” he teases pointedly. “look at me.”

when she manages to open her eyes, ross pulls his fingers out of her and brings them to her mouth. 

“suck,” he orders. to his surprise she obeys without hesitation. her mouth closes over his fingers, taking them all the way in until her lips are around the base of his fingers. then she swirls her tongue around them and licks them clean. every inch, every crevice. 

she lets them go with a slight pop and ross almost gets on his knees right there. 

“you are not what i imagined,” he whispers, not trusting his voice at all. 

“am i better?”

he only nods in response and kisses her deeply, tasting her on his tongue, tasting the tang of her release mixed with her saliva. 

“let me take you home,” he offers. “i want to fuck you. but not here. i want to fuck you properly.”

“like a gentleman,” she giggles.

he worries she might say no. but she only pulls away to button her jeans properly. 

“let’s go then,” she smiles mischievously and hooks a finger through his chain, eyeing it with intent. “i have thought of loads of other things apart from your hands.”

lemme know what you think <33

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[fruitglazed]

thigh riding w matt?

Oh yes. Let’s get right to it. 🧺

✩

✩

12:23pm. The sun is warm and the breeze was cool. It was a perfect day. Matt, the man you had been seeing, planned a picnic for the two of you. You hadn’t many details, but you were excited. Matt wasn’t like any of the other men you had seen in the past. He was soft, yet firm. Sweet, yet silly. Caring and reliable. Thoughts scattering as you realized the time, Matt would be here any minute. Looking one last time in the mirror, straightening out your favorite sundress with your hands. Applying your sweet scented watermelon slice lipgloss once more, you smiled. Tilting your head just slightly, tucking the hair behind your ear, you smiled again. You couldn’t wait to see him. As you grabbed your perfume for one last heavy mist, a knock at the now open door was heard. “Hi, baby.” You heard echoing down the hallway. He spoke quiet enough just for the two of you to hear. Not that there was anyone else listening. Looking at him through the mirror, you breathe his name. “Matthew!” You spin around, eating him with your eyes. His hair was parted down the middle. Little curls almost covering his eyes. Stubble on his face, he was so indecisive about his beard. You loved it. A pair of blue jeans and a pink shirt. ‘I need a kiss’ it read. Him and that damn shirt. Matt tugs at your waist- embracing you in a hug. “You look so pretty. I love that dress. It’s your favorite, isn’t it.” Knowing that wasn’t a question, you kept quiet and squeezed a little tighter. “We should probably get going, considering I know you won’t break this hug, Matt.” You joked. Laughing, he agreed and grabbed your hand leading the way. Footsteps quickly getting louder as you run down the driveway, almost racing him. Slamming the car door behind you, immediately you look at him. “So where exactly are we going, Matt?” Giddy with excitement, although you hate surprises. “You’ll see.” He quickly glances at you, showing his toothy grin. As you arrive, there’s almost no one here. You couldn’t understand why, as it was the perfect day out. Matt grabbed everything, while you manned the blanket. Once he shut the trunk, he lead the way. Following close behind, he stopped at a big oak tree. Giving you a thumbs up, you spread the blanket, smoothing it out with your hands. Matt placed the picnic basket in the middle and got to work pulling out all your favorite items. As you sit there patiently waiting for him to finish, you can’t help but notice his waist peeking out underneath his shirt. Slowly exposing skin with every movement he makes. Biting your lip. Your nipples get hard, exposing themselves through your sundress. You’re hungry, but not for the goodies he brought. “Babe?” Snapping you out of your daydream, handing you a plate. “I made sure to grab all of your favorites.” He popped a frozen green grape into his mouth and smiled. You laughed. “Matt this is perfect.” You also throw a grape into your mouth and chomp down. Matt leans up against the tree behind him, revealing his happy trail. Noticing your stare, he is quick to tease you. “Like what you see?” Smirking, yet sweetly he says. A smile spread across your face, as you throw another grape into your mouth. “Yes, actually.” Covering your mouth with one finger, like you’re shushing yourself. “Come here.” His voice is stern. Matt’s eyes stuck on each move you make. Crawling over to him on all fours, he grabs you. Straddling his right leg, you move your dress, making sure to get as much material out of the way you can. The less the better. You’re towering over him. “I need a kiss.” He moans out. Grabbing his neck, you reach down and plant a wet kiss on his lips. The smacks of your lips together get quicker. As you move your hands to his chest, his slip underneath your dress. You can’t help but moan at his touch. Smirking into the kiss, Matt bites your bottom lip. Rocking your hips back and forth- your core is heating up from the inside out. Matt grips the side of your hips, wanting to keep the same rhythm as you. His cock slowly, but surely making itself known. “I’m so hard for you.” Matt says between each kiss,

not worrying about taking a breath. Feeling the stiffness of his dick through his blue jeans, makes you pick up the pace. Your soaked panties teasing the tip of Matt’s cock through the back and forth motions, almost makes you forget you’re in public. Running your fingers through his hair, you notice he’s starting to squirm under you. “I’m so close, baby.” He can barely form a sentence. With each grind, you make sure to bounce just a little harder each time. “Fuck-“ you cover his mouth with your hand. His moans becoming mumbles. A familiar knot in your stomach is forming as he starts to buckle his leg. Knowing you and him won’t last much longer, you give it one last hurrah. Leaning down, you whisper into Matt’s ear. “Cum for me, Matthew.” A smirk planted on your lips as you feel his pulse heighten and his breath hitch. Continuing your back and forth motions, your bounces grow just a bit harder. “I’m almost- I’m so close- oh my god, I’m cumming.” Matt’s head tips backwards, still holding onto your hips. You feel the warmth of his load seep into his jeans, touching your already drenched, but covered pussy. You keep bouncing up and down, rushing yourself to meet the same high as Matt, just beneath you. “Matt!” Yelling slightly, snapping your eyes shut, you explode through your panties, directly onto his jeans, in the same spot that he had already stained because of you. Slowing down your movements to a complete stop, steadying your heart rate, you don’t want to open your eyes. As you sit there in silence, both of you soaking in the bliss of the high you just shared together. Opening your eyes, Matt had already beat you to it. Staring back at you, with a big smile. “What?” You say shyly, leisurely inching yourself off his leg. “You are so perfect.” He says, not breaking eye contact. Giggling, you take the compliment and kiss his cheek. Matt reaches over you, grabbing the grapes, he looks down and laughs. “What hell am I supposed to do when we have to walk back to the car?” Pointing at the massive wet spot on his jeans. You chuckle. “Don’t worry, you can wear the picnic blanket.” Blowing him a kiss, popping a grape into your mouth.

Hi. Hello. Sorry!! I feel as if I might of rushed at the end. Hopefully this met your requirements, anon🍇 enjoy 💋

Please send me more requests of what you want to see. It helps me and hopefully pleases you ;-)

[sanjisblackasswife]

𝕋𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕞 𝕥𝕠 𝕒𝕟 𝔸𝕕𝕦𝕝𝕥 𝕊𝕙𝕠𝕡

Black Fem. Reader

Ft. Sanji, Zoro, Luffy

CW: Mentions of sex toys, Men being men, Sexual Content

Luffy

Only took him to see his reaction, but he couldn’t be less disinterested.

A bit confused too.

He seen a 12 inch dildo and waved it around

“Luckily for you y/n I can make mine longer than this.”😄

“Please don’t.”

He doesn’t care for toys in the bedroom. He either gets distracted with them and not want to have sex anymore

or

gets mad at how complicated they are and don’t wanna have sex anymore.

He did however see a pretty sparkly object and liked it

a lot.

“It looks like a—“

“Luffy put that down.”

“Whyyy but it’s pretty and shiny! I wonder what it does.”

“It’s…um…”

It was an anal plug.

You bought it.

Luffy never used it on either of you, instead he just kept it as a souvenir for when you both looked at plastic dicks one afternoon.

Sanji

COULD NOT STOP BLUSHING AND BLEEDING

The first hour was spent with Sanji touching the fake breast and pussies.

“It says don’t TOUCH!”

“I have to make sure the product lives up to its standard?!”

You don’t even know why you took him. But when you said get his act together or else yall would go home he straightened up a bit.

Everytime he seen a toy, he recognized it??????

“This toy actually attaches to your clit and this little thing acts like a to—“

Now youre blushing.

“SANJIIIIUHHHH! How do you know allat???”

“…The internet.”

He does get a liiitttllleee too excited seeing the lingerie and gets you damn near every one in every color.

You had to stop him.

You and him actually spend a good hour in there and yes yall leave with two goodie bags worth of items such as vibrators, anal plugs, handcuffs, etcetc.

Sanji was very excited to try out the new toys he got for you (and one for himself) once you hoth got home.

Zoro

He walked in the store with a fake beard and shades so “nobody recognizes him” he says.

“…”

“….”

“Why are you wearing that—-“

“Because this is EMBARRASSING.”

He can’t stare at any toy too long because he ends up wanting to laugh.

Zoro hates. HATES. Sex toys. He does not see the point in them

“I’m better than these.”

“Oh so you liked to be used as my little sex toy?”

“😒”

Eventually you caught him waving around some handcuffs and you began to tease him.

“You wanna handcuff me one of these days, Zo?”

“I—?! N-NO WHY WOULD YOU EVEN—“

“I’m fucking with you.”

He complains about the creeps around the store eye’ing you every once in a while

“I’ma kick somebody’s ass—“

“Zoro please.”

You just got lube really, but one day, and to your surprise when cleaning your shared room you see those pretty little handcuffs and a vibrator wrapped in a black bag from the day yall went to the store

[judec4ptor]

happy pride everybody!! i made a redesign of the clone high characters (consider this a redesign of these designs as well)

EDIT: I FORGOT ABOUT ABE'S BEARD!!!! SO THERE IT IS, THAT'S WHY IN THE CLOSE-UP IT'S NOT THERE, SORRY FOR THAT!!!

five hours of drawing and drawing for this... sigh...

below are headcanons and perhaps some explanations of the redesign⬇️ :>

Joan... it's hard to give her a headcanon about her sexuality but i think shes questioning!!

joan has a precious stone in her necklace, harriet gave it to her as a gift for her friendship!!!

her bracelet was given by frida (maybe harriet and frida like to give things to their friends idk)

and thats it !!

JFK!! hes bisexual lmfao!! for me, he started to question himself after the chapter where joan pretends to be a boy, and then in the present he already realized that... well, he liked both

I gave him a sweatshirt, since in most series, movies, etc, jocks wear them ;p

harriet!! she (like joan) is questioning her sexuality lmfao

i gave her a vest because... well, there's no explanation, I just thought it would look good on her

and yes, i made her a little chubbier because that's my headcanon lololo!!!!

confucius!! hes a transman and pansexual :)

not much to add beyond his slightly different clothes and hair

cleo... she is a lesbian, as I believe her relationships with men never worked out and were only for interest, while with frida it is different

my headcanon is that in the 2000's she used to straighten her hair, and nowadays she leaves it curly :3

abe... oh abe i love him!! (in season 3 he was meh sorry) he is a closet bisexual (he has a lot to think about) and uh has a weird friendship/enemies with topher

as you can see, he shares a bracelet with someone... but with who??🤔🤔

EDIT: OH GOD I JUST REMEMBERED THAT ABE HAS A RACCOON TAIL!!

FRIDA!!! shes a lesbian and (maybe) she is within the non-binary spectrum

I can't add much either, in the original image you can see that I changed her clothes a bit lfmao!! the paint stains on her pants are now patches, as I think she tore a lot of her pants because of her skateboard tricks

AND FINALLY THE LAST ONE... TOPHER!! hes gay (duh)

in the first season of the reboot he is in denial, in the new season I feel that he has more accepted his sexuality

I can't add much either hehe!! i just change his clothes and stuff

and yes, he shares a bracelet with abe :3 (they have been wearing that bracelet since before THAT, but they do not want to take it off)

and thats it😭😭

[shelby-fangirl00]

Hunting You-part one

•A successful assassin from London named Penny is hired to travel to Small Heath and kill Thomas Shelby. (Don’t want to give too much away tehe)

•WARNINGS(18+, minors DNI): Enemies to lovers, Dual POV, Smut (in future chapters), Lots of angst, Strong language, Lots of violence

•Authors note: hey y’all! This story has been brewing in my mind for some time.This part is kind of an introduction to my story. Reblog if you enjoy:) Next part will be in Tommy’s POV.

Penny

I checked my watch every few minutes for what seemed like an eternity. Plopping my elbows on the wooden table top, I huffed loudly. According to the dick who hired me, Shelby should’ve been here hours ago. Honestly, I didn’t mind waiting, since I was paid in advance, but my fingers still twitched in anticipation, eager to finally get my hands dirty again.

This was an ordinary night for me, except for the part where I had to travel into this piss poor town. Under any other circumstance, I would have told the man who hired me to fuck off. But how could I refuse such a hefty wage? Anyways, doing this out of town work only makes my job easier. At least that’s what I’m trying to tell myself. Nobody here seems sober enough to remember gossip about a hitman. Let alone talk of a random woman in a pub.

Killing Thomas Shelby will definitely make waves Small Heath, but thats not my problem. I’d be gone before sun rise. Talks of a female assassin surely hadn’t traveled to this poor drunken town anyways. It’ll be as if I was never here.

I nurse my glass of whiskey. Just as the rim of the glass touches my lips, I pull out the very dated photograph of Mr.Shelby I was given. I imagine he was just a boy in the photo. He appears to be in uniform and my chest tightens at the thought. I can only imagine the horrors he’s seen since this was taken. It wouldn’t surprise me if the man today doesn’t resemble this photograph at all.

The doors open for the first time in an hour and I hear the booming laughter before I see the lot of them. A large group of nicely dressed men in caps waltz in and I assume this to be the notorious Peaky Blinders. Of course I did some research before coming here. They were feared throughout this place. Known to be unforgiving and ruthless. This Shelby man I’m sure is a sick and twisted bastard. All the best men I know are. I myself am a bit sick and twisted.

Hiring a female hitman, like myself, had different perks. It’s far easier for a woman to get close to a man they don’t know. They don’t see us in the same light. We come off as less of a threat. In my experience, no man is immune to the powers a beautiful woman can possess over a man, in the right circumstances. Thomas Shelby couldn’t be any different from the rest of them.

I straightened my back and fell into the role I’d been assigned. My long black dress hugs my waist and my thigh is bare under the slit of my gown.

My eyes search for someone loosely similar to the photograph, maybe with a beard and some extra weight, but there’s so many men now crowding my view. Eventually, I hear a loud voice yell for a “Tommy.”

Gotcha.

The men seem to part perfectly and I have a clear view of him. I see the not-so-young-boy who grew into this apparently fearsome man.

My blood runs cold and I curse under my breath. To put it plainly, the man is fucking gorgeous. His stature radiates confidence while his presence demands respect.

He’s aged nicely, his cheekbones even more pronounced now. Even from my small booth in the corner, I notice his dazzling blue eyes. Out of all the men here, why did it have to be this one? Most of the men I’m hired to kill are assholes who don’t deserve to see the sun again. I hope he’s the same.

I beeline to a nearby group of drunk and smelly men. I pretend to walk past them and “trip,” over one of the chairs, spilling my whiskey out onto an old man’s shoulder.

“Stupid bitch!” The man attempts to stand up and almost falls on his ass. I try to muffle my laughter. I wish I could kill this one too, it would be too easy.

“I’m so sorry, sir!” I plead with him and he finally steps closer to me, trapping my body against another table. His stench is repulsive and it takes every bit of willpower inside of me not to put a bullet through this fuckers head. I momentarily get lost in the thought, his greasy face would downturn and the life would drain from his angry expression before he dropped dead.

My hands press down into the table as he spits at me. He grabs my wrist tightly before speaking again.

“You’ll fuckin pay for that, girl. Why don’t you join me and-

A hand covers the man’s shoulder, squeezing harshly before speaking. As if the man has eyes in the back of his head, he freezes and turns slowly, like he knows exactly who the hand on his shoulder belongs to.

“Alright, Tim?” A low but smooth voice asks. My breath hitches in my throat and I don’t really need to pretend how scared I am anymore.

“Of course, Mr.Shelby. Just teaching this one a lesson in manners.” The big oaf states confidently.

For the first time, Mr.Shelby’s eyes lock with mine and I suddenly forgot how to breath or blink or function at all. He’s even more stunning this closeup. He examines me for an uncomfortable amount of time before speaking again.

“I don’t think that’ll be nessacary Timmy. Why don’t you go back to your table and let me handle it?” This Tim man peaks at Tommy from behind his shoulder and I can tell this is an order. Tim finally releases my wrist and grunts, giving me one last look that makes me feel dirty, and stumbles off.

I exhale loudly, pretending to finally relax.

“Thank you, sir. I was worried I wouldn’t get out of that one.” I stated, chuckling lightly under my breath.

“No trouble, Tim’s an angry drunk. He won’t remember ya tomorrow.” His words sit in the air between us awkwardly before I decide to speak again.

“I’m Nora.” I lie.

I stick my hand out and smile stupidly. This takes him back but he recovers quickly, smirking and pressing his hand in mine firmly.

“Tommy. You aren’t from here…don’t tell me you actually moved to Small Heath on your own free will.” He chuckles darkly, placing his half empty glass between his lips and searching my eyes for an answer. He looks similar to the picture, more dead in the eyes now. No less mesmerizing.

I laugh. “Thankfully, no. I’m just here visiting an old friend. How’d you know?” I place my own glass to my lips now, scanning the room behind him.

He smirks, finally letting his eyes drop for a split second to my chest.

Shrugging his shoulders plainly, he states, “It’s a small town and I’ve lived here me whole life. I would’ve known if someone like you lived here.”

My eyebrows arch in question. “Someone like me, yeh?”

He smiles slowly, but it’s dark, almost like a warning. I don’t understand why I’m suddenly so clammy?

I need to get this over with. My body is betraying me, because all I can think about are his lips and how they would feel on mine and what his chest looks like underneath all those damn layers.

Giving in only slightly to my body’s demands, I take one big step into him, putting my chest inches from his own. I look up at him with a dazzling smile, and he just smirks. Does he always have that smug fucking look on?

“Well thank you for saving me, Tommy.” His eyebrows shoot up in what I’m assuming is surprise?

“Another whiskey?” He asks, stepping past me towards the bar and nodding to the barman.

I take in his stature beside me, leaning his forearms against the long bar. As much as I would love to entertain this handsome stranger, I had a job to do.

I squeeze his shoulder, leaning into him so my lips barely touch his ear.

“Excuse my forwardness, but I’d rather take you back to my flat, Tommy.” I squeeze his shoulder one last time before stepping back.

He cranes his neck to look behind him at I don’t know what before returning back to me.

“I like forward. Lead the way, love.” Finally, this can end.

“Of course…” I say sheepishly and he doesn’t hesitate to follow closely behind, his hand resting on my lower back. The sensation sends a shiver up my spine.

As we trot outside, he moves his hand from my back to behind his own and i do the same. I silently acknowledge the few daggers I have hidden in my stockings along with the gun in my purse….aaaaaand maybe a few razor blades underneath my pinned updo. It’s just a precaution, really. I can never be too safe. Plus, it’s fun to switch it up every once and a while.

“Where ya staying?” He asks smoothly as we round the dark corner.

“Just across the p- the air is quickly swept from my lungs as Thomas grabs me from behind and slams my body against a brick wall. I gasp as both of his hands wrap around my throat and he never stops squeezing.

Fuck. He knows.

Panic sets in and I’m clawing at his arms desperately. I try to maneuver my legs in order to knee him, but his body is flush against my own.

“thought it be that easy to kill me? You’re at the back of a long line, love.”

I muster up enough rage in my throat to spit out a “fuck you.”

My hands could only reach his side, so I wail on him. As soon as my punch lands, I feel another pair of hands on me, pinning my arms over my head. Thomas bends for only a few seconds before spitting and regaining hold over me.

I look over to see the other man pinning me against the wall. He’s younger than Thomas, but sporting a similar smirk.

If I don’t finish this job, Tommy will kill me. And if he doesn’t, the man who hired me would. Especially after being paid in advance.

I felt myself slipping from the lack of oxygen. But just as I closed my eyes, Tommy released me but the other man stays put to my side, his hands tighten around my wrists and his chest is pressing into my arm.

Tommy turns back around, adjusting his coat and lighting a cigarette before examining my flesh, the way my dress had fallen open at my chest during our scuffle.

“Who hired you?” He asked plainly.

My chest was heaving and I swear his eyes followed the movement for a split second.

“How should I fucking know? A man overpays me in advance for a hit and I don’t ask questions.”

The man holding my body hostage against the brick wall, bellows out an annoying laugh but Tommy doesn’t so much as smirk.

He sighs before reaching inside of his coat and pointing the barrel of his gun at me.

I giggle, cocking my head and studying him now. “You ever killed a woman, Mr.Shelby?”

“Enough. Tell me his name or I’ll put a bullet between those pretty eyes.” He says, almost softly, like he’s seducing me instead of trying to kill me. I hate how my thighs clench together and my nipples harden under my dress. All this foreplay tonight between the gun, the two angry men holding me against a wall and a touch of breath play.

“Promise?” I don’t know how, but I knew he wouldn’t shoot.

He sticks his gun back into his holster from underneath his coat before speaking again.

“John, put her to sleep and tie her up.” And before I could even protest, the man’s hands move from my wrists to around my skull, slamming it into the brick wall. Everything goes black. I never stood a chance.

Part two coming soon in Tommy’s POV!

Taglist:

@lyarr24

@forgottenpeakywriter

@casa-boiardi

@tigernach575

@crabat-the-queen

@adaydreamaway08

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@delusionalxoxo

@trixie23

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[biteofcherry]

lumberjack!Steve Rogers x reader

🍁🍁🍁

Mulled wine hitting your head a little faster than usual (which was surprising, considering all the delicious food you managed to eat at the event), you stumbled as your boot got stuck in the mud again. A muscular arm wound around you, preventing your fall and helping you regain balance. You saw dark ink resembling wildlife weave up the man's forearm to disappear beneath the rolled up sleeve of a plaid shirt. When you straightened and turned around to thank him, you were met with a pair of brilliant blue eyes, shining with soft mischief as he looked down at you from beneath eyelashes. The same blue eyes you've been meeting constantly throughout the day. Because you've been checking him out every few moments, unable to stop yourself. You've seen bearded men in the city. You've seen men with charming smiles and nice physique. Somehow, they couldn't compare to the effect a lumberjack from some small town had on your... well, on your everything. From your head, to your fluttering heart, down to your ovaries who suddenly awoke with really disturbing needs. Worst part, every time you glanced his way, he caught you looking. And now his arm was around you, still. He was smiling at you. You had to tilt your head, because he was so much taller. Broader, too. Never before had you felt so tiny compared to a man. It was surprisingly thrilling. Your mind instantly replayed flashes of the lumberjack competition that your friend brought you to see, where he - Steve Rogers, you were intently listening to every bit of information that was spoken about him around - showed skill and strength that made your thighs clench. Thankfully, though mulled wine made you less coordinated, it didn't completely ruin your self control. Otherwise you could've spluttered Split me in two, the way you begged in your head as you watched Steve chop wood earlier.

based on this autumn aesthetic poll

🍂 all autumn aesthetic moodboards 🍂

[lathalea]

Entangled 3/10

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Dwarf OFC (The Hobbit) Rating: G (subject to change) Warnings: ANGST Summary: Arranged marriages are common among the dwarven nobility. After reclaiming the Lonely Mountain, the Kingdom Under the Mountain needs to be rebuilt. Thorin agrees to marry a lady from the Blue Mountains, securing a mutually beneficial alliance with the Broadbeam Dwarves. Lady Mista is said to be a practical and hard-working dwarf-woman, willing to give him an heir who would secure the line of succession. A decent queen material, his advisors say. If only Thorin could let go of his past… You can find this fic on AO3 (search for lathalea). ✨ Chapter list: Chapter 1 (Prologue) | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3... ✨ Entangled Masterlist

Khuzdul:

Azsâlul'abad - the Lonely Mountain (both the mountain and the dwarven kingdom known among Elves and Men as Erebor)

Tumunzahar - Nogrod (my headcanon for this story is that the dwarven city of old had been rebuilt and populated by the Broadbeams)

‘Urdêk - local name of ‘the Lonely Mountain’ (referring to the dwarven Halls within the mountain), used by its inhabitants

Zabdûna undu ‘Urd - Queen Under the Mountain

‘Urd - local name for Lonely Mountain (referring to the Mountain itself)

Later that night

Mista sighed, finally freed from the weight of her crown and royal garments by Katla, her new maid. The girl knew her duties well and quickly helped her change into her sleeping gown. As soon as Katla curtsied and left the bed-chamber through a gilded door, wishing her queen a “fruitful night”, Mista – who did not feel like a queen at all at that moment – poured herself a glass of water. Her throat was parched, and her whole body felt stiff. She glanced at the other door in her chamber; the dark walnut door that led to the King’s chambers, but it was still closed, and no sounds seemed to come from the other side. Apparently, she still had some time for herself.

Mista took off her glasses and squinted, looking into the mirror in an opulent golden frame. This sumptuous object hung on the wall in her new chambers in the royal wing of the dwarven kingdom of Azsâlul'abad. The reflected image was blurry, and so she squinted harder, stretching her neck forward. Finally, she made out a dwarf-woman, plain and far from being a beauty, her mousy hair unbraided — except for her marriage braid – and still adorned with scores of diamonds. Diamonds are the bride’s best friends, an old saying claimed. Yes, she was a bride and she was wearing a luxurious, crispy white sleeping gown. Why? Because, by a turn of fate, on this very day she fulfilled her dearest, her most secret wish: today she wedded the only Dwarf she loved. 

Mista became Thorin Oakenshield’s wife – and the Queen Consort of Azsâlul'abad.

And now she was waiting for her lord husband to fulfil his marital duties.

A knock on the door — the dark walnut door — jolted her from her reverie.

“Come…” She cleared her throat and tried again, hoping her voice did not tremble too much, “Come in.” 

She had barely enough time to stand up and straighten the silks of her sleeping gown. It was hard not to notice that her fingers were trembling more than her voice.

The King Under the Mountain, Thorin II Oakenshield, entered the room. Gone were his crown and his opulent wedding attire; he wore plain bedclothes, but his dark, wavy hair streaked with silver was braided only with his marriage braid, exactly like hers, just as the tradition dictated. She couldn’t stop herself from admiring his strong shoulders, his lush beard pleated into two thick braids, and his regal profile. Years passed since their first meeting in Tumunzahar, and yet her heart fluttered as if she were that girl hiding behind a statue again. “Good evening, My Lady.” He stopped by the fireplace, slowly taking in the room. Surprised, Mista could not help but notice the tension in his movements. Surely, he could not be nervous, was he? Not him, not now, away from the prying eyes. He was the fearless hero of Azanulbizar, after all, and she was only a bookish, unremarkable girl. It simply could not be. “Good evening, My Lord,” she replied and stole an apprehensive glance at the four-poster bed beside her. “Are your chambers to your satisfaction, My Lady?” Her newly wedded husband asked, putting his arms behind his back and taking in the room as if he was seeing it for the first time. Was he? Impossible, Mista scolded herself. Princess Dis informed her that he hadoverseen the renovations himself to ensure they offered the utmost comfort to his new wife.

Mista cleared her throat and took a deep breath.

“Indeed, they are, My Lord. I am very grateful. These rooms have exceeded my expectations by far,” she admitted truthfully. She was used to the comfort and splendour of Tumunzahar, but Azsâlul'abad’s opulence was unmatched.

“I am glad to hear it. If you  are ever in need of any one thing, please do not hesitate to ask for it. As the royal consort, Lady Mista, you shall receive only what is best in my kingdom.” He spoke in a steady tone, his low voice slightly hoarser than before.

“Thank you, My Lord, for your generosity,” she lowered her head, wondering whether he was just as uneasy as she was. He thanked her with a nod and observed her silently for a few moments. Mista knew very well how she must look in his eyes and swallowed in embarrassment. Her figure was not what they call “statuesque”, her bosom was too small to be considered enticing, and so, if anyone asked Mista, the low cut bodice was a waste of the tailor’s skill. Besides, she was a bit on the stocky side, and not in that feminine way that was so highly admired among dwarves. As her mother had pertinently put it, “curvaceous” was not the word that described Mista’s figure. Apparently, she resembled a stone slab the most. Crude, angular, and plain. To put it simply, she knew well that she was not the most graceful nor alluring woman in the dwarven kingdom of Azsâlul'abad. Therefore, she felt a bit of relief at the fact that her new lord husband’s gaze did not stray below her neck.

“Let us sit down for now.” He pointed at the two armchairs standing nearby, “and talk.”

Mista hid her confusion at this statement, and joined him quickly by the fireplace. Talking meant that the moment she both dreaded and hoped for would be delayed.

After a few moments of silence, the King finally spoke, his voice solemn, “We have found ourselves in quite unusual circumstances, My Lady. We have been joined in the eyes of Mahal and our people, and are expected to consummate our union. I believe, however, that the best course of action would be for us to wait until we… are better acquainted with each other.”

“Oh, I see…” she replied, taken aback. Something stung in Mista's chest. Was she that unalluring to him? She mustered all her strength to appear unmoved and quickly added, “That is very… thoughtful of you.” “I gathered that you may not feel too comfortable,” his throat bobbed as he looked away, “sharing your bed with someone you have only met for the first time yesterday.”

A surprised, nervous chuckle escaped her, but she stifled it quickly, “Are you jesting, My Lord?” “I am not certain I take your meaning.” He frowned. “We met for the first time in Tumunzahar, at the feast in honour of your family’s arrival to our city,” she explained, cheerily at first, and then — not so much as the signs of puzzlement became more pronounced on his face. The King, her newlywed husband, knitted his eyebrows together. A ball of ice began to grow in her stomach. 

Mista added, her voice barely audible, “And you… you asked me to dance.” “Did I, My Lady?” he tilted his head slightly and looked above her head, perhaps attempting to recall the event. “That must have been… eighty years ago?”

“One hundred and three,” she interjected quickly and then felt her cheeks burn instantly. “I wore a blue gown adorned with sweetwater pearls and you asked me about them. We discussed pearling; I believe you wanted to try it yourself in order to find a pearl for your sister.”

Recounting those long-gone events she treasured in her memory for so many years, she saw an absent expression on his face and the enthusiasm in her voice slowly died off. Mista had hoped that the King, Thorin, would easily recall how he laughed at her silly dragon story or the moment when he showed her how to make a raven out of her dance card to her mother’s utter bafflement. Sadly, the handsome features of his face said the opposite.

“My apologies, My Lady,” he replied, shaking his head slowly. “I am ashamed to say it, but I must admit that I cannot recall that particular event. It seems that too many years have passed since then.” Silence fell after his words and she lowered her gaze, clasping her hands on her lap to prevent them from shaking. Suddenly, in her well-warmed-up room, she felt cold.

“Forgive me, I seem to have forgotten my manners,” Thorin Oakenshield stood up swiftly and made a small bow. “I did not mean to imply that your age…” “No offence taken,” she swallowed the lump in her throat as he sat back down. “We are not younglings any more. You were correct, My Lord. That feast happened long ago. Anyone could have forgotten.”

Anyone. But not Mista. She kept on cherishing the memory of that meeting, and when she first heard about the offer of marriage, she could not believe her ears. She thought that perhaps Thorin Oakenshield remembered her fondly for all these years and… nevermind. It was clear that she was mistaken. He did not recall Mista at all. Why would he? She was simply one of the many uninteresting maidens he had danced with. Plain and easy to forget. So unlike her stunningly beautiful sister Adla who never learned the bitter taste of rejection; whose husband waited impatiently for their wedding night – and with whom Adla now had three sturdy sons.

Thorin Oakenshield drummed his fingers on the armrest of the chair but remained silent. Mista stared at the elaborate pattern of the carpet under her feet. Somewhere deep in the bowels of the mountain the mine bell struck for the third time since midnight when the King poured wine into two goblets that stood on the nearby table. Only then did he finally speak. “As you know very well, My Lady, this… marriage,” he said that last word with a hint of uncharacteristic hesitation, “was to serve several purposes. Did your father inform you about all the clauses of the contract before sending the proposal to me?”

Her eyes widened. 

“Before…? I do not understand. Were you not the one to offer the alliance between our houses, My Lord?” Thorin II, the King Under the Mountain, frowned, “The offer came from your father.” “Oh… I see,” her throat tightened. Her eyes pricked. “Were you not aware of this?” The King’s eyes searched Mista’s face. “Father spared me the details,” she admitted, trying to ignore the dull ache deep inside her that seemed to come in waves. It was not the first time Lord Tair, her father, did something of this sort, but she promised herself it would be the last time. The Lonely Mountain and the kingdom beneath it was beyond his reach. 

“I have been informed of the cornerstones of the deal: you give the Broadbeams of Tumunzahar the trade licences and I…” Mista swallowed. “I give you heirs.”

Somehow, she managed to keep her tone of voice casual. Her voice did not tremble this time. What a relief. Perhaps she was not as alluring as Adla, perhaps her husband — unlike Adla’s — was set on delaying the consummation of their marriage, but at least she kept her dignity intact. She would only need to hold in the tears until she was alone again. 

“That is indeed a very straightforward approach,” the King offered with a nod. “I understand that this must sound to you like a soulless contract, but rest assured that I aim to follow all the clauses of the agreement. And as the Queen Under the Mountain, Zabdûna undu ‘Urd you will be treated with the utmost respect due to the royal consort.” “Of course, My Lord, I did not expect anything less of you,” she uttered. He had been a true gentledwarf when they had met for the first time, after all. One hundred and three years ago. “Your reputation is that of an honourable Dwarf. That is why I agreed to this marriage.”

“Then I will strive to maintain it. May I reciprocate by saying that although I do not yet know you well as a person, your conduct gives you great credit. I admired how composed you were during the ceremony, but perhaps that is not a surprise, knowing that you come from such an ancient and noble house. And I have heard of your admirable work in the Blue Mountains. All those traits are exactly what the kingdom of ‘Urdêk needs from its Queen,” the King gave her a small smile.

“I am happy to hear it, My Lord,” she whispered, looking at her hands on her lap. Your admirable work. Warmth spread in her chest. “May I ask what ‘‘Urdêk’ means? I don’t think I am familiar with this word.”

“Forgive me, this is how we call this kingdom – our home within the Mountain,” he offered. “We do not often use it when talking with outsiders. But now, you are one of us, My Lady.”

Mista’s throat tightened, but she was somehow able to utter a handful of words. “Thank you, My Lord.”

“The task before us both,” the King continued, unaware of the sudden wave of emotions that washed over her, “is to serve the Kingdom Under the Mountain to the best of our ability. Our people will rely both on you and me now.”

Our people. You and me. Those words rang in Mista’s ears like the loudest mine bells after a discovery of a new gold deposit would.

“I will strive to learn my duties as fast as I can and help you with your work, my king,” she replied, feeling his gaze on her face, but unable to meet it.

“Perfect. Time is of the essence, so Lord Balin has taken the liberty to find a capable secretary for you. She will introduce you to the way things are run here. And if you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask him. You can trust him – he taught me most of what I know about ruling this kingdom. He will be more than happy to offer his advice to you as well. There is a lot of work ahead of us; my wish is to make the Mountain fully habitable to our people as soon as possible.”

“You can count on me, My Lord,” she replied enthusiastically. “The people of ‘Urdêk, the Longbeards, the Broadbeams, and everyone else — our people — are returning and they deserve to find new homes here.”

“It brings me great joy to hear you say it, My Lady Mista,” the King took a goblet in his hand and raised it, as if to toast her, before taking a sip. “Once again the proverbial generosity of the Broadbeams turns out to be worth its weight in gold.”

“As you know, I have never visited Azsâlul'abad before, but I have heard many tales of its greatness of old. What I have seen so far only confirms these tales — and I wish to help return the Lonely Mountain to its former glory if I can.”

She looked timidly at the King from under her eyelashes and saw a flicker in his eyes as he peered at her.

“And I will do what I can for you to feel at home here, My Lady,” he gestured at their surroundings. “This kingdom is now yours as well.”

“You are very kind, My Lord,” Mista bowed her head reverently.

For a moment, they sat in silence. 

“Well, this was a productive conversation, My Lady,” he clapped his hand against his muscular thigh and then rose from his chair. “I will not impose myself upon you any further. You must be exhausted after today’s ceremonies. Allow me to bid you good night,” King Thorin, her husband, made a hasty bow and returned to his chambers.

The sound of the closing door echoed dully in the silence of her bedchamber.

For a long while, Mista stared blankly at the dark wooden surface behind which her newly wed husband disappeared, without even once addressing her as “wife”. She was barely aware of the tears that fell from her face onto the soft fabric of her nightgown. Even this elegant piece of clothing was not enough to make her alluring in the eyes of the King. If she only were as enticing as Adla…

It was Mista’s wedding night and she felt like the greatest fool in the world.

✨ Chapter 1 (Prologue) | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3... ✨ Entangled Masterlist 💙💙💙 Read it? Like it? Spread the love and reblog it! 💙💙💙

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