#Man's just that innocent/unassuming | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heejake-hoon · 2 months

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Milked in the Stacks

CW: Dom!Heeseung x sub!Jake x sub!afab!reader, threesome, face fucking, mxm actions, messy make out, facials, names calling (slut, whore...etc), creampie, a bit of breeding kink (if you squint) and more WC: 4,159 (of pure filth and nastiness) A.N: I had thoughts about this while being on the plane nd couldn't stop thinking about it, so enjoy. Also this is my first time writing threesome/mxm so don't have high expectations.

You shift awkwardly at your desk, the dull scribble of your pen filling the dimly lit library. It's late - too late for anyone to really be here, especially on a Friday night. But you're a diligent student, working hard towards that 4.0 GPA. Even if it means missing out on the raucous parties just a few blocks away.

The muffled thump of bass drums reach your ears, barely audible through the thick stone walls. You roll your eyes. Typical of the frat crowd to be so obnoxiously loud. Your mind wanders to the rumors about the jocks and meatheads that dominate Greek life on campus. Drunken debauchery, orgies, hazing rituals…you shudder at the thought.

A loud bang makes you jump, quill skidding across the page. Two figures stumble into the library, all tangled limbs and sloppy kisses. You quickly avert your eyes, but can't help but sneak another peek.

It's Heeseung and Jake - the hottest guys at your college. Heeseung is a senior, the quintessential frat boy stud. Rumpled peachy hair, broad shoulders tapering down to slim hips. Jake is the opposite - an unassuming sophomore from the honor society, glasses askew and baby face flushed red.

You've had a crush on the two of them for ages, despite their completely different social circles. Heeseung practically oozes effortless charisma and sex appeal. While Jake's innocent demeanor stirs a protective urge deep inside you.

Your thighs clench involuntarily as Heeseung pushes the smaller man against the bookshelves, grinding their clothed erections together. Why are they doing this here? A small, neglected part of your brain whispers hopefully that maybe, just maybe, it's for your benefit.

Jake lets out a breathy moan, quickly muffled by Heeseung's demanding mouth. They're really getting into it, completely oblivious to your wide-eyed stare. You should leave, right? Give them some privacy? But you're utterly transfixed, squirming in your seat.

Heeseung pulls back with a cocky grin. "You want it that bad, baby? Right here in the fucking library?" His voice is a low, gruff murmur, dripping with lust.

Jake whimpers, nodding eagerly. "Please, need you…"

Your panties are absolutely soaked at this point. Why do you feel like you're the one being teased instead? Heeseung's piercing gaze flits over to your corner, finally noticing your presence.

Rather than looking embarrassed, his signature smirk only grows wider. No, he looks…predatory. You freeze like a deer caught in the headlights. This can't be happening. Not to you, the innocent bookworm who wouldn't know what to do with a hot guy like that if you tried.

Except Heeseung doesn't give you a choice. In one smooth motion, he's sauntering over to your desk, chest puffed and knees swaggering. Jake quickly follows behind, smoothing his rumpled shirt and looking deliciously debauched.

"Well, well…looks like we've got an audience," Heeseung drawls, looming over your pitiful scribbles. Your throat is dry, heart pounding in your chest.

He leans in close, the crisp scent of his cologne and something muskier making your head spin. "You've been a naughty girl, watching us like a fucking pervert."

Jake's face is burning crimson beside you, seemingly conflicted between embarrassment and arousal. God, the two of them are gorgeous. You want them so bad, have fantasized about this very situation more times than you can count.

But you never imagined it would actually happen. And you're utterly paralyzed, heat pooling steadily between your legs.

"I think she liked what she saw, Jakey," Heeseung continues darkly. He grips your chin roughly, tilting your face up to meet his blown-out gaze. "Doesn't she look so pretty? All innocent and shit. Makes me wanna fuck her up. What do you think?"

Jake swallows thickly, shifting closer. You can feel the heat radiating off his body. His shy, hesitant voice sends delicious tingles down your spine.

"H-Heeseung…I don't know if we should…" But he doesn't protest any further as the older man captures your lips in a searing, demanding kiss. You're frozen in shock as Heeseung's lips move insistently against yours. His tongue sweeps along the seam of your mouth, demanding entry. You can't help but gasp, allowing the velvet muscle to delve inside and map every warm, wet crevice.

The frat boy kisses with a bruising intensity, like he's trying to devour you whole. One large hand fists in your hair, angling your head for deeper control. You moan shamelessly into his mouth, the sweet taste of beer and something darker on his tongue.

An envious groan rumbles from Jake's chest. His hand comes to rest on your knee, squeezing needily. You jump at the contact, pulse fluttering beneath his soft fingertips. Feeling emboldened, he shifts forward, peppering feather-light kisses along the column of your exposed neck and shoulder.

You whine at the sensation, lashes fluttering. Jake and Heeseung work in tandem, overwhelming your senses with their contrasting techniques. One utterly dominant and demanding, the other achingly gentle and worshipful. It's dizzying, heat rapidly pooling between your thighs.

When the need for air becomes too great, Heeseung breaks away with a carnal growl. His pupils are blown out, lips wet and kiss-swollen. An obscene string of saliva connects you briefly before snapping. You're left panting, hair mussed and no doubt blushing furiously.

"That's it, sweetheart. Let out those pretty little whimpers for us," Heeseung rasps, voice like gravel. His hands roam down your body, caressing the curves he's clearly admired from afar. You whimper again as he cups your breast brazenly through your thin shirt, thumbing the sensitive peak.

Jake whines against the side of your neck, rutting minutely against your thigh. You can feel his impressive bulge straining against the tight denim, begging for friction. Some deeply repressed part of you wants to drop to your knees and release his thick length with your mouth. But you're utterly powerless, helplessly trapped between the two devastatingly handsome men.

"Let's get these clothes off, yeah?" Heeseung tugs impatiently at your shirt, lips quirking at your deliciously dazed expression. Jake gives you a look full of unspoken questions, silently asking your consent. You bite your lip and nod, subtly arching your back to allow Heeseung to pull the fabric up and over your head.

The crisp library air raises goosebumps along your bare torso, peaked nipples hardening in anticipation. Heeseung hums appreciatively at the sight, hands splayed across the soft swell of your belly and ribs. He leans back to take you in, unashamed as his gaze roams over every dip and curve with rapacious hunger.

Jake lets out a shuddering sigh, breath fanning across the heated skin of your chest. His mouth latches on to your collarbone, sucking vibrant blooms of crimson and violet that'll surely last for days. The thought sends a thrill down your spine, claimed and marked by them both.

"You look so fucking good, pretty girl. All spread out just for us," Heeseung growls. He watches the display beside him with dark, hooded lids. A long, thick finger traces the outline of Jake's eager mouth, tugging his plump lower lip down obscenely. "Think I'll let my boy have his fun first. He was so cock hungry earlier, weren't you sweetheart?"

Jake flushes even deeper, pupils blown wide as he obediently sucks the digit into the scorching heat of his mouth. A hot flash of arousal streaks through you at the sight, your neglected pussy clenching with need. The smaller boy swirls his tongue around the offering reverently, lewd sucking noises filling the hush of the library.

You mewl softly as Jake diverts his attention back to you, trailing hot kisses across your chest and stomach before hovering over the waistband of your jeans. His eyes flick up to your face, pupils blown, silently seeking permission to continue this downward trajectory.

Heeseung chuckles darkly behind him, carelessly unfastening his own belt buckle. The metallic clink makes you jolt, nerves and arousal battling for dominance. "Go on, angel. Been waiting all night to get a taste of this pretty little pussy."

Heat rushes to your cheeks at his crude words, but you shakily nod. Jake's talented fingers make quick work of your jeans, tugging the restricting fabric down your trembling thighs and calves. You shift forward, lifting your hips to allow him to remove them fully, leaving you in just your simple cotton panties.

Heeseung groans, heavy cock straining against his boxer briefs. His large hand pumps the thick shaft slowly, smearing the pearly bead of pre-cum gathering at the flushed tip. "Fuck, look at you. Such an obedient little slut, already dripping for us."

You whine at his filthy words, undeniably turned on despite your innocent demeanor. He's right - the flimsy material between your legs is absolutely soaked through, a dark spot betraying the evidence of your arousal. The scent of your desire hangs thick and heady in the air between you.

Jake doesn't hesitate, nuzzling his flushed cheek against the damp cotton. You gasp sharply at the contact, hips bucking up for more delicious friction. He mouths hungrily at your clothed sex, the tip of his tongue teasing along the seam in a featherlight facsimile of what's to come.

"There you go, Jakey…taste how fucking sweet she is."

Heeseung fists his hand in Jake's soft, honey blonde locks, guiding his eager mouth along your aching folds. You tremble beneath his reverent ministrations, head thrown back in pleasure. A tiny, overwhelmed part of you still can't quite believe this is truly happening. That the objects of your deepest, darkest fantasies are lavishing their attention upon you in such an illicit way.

"P-please…" you beg breathlessly, fingers scrabbling against the worn wooden desk beneath you. Your back arches as the smaller boy licks a broad, luxurious stripe up your slit through the damp cotton. "Want…need…"

"Poor baby, you're so worked up," Heeseung coos mockingly, thumbing the glistening head of his impressive length. "Don't worry…we'll give you exactly what you need."

With an obscene growl, he hooks his fingers beneath the elastic waistband of your underwear, tugging them to the side in one sharp motion. Your glistening, swollen folds are finally exposed to the chilly air, flushed and weeping with need. You squirm under their focused gazes, suddenly shy and self-conscious.

Jake lets out a needy whine at the sight of your exposed sex. His breath ghosts over the glistening folds in hot puffs, close enough that you squirm from the sensation.

"Such a pretty fucking pussy," he rasps, voice deep and husky with lust. You moan softly as his velvet tongue laps at your slick folds experimentally.

Heeseung crowds closer, lazily stroking his thick length just inches from your face. "That's it, baby. Get her nice and messy for me."

You keen, throwing your head back as Jake seals his mouth over your entrance, that clever tongue working you open with broad, filthy strokes. He's utterly shameless, cheeks hollowed with effort as he suckles noisily at your essence. Wet squelching noises and your breathless whines fill the air.

Your hips roll in small, desperate circles, chasing more of that delicious friction. Jake accommodates readily, plush lips stretched obscenely around your aching clit. He lavishes the swollen bud with searing attention, flicking his tongue against it insistently.

"Oh-oh god…!" you sob out, trembling on the precipice of release. The coiling pleasure is exquisite, warmth blooming across your heated skin.

Heeseung chuckles smugly. He guides the weeping head of his cock to smear your lips with sticky pre-cum. You don't hesitate before opening obediently, suckling at the salty bead on your tongue. He groans approvingly, thrusting shallowly to paint your pretty mouth with his essence.

"Dirty girl…knew you'd be so good for us," he rumbles. His free hand slides into the tresses at your nape, tilting your head back further. You gag softly as the thick cockhead catches on your soft palate, thighs clenching around Jake's frantically working mouth.

Jake mewls desperately between your thighs, greedy for your impending climax. He looks utterly wrecked, hair mussed and lips red and swollen from his efforts. Yet he refuses to let up, dutifully fucking his dexterous little tongue into your sopping channel with fervor.

The orgasm slams into you with staggering force. You wail around Heeseung's cock, body convulsing as gushing waves of bliss crest over you. Jake laps greedily at the fresh rush of your arousal, glassy eyes screwed shut in concentration.

Heeseung ruts into the tight walls of your mouth, forcing you to swallow around his impressive length. Thick rivulets of drool and precum stream down your chin, lewd choking sounds tearing from your abused throat. Your head swims from overstimulation and lack of air.

"Ah fuck…keep going slut, take it all for me," he growls, hips snapping shallowly. Your makeup is utterly ruined, mascara streaking ebony trails down your cheeks. But you've never felt more debauched, more wanted in your entire life.

Just as your vision begins to darken around the edges, he pulls out with a guttural moan. His cock slaps wetly against your cheek, leaving a smear of pearly essence behind as the veiny shaft pulses. You suck in desperate gulps of air, blinking up at the frat stud through a lusty, tear-blurred gaze.

"Christ, you look like a fucking dream," he pants, roughly thumbing your spit-slick lower lip. "All messy and used up already."

Jake finally pulls away with an obscene slurp, a dazed and thoroughly fucked-out expression painting his features. His face glistens with your arousal, lips bitten red and wet. Heeseung turns his hooded gaze on him hungrily.

"Give it to me, sweetheart," he orders gruffly. Jake scrambles to obey, crawling up your body to desperately seal their lips together. You watch, transfixed, as Heeseung thoroughly plunders the other boy's mouth, no doubt tasting every musky essence lingering on Jake's skilled tongue…

You shudder at the filthy, indecent display unfolding before your very eyes. Jake is completely pliant and submissive, whimpering eagerly as Heeseung's thick fingers tangle roughly in his honey-blond hair. The ravenous kiss goes on and on, the wet sounds of their arduous french baiting and desperate groping drowning out all other noise.

Heeseung's molten gaze pins you in place with the weight of his carnal hunger. He reaches for you, large hands gripping the backs of your thighs in a bruising hold.

"Bend those pretty little legs for me, princess. Gonna show you just how fucking good I can make you feel," he growls, voice dripping with lust. You obey mindlessly, allowing him to tug you flush against his body, feet planted on the edge of the sturdy desk.

Your breath catches as the thick length of his cock drags along your dripping folds, spreading your arousal in silken streaks. Heeseung's lips quirk into that infuriating smirk as he watches your features contort with needy desperation.

With one powerful drive of his hips, he buries himself to the hilt inside your welcoming heat. Your back bows off the desk, a broken mewl torn from your chest as he stretches and fills you in one deliciously obscene thrust. Stars burst across your vision, tingling shockwaves of sensation radiating through your core.

"Fucking hell…gonna ruin this greedy little cunt," Heeseung hisses, voice tight with rapture. He wastes no time, immediately pounding into you with harsh, sharp strokes that knock breathy moans from your trembling lips.

Each powerful thrust makes your breasts jiggle enticingly, nipples peaked and aching for attention. You feel utterly split open and impaled on his cock, the velvet steel length rubbing torturous friction against your slick, spongy walls. Obscene squelches and gasps fill the library with every brutal slide.

Jake watches with rapt, shamelessly hungry eyes, his plush mouth gaped open. He strokes his own weeping length eagerly, precome drooling from the flushed head. Finally, he leans in and busies his talented tongue against Heeseung's flexing bollocks, kitten licking and sucking at the heavy, musky sac in a worshipful display.

"Ah yes…fuck…there's a good boy," Heeseung moans, snapping his hips into your fluttering heat with renewed vigor. He grips Jake's hair in a brutal fist, shoving his face more insistently against his saliva-slick balls.

The sordid visual is almost too much to bear, combined with the harsh pounding of your battered core. You're utterly suspended at the precipice, teetering on the knife's edge of blissful oblivion. Frantic whines and pleas tumble from your bruised pout shamelessly.

"Shh, gonna give you my cock like a good girl," Heeseung pants, hand drifting up to palm a hefty, swollen breast roughly. His rough palm captures your turgid nipple, rolling and tugging at the sensitive peak viciously. "Want to feel your sweet little cunt squeezing me when you cum…"

With one final, brutal snap of his hips, the barrage is too much. The frayed threads of your control snap as a blinding orgasm rocks through your very being. Back bowing off the desk like a taut cord, you cry out in shuddering bliss as rapturous pulses of euphoria convulse through your overstimulated form. Heeseung fucks you through each exquisite wave, working his cock into your fluttering spasms as your slick arousal splatters obscenely between your bodies.

He finally pulls out with a groan, thick shaft slick and gleaming with your combined essence. Jake instantly latches onto the glistening cockhead, tongue chasing every musky streak hungrily. Heeseung groans, harsh and guttural, forcing the smaller man to take his length deeper into his hollowed cheeks.

With one final shuddery gasp, his entire body seems to freeze for one endless, suspended moment. Jake's eyes flutter shut as thick ropes of pearly release are painted across his upturned features, a fresh mural of debasement and desire.

The depraved scene shifts before your lust-glazed eyes before Heeseung hauls you possessively onto his thick length once more, sheathing himself to the root inside your convulsing, creamy pussy with one brutal grind of his hips. You cry out, already feeling so deliriously full and claimed by his sheer virility.

Snarling in satisfaction, Heeseung grips the mounds of your ass cheeks in a bruising grip, starting up a punishing rhythm that has you jouncing up and down his cock obscenely. Wet squelching sounds and your breathless moans fill the library as he claims what's rightfully his.

But he's not done sharing the spoils with his smaller counterpart. Heeseung beckons Jake over with a curl of one thick finger, that predatory alpha glint in his eyes. The willowy blonde immediately crawls to obey, chest heaving with arousal at the lurid display.

"Open up for me, baby," Heeseung orders lowly. "Princess here is gonna get her pretty mouth just as fucked as her greedy little cunt."

He tugs on your hair sharply to guide your head back, exposing the line of your bruised throat. Your lips part readily, tongue lolling out in a gesture of wanton submission. Jake doesn't need any further encouragement.

He shuffles upright and aligns the flushed, weeping crown of his cock with your waiting mouth. You moan thunderously as he slides between your puffy, slicked lips. He's not quite as large as Heeseung, but the taste of his pre-release still has you quivering with arousal. He's thick and heavy and deliciously musky on your tongue.

Soon, the raw, barbaric rhythm is established. Heeseung brutally jackhammers up into your slick, spasming cunt, the desk rattling beneath you. But Jake is more measured, smooth rolls of his lean hips that bury his cock to the root in the silken confines of your throat.

You're utterly sandwiched between them, moaning deliriously around Jake's shaft as Heeseung splits you open again and again with his prodigious length. Every nerve ending has been set alight, vibrating at the peak of rapturous overstimulation.

Jake keens and grips your hair tighter, picking up the pace to thoroughly skullfuck you in tandem with Heeseung's savage thrusts. His balls slap against your chin obscenely, smearing pre-release and spit into a sticky mess across your features.

"That's it…take it like the perfect little whore you are," Heeseung snarls from above, drunk on the power trip. "Gonna pump both these tight holes full of our fucking seed…"

The crude words send shockwaves through you. Your thighs are slick and trembling, orgasms fast approaching like a runaway train. Jake seems to sense your impending rapture as well. He fucks your mouth with renewed vigor, choking out your wanton whines into garbled, muffled moans around his pistoning meat.

Heeseung unexpectedly seizes your hips in an iron grip, slamming you down onto his cock with enough force to rattle your teeth. You wail incoherently as that final, brutal thrust shatters the glass ceiling of your control entirely.

Wave after breathtaking wave of orgasmic release convulses through your ravaged form. Every muscle tenses to the point of agony as electrical pulses of ecstasy short circuit your synapses. You're utterly suspended in a dissociative state of bliss, continuous gushes of slick essence sheening your thighs and Heeseung's inhumanly thick cock.

He roars with dark satisfaction, somehow fucking you even harder through the all-consuming storm of climax. Jake whimpers helplessly, face flushing crimson as hot ropes of your drool and excess saliva stream down his shaft in filthy rivulets.

The sight seems to undo him entirely. Tensing beneath you, his movements stutter and falter as a blissful rictus overtakes his pretty features. Heeseung grins savagely and yanks Jake flush against your face, growling for you to "take that fucking load, princess."

That virile command seems to be the final push Jake needs. He arches in freefall, mouth dropping open around a hitched exhalation. The first pulse of his hot seed streaks across your tongue, filling your mouth with its bitter saltiness as you struggle to swallow every tangy pulse.

He cries out in rapturous bliss, hips jerking helplessly to milk himself to completion. Your cheeks hollow with effort, determined to drain him dry like the obedient little cockslut that you are.

"Fuck…yes, take it all you greedy whore," Heeseung growls from above, hips still pistoning relentlessly as he breeds your shuddering, spasming cunt with his brutal length.

His balls slap lewdly against your ass with every punishing thrust, the twin peaks tightening in preparation for his own impending release. You whine around Jake's cock, delighted by the prospect of being thoroughly sullied by both their viscous seed.

Jake finally pulls his spend-smeared length from the debauched 'o' of your mouth with a filthy pop. He staggers back to catch his breath, abs rippling and face gone slack with a hazy, euphoric expression.

Heeseung seizes the opportunity to crash their lips together, devouring Jake's moans with a ravenous growl. He tastes you both on the smaller man's tongue, rich and musky and filthy.

You lie there, feeling utterly impaled and ruined by Heeseung's insistent pounding. Sweat sheens your bodies, which glisten obscenely with each punishing slam of his hips. The coil of your shared pleasure is rapidly reaching its crescendo, nerves alight.

"Where do you want this fucking load, princess?" he snarls against Jake's mouth, teeth nipping at the plump flesh possessively. "Tell me like the dirty girl you are."

"I-inside!" you wail without hesitation, head thrashing against the desk. "Please…please fucking breed me like a good slut!"

Something unhinged flickers across Heeseung's chiseled features. He seizes your jaw in one large palm, grip nearly bruising as he drinks in your deliriously wrecked and wanton expression hungrily.

"That's my girl," he rumbles. Punctuated by another brutal thrust, his next words rasp out in a torrid rush of crudity. "Get ready to get that messy little hole pumped full of my thick fucking seed…"

As if guided by some primal, cosmic trigger, your bodies fall into perfect alignment at long last. His hand winds into your hair while Jake latches onto your swaying tits, suckling frantically at your peaked nipples.

Gripping you in a punishing hold, Heeseung unleashes a final flurry of piston-sharp thrusts. You soar over the edge of oblivion with a guttural scream, consciousness whiting out beneath the force of your cataclysmic rapture.

His throbbing cock slams against that velvet cluster of nerves in a delicious finale, and you spiral endlessly through the white-hot vortex of climax. Your walls flutter and pulsate greedily around his retrograde pulsing length, milking him without quarter.

Heeseung shatters apart with a groan, thick, ropey strands of virile seed flooding your spasming hole to the brink. You shudder as his essence rushes to paint every twitching contour of your insides, coating your receptive walls with its potent finish.

Thick rivulets drool and drip down the cleft of your ass as he continues to pump, determined to thoroughly lay his claim. His vicious grunts eventually trail off into euphoric huffs, cock finally spent.

You both lie there twitching and heaving for breath in the aftermath of your mutual detonation. Jake presses worshipful kisses to every inch of your marked, ravaged bodies in reverent daze. You've never felt more owned, sated or deliciously defiled in your life…

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eyesxxyou · 14 days

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First Time 💋

🩸・・・l. howlett x fem!reader

rating. m

word count. 3.5k

synopsis. you were everything logan shouldn't want. young, religious, and innocent. you were sweet to everyone. and you've never been touched. logan wants to be your first everything.

warnings. age gap relationship (reader is 21, Logan is nearing 50) , religious reader, innocent reader, explicit consent, blood, taking of virginity, a bit of toxic relationship dynamics, logan is not a good person, not edited

↳ pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.3

You were dealing with the devil in disguise and you didn't even know it. For even the devil was once an angel, the most beautiful angel in heaven. That’s the way he tempts even the purest souls into damnation. And you were his latest victim.

Your purity was hanging by the thinnest thread called “virginity” which you were steadfast in not giving up. Logan wasn't pushing it by any means. Slowly but surely, you were giving up pieces of yourself to him. Giving away slices of your precious soul until before even you knew it, you had given him your entire cake. In fact, he had taught you how to give a blow job, confined you to let him hump against your clothed pussy, then eventually against the bare thing.

Logan was growing ever closer to obtaining you, possessing you wholly.

You had already gone home for the night when there was a steady, polite knock at his door. Logan, with a cigar hanging from between his lips, initially thought it was you. That was how you knocked, with a small rhythm and a tender politeness.

But much to his dismay, when he opened the door, Logan found that it was not you, but your father standing before him, still dressed in his Sunday best.

Now, for a moment, Logan thought that this was it. You had either been caught or in some sort of religious guilt, you had confessed everything. Either way, he was sure he had been busted and your father had come to wreak havoc upon him. Either way, he wasn't scared. At the end of the day you were two grown people who had made their decisions.

“Mr. Howlett, nice to see you again.” Your father smiled. There was no malice or ill intent. You were both in the clear. Logan took his cigar from his mouth and put it out in the ashtray beside the door. “I hope I’m not disturbing your night.” He could see where you got your politeness from. Your father was a good, mild-mannered man. Average on all accounts. But he made a spectacular girl of you.

“Not at all, Reverend.”

Your father, with his hands crossed nicely at his front, was smiling politely. Logan wondered if he knew you had just been here. He wondered if he knew that he had his daughter on her knees with his dick in her mouth. Did he know that he came on your face? Did he know that your mouth felt like heaven?

“I was wondering if you could come by my house tomorrow. Unfortunately we have a bit of an issue with the pipes in our kitchen. I wanted to know if you could take a look.” It was innocent enough but the idea of being in your house made Logan almost swell and explode. He tried to hide the smile, the enthusiasm behind his “sure, I can take a look”.

“Great, thank you for your kindness, Mr. Howlett.” Logan can almost hear your voice in his. Small, quaint, unassuming. “You can come over in the morning. My family and I will be out but we'll leave the door unlocked so you can get in.”

Logan closed the door as your father walked off his porch, already looking forward to tomorrow morning. He thought of how he’d make his way through your house, into your room. He imagined going into your drawers and taking a pair of your pretty little panties to keep for himself. He imagined getting in your bed and jerking off until he came, right on your pillow.

He was up bright and early the next morning. With a small handle of whiskey to wake him up, Logan was out the door by 10 am with his toolbag in hand, a cigar hidden away so he could smoke out the back when he needed to take a break.

Your house was far different than his, bigger, painted a light blue with pastel yellow shudders and a white trim. It was the picture perfect house containing a picture perfect family. What a terrible person he must be to infiltrate such a home.

Your Father said the door would be unlocked. Your family car wasn't in the driveway, you all must have left already. Logan, with laborious steps, made his way up your porch, white wood, a few rocking chairs and a table where you must have put out lemonade and watched the sun go down.

He welcomed himself inside. Your house smelled like wilting roses and antiques. There were crosses everywhere, Bible verses on boards and Rae Dunn as far as the eye could see. Standard, religious, suburban home. He saw nothing out of place from your old brown couch to your wallpaper, pretty and bright.

Logan considered if he should work on your faulty pipes first or take his sick pleasure in your room. After a moment, he adjusted his grip on his toolbag and made his way through your living room and into your kitchen. He’d wait until he got the job done, then take his sweet time in your room. He’d make it a reward.

As it turns out, it was quite simple. You had the wrong piece for the pipe under your kitchen sink and it was connected incorrectly. Logan was halfway beneath your sink when he heard bare feet padding about the hardwood in the living room. He came out, a large hand on the counter to help himself up. His bones weren't what they used to be.

You had come rounding the corner into the tiled kitchen, dressed in nothing but a pretty, little, pale, pink nightgown that stopped at your mid-thigh. You paused at the sight of him, eyes wide and startled like a deer in headlights. “Mr. Howlett?” Sweet little thing, your arms went to cross over your chest, obviously not covered by a bra as he could see the peaks of your nipples poking against the fabric.

Stumbling back a bit, you swallowed. “What are you– my dad said you wouldn't be here until later when he came back.” You watched with your fawn eyes as he stood with a grunt in his white tank top, rough, blue jeans, and steel-toed boots. You were vulnerable, fully and entirely. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Naked under your nightgown besides just a pair of tiny panties.

“Wanted to get this out of the way. Didn't think you’d be here, doll.” Logan took a step towards you and you didn't dare take one back. Your gaze flickered to the side. “I was gonna go but I wasn't feeling well.” You’re all soft and meek and sweet. As if to prove your point, you let out a little cough. He could just devour you.

Logan looked back at his work. “Well– I figured out what's wrong. Should be a simple fix once I get the right part for it.” He looked back to you, eyes all soft. “I'm free for the rest of the day, babydoll.” You know what he was trying to get at. You were home alone, practically naked, the idea wasn't so far beyond you anymore.

You bit your lip. “You want to see my bedroom? I just redid it.”

A smile twitched at Logan's lip. “Yeah, doll. Show me your bedroom.” You reached out and took his hand in yours, large and calloused. You guided him with your padded feet, occasionally looking back at him as if he’d disappear from behind you. If you were Orpheus, he’d already be gone by now.

You took him up the stairs and around the banister into your room done up in white, floral wallpaper. Your bed was neatly made with a single giant stuffed bear sitting against the pillows. It was obviously old and well-loved. Your room was just like you, soft and quaint.

Letting go of his hand, you went and you sat on the edge of your bed while Logan took his time examining this space you call yours. “It’s nice, really. Pretty, like you.” He stood in the center of your room, looking at you. You were fiddling your fingers in your lap, looking anywhere but him. You were thinking, thinking hard. Your lips twitched.

“What are you thinking about, dollface?” Logan made his way to you and grasped your chin in his fingers. He made you look at him with your doll eyes and your doll lips which you pursed softly. Silently, you stood from the edge of your bed, pressed between it and Logan's solid body. With your hands against his chest, you got up on your toes to reach his face and carefully pressed your lips to his in a tender kiss.

Your hands caressed his face softly, his beard prickly under your fingertips. You were still awkward and timid while kissing, but you were getting better at it. Still on your toes, you broke away from the kiss and wrapped your arms around Logan's neck. “I think I'm ready,” you whispered, voice quivering.

A better man would have asked, “are you sure?” A good man would have told you to wait until you were absolutely sure or even, to stick to your morals and wait until marriage. But Logan was not a good man and all he wanted was you, your entirety, resting in his palms like a baby bunny.

Logan dipped down and kissed you harder than before, with a feverish desire to take your soul straight from your body. His hands slid under your little nightgown, palms against your flesh, groping at you. Your breasts, your ass, the plush of your hips. You whimpered at how rough he was with you and Logan swallowed every squeak.

“Please…be gentle.” You pleaded with him. Your body shuddered as you felt the rumble of Logan's chest. He chuckled lowly.

“Oh, doll– I’m not known for being a gentle man.” There was something a bit feral in his throat as he spoke. “Come on, let's get this off of you.” He tugged at the hem of your nightgown, up and over your head, leaving you partially naked. Your hand immediately shot to your chest, shivering like a scared puppy.

Logan grabbed your wrist, despite his words, he was trying his best to be gentle with you. He didn't want to break you. What was the good in breaking something he wanted to possess? No, no, he didn't want to break you. Logan wanted you to be so thoroughly his that you'd never question him, your loyalty to him was what he wanted.

He took your hands from your breasts to get a good view of them. They were perfectly sized, soft looking. Your whole body was tender and sweet, with plush flesh and sweet curves all where they ought to be. Logan salivated like a pavlovian dog. He kissed you and palmed at your little, cotton panties, tucking his thumbs in and tugging them down.

You whined. “S-slow down.” Pleading as he removed them from you and carefully pushed you onto your bed. You felt too vulnerable nude before him. But Logan was already on his knees, between your legs, kissing and licking down your trembling thighs. “What are you doing?”

He put his mouth against your little love and you let out a sharp yelp. “Wait!” You never thought someone would put their mouth down there. It felt dirty. It felt good too. He pushed his tongue past your wet lips and licked your pussy before sloppily making out with your cunt.

Logan was a messy eater. All tongue and lips, licking and suckling against your most sensitive parts. His large, rough hands gripped at your thighs to keep them parted and pressed to your chest.

You never had your pussy ate and it was easy to tell. You were so sensitive to every touch of his tongue. Every flick against your swollen clit made your entire body shudder and a sweet mewling squeal left your lips. Your back arched from the bed, your toes curled into the air over your head. “Mr. Howlett!” You let out in a long, drawn out moan, your hand in his hair, tugging.

You tasted like heaven. Like he could find the meaning of life between your legs. He drooled all over your cunt like it was the most delectable thing he's ever had the honor of tasting, slurping and panting between rough licks. Logan felt that he could easily become addicted to this if he allowed himself to, the sweetness of you, the way you quivered.

But Logan didn't want you cumming just yet. He needed you to be on his dick first. He offered a few more desperate licks to your pussy before kissing your clit and bringing himself up to stand between your legs. His large, bear-like hands worked at the buckle of his belt. “You know when your parents will be home?”

You shook your head slowly, lips rolled.

“Then we’ll have to be quick.” It wouldn't be the ideal for a girl’s first time but if you wanted “ideal” you shouldn't have chosen someone like him to give up your virginity to.

You watched him pull his cock from his pants, half hard and almost beautiful as he pumped it in his hand. He was large, larger than anything you’ve ever taken before. You could hardly handle two of his fingers before crying. How could you possibly take a thing like that inside you and still remain composed? You were terrified out of your mind and as Logan pulled you by the hip towards the edge of the bed, you were starting to reconsider.

“What if it doesn't fit?”

Logan glanced at you. “I’ll make it fit.” He should tell you that it’s going to hurt at first, that there might be blood from your hymen breaking, but he didn't want you to back out. So he stayed silent, stroking himself to complete hardness until it could stand straight on its own. “Open your legs, doll.”

You hesitated but you were never one to disobey. Trembling, already on the brink of tears from the mere fear of pain, you spread your legs apart just enough for Logan to slot in between them and hold your hips. He looked at you and thought it best to reassure you. “Don't freak out. It’ll only hurt for a minute. I’ll be right here.” It was all vapid. He just wanted your virginity, your sweet, little cunny. He wanted to wear your purity around like a trophy.

Logan was not a good man. You should have known this.

He spat on your cunt, let the saliva dribble from his lips and land on your clit where it traveled its way down to your entrance. Logan played with it with the tip of his length, spreading it all across the rose between your legs. You whimpered like a puppy, writhing at the hips as he slapped his cock against your love and teased at all the possibilities of entering you.

He was right. It did hurt when he started easing his way into you. His cock, long and thick, stretched you out to a point you had never gone to before. You almost screamed or maybe you did. Tears swelled in your eyes as you squirmed against his hold. “It hurts!”

“I know. Just hold on.” He pushed his hips to yours and settled there for a moment. You were too tense. It would only hurt more if he continued before you adjusted. “Relax for me. It’ll only keep hurting if you don't calm down.” You were gasping, sobbing. “I– I can't!”

“Yeah, you can. Just breathe. Stop crying, doll.” Logan rubbed your hip with his hand and cooed at you. He rolled his hips against yours, coaxing you into whining. You let out a deep, panting breath, fingers gripping at the sheets of your bed. You reached out and grabbed your teddy bear to hold for comfort.

You pressed your face into the side of the bear’s head and nodded. “Go slow, please.” Your eyes glistened as you looked at him, cheeks still wet with tears. Your fingers grip into your teddy as Logan grunts lowly. “Sure thing, babydoll.” He grabs your thighs like you grip that stuffed animal, for dear life. You’re so fucking tight, gripping him like a fucking vice as he pulls his hips back.

There's a bit of blood on his cock. He ruptured your hymen with just one thrust. Logan pressed your legs to your chest as he fucked you, starting slow as you requested. He reveled in every desperate cry that clawed at your lips, every pined whimper that fell away into pleasure. Your toes pointed then curled, pointed, curled.

The pain didn't last too long, the blood still wet on his cock as you mewled. You looked quite cute holding your bear, your knees beside your ears, and you can't spread out around his slick length. Logan almost growled with each rut into your soft, silky pussy clinging to him.

It took everything in him not to brutalize you. Not to show you exactly what intentions he had with you. You were nothing serious, but you were his and his alone. He was not the type to marry but if it meant diving into a cunt like this every night, he just might put a ring on your finger to keep you satisfied and placid.

You were so dizzy with dick you might as well have fallen in love with Logan. Maybe you were in love with him. You were certain you were. You would have never given up your virginity to him if you hadn't believed that maybe, just maybe this might go somewhere.

Your father might let you marry him. He’s far older than you but Logan has a good reputation. He might not be a church man, but most accept him within the community. If you pleaded enough, if you told him Logan stole your virginity, he’d demand you two get married to save the family's reputation.

You let out a steady “ah, ah, ah” and “ohhhh!” with each thrust that takes the wind out of you. Logan likes the noises you make, how surprised they sound. You know nothing of this, of his evil, of his hellish ways. “Keep moaning like that. You're gonna make me cum, babydoll.” His hand slithered between your legs, thumb finding your clit toy with.

You squeaked, squealing. “No, no, no! I gonna–” you could hardly get it out before it happened, a great fountain of clear liquid coming from you and landing all over Logan's front. You always found your squirting embarrassing. You were mortified that you had got it all over Logan, still mostly clothed. Some of it even got on his face.

He bared his teeth, licking his lips like some starved animal. You were hazy-eyed and shaking with an orgasm so intense, you might as well have died and come back to life. “Logan– Logan, please.” You huffed, breathless and tired and begging him for something, anything, everything.

“Please what, doll?” Logan was rather amused by the way you writhed beneath him, holding your teddy so tight he thought you might rip it apart. He was so close to cumming, you made it impossible not to do it fast.

You shook your head with a great sob, tossing an arm over your face. “Please…don't cum in me! My dad will kill me if I get pregnant.” You couldn't handle the thought of disappointing your parents. They’d disown you, they’d…they’d…you didn't know what they'd do.

You sniffled as Logan chuckled at your request. “And what if I did, huh? What if I came deep inside you and put a baby in you, then what?” He liked how hard you sobbed, how you cried and moaned at the same time. Despair and pleasure all wrapped into one neat, little bow.

“Please, don’t.”

Logan groaned lowly, faltering with his thrust as his hips shuddered and his cock pulsed in the sweet tightness of your cunt. Just at the last second, he pulled out and came all over your pelvis and lower abdomen, shooting out great, white ribbons across your supple flesh. He didn't want to get you pregnant. He was a bad man, but he was no baby-trapper.

There was silence between the two of you. Your first time was not anything quite special but it was with someone you wanted to have it with so at least that was something. You felt…disgusting. Like a whore, like you dishonored your family.

Logan could see it. He could see the way you slowly dwindled into self-doubt and self-hatred. He took your hand in his and pulled you up into a sitting position. “Gimme some sugar, baby.” He leaned down and kissed you gently, holding your jaw in his hand, stroking your face. With a single kiss, your worries melted away into nothing, a void mind filled with only thoughts of a perfect life with Logan.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, your parents will be home any moment now.”

A perfect life not meant for you. Logan would never commit. He wasn't capable of it. He might want something nice and simple like a wife and a family, but he knew he’d never be satisfied with it.

Logan Howlett was not a good man. And poor you for falling in love with him.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x fem!reader #x men wolverine #wolverine #wolverine x fem!reader #the wolverine #wolverine x reader

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skzdarlings · 2 years

Text

06. sharing a bed series ; skz ; felix

masterlist.

sharing a bed series part 6/8. because it’s the cheesiest most classic trope and it’s FUN. -

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: sexual content. enemies2lovers, sharing a bed trope. bodyguard au. a dose of angst. open ending. past violence and parental abuse mentioned. ongoing perilous situation and forced proximity. not the healthiest dynamic lol. spanking, some rough play, hair-pulling, throat-grabbing, overstimulation, crying during sex, mention of past unprotected sex, a more dominant felix and a kinda bratty reader.

You kick open your bedroom door. As usual, no one is home except for you and Felix so you are free to scream and curse and stomp all you want.

“I can’t fucking believe you!” you shout among a flurry of other colourful words.

Felix enters behind you with his hands in his pockets, looking as nonchalant as ever.

Felix’s perpetual calmness is half the reason your father hired him. The other reason is that Felix was the best behaved boy in the world who grew into the most pristine, perfect man. Your father did not claw his way to the top of the industrial world by settling for anything less than the best. Lee Felix is the best. Your father trusts him with everything and anything, including wrangling his rambunctious daughter. Felix’s job is to guard and protect you – from others and from yourself. He is annoyingly good at it.

Felix is the prettiest, loveliest, sweetest man on the outside, particularly selected for his unassuming attributes. An obvious bodyguard figure draws unwanted attention. Felix, however, attended high school and college with you, posing as a fellow student and never looking out of place, always appearing gentle and ordinary and kind. Behind that, he is a lethally competent bodyguard. Your skinny, freckled, fair-haired watchdog can subdue any adversary.

Including the one tonight.

“I was just doing my job,” Felix says. He closes your bedroom door and locks it out of habit even though you are home alone. He is still completely uncaring to your crisis, as fucking usual, wandering around like he is a sensitive little lamb, smiling and content.

You throw yourself down on your bed with a dramatic heave.

“You broke his arm!” you cry.

Felix is standing at your desk, removing his work equipment. He is dressed like a civilian for the most part, denim pants with a windbreaker and a button-down over a t-shirt. He lays the jacket over the back of the chair and sighs, looking at his reflection in your vanity mirror. He runs a hand through his hair, still casual, feathering the dyed locks so they flutter back into place.

“I was just doing my job,” he repeats. He undoes the button-down and tosses it aside, then kicks his shoes under the desk.

Felix is all sharp lines and harsh angles, slender but athletic. His cheekbones are high, his angular face softened by his dark eyes and endearing freckles. That sweetness is juxtaposed by the gun harness strapped across his back.

You swallow. The harness hits the floor, then he grabs the back of the t-shirt and yanks it swiftly over his head. It joins the pile of discarded articles.

He sits on the desk chair with a distracted sigh, dutifully disassembling the gun for an inspection or cleaning or whatever nonsense Felix has decided is more important than your conversation.

“His arm,” you repeat. “You broke his arm. He was a completely innocent guy! I’m allowed to flirt with guys! Just because you’re my daddy’s good dog and he doesn’t let you get your dick wet, doesn’t mean I have to suffer too.”

Felix looks at you, his mouth a thin line with his unamused smile.

“Cute,” he says. He drops the smile and his distinctive deep voice drops another decibel when he says, “You can flirt. Just not with him.”

“His arm—”

Felix closes the gun and puts it on the desk.

“I think he was lucky I didn’t rip it off for grabbing you like that, don’t you think?” Felix says. He asks it so nicely too, tipping his head imploringly, like he really wants an answer. Not that he waits. Just as soon as the smile comes, it goes, replaced with a eye roll as he gets to his feet.

“Get ready for bed,” Felix says. “And, mmm, that’s not a request by the way. I’m phoning your dad to tell him we’re home safe.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to argue, just leaves the room while reaching into his back pocket for his phone. He closes the door behind himself, leaving you to fume by your lonesome.

Out of rebellious frustration, you do not budge an inch. You cross your arms and sit back on your bed, still dressed in your evening outfit. You can distantly hear Felix speaking in a formal voice and it makes you twitch with anticipation.

Felix being so professional is simultaneously his most annoying and most attractive quality. Annoying, because he really never falters on the clock. Attractive, because it wouldn’t be any fun pushing him to the boundaries of his rules if he wasn’t such a stickler in the first place.

When Felix returns, still wearing nothing more than his jeans, his expression immediately turns exasperated. He closes the door and puts his hands on his hips, staring down at you.

You stare straight ahead, arms and ankles crossed. You and Felix have shared a bed since the day he was hired, back when you were teenagers, as you were in the habit of sneaking out at night. You were not intimidated by the chubby-cheeked teenage boy, gleefully slipping past him while he slumbered – until suddenly you were being yanked back through the window. You learned the hard way that despite his appearance and disposition, he was an especially skilled martial artist.

As your father continues to accrue enemies in every market, you cannot live life on your own, not without endangering it. You still need Felix. You still share a bed. Everything you do, you do with Felix, whether you like it or not. Felix expresses little feeling on that front, a perpetual font of seeming sunshine when he isn’t breaking someone’s arm.

You know you are being mightily petulant by keeping him up, but you don’t care. If you can’t have what you want then neither can he. You can stay up all night, just staring and glaring at each other contemptuously. You are happy to let all that mutual disdain simmer through its achingly slow burn.

“Really?” Felix says. “Do we have to do this tonight?”

“I’m not doing anything,” you say.

“Right.” He laughs dryly but sits gingerly on his side of the bed. He smiles, his eyes crinkling sweetly with pleasure. His hair is getting longer again, sweeping his neck, and you watch as he delicately tucks some behind his ear. He leans on one arm, looking at you. “I’ll ask you nicely then, sweetheart.”

Ooh, that’s a low blow and he knows it. The word sweetheart always sounds so rich in his mouth, his accent softening the heart of it. Hopefully he misses the way you melt, but you doubt it.

His smile only deepens.

“Please, please get ready for bed,” he says. “It’s been a long day, yeah? And we’re both so tired. Come on. Let’s go. Just need some rest I think. Yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

You do not move.

You hear him sigh, a melodic sound. He runs his hand through his hair again.

“All right,” he says, soulfully. “All right. Fine.”

You hear the sharper inflection in his tone but you react a moment too late. Your bed is big, big enough you could starfish without even brushing his side of the bed, so it takes you a second to scamper to the opposite side.

That second is too long. Felix reaches out and grabs you by the calf, dragging you across the bed.

“Don’t you dare,” you say, kicking at him to no avail. “I’ll phone my dad!”

He is completely undeterred by your dramatics, only sighing when he hauls you over his lap.

“Go ahead,” he says. “I’m allowed to use, uhhh, what’d he say… discretion… mm… to discipline you if I think I need to.” He puts his phone within your reach. It is not a genuine gesture of goodwill so much as it is taunting you because you both know your father would take his side. “Well?” he asks. “Do you want to phone him?”

“I hate you,” you say.

“I know,” he replies. “Sorry.”

He sounds like he means it, though it’s hard to believe him when he flicks up your dress and swings his open palm across your ass. His hand comes down four more times before he neatly fixes your skirt again.

“Bed time?” he asks brightly, like everything has been solved with no problem.

You crawl off his lap while grumbling irritably, doing your best to ignore the smarting on your behind when you turn over to glare at him. He is just smiling at you, that thin-lipped way he smiles with dry humour.

“I hate you,” you say again.

He waves his hand, gesturing the vaguest, blandest sentiment of meh with its wiggle.

“I’m just doing my job,” he says for the millionth time.

“Really?” you reply with as much sarcasm as he usually gives. He hears it, tilting his head like a curious cat, as if he has no idea why you could possibly be upset with him – though the stupid little upturn to his lips tells you that he knows exactly why.

You hate him. You really, really do hate him. You have never hated anyone the way you hate him and you want to shout it from the roof. But you can’t do that. You can only say it to his face in private, in whatever way you can.

You reach without warning, cupping the bulge between his legs and finding a lot more than a denim crinkle. His gaze darkens, his hand covering yours warningly, though he doesn’t lift it away.

You adopt a saccharine sweet tone when you speak.

“Do you tell my daddy that when you discipline me you get hard?” you ask, batting your eyelashes.

He moves your hand to his thigh instead, shaking his head.

“Stop being silly,” he says. “Go get ready for bed.”

Your eyes follow him as he stands. He doesn’t get far when you grab his belt loop and tug him back. Felix has fast reflexes and is incredibly coordinated, so you find it hard to believe you sincerely bested him, but he stumbles as if you did. He stands where you want him, where he’s close enough for you to kneel on the bed and press your face right against his bulge.

He says your name in a warning voice, his already deep voice dropping more.

“I wonder…” you say, nuzzling your nose against the ridge in the denim, where you can feel him hard and getting harder still. “When my daddy asks you what we do all day,” you say, flicking your eyes up to his, “do you tell him your dick spends more time in my mouth than in your pants?”

His nostrils flare with his next breath.

You smile, victorious.

“He still thinks you’re his perfect soldier, doesn’t he?” you ask. “You can do no wrong. Little does he know…”

“I do my job,” Felix says. “And I do a good job. Okay? That’s all that matters.”

You start to open your mouth, one hand climbing towards his fly. You stop with a gasp when he fists a chunk of your hair, tugging your head away from him. It sends a hot shock rippling through you, flooding you with the recollection of all the times he grabbed your hair and pulled you closer, the times he cupped your head and put himself in your mouth despite knowing better, the number of times he fucked between your pretty lips and forgot to be proper, cursing so much it was practically poetry.

This time he guides you away and you whimper miserably. He does not loosen his grip, his fingers threading closer to your scalp so it both hurts less and holds stronger. He knows better than to just let go. He knows you perfectly. You glare at him.

“Look at me,” he says, because your gaze dropped to his bulge again. “I said look at me.” He tugs your hair so you obey, giving him your most annoyed expression. “You’re listening, yeah?” he says. He doesn’t wait for an answer. “You’re going to go to your closet. Get ready for bed. Sleep. You’re going to do that,” his voice turns frighteningly pleasant, “or I’m going to carry you over there and get you ready myself.”

“Like when we were leaving the club tonight?” you ask just as sweetly. “And you put me over your shoulder then, oops, something happened when we were in the limo, didn’t it?”

He lets go of you, exhaling tiredly in a high-pitched breath.

“Where did all your pretty rings go, Felix?” you ask, reaching for his bare hand, usually adorned with rings. “Did they fall on the floor in the limo when you decided you had to shove your hand up my skirt?”

Leaving the club, you were both wired. Felix was honestly justified in breaking that guy’s arm. You purposefully chose the creepiest, shadiest guy in the club to lead on, knowing Felix would appear two seconds later to rescue you. He always does. No one else ever pays you any personal attention and your life is too complicated for romance, so you thrive on the feeling of someone caring enough to always find you – even if it’s literally his job.

You also like getting mad at him for overreacting, but you like his overreactions. Him twisting and breaking that creep’s arm honestly turned you on. It also got Felix all worked up, a bit pissed because you were being irresponsible again but nonetheless heated. You thought for sure he’d take you home and go crazy and fuck you in the foyer. Instead he put up the limo divider and one-by-one removed his rings, giving you ample time to refuse before he covered your mouth tightly and slid his other hand up between your thighs.

Of course, despite bringing you to the edge several times, he never let you finish. Because he’s the worst.

And now you’re all worked up and he’s shirtless and being a stupid, pretty, two-faced bitch.

“I—” you start.

He rolls his eyes and says, “I know. I know. You hate me. Now go.”

You get up, stomping all the way to your walk-in closet. You can’t even slam the door because it’s a sliding one, but you make the biggest possible demonstration of closing it anyway.

You get ready for bed. You briefly consider dressing provocatively or even strolling out there naked, but in the end you decide to just dress in your ugly, comfy, over-sized t-shirt and march angrily back into the room.

Felix is gone when you return, probably off to double-check the house security one last time before joining you. You could try climbing out the window and down the terrace, just to be ridiculous, but he’ll catch up sooner than later and be even more annoying about it. So you get into bed and turn off the lights, laying down with a huff, blankets pulled up to your chin.

You get a bit dozy before Felix returns, the creaking door snapping you awake. You look over your shoulder and watch him finally shuck the jeans. He gets into bed in his boxers, removing his earrings once under the covers. He puts on the bedside table, then double-checks his gun is in the drawer, then and then only then does he lay down.

The big bed leaves an ocean of space between you. You roll over to face him. His eyes are closed but there’s no way he is already asleep.

“Felix,” you whisper, even though the big house is empty, “I’m cold.”

“There’s another blanket in the closet,” he says without opening his eyes.

You slide across the bed, close enough to reach out and put a hand on his chest. He opens his eyes and stares straight up.

“I need a cuddle,” you say. “Or I’ll have nightmares.”

“You’re not a child anymore,” he says.

That is maybe one thing you miss about the time before you and Felix started… this. When things were still innocent between you, he would often let you snuggle up with him. Now, he keep his distance. Now, he doesn’t hug or hold you.

So no one does.

“We’re still young,” you say, a dumb argument, but you’re tired and out of ideas.

“I was never as young as you,” he grumbles, more to himself than you. He seems to realize what he said and shakes his head. He pats your hand on his chest then rolls over, leaving his back to you.

You slowly return your hand to yourself, staring at the back of his head with an uncharacteristic prickling of tears.

Felix doesn’t talk about his life before this. You just know that it was somehow worse. Worse than being a watchdog. Worse than giving up years of his life to protect someone else. Worse than the times your father wanted to discipline you but learned that if he hit you directly you would just patch yourself up and move on, but if he hit Felix then you would break down and offer anything to make him stop.

You can see a couple faded scars from those times, faint lines that cross his back, remnants of old belt lashings. You touch one now, tracing your finger lightly from one end to the other. You watch a shiver roll down his spine. He doesn’t turn around.

Giving up, you roll away, back to your distant side of the bed. You close your eyes and will yourself to sleep, but it just makes you well up with tears. You sniffle, rubbing your nose messily on the back of your arm.

Fabric rustles. You suck in a breath when Felix slides up behind you, pulling you into the middle of the bed where he holds you snugly in his arms. You immediately roll to face him, throwing a leg over his hip and burying your face in his neck.

“Sweetheart,” he says, nothing else.

“I hate you,” you say, then press a kiss just under his jaw.

“I know.” He cups the back of your head as your kisses move down his neck. “I know.”

You make it to the middle of his chest before he turns you onto your back and gets up over you. He kisses you properly, thumbs wiping your tears as his mouth makes you forget about the reason you cried at all. All that matters is kissing him back, wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling him close as possible. His sounds of pleasure are so deep and rough and rumbling.

“Fuck me, please, please,” you say, pushing your fingers into his hair.

He groans, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You know we can’t do that,” he says.

“We’ve done it before,” you say, purposefully canting your hips to rub against him, reminding him you are still so hot and wet from his finger-fucking, that only stupid underwear keeps you apart. It has the desired effect, his brow furrowing as he holds himself still above you. You peck his lips and string your arms around his neck. “You know I’m on birth control now for that reason,” you say, a little sweetly, smiling up at him. “Remember?”

He drops his face in the crook of your neck and makes an even crazier sound, shaking his head.

“That was very, very irresponsible of us, you know,” he says.

“Mhm,” you say, sliding your hand down his body to his waistband. “It really was. But it felt good, didn’t it? Dangerous. Coming inside me like that.”

Felix is right; that incident was very irresponsible. You had already started your little cat-and-mouse game and ran out of condoms one night. Because the two of you only have sex with each other, when that happened, you usually just fooled around until he pulled out.

That time was… a lot. You were pressed so tightly together and you were being painfully quiet because you weren’t home alone. It was such a stupid time to mess around, but common sense leaves you when Felix is involved.

That feeling is mutual. Felix knew better too. If he got you pregnant… the fallout with your father would be catastrophic for both of you. Still, for that moment he was inside you, with your fingers laced together and pressed by your head, with your legs tight around him and his face in your neck, nothing else seemed to exist. You were two normal people who were allowed to do whatever they wanted with whoever they wanted. It was a breathless, momentary fantasy, holding him tight and telling him to come, shuddering at the noise he made as he did just that. You didn’t even panic after the fact. You let the moment linger for as long as it could, still pretending you were normal, still pretending it was fine.

You started birth control soon after, telling your father it was to regulate your period. He waved it off, not wanting to hear more.

Your father has truly never suspected a thing. He doesn’t see the people around him as people, just objects, so it makes sense that he sees nothing in Felix but a soldier. He doesn’t know anything about Felix. Doesn’t know the pattern of his freckles or how his eyes crinkle up when he smiles. Doesn’t know he has a sweet tooth and will dump a thing of sugar in nearly everything. Doesn’t know what he finds funny, doesn’t know what makes him sad, doesn’t know anything at all.

You drag your calf up the back of his leg.

“Felix,” you say.

He gives you no chance to say more. One second you are in limbo, the very next he has shoved down both his boxers and your underwear and is already pressing into you. Only nonsense leaves your lips after that, your eyes closing as he works your body like a familiar and well-loved instrument. He knows it as well as you do. As you do his. It’s easy to work him up, to get him as close as you.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, changing position so he’s kneeling. He puts one of your legs up against his chest, levelling you with an amused smile. “You’re trying to get me to finish first,” he says.

“What? Noooo…” Your giggle turns into a gasp. You can be as loud as you want but you bite your fist anyway, hiccupping with a choked back sob of pleasure when he finds an angle that makes you see stars.

“Yes, you are,” he says. “But you won’t win.”

“I will,” you say.

“Uh-uh,” he says. “Sure.”

He makes you come twice before he does. He even starts pushing you towards a third but you are so oversensitive that it makes tears fall. He cups your chin and looks at you, cursing.

“You’re so mean,” you say, smiling through your tears. “Getting off to me crying.”

“I’m—not—I just—”

“Liar,” you tease. “You totally are.”

He just giggles. Then he flips a switch and goes from cute to something else, grabbing your throat and fucking into your oversensitive pussy so good and hard that you cry out.

“Shhh, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he says. “Got you. Got you. I—”

You kiss him and he comes, sinking into you with dick and tongue and breath, filling you and surrounding you.

You hold him close, arms tight around him, his sweaty forehead pressed to yours. When he tries to lift away, you pull him back, making him laugh softly.

“Stay,” you say, and repay his torture by squeezing him inside you, knowing it will make him twitch and jerk with oversensitivity of his own.

“You never make it easy for me, do you,” he says with no animosity.

You shake your head and smile like you’re proud of that. He laughs then kisses you. The kiss is good and thorough and sweet, completely loving, affectionate. It gets your heart racing despite everything you just did. You rest your hands on his chest and gently push him back.

“I still hate you,” you say, because you have to say it, because the opposite would be too dangerous to ever say. You can’t even let that word enter your thoughts, certainly never let it leave your lips. If you held that word in your mouth for even a second, you would become addicted to it. So you glare at him with all passion you can muster and say, “I hate you so much.” You sniffle when he wipes your tears away. You turn your face. “I hate you more than I’ve ever hated anyone.”

“I know,” he says in a strained voice. He presses his forehead to your temple and exhales. “I know, sweetheart.”

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix smut #felix x reader #skz x reader

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manikas-whims · 3 months

Text

“will you be able to calm down if i tie your hands together?”

— Part 1/? of turning Xavier's questionable dialogues into short fics.

It was over.

You knew you were fucked the moment you saw a genuine flash of annoyance in Xavier’s usually serene, midnight blue eyes. In your defense, you were always messing with him, poking and prodding as you pleased because it was just so fun seeing his varied reactions and attempts to hold back his blush. And you thought it was alright to do so because he let you. He always let you.

But oh how wrong you had been.

One minute you were poking his neck with feather light touches of your finger tips, the next your wrists were bound together in front of you with an old scarf that had been lying on your coffee table for only god knows how many weeks.

Your eyes widened in realization of the situation you were in, and you fidgeted your hands in hopes of loosening the knot. “Xa–Xavier..”

The man in question tightened the knot ever so slightly in response, his lips curved up into a stern smile. “I’d warned you. Remember?”

Of course you remembered. How he had warned you that he'd tie up your hands if you don't stop with the teasing. Plenty of times in fact. You'd just never considered the possibility of him actually doing it. Quite literally at that!

You watched him scoot closer to you on the couch. Gone was the adorable bunny you loved pinching and patting. In this moment, he appeared nothing short of a lethal predator slowly prancing towards the unassuming and docile prey that you were.

You scooted away until your back hit the armrest and there was no room left to escape. You grinned sheepishly. “Is it too late for an apology?”

He scoffed, an eyebrow raised in amusement. “Playing innocent now, are you?”

You nodded meekly, your cheeks heating up. “Yes, um..I'm sorry??”

Unfortunately that didn't work at all.

“Since you're so free with your hands, how about I exercise some liberty as well?” He grabbed your tied wrists with one palm and lifted them over your head, his face now leaning closer to your own. His other palm slid along your neck, fingers stroking the skin torturously slowly. “How would you feel if I did this regularly?”

Your lips parted yet no words came out. And you tried to find some semblance of calm with deep intakes of breaths. “Xavier I..”

He ignored the plea in your voice, letting his palm go higher up your jaw, running his long fingers along the plumpness of your lips. “Understand that there are consequences to your actions. Dire consequences.”

He inched his face closer and your breath hitched, eyes fluttering closed of their own accord, anticipating those dire consequences he had been forewarning you about.

To your surprise, nothing happened for a few moments. And you wondered if this was how those small animals in documentaries felt when they were toyed with before being devoured by a beast.

You felt a tugging sensation upon your cheek and let out a soft sound, your eyes shooting open to realize the tugging was a result of Xavier's fingers on your cheek.

He pinched the cheek just hard enough to make you wince before letting go and chuckled triumphantly. “Just messing with you.”

Then he smoothly scooted away and picked up his book as if the events of the last few minutes hadn't occurred at all. As if you hadn't witnessed his personality switching at all. As if the entire thing had existed merely in your fantasies.

And when your breaths finally calmed a little, you realized your wrists were still tied up. You began fidgeting your hands again, your captive fingers helplessly trying to reach for the knot. “Xavier you! At least untie my hands!”

You only received another chuckle response.

this is very self-indulgent..Xavier Girlies look forward to more of these..✌️😆

» MASTERLIST «

#xavier love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #xavier x reader #xavier x you #love and deepspace #lads xavier #xavier l&ds #l&ds xavier #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace fanfics #love and deepspace headcanons #love and deepspace imagines #love & deepspace #shen xinghui #seiya #xavier x mc #l&ds #lads xavier x reader #l&ds xavier x reader

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girlsworldillusion · 7 months

Text

CLAIM - by Aemond Targaryen

+18 (seriously, no minors)

author's note: my first time writing for him, even though I've been in the fandom for a while now. (I hope this isn't the only one).

There you go, Aemond thinks with some bitterness.

Bright, innocent, pure. Tempting in annoying ways. Certainly a cute little thing to look at, though.

Unfortunately, he's not the only one who noticed this.

A warm, tingly ball curls in his stomach the more he watches you and your pathetic excuse for a partner during the waltz. Every delicate twirl you make around the grand ballroom sends shivers down his spine. The flushed dust high on your cheeks leaves his throat dry. The gentle smile you offer the Lord who smugly leads you through the dance makes his fist clench so tightly around the wine glass that Aemond is actually surprised he hasn't shattered the thing into a thousand pieces yet.

Aemond is not jealous, however. Aemond doesn't get jealous - being jealous is wanting something someone else has, and he has everything he needs, a lot of enviable things, to be honest. (That's what he tells himself, sipping some wine and sending icy daggers toward the man who insists on holding your waist tighter and tighter).

He's not jealous. He just doesn't like it when others covet what's his - or what should be his.

You, another Lady with a prestigious name. Theoretically there were many like you, it's true. But to Aemond, you always stood out. Unique, special. It is a great inconvenience that others also think this way.

Aemond was trying to be a gentleman here. He was purposely going slow so as not to scare you; innocent walks in the garden, subtle conversations about a book you both recently read, an unassuming invitation for afternoon tea (although he doesn't even like tea).

He was already exhausting the limits of his own patience and he still didn't get any real sign that you reciprocated his interest in you. You are kind and lovely, of course. But that's how you are with everyone around you. This, in itself, is no guarantee of absolutely anything for him.

Aemond was trying to be patient. Gods, he really was. But with each passing day he found himself more and more tormented by thoughts and fantasies about you. His mind is playing tricks on him, pushing the limits of his self-control to the point where he feels like he might snap like a stretched rubber band.

And it is on these nights, when everyone in the Red Keep is already asleep and he is absolutely certain that he is finally alone with his own demons - that he gives in.

He closes the only eye he has left to keep from seeing the shamefully needy descent of his hand beneath the waistband of his sleep pants, only for it to become a fleeting, innocuous thought a few seconds later, because there it is again; that all-encompassing, overwhelming feeling that makes him see stars every time.

He palms his straining erection wet with precum, imagining it's your tiny hand there - or your pretty mouth, your tight pussy. The mere thought of it sends a bolt of pleasure down his spine and makes him part his lips in a husky sigh.

He thinks of you, over and over again; in hurried and repetitive steps, like someone lost in a maze.

Your cheeks flushed, your lips swollen from his kisses, your eyelashes fluttering with pleasure, your sweet voice begging for him...

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond-

Aemond writhes on the sheets, panting, shaking with it, his toes curled against the bed; his hips twitching with each wave of pleasure along his shaft trapped between his fingers. In the waves of euphoria, he throws his other arm over his eye, hides his sapphire and his personal decay like a secret, panting, getting close, so close, fuck, fuck...

It's sweet torture, after all. Spills out onto his own stomach and sheets instead of where he really wants to be.

But he can handle it. All to be a gentleman for you. All to endure the long, agonizing (and embarrassing) wait while you happily accept his invitations to teas and walks in the gardens and entertain him with your witty anecdotes about the latest book you read -

Although you never give him a concrete answer about your feelings for him.

He's trying to hold on.

But you need to pressure him, don't you?

He grits his teeth and narrows his gaze when the man waltzing with you leans down to say something close to your ear.

This isn't new to him, of course.

Aemond is used to having to fight to get what he wants. Nothing really comes easy for him. But there is something about the arduous trajectory of his personal achievements that no one is able to deny.

Once claimed, it's his forever.

That's it, enough of trying to be a gentleman - Aemond hums as he uses the rim of his wine glass to hide the wicked smile tugging at his lips.

"Oh, baby."

He is against you.

Pressing his crotch against the curve of your ass so you can feel how hard his cock is in his pants.

He's laughing in your ear.

Mocking.

"You like that, don't you, girl?" he asks, in a dark whisper after cornering you in one of the castle's corridors, blocking your walk to your chambers. He deposits words laced with malice and honey into his husky voice, whispered against the shell of your ear.

You shudder against him.

He's rubbing himself against you. His cock rubbing explicitly against the curve of your ass, while his fingers squeeze your throat, pulling the back of your head to his shoulder.

"You're mine," he says, his voice full of possessiveness. Like he was on the verge of losing it. He already lost.

You cry out softly, feeling him squeeze your throat again. Harder this time.

"Nobody touches you from now on. Got it?"

He's nuzzling into your hair. Lost in the tickle of your strands on his face, in your sweet smell in his nose.

You shake your head somehow even with his firm grip on your throat and he laughs against your hair.

A low, harsh laugh, a wicked sound that rumbles straight from his throat as he leans down to leave a single kiss on your cheek, intertwining his fingers with yours to give a light tug.

"Good girl."

You open your mouth to say something, anything - an apology, a well-rehearsed argument, words too soft and genuine to compete with the sound of Aemond's hips slamming violently between your thighs - but all all you can do is a low, breathless meow.

"You smell like him," Aemond huffs coldly, though it's more of a breathy grunt.

Maybe there is a certain amount of exaggeration in his words, you don't smell like him. Not really. But the simple memory of that man's hands on your waist and his face close to yours to whisper anything was awakening a dangerous euphoria in Aemond's veins.

He tries hard to at least pretend to be easy, to at least pretend to have some control over the situation. Struggling silently to remain composed, as if he wasn't finally fucking the woman he's wanted for a long time at a brutal pace, as if your scent and your tears weren't permanently staining his sheets right now, as if he wasn't squeaking his teeth to keep from spilling too soon at the mere thought of having permanent physical proof that you were here - right in the bed where he sleeps every night. Aemond feigns an indifference and coldness that are not real.

But he's trying.

He is under the intense watch of your drunken, half-closed gaze, and tries hard not to embarrass himself any more than he already has. He struggles to breathe through his nose, trying not to blink too often; carefree, not a hair out of place. And, in the midst of his personal battle for dignity, he finds some amusement in how you seem to be going insane beneath him; as if you seams were being torn apart with each breath hissed through your teeth.

"I-it was just a dance..."

“He was desperate,” Aemond cuts you off, squeezing you so that your words turn into nothing more than a pathetic groan at the end of the sentence. His fingers dig into your throat, anchoring him as his hips work furiously against yours. His hair is falling to your shoulders and breasts, raising goose bumps on your skin with each thrust of his body against yours. “And that smell is really offending me, girl.”

“I-I, I’m so sorry-” you stutter, hands gripping his wrist as he resists the urge to sink his teeth into the crook of your neck, exactly where everyone can see it tomorrow, “I told him I already had someone and -"

He barely hears your confession before he interrupts. Thick words spilling from his lips as the grip on your body doubles in intensity.

"He thought with that sticky smile that he could just have you? That he would be the one to take your purity? This is for me, he should know. You belong to me. Only for me - only for me." He shakes and sputters to the wild pleasure coursing through his veins, some of his self control slipping as he bows his head and bumps his forehead against your sweaty shoulder, panting heavily into your skin at the feeling of your tight walls gripping his cock like a lathe.

"Yeah - only for you", he distantly hears you moan above the roar in his ears, feels your little fingers tangle between the silver strands of his hair until you manage to give a sharp tug, right at the base of the back of his neck. He groans into your skin at the sensation.

The liquid heat building inside him is almost overflowing, so close that he can't stop his trembling hips from meeting yours with shallower thrusts. He's almost rubbing himself against you, over and over, frantically. “Aemond, p-please,” you murmur, cherry-colored tongue wetting your plump bottom lip. "I can't anymore, I can't - ngh, please-"

Aemond swallows the rest of your words with a punishing kiss, answering your broken plea by quickly grinding his hips, encouraging your orgasm to wash over you. He doesn't stop, not even when you go rigid, unable to kiss him back or do anything other than moan and cry into his mouth.

Aemond traces your lips with his tongue, nibbling them until they're soft, his own breathing becoming as frantic as the cock that's dragging without pause against your wet walls. When his orgasm washes over him, Aemond is already panting and moaning as if in pain as he rests his forehead against yours; an intense gaze observing yours, focused on every detail of your delicate features. Your hooded gaze, the wet trail of tears on your red cheeks and your uneven breathing. The purest adoration for him shining in your eyes like stars in the dark sky.

And he smiles then.

Because you are his now.

Duly claimed.

With a gentle touch on his elbow, Aemond returns to reality.

The apples of his cheeks are dyed a subtle (but noticeable) shade of red as his violet gaze scans the space in front of him, silently surprised to have been caught in the middle of his unholy reverie.

It's you.

A beautiful silk dress on soft skin. Hair tied in a slightly loose braid. So small compared to him. So beautiful. So...his.

"Prince Aemond, are you okay?"

He looks at you for a moment, debating between feigning disagreement to spare himself the humiliation of being caught or pushing you against the nearest wall.

In the end, he chooses to remain still, head raised proudly and face indifferent, although his violet gaze remains stubbornly tilted downwards, thirsty to maintain eye contact with you.

"Yes, I just got distracted," he says, voice deeper than he'd like it to sound.

You smile, sweet and soft and his heart quickens.

"That's great. Well, it's late and my feet are hurting after all the dancing." You close your eyes in an amused, relaxed expression, there's even a dimple forming in your cheek as the wide smile stretches your lips - and although the sight is enough to fill his chest with a bubbling sensation of pure warmth, a muscle Aemond's jaw jumps at the mere mention of your recent activities. "Have a good night, my Prince." You conclude when he offers no response to your comment, bowing with a respectful farewell before walking away.

He watches you leave the great hall with delicate steps, gentle smiles and nods directed at the people you meet on the way. The image of grace and innocence, without a doubt. At least until you turn your head towards him before walking out the hall doors.

The way your upper teeth sink into the plump flesh of your lower lip, your heavy eyelashes fluttering when you squint briefly, the flushed cheeks and swollen pupils aimed specifically at him...

It happens as quickly as it started. With a fluid movement you turn around again and walk through the hall doors, as if nothing had happened.

Aemond sighs; tired, irritated, burning with lust.

You keep playing with him.

The wine glass shakes and clinks loudly as he places it roughly on the table, but he doesn't care. He doesn't even care if anyone notices as he abruptly follows your steps, leaving the ballroom behind, with a hard gaze and dark features.

He would catch up to you.

And this time he'll make sure it's not just in a daydream-

He will claims you. Truly, indisputably.

#aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond imagine #aemond x fem!reader #aemond fic #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aemond #aemond x reader #hotd x reader #aemond the kinslayer #house of the dragon #hotd aemond #hotd

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thesharktanksdriver · 4 months

Text

The strongest star (platonic)

This is determination from Whitebeard’s point of view when y/n met him and his crew. I decided to make this to flesh out my first post and also thought it would be fun since y/n is kinda an unreliable narrator in their own way due to forgetting a lot of details and events.

Master-list for the series here

Tag list: @peachsuka28 @emptynessinmyworld @badluckinfrench @j-s-l-m @tigerfang-rage @madokamagicaa @rymtea @angstylittleb1tch @badluckinfrench @emmbny @kenkenmaaa @yunho-leeknow @chibiduck

for as long as Edward Newgate could remember, he wanted a family

As unconventional as it had seemed he had always dreamed of a family of his own

That was his dream that led him to the sea all those years ago

The freedom to pursue and accomplish this with the oceans cruel and caring waves

He’s old now, a man accomplished and still having his family grow

So when Marco brings a small child aboard Newgate can’t help but be a bit giddy

It’s been years since the Moby dick had such a young one aboard its old planks

He remembers like yesterday it once did

Children he found bruised and starved, cold and alone with eyes begging for warmth and comfort despite how scared they were

He was once like that, and he swore he’d not abandon those kids like others did for him

Those children grew up now to be some of his many kids

Years heavy on them as they are for him

He watched them grow from scared to proud and strong

And most of all he watched them grow to be happy with the family harboured on a couple planks of wood on the high sea

Each night rocked by the waves with full bellies and a smile on their faces

So it’s safe to say he is hopeful when Marco marches up, carrying a small child of about 10?

The youngest on the ship as of now was Ace and a few from the spade pirates that assimilated to his crew

But he hadn’t raised them, Moreso taken them in and not having the opportunity to truly nurture them in the way he had wanted

They were teens, a fraction of their lives already lived which meant he missed out on significant moments of it

He hadn’t been able to meet Ace’s brothers or be sure to in-still in him that he’s loved

Hadn’t been able to convince spade that he was more than what everyone in his home thought of him

As an old nostalgic man Newgate missed the feeling of being there for something important like that again

And he thought for a moment he could have that again until he noticed your eyes

He’s seen the terrified, angry and hopeless that looked up at him once before

Most of his sons whom he took under his wing had a variation of that when meeting him

But yours are….something else

He’s reminded of the night sky

A sight that he’s been more than familiar with his entire life as he looked to the stars and wished for people to call home

Despite just being eyes he sees more

Bleak empty darkness, swirling with the unknown with the distant twinkling flecks of stars

They are all encompassing and unassuming at the same time

Pits of dullness that shows the withered age that only a seasoned sailor could have amongst the cruel waves

A loss of innocence and all that a child should have

Yet at the same time somehow retains some of it despite it all

It’s conflicting and hypocritical all at the same time yet it’s there all the same

Those eyes stare up at him, no fear but instead apprehension fills its place

If nothing before could have convinced him that he wanted you apart of his family than this did

But he’s known from the moment you stepped foot on this ship he wanted you to have a home here either way

On the Moby dick you start off as a quiet presence that later grows into something bigger

Perhaps even bigger than yourself as the his sons and daughters seek out your company like moths to a flame

He can’t exactly blame them, not when he himself wants so desperately to grasp and hold that light

But he sees your apprehension when around him

The way in which you try to skirt around his presence as best as possible

Something you do exceedingly well

So Edward for your sake decides to take a seat back and watch what happens

Waits to see you ease up on your own time

God knows the amount of patience he has from dealing with Roger all those years ago and his rowdy kids

So he knows when to back down and let the stage set itself

Watch the act before his role is to come

And Edward does exactly that

He watches and waits

Eddie watches as you draw the crew in like a gravitational pull

It’s slow at first

Your cautious but you let your guard down

At first it’s with Marco

Being the one to take you onboard he decides that your his responsibility and take to it like the mother hen that he is

Seeing you inured stumbling out an alleyway really hit him hard

Perhaps harder than you had even noticed

It gets worse especially after you seem to brush off your injuries

He hovers around you a lot under the excuse of checking your wounds but you seem to know better

You always seem to know better

But either way you don’t say anything and simply grumble a bit about him

Moreso out of annoyance than actual disdain

But either or, Whitebeard watches as his first commander stays by your side

Eventually getting you to drop some of your barriers ever so slightly

Like the chipping in a wall that would lead to a crack

You talk and Marco listens

As do others who eventually join in on listening to some of your stories as you sit between the rails of the railing

Feet dangling through the gaps and swaying back and fourth as you tell stories

Everyone listens

Some even stop in their trail just trying to hear what you tell Marco as he similar sits beside you

Clawed feet of his half Phoenix form and firey blue wings tinged in gold crackling gently

The real breakdown comes when he offers to fly you around

Everyone can see something in you ignite at that

Genuine excitement only caused by child-like wonder

It’s one of the only times on your stay he had seen it

The child buried beneath whatever had happened to you peaking out from the brush

This was a good sign

One that Edward is glad to see himself as you soar with Marco

Blue flames giving you warmth even with the cold harsh winds

When you eventually land once more Edward can’t help but smile at the surpassingly content expression painting your face

That crack in your defence grows

The next to chip away at that metaphorical wall is Thatch

The cook quickly making his ways into your good graces when he has you help about in his kitchen

You seemingly can’t really stay still, mind always racing and wanting to do something

Never taking the time to relax

Thatch says you take to tasks quickly, finishing as quick as you started much to his surprise and exasperation

Whitebeard laughed at that at the time

So you were quick to pick up things

Knowing tasks like the back of your hand no matter how big or small

He’s also seen it, when you gave some of his sons tips in raising the sails or properly cleaning the deck quicker

Thatch won’t admit it to anyone but himself but Whitebeard knows he cooks more food for you than he’d usually would for someone on the ship

Even when Ace or Teach hound him for more food he angrily shoves them off

Then filling your plate once more

Thatch is the one who tells him of the time you cried eating his meals

Mumbling that it reminded you of her

Your mom

Apparently you don’t remember her anymore

Just the vaguest scent of her meals and a glimmer of a smile she would give when cooking

It….sticks with Eddy more than he’d like to admit

Forgetting was an unfortunate thing that came with time

Whitebeard considered himself lucky in not forgetting much over his years

He still remembers the loneliness of his childhood

The bloodshed and alienation on Rocks’s crew

Going off to make his family after the god valley incident

Recruiting his many sons

Finding some cold and alone while others sought him out as a father

Remembers when he first met the idiot he’d call a rival

How Oden would eventually become his little brother and hearing years later of his death by Kaido

The guilt still weighing on his shoulders even now

So in every sense of the word Eddy considers himself lucky in being able to remember

But you don’t have that same privilege

Your memory fraught with missing pieces

Leaving you trailing off for a moment as you regal a story that leaves everyone on deck listening intently

They all notice that you stare off quite often while doing something

Your mind wandering to whatever is it that your thinking of

Sometimes you even mumble to yourself

Though Eddy is never close enough to hear the mumbles others sometimes mention them to him

Names and places

Dates and times

Events and descriptions

But one thing brought up is something that raises his eyebrow

Things only the Roger pirates could’ve know or seen

He already suspected something when seeing the coat draped across your shoulders

You may think your slick in thinking he didn’t recognize that old thing but Eddie knows better

He’d known Roger far too long and arduously to not recognize his gaudy red coat (hypocrite a voice in the void cry’s out)

When his frien….rival was executed he had noticed the coat he wore was different

A darker red and cheaper material

But at the time he gave no thought to it

To wrapped up in a certain kind of grief to really think twice

But now that coat is on your shoulders

Pristine rose red contrasted with the cyan blue of your bandana and cloth sash

You couldn’t have known Roger, your too young to do so

Plus that idiot had two apprentices not three

So that option was x’d out the list

As him and his commanders talked

But you being a kid of one of his members was certainly a possibility

And the only one Edward could ever imagine Roger giving his coat to was Rayleigh and he had essentially dropped off the map years ago

So the conclusion that your maybe Rayleigh’s kid and that he was potentially dead was the conclusion drawn

It’s safe to say that it is something that weighs on not only his commanders mind but also Edwards

Because of the similar situation to Ace

The only other person you had tried to avoid on this crew for some reason

But maybe you somehow knew of his origin and that’s why? But even that seemed unlikely

Roger could keep his lips shut when the situation called for it

Something that he now praised his dead friend for

But on the topic of Ace…it was odd

You avoided Ace like the plague

Whitebeard understood why you avoided him, the giant who was named the strongest man in the world and feared in all blues

But Ace? He was practically a puppy vying for your attention after seeing you interact with literally everyone but him

He’d never thought he’d see his son who’d used to be like a snippy stray dog now practically begging for attention

But here he was

Well, more like they were since literally everyone else on ship it’s finding this all too hilarious

But also kinda sad

It’s not like they’d force you to get along with him if there had been a solid reason

But seemingly there was none

You just avoided him for whatever reason

Jittering in discomfort and leaving when you saw his signature orange hat

And they’d thought it would remain like this

But like all else Whitebeard sees things change

(Just as he saw the sea change when Roger died and ushered a new era)

The final piece to break down that barrier of yours is Ace

The one besides Whitebeard himself you had been the most barred against

It starts with a small conversation

And then on deck he sees both you and ace talk more

And more

And eventually Ace is placing you on his shoulders with his hat on your head

Or taking you out on striker as the smaller boat races around the Moby Dick

It’s a sight for sore eyes

Ace once again lighting up like a bright flame

The same happiness restrained for when talking of his brothers

Or of that person who had given him the small charm he covets as if it were the greatest treasure

Something he had been initially teased for until revealing its story

The small worn down little sun dangling from his wrist representing someone who he wanted to find once more

To thank for caring for him despite his bloodline

Because Ace saw himself as a blotch on the world rather than a blessing

It was something that Ace had hid well but as his father Edward could see the conflict in his eyes

He Tried his best to resolve it but it had yet to go away

But when Ace talks of the Brothers made over a sip of sake, a small sun charm and now seemingly you

It seems for a moment to melt away

Like the strongest of metal being smelted before hardening once more

So Edward watches in amusement as Ace lets you hang from his arm

Or how his son tries his best to seemingly impress your young eyes with tricks of blazing flames

Ace doesn’t seem to notice though that anything he seems to do leaves a proud look in your eyes

But Eddie does

Whitebeard can’t place as to why but he decides to leave it

Simply enjoying his new child and Ace bonding as if they had knew each other for years

The flame brazen boy igniting excitedly like a match as your smaller hands find his and dance to the drunken shanty music

Singing songs you seem to know and regard with an almost melancholy smile as Binks Booze begins to play

Only giving more evidence to your possible heritage

And then you eventually approach Eddie himself

The fearless Whitebeard, strongest man in the world

Golden yellow eyes staring back down towards yours that reflected a starry night

He asks you about your family in which you answer vaguely

Though he expect no less of an answer he notices that the way you explain it is practiced

And despite how practiced it is it leaves him dealing down worry

You’d been on your own for a decent amount of time now

Just seemingly drifting from how you described it

No one but yourself and the sea to keep you company

Only the clothes on your back and small mementos from travels to carry on with you

Whitebeard ponders who the “friends” you’d made along the way but you don’t say names often

Just nicknames

Sneaky but he’s raised enough rebellious boys to see past all the tricks

You change conversation but Edward allows it

Instead you ask him questions, something no one would usually dare to do when being questioned from him

He’d have to admit you have some guts for a kid

Typically he’d call people who did something like that a brat but he lets it slip this one time

And he answers your questions

If only to try and ease you into seeing that he is more than just the epithet of strongest man

That first and foremost he’s a father and perhaps he could be one to you

But instead you inquired about Roger

Another itch to prove your perhaps Rayleigh’s child

So Whitebeard answers truthfully talking about the man he once considered friend

To be honest Edward never really knew how to quite characterize his and Roger’s relationship

On one hand Roger was a man that Edward had respected deeply. Someone who was not only equal in power but also in kindness

God Roger was so stupidly nice to just about everyone as long as you didn’t somehow anger him

But On the other hand Roger was one of the stupidest men alive

Running head first into a battle with nothing prepared

Roger and him were both Friends and Rivals all at the same time

Along with being two sides of a coin

Men who loved more passionately than anyone else

Men who’d do anything to protect all that they loved even if it killed them

In some sense Whitebeard knows he should be happy in being the “victor” in their rivalry yet he’s not

Because they never did settle a score because there was no score to settle

And Eddie no matter how hard he’d try to deny it missed that goof

For as annoying as he was he was equally charming

Something that was infuriating

Because of course Eddie had to become friends with that man

Of course Roger had to go and get himself killed

And it’s Eddie who’s left to mourn

Eddie who’s left to watch the world change and grow old

Eddie is always the one left standing

And it’s there with that you ask him about mourning and how he deals with it

And Edward can’t help but give a pitied stare

A child should not know grief

A child should not know how to mourn

And yet you do

You always seemed to know something your not supposed to

A thing both equally dangerous to you as it is others

……geez you really must be Rayleigh’s kid

Whitebeard smiles, looking down to the coat hung heavy on your shoulders

For a moment he sees Roger there, smiling at him as usual

He tells you that even when someone is gone they leave bits of themselves in the world

Eyes subtly glancing towards a distracted Ace and Izou who listens nearby

Their presence still lingering in all those that they touched by literal and metaphorical

Because when someone leaves you they never really do

They change you

Mold you into the person you are and could become wether that be good or bad

Because Whitebeard despite knowing Oden and Roger are gone can still feel their presence on this ship

The splinters from when battling Roger as he was flung onto the Moby dick

The room in which Oden carved his name in the wood along with Toki’s within the shape of a heart

Sees glimmers of Roger shining through Ace and his firey temper along with his compassion

Watches Izou mumble under his breath about how Oden would have loved to have been on this adventure

Those 3 sake cups still sit in Edwards office

Below a collection of objects and photos of all his lost children

He still mourns them

As any father would

Still wonders if they would forgive him for falling them

But when he does so he remembers their still there

Their fingerprints engraved on a old grizzled heart

At hearing this you nod, pulling that old coat on your shoulders closer

As if someone was hugging you through its luxurious red cloth

His words have seemed to have comforted you and he’s glad

Perhaps even lifting some of the grief off your chest

If so Edward is happy

Because a child should know no grief

And he’d like to change that

Would like to remold your melancholy little heart back to what it should be

That of a happy child

He and his children itch to ask you to stay

But even when Marco offers you a room here

Or when Ace just straight up asks you to stay

You always reply the same way

That like the sea herself you are untethered

Maybe one day you’d find a place but for now you must keep drifting

You have people to meet

Friends you call family to see once more

Everyone here wishes for you to stay

Some ask their father to perhaps to pull the same thing they had pulled with Ace

But Whitebeard doesn’t relent on wanting you to join by your choice

Even when he feels his will want to crack when one night after talking with you under the starry night you fell asleep in his palm

Curled up and small as he feels small tears drip down and pool beside you

Or when it wants to crack even more when he catches you one night in the crows nest singing

The almost haunting sound echoing and reverberating across the ship

The Moby herself sitting at your side, her Klabautermann joining you in song

Or the almost final blow when he realizes that you breath new life in the ship without even knowing it

It’s unseen by your eyes but Whitebeard knows his sons and his ship enough to know when it’s more lively than usual

How your words capture them

He’s watched as you sat atop a barrel telling tales and seeing everyone huddle around you like ducks

Pausing in their duties or even sitting down to ask questions or for you to elaborate more

Grown men and women enraptured by stories of the sea and all its beauty

Even he himself couldn’t help but find himself entranced by your words

The way in which you tell them all are too detailed as to not be true

But Whitebeard does not relent

Does not stop in his judgement no matter how hard it will be to let you go back on that dinky little ship you called your own

It’s sail made of spare sheets with sewn in patches giving it splatters of colour

But when that happens Whitebeard promises to throw you a grand goodbye

Promises that when you do come back they’d have a room ready

That Thatch would make food that reminded you of a once lost home again

That Marco would tend to your wounds and let you scrape the sky

And that Ace would light up with a flame of a stars intensity

But they never were able to throw that goodbye party

That party would be the next one after the one that was meant to just enjoy being with you once more without having to say goodbye

But then you decided you’d help Thatch after seeing he could barely walk in a straight line, so you paused the celebrations for yourself and went to that kitchen celler

Going to place that damned devil fruit to be locked away

But then minutes ticked by

And so Ace decides he’d go find you, saying he’d have to convince you to tell Eddie of your story about the island in the clouds

The joyful atmosphere continues

And then comes Ace’s horrified scream for Marco

Cutting through the atmosphere as the usually chipper boy runs out the kitchen with you in his arms

Bloodied little you

You sit there in Ace’s arms

Bleeding heavily from a large slashing stab that has your blood practically gushing out and into the ground along with Ace’s arms

Despite that though

Despite the pain you should be in Edward spots an oddly content look on your face

Eyes looking up towards Ace but instead of tears filling them it’s a bittersweet look

The look of I’m sorry

Ace and you sit in Edward’s palm

Your small form cradled by his sobbing son who pleads for you

Blood still fresh on his hands and now smeared across Edward’s as well

A child should never die

Let alone in someone’s arms

For they shall carry that weight of them in their arms forever

So he tells ace to lay you down in his Palm

And Ace can only do so reluctantly

Ace turns to run to Marco who’s dashing across the ship but you stop him grabbing his hand

Making his son pause

You smile despite it all, a bright and beautiful smile that rivals the sun and all stars in the sky

Then looking to his charm as you pull out a similar one nestled in that coat pocket of yours

“You found me” it comes out as a pained rasp that makes Whitebeard’s heart ache

It aches more seeing Ace’s expression

Pure grief

Just utter pure grief

Ace clutches you

Begs you not to leave

To please not leave him after finding you

To tell him who did this to you

Your eyes squint as if trying to remember, but then light up with recognition

You give a small laugh, one that makes Whitebeard go still as does Ace

“Zehahaha”

Teach….thats why he wasn’t on deck

As that happens pieces of you shatter

A bright shining gold flashing in the night sky

Sparks of starlight and stardust congregating in the air

Scattering somewhere into the sky

In a fevered state you utter a last word to Ace

Sunshine

When your gone everyone is in a stunned silence

Because what just happened

But then Whitebeard thinks

He thinks all the way back to Roger

The last time he saw Roger the bastard had gotten suddenly silent asking Eddie if he knew of a song, a myth

A star that once dead formed back once more in a new part of the sky

A song was made about it once, something from the Rumbar pirates that had long died among the waves

But then he thinks back further

Back to those 3 days and nights they had fought on that abandoned island

And then he remembers

As Roger sent him flying with a punch Eddie skidded by the Oro Jackson

And for the briefest of moments he thought he spotted something shining in the darkness of a cracked open door

More rather the peering shining eyes of someone

At the time he tried to question Roger but he was as unmoving as a stubborn horse so Eddie had left the topic

He had forgotten of that experience years later

But now it comes rushing back

As does that myth of a undying star

It seems Roger was hinting at something all along

Sly bastard

Seems you weren’t Rayleigh’s kid after all

Maybe you were more Roger’s kid than anything

But….Eddie had taken in one of Roger’s brats before

His sobbing son is evidence of that

And perhaps he will do so again

“Hmf….sly bastard. Their out there, we’ll find them again” his words are spoken with conviction as a sobbing ace looks up to him, his golden eyes soften at his sons expression “their still alive Ace, just displaced when they die. Roger rambled to me a myth about it the last time we met. A star that never died and reappeared in the sky, I thought it was nonsense but maybe he was right”

“But how-“

“Think my boy. How could they be the one who had cared for you all those years ago when they’re that young? My best guess is a devil fruit” he sees the emotions swirl in Ace’s eyes as his sons nods shakily. Hands clutching the sun charm of his bracelet and scared to let go. Edward’s eyes travel from his son to his other children, the gold that was once softened now hardening once more as anger replaced it. Teach….a son now a traitor had to be delt with.

#determination!#platonic #one piece #one piece x reader #whitebeard pirates x reader #whitebeard x reader #edward newgate #Edward Newgate x reader #thatch x reader #ace d portgas x reader #marco the phoenix x reader

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lexsssu · 9 months

Text

Treasure (Akira Kurusu | Ren Amamiya)

TAGS: Akira/F!reader, yandere, obsession, praise, breeding, smut, oneshot Ao3 ver. | Ko-fi | Commissions (OPEN)

“Thank you for the curry, Akira-kun. It’s delicious as always and the coffee is perfect…!”

“Nothing less for my favorite patron of course~”

“Oh stop it, you! Using your charms won’t make me order another serving of curry”

“Darn. Guess I’ll just have to try harder next time then~”

“Of course you will. But I hope you know that the reason I keep coming back here is because of the food and not because of some pretty-boy cafe owner…!”

“Mhmm, I know very well that it’s only the food and drinks that keep you coming back. So that means all I have to do is make everything on the menu irresistible so you’d have no choice~”

“....Smart-ass”

Akira chuckled at the adorable pout you sent him, feeling his heartbeat seemingly getting faster as you played along with him. How your innocent little smiles and colorful blushes sent his heart into overdrive, reminding him constantly that the thief had been the one stolen from instead.

You stole his heart and you didn’t even realize it.

So it was only natural that he would steal yours in return, right?

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

Isn't she an adorable little thing?

So small

So soft

So ripe for the taking

Don't you just want to sink your teeth into her pretty little neck?

Leave your mark on her

You know you want to

She's practically begging for it

All you have to do is take the first step

You know full well that she wants to be moaning beneath you

She wants to choke on your cock

She wants you to stuff it inside her tight pussy

Give her all your cum, make sure you fuck it all straight into her womb

Do it. You want it. She wants it. Stop pretending like you're a good man when we both know you're the farthest thing from one.

And none of that matters, because you'll have her anyway.

WE'LL have her.

Whether she wants to be ours or not.

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

“It's too dangerous for you to go home in this weather. Why don’t you stay the night here instead? I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if anything were to happen to you…”

Those were Akira’s words when he dissuaded you from traveling back to your own apartment as the thunderstorm raged outside of Leblanc.

Yet...how did it turn out like this?

“Aren’t you my precious little treasure? Do you feel how tightly your pretty cunt is gripping my cock? It’s your first time and yet it’s swallowing up everything so happily...I just knew you were made for me~”

Arms wrapped around his strong neck, you hang onto Akira for dear life as he spears his girthy length into your sopping wet core, spreading your lower lips while the veins that pulsed along its length scraping against your previously untouched walls. He had your sinfully thick thighs wrapped around his narrow waist as he bucked up into you, basically carrying the entirety of your weight with his surprisingly strong arms.

For a man who supposedly worked full-time as the proprietor of a little cafe in Tokyo, Akira had both strength and a build beneath his unassuming clothes that clearly stated his physical prowess.

Not that you had any capacity to think about that when the man was flooding your insides with his thick, gooey cum. Your eyes are glazed as you panted, inhaling lungfuls of air as a heady mix of your clear love juice and his pearly essence dripped onto the wooden floors of his bedroom atop the shop.

Aside from the half-hard cock that plugged you up, you clearly felt the heat of his potent cum in your lower belly after the curly-haired male made sure to cum while he was balls-deep inside you.

“Good girl. That’s my good girl. Taking my cum so eagerly...you’ll treasure my gift to you, won’t you? Because you’re my treasure and I want to leave my mark in you… ”

You should be scared at how things reached this point all of a sudden, but you find that you don’t care.

Not when you’d also long held a torch for the charming barista.

It was only your own insecurities that prevented you from ever saying a word. Why would you when Akira was so handsome, so charming, so smart as compared to your...mediocre self?

“Yours…♥” Smiling dazedly at him, you press a chaste kiss to his soft lips before nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck as a wave of drowsiness overtakes you.

There’s no need to ask questions. What matters is that he loves you as much as you loved him. So you don’t think about it anymore, simply relishing in the fact that the object of your affections returned your seemingly unrequited love.

“ I’ll protect you. No one will ever take you away from me. Don’t worry, my dear. You’ll be taken care of for life. Now that you’re mine...you’ll be treated like the priceless treasure you are~ ”

Eerie olden orbs glowed in the darkness, sometimes glinting with an unspeakable malice but they mostly shone with tenderness they were seemingly incapable of whenever they were trained on your sleeping figure.

#lexsssu writes #persona 5 #akira kurusu #ren amamiya #akira kurusu x reader #ren amamiya x reader #persona 5 joker x reader #p5 joker x reader #p5 x reader #persona 5 x reader #crossposted on ao3

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bizbat · 7 months

Note

Those Jason crush hcs were so funny (obvi they were cute too) butJason getting so embarrassed he tried to crawl outside with 4 bullet holes and half his blood outside his body was such a mood. Me too dude. Can we have some more of him being delulu about his crush? It was so deliciously embarrassing and funny. What would happen if his wifey/husbando was just boldly was like- “Jason we're not dating, why would you think we were? We're not even having sex?”

EVEN MORE! When They're In Love Headcanons - Jason Todd

🕸️Spiderverse Masterlist🕸️

🐼JJK Masterlist🐼

~ Fem terms used for reader.

~ Mild smut alluded to but nothing explicit.

~ You can find parts One, Two, and Three here!

~ You can find more of my works here.

~ This is gonna be mostly fic bc I am running out of ideas lol. This took an inappropriate amount of time to write omg

~ Jay is kinda toxic so Tw: Unhealthy Relationships Dynamics, mentions of having children, slight violence, Jason is a freak and reader is tired.

By now, I've made it clear that this man is deep in the delusion.

But I haven't really gone into detail in what I mean by that.

I mean he'll say something teasing in jest, and if you reciprocate that energy even the tiniest bit, he will take that and run with it.

Though that's not even solid, bc if you take everything he says literally, he'd still think you're playing along.

Jason could make a joke with someone and not gaf about their response, but you could say the exact same thing as the person he joked with and he'd get heart eyes.

So far, I've kinda been writing with an oblivious reader in mind but a reader who knows all of Jason's delusions would pretty interesting lol.

You'd probably overhear him talking to Roy or Dick about your "date" last night.

Read: He broke into your apartment while you were at work and surprised you with chinese takeout when you got home.

I think if you confronted him about his delusions, he'd be willfully ignorant, and act like he doesn't know what you mean.

~ Drabble Starts Here. ~

Lian seems so happy, you can't bring yourself to be the bearer of bad news.

You're sat beside the little girl at her even littler table, the handle of a plastic teacup loosely gripped between your thumb and forefinger, your pinky high up in the air. The smile on your face is sincere as she mindlessly babbles, pouring sugar water into your cup.

You can't help but grimace when she encourages you and her stuffed animals to drink up, and you can't help but feel like the girl is being somewhat malicious when she seemingly starts interrogating you, only to push the cup of surgery water back to your lips whenever you to to answer her litany of, frankly, over-personal questions.

Some of the questions you don't mind, they're about as pure and unassuming as the pink princess tiara laying crookedly atop her head. It's when she asks if you and Jason are gonna get married and have babies with the most deadpan face you've ever seen on a child, that finally makes you choke on the (syrup) water.

"Excuse me?!" You ask, wiping away the mess on your face with a embroidered napkin and desperately trying not to hack up the rest of the beverage, undissolved grains of sugar still residing in the back of your throat. "Why would we do that?" You manage between coughs.

Lian glances towards Jason, who is sat at the table across from the two of you, his knees tucked up to his chest, as he hides his face behind his miniature teacup, though it's mostly ineffective, as the cup looks like a shot glass in his massive hand. Lian innocently looks back to you, as if you were the one who'd asked the more confusing question.

"Uncle Jay said you were dating. Isn't that what happens when people date?"

You crane your neck as you slowly turn your head towards Jason, who is avoiding your ice cold gaze like his life depended on it. "Oh, really?" You ask Lian through gritted teeth, though your gaze is solidly planted on Jason. "Did he now?"

"Mm-hmm," The small girl cheerfully nods her head, the dark braids framing either side of her face swinging from the force of her enthusiasm. "He told me you guys were gonna have a bunch of kids so I could have more people to play with!"

You can't help but stare incredulously at the child as she explains. By now, Jason's put down the cup, giving up at his attempt to hide behind it and simply covering his mouth with his hand, sitting silently like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs as he waits for you to start chewing him out. But it never comes.

"You are, right? I really want more friends." Lian's pleading is almost enough to make you change your mind and agree right there. Almost. As if sensing that she hasn't fully convinced you, Lian continues, going on and on about how she would be a really really good big sister or cousin if you had babies, or how much she's always wanted to go to a wedding, and how pretty you'd be as a bride, and-

She knows better than to continue when you gently raise your hand, as if you're silently saying "That's enough, Lian, please stop talking." You do feel a little remorseful as the girl's once happy demeanor changes to a shyer, more somber at the apparent rejection. You sigh and roll your eyes, finishing of the tiny cup of, what is now, pure sugar. "Maybe someday, Lian."

You put your hand up again, bracing her for the next part of your sentence when you see her start to get riled up again. "But absolutely no promises. Uncle Jay and I need to have a very important conversation later about it, though." That's enough to please Lian, as she goes right back to asking you other invasive questions that have nothing to do with your love life.

Jason, though happily surprised by your answer, stays silent over the next few hours. He honestly forgets you were ever even mad at him to begin with. It's not until you leave and the sky turns that familiar dark red, that you punch Jason in the arm as hard as possible, which, in all honesty, he can't really feel.

Though he does wince and hold his arm in the place where you hit him, to keep your ego intact if nothing else.

"What was that for?!" He dramatically gasps, pouting as he rubs the "sore" spot on his upper arm. Somewhere in the back of your mind you recognize it's kinda cute that he plays into your delusions. Just a little.

"Why would you tell Lian of all people we're dating?!" Your hand subtly clenches by your side, though you try to hide the slight pain punching him gave you, at the end of the day, Jason was raised by a detective. "Why would you even say that when you know it's not true?!"

"First of all," He starts, grabbing your hand. "I tell everyone we're dating." He starts soothing your sore knuckles as he tugs you towards your apartment building. He's so confident as he speaks it's genuinely bewildering. "And second, we are dating."

When he sees the utterly gobsmacked look on your face he continues. "We go on dates," (he just shows up at your home once a week. "We get gifts for each other," (he got you a stray kitten he rescued off the street and he steals your underwear). "We have sex-"

"Okay, number one: No we don't," You say, holding your hand out in front of you just like you did with Lian. "Number two: No we don't," You can almost see his eyes glaze over. He listens to every other thing you say, but when you're telling him your not together? That's when he tunes out.

"And number three: that only happened once!" It comes out a harsh whisper. Your face and ears feel hot with embarrassment, but Jason just shrugs. "Three times, actually, but who's counting?" Jason has a sweet, intentionally dopey looking smile.

You're left speechless by his demeanor. "Just kiddin' . . . I'm counting." He thinks the awkward, bewildered silence is hilarious. So he just keeps talking. "I mark it down in my calendar . . . Celebrate it once a month . . . Might get the dates tattooed."

"Jason." You interrupt.

"Hmm?"

"Go home." He looks over and realizes you're both in front of your apartment door, having talked the whole way. Again, he shrugs, pulling a spare key out of his pocket and moving to unlock your door. "Oh my fucking g-"

"What?" He stops, holding up the key midair. "What's wrong?" "Jason," You groan, rubbing your temples. "Why do you have a key to my apartment?" By now you shouldn't be so surprised, but you are. "Oh, this?" He hold up the key, equally confused that you would even ask. "I had one made when we started dating. How did you think I get in for our dates?"

He can almost smell the exhaustion wafting off you at this point. "Plus I live here."

"Jason you don't-"

"I'm just busy! I know, I know, I should be home more, but when I'm blah blah blah." No longer unused to his inane ramblings, you unlock the door and push past him. You don't even stop him when he follows you inside, still going on about his delusions. You just roll your eyes when he takes of his shoes and jacket and tosses them aside like they he really does live there.

"You shouldn't make dinner, you've had a long day, we can order-"

He's interrupted by yet another sigh. "Jason," you begin, plopping down on the couch. He shuts up and listens intently to every sound coming from your mouth. "I just . . ." You sit up straight. "You don't live here, you're a stalker, and we are not dating." Jason nods as you talk, slowly, as if he's taking in what you said.

"I . . . I understand. I really am sorry I've upset you, but," He kneels on the ground in front of you, gently placing his hand on your thigh. "I am not a stalker." He's incredulous, and you're tired. At this point, what more can you do beside oblige him and his delusions. You sigh again, a deep, deep sigh that instantly drains you of the rest of your energy and makes you deflate into the couch. "Okay, Jay," You say, undressing as you stand and begin walking back to your room. "You win, you're my boyfriend. Goodnight."

Jason just happily nods as he watches you walk to bed. "Yeah, yeah, I win." He's just happy you finally came to your senses. "Night!" He happily calls after you.

#bizbat #dc #jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #jason todd fluff #jason todd headcanons #dc x reader

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vivalabunbun · 1 year

Text

Overdue Books and Ghost Stories

Summary: If the scholars at the Akademiya are so smart, why can’t they remember a few due dates?

Word Count: 6.4K

Tags: Alhaithamx GN! Reader, Shy! Reader (you hate eye contact), Librarian! Reader, Fluff, SFW, attempts at humor, pure fluff, written before 3.6 so Alhaitham is still acting grand sage, slowish burn?, Akademiya setting, slight mutual pining, Sumeru boys drive the librarian insane, especially a certain gray-haired bookworm.

Authors note: I just wanted something light-hearted and fun to write as a reward for getting stuff done. Shy people who force themselves to be responsible and hate eye contact unite! Enjoy!

He’s being followed.

Alhaitham can feel the fleeting presence lingering just a few seconds behind him.

The warm late afternoon breeze caressing through his grey locks, his cape trailing behind, and belt clattering with each fluid step. Teal-orange eyes faced forward towards the hectic stall-lined streets, but his attention was focused on the ghost that trails him from behind.

Every merge into the crowded pathways lined with vendors, every sharp turn down hidden allies, every street he circles back on, the traces linger like a dream fleeting from the memories of deep sleep.

He can’t allow a ghost to accompany him home, lest it decides to haunt the house.

Alhaitham had wasted enough time walking in aimless circles, if he can’t throw off the ghost, he concludes he must exorcise it.

Long legs pivot into an alley confined by stone walls and empty of shouting merchants and haggling shoppers. One, two, three slow strides towards the pale dead end that faced him.

“I know you’re there. Might as well stop with the games.”

Ghosts don’t exist outside tales told to innocent children to keep them tucked tightly under the covers. However, the iniquitous villains that terrorize the plot do, and they’re known as humans.

Were they going to fight or flee?

The presence behind Alhaitham finally materialized into something more than a fleeting dream. He glanced over his shoulder, hand ready to summon his sword. Behind him stood an unassuming figure, with no sensible ill intentions, their hands up as a sign of surrender.

Eyes adverted elsewhere like a child caught trying to sneak one more piece of candied Ajilenakh Nut.

The viridescent robe that enveloped your figure paired with the matching barrette, there’s no mistaking your identity. Another scholar from the Akademiya, great.

With power comes prestige, two notions Alhaitham couldn’t care less for. He was more than satisfied as a simple Scribe filing away applications in the archives away from searching eyes.

Those days were a luxury stolen from him by the title of “Acting Grand Sage”.

Now it wasn’t an uncommon sight for some researcher to come floundering through the crowded halls of the institution towards the ashen-haired man. From time to time there would be the bold student, agglutinating to his side with their wasted attempts at a conversation.

With great power comes great inconveniences.

Inconveniences that unabashedly believed their polite smiles could divert his teal gaze away from the insincerity. That offering a cup of coffee along with a rehearsed elevator pitch could sow the seeds of a superficial bridge.

One where they’d walk across with forms awaiting a signature along dotted lines or a towards a potential high seat at the Akademiya.

Their desire for this absent bridge coerced them to shallow down their pride, spurring this fruitless endeavor despite the Acting Grand Sage’s indifference and unreturned interest in small talk.

First, he was pressured into taking a position he didn’t want, then he became the target of people’s irrelevant aspirations, and most damning of it all even his privacy’s being invaded. To put it frankly, Alhaitham’s tired of it all.

Surely, it couldn’t take this long for the great institution of wisdom to select another leader, when can he finally stop this sham act?

“I’m off the clock, come find me on the next working day.” He’d prefer it if you didn’t.

The frigidness of his words with their thinly veiled politeness didn’t cause a single muscle of yours to budge.

“The Epistulae Morales ad Lucilium has been overdue for 6 weeks now, please return it to the House of Daena immediately.” A hand extended out in front of you, open and expecting.

No introduction, no chivalrous greeting, no frivolous small talk. Alhaitham certainly wasn’t expecting this from the strange ghost that stalked him.

Oh, so that’s where your eyes were. Honing in solely on the book currently clutched by his hip. One of the many books he signed out of the House Daena on a whim, simple academic works to stimulate his mind during the respite between busybodies and paperwork.

One he then promptly cast to the side by the beckoning of a journal from the restricted access collection. Only after a pile of files was removed from his desk that his eyes rediscovered the title.

“I understand, I shall promptly return it by the end of the next work day.”

“No, a student has requested this title for a week now, after they’re done with it, you may sign it out again.” Voice firm and steady as you gestured for the book to be returned to your hand.

No. An unfamiliar word spoken in a tone now foreign to the towering man.

His keen eyes observed your homogeneous uniform of standard greens and gold, you must be a regular librarian employed by the Akademiya. The Akademiya currently under his jurisdiction.

How bold of you, or has this job already drained you of all sense of self-preservation?

Regardless, your statement wasn’t without merit. The Epistulae Morales ad Lucilium doesn’t belong to him, and who was he to inconvenience a standard employee this Wednesday afternoon?

It wouldn’t serve him any benefit to be in the ire of a librarian, Alhaitham concludes it would be wise to just surrender the book. So he relinquished it.

From your pocket, your other hand produced a slip of parchment.

“Here is the late fee, please address the payment to the House of Daena by next Wednesday.”

Instead of offering the Acting Grand Sage a cup of coffee, you offered him a fine in exchange for confiscating his book.

With a slight bow, the ghost was exorcised, ambling back into the busy streets of Sumeru City until your back disappears from his teal eyes.

Alhaitham was left with no introduction, no coffee, and no book to spend the evening with. Even still, his mind has found something else to ponder about to pass the time.

Alhaitham slowly rejoins the buzzing city streets, the chattering voices carried by the cool breeze that rustled his cape and made his ash locks brush his cheeks.

‘How refreshing,’ he thought.

When the current Acting Grand Sage of the Akademiya was announced most people never heard his name before. Have they ever shared a class together? Were they ever in a group research project together? How could someone so brilliant escape the eyes of eager upstarts?

They could’ve had a prominent headstart in their careers if they’d built those bridges all those years back.

To be fair, you would’ve fallen into the clueless demographic as well. Were the two of you in the same graduating class? If your job didn’t require you to check the library ledgers every day, his name would’ve eluded you.

Even with a brisk thumbing through of the ledgers, it’s hard to miss the repetition printed on the pages.

Alhaitham was a regular name to be found in the library ledgers, you’d even argue he’s the biggest patron of the House of Daena.

However, it wasn’t the only pattern that would jump out to even the blindest man in Teyvat. What would be printed next to each book signed out by Alhaitham? Overdue.

Yes, you would think a man brilliant enough to plan the greatest insurrection in Sumeru’s history could remember a few due dates. But the ledgers refute that impression.

Before, the Scribe turned Grand Sage would simply return the books 1 or 2 weeks overdue and pay the fee at the same time.

Was it due to the increased responsibilities that now befell him or the increased financial freedom granted by a bigger paycheck that caused this pattern of extended tardiness?

Regardless, The Epistulae Morales ad Lucilium has returned back to the House of Daena, much to the delight of a hysterical student who pushed off a paper for a bit too long.

That Wednesday afternoon was the first time you spoke to the mysterious man of infamy, in an alleyway tucked away from prying eyes. He gave you the book without much of a fight and accepted the punishment without complaint.

If only it was always this easy.

First impression overall? The whispers in the halls were an inaccurate depiction of Alhaitham. To you at least, he was a rather tolerable man with a good sense of regulations, handsome hands too.

Was your first impression bad? Impudent even? Script rushed by the pounding metronome of your heart, skipping over a few key sentences, like an introduction.

Oh, you also forgot to call him Grand Sage… Surely he won’t hold such a petty grudge over that, he seems sensible.

You flipped through the library ledgers one last time before your duties ended for the day, stopping on a page as you pursed your lip at the familiar name next to The Critique of Pure Reason boldly stamped overdue.

If only the Grand Sage would fix this sloppy habit of his.

Alhaitham is very much aware of the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon, the frequency illusion. The tendency to notice something more often after noticing it for the first time. It wasn’t hard to pinpoint the exact inception of this phenomenon he was experiencing, a certain meeting in an alleyway.

–

“General Mahamatra,” A distinct cadence enticed the Ashen-haired man’s focus away from the matra delivering his daily report.

There’s a hush that befell the halls of the Akademiya today, no reason to speculate, it’d obvious to even the dimmest of fools. Cyno, the General Mahamatra, returned today from the sandy wastelands.

In fact, Alhaitham had just concluded his brief discussion with the electro wielder a few moments prior. The General left the paperwork delivery to the woefully ignored matra currently in front of the dendro wielder.

The faint reverberation of the dreaded title paralyzed the few scholars and researchers that dared roam the in presence of the General. Intense scarlet eyes centered on the viridescent clad librarian that called, your eyes seemed occupied with the object encased by tan fingers.

“Law and Order of the Pursuit of Wisdom is overdue.” A steady cadence incited the General.

“By how long?” Spoke an authoritarian tone.

“8 weeks, General.” There wasn’t the slightest pause from you.

The dense tension within the enclosed space was palpable, many pairs of eyes fixed on the scene happening under these fluorescent lights.

The seconds counting down to the decisive moment, what will become of the incautious librarian after this show-down?

…

“My apologies, I should’ve returned the book before I embarked, may I pay the fee now?” The treacherous edge was absent from the general’s voice.

With a swift nod, you turned on your heel, leading the General Mahamatra toward the judgment awaiting him in the House of Daena. A sight so flipped on its head, the witnesses of this event couldn’t seem to decide which direction was up anymore.

–

“Mr. Kaveh.”

A librarian intercepted a certain famed architect’s search for a certain Grand Sage evading the responsibilities piling up on a polished desk.

A spectacle was certainly about to happen in the House of Daena, Alhaitham gathers from his position just covered by a towering bookshelf.

“Oh, yes?” The furrow between blond eyebrows dissipates in an instant, his fury distracted for now by the polite use of his name.

“Were you the one to sign out The Death and Life of Great Design, Mr. Kaveh?” You held out the title in question, holy text for every architecture, your impassive eyes trained on the cover.

“That’s correct, I’m certain I returned it in time, has anything arisen?” The light of Kshahrewar raised a brow at the sudden inquiry.

“Would you mind explaining this, Mr. Kaveh?”

The book was pried open, revealing to the world the chaotic collage of jumbled words and sketches haphazardly scribbled among the print with the faintest whiff of wine.

Even from this distance, the bold vandalism was observable to his teal eyes. So was the slackened jaw of the architect with his now saucer-sized eyes.

The closest equivalent Alhaitham could compare your current expression with was a parent’s gaze toward the discovery of a crayon mural on a wall. Three pairs of eyes observing the blatant defacement of literature.

“The replacement cost of this book is 141,471 mora, it was an antique print.” Your hands gingerly shut the covers, hiding the book’s shame away.

“H-how much??”

“I’ve written the amount down on this form, please address the payment to the House of Daena by the end of this month, Mr. Kaveh.” From your pocket, you presented the blonde with a fine that exacerbated his dreadful finances.

With this, your performance concluded, a mannered bow before swiveling back to your post at the library’s front desk. Leaving the famed Kaveh silent and color absent from his face, the slip of parchment pathetically pinched between ailing fingers.

Stepping back into the shadow of the shelves, Alhaitham reaches a hand up to enable the feature of his earphones that preserves his sanity. He already had a premonition of what was to greet him, might as well enjoy the fleeting moments of silence while it lasted.

–

The sky over Sumeru was a brilliant blue, tufts of fluffy clouds cushioned the earth from the harshest rays of the sun, but not enough to embargo the comforting warmth. It’d be a shame to throw away such beautiful weather in the confines of an office.

Enough justification for Alhaitham to enjoy a quiet reading session under a hidden pavilion, just to the side of a neglected pathway at the Akademiya.

Just because a place is neglected, it doesn’t mean it’s completely abandoned. The scurrying of two sets of steps made their presence known along the uneven path.

“Please return Handbook of Qualitative Research to the House of Daena,” your stony voice perked his ears.

Those words weren’t directed towards the unseen Acting Grand Sage, no, they were addressed towards the researcher whom you were just a few seconds behind. Impassive gaze concentrated on the overdue book in his arms.

The exasperated man huffed out a breath, bringing a hand up to rub at his dry eyes drooping under the weight of the discolored skin hanging under them. Alhaitham hypothesizes that this must have gone on for a while.

“Listen, I know it’s overdue, I promise to return it once this report is finished.” The researcher tries to quicken his strides.

“No, it’s late 4 weeks now, please hand over the book.” That signature gesture made its appearance, palms open and expecting, your pace never once faltering.

“Could you please make an exception, just this once?” Tired exasperation morphing into a sharper edge.

“There are three other patrons queuing for this book, I’ll add you to the list and notify you once the title is available again.” Indifferent eyes never once left the imprisoned book.

Ah, your words became the straw that broke the Sumpter Beast’s back.

“Three? THREE??! I don’t have the time! If they’re students they can wait, this project has dragged out for months, months! It’s only now drawing to a close, oh for the love of Lesser Lord Kusanali, just let me-”

Fatigue overboiled into raw frustration, the researcher now lively as ever, moved senselessly close to your face.

One boot-clad step makes its appearance from behind a pillar. It’d be best to de-escalate the situation now before the potential for a physical alteration manifests into reality.

Especially for a librarian that’s too focused on a book to recognize the looming threat. As Acting Grand Sage, maintaining order was the priority.

Instantaneously, a lone finger shot out towards the azure sky, with it followed the wearied eyes of a man mid-manifesto. The hypnotically soothing hue of the vast space momentarily ceased the researcher’s grievance, reminding him of the bigger picture, of the bigger world.

Bringing him comfort with the realization that these sleepless nights won’t be permanent, that this too shall pass.

Was that the goal of your diversion? Probably not. Regardless, the hostage has been rescued into your secure arms, back where the book belonged.

The view of the sky must’ve reminded the researcher’s body of its limit, as his movements faltered back sluggishly. Bloodshot eyes blinking at his now empty hands.

“Please address the payment to the House of Daena by next week.” A slip of parchment produced from your pocket fills that void for him.

Without another word, the librarian trekked back up the beaten path, leaving behind two very silent men. With only the researcher’s figure left in sight, Alhaitham’s mind quickly lost interest.

Withdrawing back behind the cover of the marble pillar, he couldn’t help but recount the details.

‘The General Librarian’, ‘The Punisher of Fines’, ‘The Ghost of Due Dates Past’. All names coined by the sleep-deprived minds of slouching students and destitute scholars awaiting the saving grace that was their paycheck.

Perhaps it’s that inorganic cadence of your voice. Or how one of your hands reaches out to demand the return of printed works while the other indited the transgressors with a note worth months of coffee.

Maybe it’s the focus of your catatonic gaze solely upon the books in question, denying wrongdoers a chance of mercy formed by eye contact.

An itch tickled the back of Alhaitham’s throat, the same sensation that tugged the corner of his lips upwards towards the brilliant sky.

How did such a fascinating individual slip away from under his nose for so long?

Almost there, just a little longer, the doors to the House of Daena came into view, you’re so close to reprieve. One hand still clutching the freshly recused book against your chest, you pried the door to the staff room open. Empty.

Thank the Archons.

Ducking into the sanctuary devoid of library patrons and chattering coworkers, sealing the solid wood behind your back, you could finally breathe.

Lungs burning for the taste of oxygen again, the pounding in your chest subsiding with each greedy gulp. Drained figure finding solstice against the sturdy door.

You achieved your goal, so why were you so defeated?

His eyes got close, dangerously close. In your peripheral, the puffiness of his eye bags were in full detail. Your lids shut firmly as if shutting out the intrusive thoughts that threatened to infiltrate your mind.

It’s fine, everything is fine, your eyes never met. There’s no arrow in the back of your heel, the script has not gone off course.

What a childish Achilles heel, eye contact, the most basic requirement for a conversation between peers and people. One you can’t fulfill. Even the briefest moment of connection will crumble the mask you dawn, exposing the puny coward to the world.

One look and you’ll be thrown off script, your career’s saving grace.

Book overdue?: “Please return [Title] and address the late fee payment to the House of Danea by next week.”

Damages?: “Please compensate the House of Daena for the damages done to [Title] by next month.”

Need a book that isn’t available?: “I’ll add your name to the waitlist for [Title] and inform you when it’s returned.”

Lines rehearsed time and time again, now ingrained into your tongue, spoken by instinct. It’s not a conversation, it’s merely a stage play, performed by a coward shielded by a crafted blanket of indifference.

‘The General Librarian’, ‘The Punisher of Fines’, ‘The Ghost of Due Dates Past’.

Better that they interpret your aversion to eye contact as malice instead of cowardice. After all, the world is not kind, especially not towards the meek. Papers and delegated responsibilities suddenly thrust upon those too shy to voice their dismay.

What could the meek do? Nothing. So they’ll silently grit their teeth and bare it all as a doormat trampled by those whose voices don’t stumble and shutter.

A scheme you’ve fell victim to time and time again within the walls of this hallow institute of knowledge. An experience under oath by oneself to never repeat again.

The intermission is over, the performer must return back to their positions. You unlatched the door, stepping back into the fluorescent lights of the House of Daena.

Alhaitham is aware of the frequency illusion, however, he’d argue that it’s no longer an illusion. The ghost has come back to haunt him. For what reason? Alhaitham’s not sure. Surely his books aren’t that overdue, and if they were then why hasn’t your hand appeared in front of him?

Instead, you left traces, whispers of your presence in the form of handkerchiefs and pressed flowers on slips of paper.

The evidence found beside the Acting Grande Sage’s lunches and piles of applications, his teal eyes always just catching the briefest viridescent wisp fleeing the scene of the crime.

The ashen-haired man finds great delight in abstruse books, the rare feeling of reading a line more than once to grasp the concepts formed on the page.

He enjoys the sporadic occurrences that challenge his sharp mind, it’s good to feel fresh thoughts run through.

Has Alhaitham found an archaic journal tucked away in some dusty corner? Perhaps he found a handwritten copy of a book, one with fewer than ten in existence. Was it a long-forgotten text that challenged contemporary beliefs?

Surely, to baffle the man known as Alhaitham, the scripts must have something reality-shattering. Like something saying that the azure sky, with its moon and sun, were nothing but mere imitations.

No. It wasn’t any print signed out from the restricted collection in the House of Daena that had Alhaitham’s mind pondering the slightest nuances. It was the librarian, currently penning his name down in the ledgers, that perplexed the towering man.

Humans are flawed in the sense that they’re uncomfortable with the concept of ‘unconditionality’. Everything has a fair price and equivalent exchange. One back was scratched in return for the same. So, what did you want?

Were you trying to form a bridge? One crafted from slips of paper and thin decorative fabric? If so, then why has your introduction yet to reach his ears?

The eyes are the window to the soul. Windows that offer indispensable insight into the other person’s agenda and convictions. For the Acting Grand Sage, it’s easier for him to gain access to the restricted vaults in the House of Daena than the librarian’s eyes.

Is it unprofessional to think that the Grand Sage, the figurehead of the Akademiya, is a menace? If you kept these thoughts to yourself then it shouldn’t be a problem, right?

Could it be the nagging of Kshahrewar students, whining over the unavailability of their holy text, that made you hypersensitive to the treatment of printed works?

The students should direct their grievances towards the ‘light’ of their Darshan, the one that defaced their holy text. You’re a librarian, not a magician you can’t make books appear from the abyss.

It was a coincidence to witness the Grand Sage, Alhaitham, enjoying a shawarma wrap under the shade of a stained-glass pavilion. There’s nothing wrong with a man just having his lunch. However, there was something very wrong with how his other hand held a book.

Paper becomes discolored in the stained area and transparent as molecules of oil fill the spaces between cellulose fibers. Over time, the parchment will become brown and brittle, the ink lifted by the fatty acids.

But what can you do? Interrupt the Grand Sage’s lunch? Lecture a superior on proper book care procedures?

You’re not dense.

Still, you could take some preventative measures. Done in the form of a handkerchief carefully folded just behind his right shoulder. He seemed too engrossed in the text to perceive your proximity to him. It was just for a few seconds anyways. You retreated.

The next incident happened within the wall of the House of Daena, where food and drinks were strictly forbidden. It was a slow day, with nothing much to do besides returning a few books back to their proper homes along the hundreds of shelves.

During one of the many trips pushing the cart back and forth along the path, a certain head of ashen hair with teal streaks fell into your peripheral. It must be a slow day for him too. The Grand Sage certainly made himself comfortable, desk piled with stacks of books strewn about.

The purse on your lips returns as one side of your cheek is sucked in. A few of the books were opened and placed paper-side down on the smooth table. You witnessed him losing interest in his current text, letting it join the spread bodies of its fellow brethren.

Laying a book face-down breaks the binding and weakens the hinges, where the covers attach to the pages. Some of those titles have existed for more than double your combined ages, think of their poor spines.

Out of pity for the aged scripts and for your own patience, while passing his table from a pocket you slipped out a clumsily made bookmark.

Fashioned from scrap paper, craft supplies, and one of the many Sumeru Roses that dotted the paths in this nation. A new hobby of yours that’s proven itself useful.

With your duty fulfilled you returned back among the towering shelves.

–

The job of a Grand Sage is demanding, much more demand than the job description of a librarian, you understood that. However, surely there are enough hours in the day for him to have lunch and read separately.

The position of Grand Sage means he often has to determine the best policies and actions. So why can’t he read one book at a time, close it properly, then pick up the next?

Being the Grand Sage must be time-consuming and hectic, but he could at least send someone to return his books before the due date.

How many handkerchiefs did you purchase in the last month alone? How many yards of decorative string? Is it possible to make the Sumeru Rose endangered? Would it be appropriate for you to itemize your purchases for reimbursement by the Akademiya?

For a person that enjoys reading printed works, it seems that he’s only concerned with the contents of the book and not its physical well-being. A menace to literature.

You were the unlucky sheep tasked with delivering the new budget proposal for the House of Daena. Stepping into the grand office after an unnecessarily long elevator ride, you wondered what violations will greet you this time, or if the elusive man was even here.

Ambling towards his desk, eyes focused on the budget in front of you, only switching position once the polished wood came into view.

Ah, he had another book face-down on the desk with one of your bookmarks just off to the side. He almost had it. Glancing up, your world momentarily stilled.

The Grand Sage was in his office after all. Chest gently rose and fell, face supported by the back of his knuckle, long lashes closed. Thank Archons, he’s asleep. Your heart restarts its tempo.

Your eyes quickly snapped back to the cover of the book, The Symposium, you recognized that title from this morning’s flip through the ledgers. It’s overdue.

There’s not even a point in sighing, you expected this. Flipping over the philosophical work you gingerly placed the bookmark in properly, then shut the covers closed.

Curious eyes wandered back to the sleeping figure in the board seat. His ashen hair looked soft as it fell across his face, lips slightly parted as quiet breaths exhaled.

From his lips, your greedy eyes began to trail down his covered arms, all the way down to the bare break that exposed his robust arm-

You stopped yourself, he’s asleep. You must be reading too many books from a certain island nation.

Is it unprofessional to think that the Grand Sage, the figurehead of the Akademiya, is attractive? If you kept these thoughts to yourself then it shouldn’t be a problem, right?

You left two pieces of parchment on his desk.

‘I’ll give a one-week extension, please return this title to the House of Daena before then.’

Alhaitham certainly didn’t expect to find this from ‘The Ghost of Due Dates Past’ when waking from a nap, he wondered if it was conquered by the remnants of sleep.

Or perhaps it was their parting gift, one last lingering trace before the ghost that haunted him for these past few months retreated back into their world. No more handkerchiefs left by his lunches. No more pressed flowers to decorate his desk. His teal eyes were unable to catch a very specific hue of viridescences.

Did the ghost slip out from under his nose again?

–

There isn’t much of a reason for Alhaitham to be at the Pardis Dhyai, after all, he’s not a Amurta scholar. Just a chore from this temporary position. His boot-clad steps made their way up the stone path blooming with lush vegetation, the view was almost enough to make up for the troublesome journey.

Keen eyes honed in on familiar ebony ears from the doorway to the greenhouse. Oh, Tighnari is here? What a rare sight.

“Please pay the late fee by the end of the week.” A certain cadence seized his attention.

“Yes, yes, I get it,” Tighnari sighed, moving to place his closed pen where he left off in the book.

“Chief Forest Ranger, please use this instead.” From your pocket emerged an all too familiar violet.

“Oh? Did you make this yourself? Mm, a Sumeru Rose, on my way here I noticed that these plants don’t seem as plentiful recently.” The forest ranger observed the bookmark in his gloved hands.

“I wouldn’t know, sir.”

Oh, so you gave those bookmarks out to anyone indiscriminately. It made sense, you’re a librarian, employed to help the patrons of the House of Daena with their literary needs.

It didn’t mean much just to hand out a few slips of paper. Something annoying and greener than the foliage scratched at Alhaitham’s neck.

–

At the Pardis Dhyai, you had a duty to fulfill, as did he. Not an appropriate time to initiate a conversation.

Thus, the ashen-haired man can only mull over the situation in the stillness of his own home. A blond architect sent out to fetch groceries to account for a certain damages fee.

A lone finger taps rhythmically on solid oak while the opposite hand supports his pondering head. As quickly as you came, you left just as suddenly. As capricious as the wind, slipping through the gaps of his fingers just as easily.

How does one catch a ghost?

Beryl gaze travels the length of the workspace, over the scattered sheets and abandoned quills, landing upon negligently stacked covers. A scheme conquers itself into existence.

Throughout history, many methods and rituals have been used to summon beings from the great beyond. As a scholar, who was he not to test those hypotheses?

The Norton Anthology of World Literature; Overdue 5 weeks

Academic Charisma and the Origins of the Research; Overdue 5 weeks

Cases on Academic Rights and Justice; Overdue 5 weeks

The Symposium; Overdue 8 weeks

Patron: Alhaitham

Ah, you can’t let this continue. It’s time for ‘The Ghost of Due Dates Past’ to collect their dues. Even if you wanted to bash your head into the ledgers.

–

Just beyond the threshold of a pavilion offering shelter from the sun's rays stood a familiar caped frame. Unabashedly reading The Symposium, back resting against the pillar.

Plugging the title into your script your lungs muster up a deep inhale, it’s time for the coward to dance on stage.

“Grand Sage.” You stopped a few paces away.

There was the gentle clatter of his belt and cape, the weight of his gaze now resting upon your shoulders, but your eyes were honed in on the cover in his clutches. You got his title this time.

Alhaitham feels he should give bygone scholars and minds more merit, a ghost can be summoned, an incentive is needed for the ritual.

“Please return The Symposium immediately, and address the payment to the House of Daena by the end of the week.” Like rehearsed, your hand reached out, palms awaiting the smooth back of the book.

His half-gloved hand shut the pages together, rotating the book horizontally, it slowly travels the distance to your hands. Your eyes chaperoned every movement, legs eager to return backstage to the House of Daena.

Just as the smooth cover brushed against the clammy skin of your palms before your fingers could fully enclose around it, the title suddenly took a detour. With it followed your attentive eyes.

It’s a childish scheme really, like a schoolyard bully using his vertical advantage to hold the object of desire just out of reach. As the saying goes, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Such elementary actions hold some merit… because they worked.

Attentive eyes clashed with teal, stunned irises that dilated faster than the thump of your heart. You got to witness the Grand Sage’s features in all their glory for the first time, so his beryl eyes also held some citrine in them.

Instantly, your neck snapped to the side. But it’s already too late, the coward dropped their mask, shattering at their feet. Revealing to the world the scarlet face of the wimp whose sheet was stripped off their heads, there was never a ghost, only a performer.

You were standing in the shade, yet it felt as if you stumbled into the desert.

Alhaitham’s indebted to the fact you don’t look people in the eyes, such an event would prove disastrous for this institution of wisdom and rationality. Such a sight should have limited access he deems.

A sweet breeze blows through the pavilion, cooling his cheeks and yours the same, however, the ears hidden under his earphones still burned.

Throughout the House of Daena, the soft fluttering of pages turning and quills scribbling down notes could be heard. At the front, a librarian glances at the clock slowly ticking down to the hour of freedom.

“I would like to return these,” spoke a husky voice.

Your eyes traveled up from the freshly stacked books up toned forearms, reaching their final destination on a pair of impartial teal irises.

Opening up the ledger, you swiftly flipped to a familiar name. Scanning the titles you noted each one down.

The Uses of Literacy; due in 2 weeks

The Great Conversation; due in 2 weeks

Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity; due in 2 weeks

Patron: Alhaitham

“Thank you for returning the books before due, have a great evening.” You bowed a little at the Grand Sage. Gathering up the books into your hand and placing them in the return cart.

It’s past 5:30 pm, the Acting Grand Sage is now off the clock. Thus, he didn’t let one second go to waste. Long legs taking swift strides out of the grand doors of the Akademiya, skillfully dodging the searching eyes of ambitious scholars.

Ambling down the stone pathways to the bustling city center.

Entering the favored tavern of any famished local, Alhaitham places his order. Watching the clock as Lambad packed his two to-go bags.

Dropping the mora off on the counter, Alhaitham seized the freshly made dinners into his hands, exiting the tavern. Merging back into the crowded pathways until he reached his front door. Shifting the bags into one hand, he turns the silver key to his abode.

Placing the takeout bags onto the polished kitchen table, his teal eyes once again wander towards a clock, 6:10 pm.

He prepares two glasses and a bottle of wine from a secured cabinet. It’s the weekend now, there’s no risk in enjoying a few glasses tonight. Just as the ashen-haired man finished setting the table, the unlocked door lightly creaks ajar.

Your frame soon comes into view, arms stretched above your head to loosen the tension that comes with a desk job. A breathy yawn followed the release of tight muscles along your back, walking into the kitchen where Alhaitham stood.

“You’ve worked hard today.”

You hummed in agreement, hand gently rubbing the fatigue from your eyes as the delicious scent of tandoori roast chicken beckoned your nose.

Food and drinks were strictly forbidden in the House of Daena, and you’re quite ravenous. Advancing toward the paper bag located on your side of the table with an eager bounce in your step.

Only to be blocked by a toned arm.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, my librarian?” Inquired a low voice.

You glanced up at the hurdle that dare separate you from a delicious meal, lip pursed out just the slightest bit.

“I returned my books before due, desired behavior requires positive reinforcement.” There’s a glint in his beryl eyes.

You huffed, you should’ve known he was feeling a bit cheeky today from the moment he stepped foot into the library. Still, he’s right, good behavior deserves a reward.

Tenderly your hands clasped around his soft cheeks, guiding his face downwards as you straighten your back. His ashen locks tickled you as you awarded the towering man his prizes.

Your lips gingerly press themselves against his features, the warmth of your burning cheeks felt soothing to him, and you could feel the upward pull of his lips.

Once on the forehead, once under his eye, once on the nose, and… one final time against his soft lips.

Quickly pulling away, the slow blink followed by a slightly quirked eyebrow tells you enough about his thoughts.

“The last one was a thanks for the food.” You turned your flaming cheeks away, settling down and releasing your meal from the confines of the bag.

Your lover hums in understanding, a cheeky smirk ever so clear on his usually stoic face. Regardless, he moves to his side of the table and unpacks his dinner, filling two glasses with fragrant wine.

A clink signified the start of your dinner ritual, performed away from prying eyes.

Somewhere during the comfortably quiet dinner, Alhaitham’s hand by habit inched towards the book placed just off to the side, violet bookmark recording his last endeavor among the text.

Just as quickly as it started, his hand stopped. Like a stern swat, your eyes pierced into the back of his hand. A silent warning. He withdrew his hand back to his side, deciding to practice proper dining manners, for you of course.

Satisfied, your attention returns back to the seasoned meat and sauces on your plate, fork and knife quickly getting to work.

Alhaitham’s perfectly spiced food took a backseat in his mind, eyes more interested in observing the endearing fullness of your cheeks as you chewed.

Inquisitive irises returned his stare, he sees the teal that reflected off. How could the corners of his mouth not lift at the sight in front of him?

Please keep your eyes on him, so that he may continue to watch you for now and for the far future. His librarian.

Fin~

#alhaitham x reader #al-haitham x you #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x yn #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham x you #genshin x reader #genshin alhaitham #alhaitham fanfic #alhaitham fluff #genshin fanfic #genshin fluff #vivalabunbunfics #al haitham x reader #alhaitham scenarios #alhaitham imagines

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attapullman · 5 months

Note

I was thinking about this the other day, Reader in a sundress and Bobby just can’t keep his hands to himself.

Oh, Nonny, now I'm going to be thinking about this all day!

Those big, grabby hands? 🤤

He's a grown man with Navy discipline, he can definitely quietly sit and keep his hands to himself. Surely. But the longer he has to be out and about, and the hem of the skirt keeps rising along the soft skin of your thighs...that man is a goner.

At first it feels accidental. His hand on your waist while you're standing in the buffet line. Warm fingers skimming your knee when you sit down, pulling your chairs a little too close together.

But then you know he's skirting the line of public decency and indecent intentions. Thick arm slinking around your shoulders ("Aren't you cold, honey?") only for fingers to slip under the light fabric, teasing the skin of your shoulder. Holds your gaze with those wide, innocent, baby blue eyes when the measly strap falls down your shoulder. That wasn't him, was it? Sorry sweetheart, let me fix that.

You know you should go home. This is a work event. His superiors could see him. But you like seeing how far he'll go to have a piece of you.

The afternoon has turned into a faded sunset and Bob is lightheaded. Hours of watching the way your chest fills the neckline of that dress and he hasn't been able to touch once?

Deep in conversation with another of the couples at your table, your breath hitches when that warm palm firmly grips your thigh, the gingham tablecloth barely covering the scandalous amount of dress he's pushed up. Softly kneading your skin while working his way higher, the hand not on you gripping his knee so he won't touch himself.

You're trying so hard to keep your place in the topic of the table, but he's tracing the delicately sensitive skin of your thighs. Teasing.

"Are you alright?" Bradley's wife asks as warm fingers move from tracing over the soft satin covering you to pressing into you as much as possible, pushing the wetness within you to the surface and an inhuman whimper from your lips.

He's too quick on the draw. Bringing his unoccupied hand to your cheek and feigning concern. "You're a little warm. Did you eat something bad? I should get you home, poor thing."

Not a single eye bats when Bob helps you up, the unassuming WSO helping you straighten your dress like he didn't just have his whole hand against your core.

With the next morning will come the sweet texts of concern to your health that you'll regret responding to with lies. But that's not on your mind at all when, upon entering the darkness of the parking lot against his truck, Bob lifts that flimsy sundress over your ass and slips his fingers under damp fabric, groping wherever he can reach as he brings you to orgasm in his new favourite dress.

#letters to mo #bob floyd x reader #can't take that man anywhere

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fizzybin · 4 months

Text

Don't stop

Warnings: Thigh riding, oversim, assumed master/pet relationship

wc: 308

a/n; lil late night drabble I love this man so much, I just love the thought of being his lil horny pet, and him being ironically asexual he just unfazed by your hypersexuality and just lets you do whatever while he just sits there but of course he still has to be in control right?

As the smooth melody of 1920s jazz filled the room, Alastor sat in his luxurious leather chair, engrossed in his book. You, his pet, were perched on his lap, innocent and unassuming. But your view of him was too perfect, too tantalizing. The way his suit clung to his muscular frame, the way his sharp features softened as he read…it was all too much for you to resist. With each subtle movement, your body unconsciously rubbed against his, the friction igniting a fire between your legs. You tried to play it off as innocent, but deep down you knew what you were doing - hoping that he wouldn't notice your desperate attempts at pleasure.

As you rocked, the friction between your bodies intensified. Unable to resist, you shifted your position and straddled his thigh, grinding against it for more stimulation. Trying to play it cool, you pretended to adjust your position but secretly relished in the sensation of his leg against your core.

“my dear, are you uncomfortable? your moving an awful lot..”

“huh- oh sorry yeah I was just trying to move in a more comfortable spot…”

you mumbled under your breath, causing Alastor to set down his book and tilt his head in curiosity. The light from the nearby window illuminated his features, casting shadows across his sharp cheekbones and highlighting the furrow between his brows. His dark red eyes studied you with an intensity that made you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. He seemed to be searching for something in your words, as if trying to decipher a hidden meaning. You fidgeted nervously, suddenly feeling small under his piercing stare.

“You know, I do possess an incredible sense of smell. If you are truly desperate to…indulge yourself in my presence, by all means, go ahead. But do not stop until I give the word."

#alastor smut #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor drabble #hazbin smut #hazbin hotel #smut

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fullsunrise · 5 months

Text

Smoothie - Part 1 (M)

Word count: 2.8k

Pairing: Jeno x Original female character x Jaemin

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Porn with some plot, Dom!Jeno, Dom!Jaemin, OC is an inexperienced sub, BSDM elements, oral (m receiving), both Jaemin and Jeno are mean, barely proof read (sorry!)

Summary: After signing up on a BDSM community website on a whim, Jinhae has her first BDSM experience with Jeno and Jaemin.

Looking around the quiet Seoul neighborhood, Jinhae wanted to make sure she had the right address. There was nothing strange about the gated house that stood in front of her, and that's precisely why she could feel her stomach flip. How could two seemingly normal men own a home and also find the time to indulge? Was this just a pastime of theirs and during the day they were unassuming business men? Seoul felt like such a small place and the thought of running into them unknowingly sent shivers down her spine.

Jinhae was way in over her head. She was about to turn around on her heels if it weren't for the click of the gate unlocking. All and any nerves she had quickly vanished when perhaps the prettiest man she's ever seen smiled gently at her.

“Hi, you must be Jinhae, correct?”

“Yes, and you are…?”

“I'm Jaemin. Jeno is inside waiting. Would you like to come inside?”

Even though she was clearly here, standing in front of him on her very own free will, he still gave her the opportunity to leave. Maybe it was his hospitable demur or the way his cardigan fell ever so slightly off his shoulder revealing a toned bicep, but Jinhae could’ve sworn she was put under a trance.

“Sure,” she said with an equally kind smile that reflected the beaming grin from Jaemin.

The interior of the house was surprisingly modern yet it still lived in. Clean, but warm and homey. The smell of fresh linen hit her nose and Jinhae couldn't help but let out a sigh of content.

Jaemin was quick to pick up on her relaxed state as he hummed in reply. “I'll take that as a compliment,” he chuckled as he plopped himself on the couch.

Jinhae couldn't help but soak in his figure as his arm draped around the back cushion and he crossed one leg over the other. For a second, she almost forgot where she was and why she was here. As if reading her mind, Jaemin motioned for her to sit down on the armchair across from him.

“Is this your first time?”

“Is it that easy to tell?” She laughed nervously.

“Not really, but you do seem a bit more relaxed than some of my previous relationships.”

“Have others bolted?”

He let out a hearty laugh, “Not many, but I’ve had some that were super jumpy and skittish.”

“Did they not understand what they were in for?” It seemed like an innocent enough question and Jinhae didn't intend for it to sound like she knew what to expect either. So when his warm smile dropped from his face, Jinhae knew maybe it was the wrong question to ask.

“I’ll let you be the judge of that, sweetheart,” he said in a deep tone. His eyebrows were raised in a way that she could only describe as predatory. Her heart dropped in her stomach at how quickly his attitude changed.

Before she could reply, footsteps echoed from beyond her chair until they stopped right behind her. The looming presence of the unknown figure was almost too much to ignore. The smell of warm cinnamon barely reached her nose when the man suddenly cleared his throat.

“Are you going to introduce me to our lovely guest?”

“I’m sure she can introduce herself,” Jaemin said as his head cocked slightly to the right as if to say don't be shy, he doesn't bite.

The man then made his way around her, almost circling her like she was nothing but a mere sitting duck. When he sat down next to Jaemin, Jinhae could feel her mouth slowly part in awe. His facial features were a bit more rough than Jaemin. In part due to his short, blonde hair that made his stare feel a bit more intense. This must be Jeno, Jinhae thought.

“You could stare all day if you want, but we're not going anywhere,” he teased.

“I’m Jinhae. Nice you meet both of you,” she whispered as she sucked in a breath. With every passing minute, her nerves only grew.

“That's a beautiful name,” Jaemin chimed in as he looked at Jeno in confirmation. Jeno endearingly smiled in response before he let his attention fall on Jinhae.

The silence engulfed the three of them and Jinhae couldn’t help but feel like she was on display. Absent-mindedly, she uncrossed and crossed her ankles. It was nothing but a nervous habit of hers, but with the circumstances of her visit, she quickly noticed how Jeno licked his lower lip.

“No need to be nervous, darling,” Jaemin said with a sweet smile, but it wasn't the same as the one he greeted her with. No, this one had a sinister tinge that did nothing but settle her nerves.

“We're just going to ask you a few questions before we start the session. It’s only our first meeting so we're not going to do anything intense yet,” Jeno calmly said, his voice more soothing than she expected it to be.

“Is that okay?” Jaemin asked as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs.

“Yes, I’m okay with that.” How could she not be? There were multiple times in the entire process where she could have easily opted out. From creating a profile, to filling out a very extensive questionnaire, and finally being matched with the very two men in front of her. It was a crazy scenario she only fantasized about in the comfort of her own sheets. Now that she was here, reality began to sink in. It was really happening. Right here. Right now.

“Good,” Jaemin nodded in approval, leaning back into the couch.

“Is there anything you don't want us to do? Anything you're uncomfortable with?” Jeno asked curiously.

“I don't think there's anything in particular,” she started, “I’m pretty new to all of this so I guess I’m willing to try anything until I know I don't like it.”

It was a silly question, Jinhae thought. They must've read her answers before agreeing to meet her, right? Was this just a formality?

“Great,” Jaemin said, “Do you want to choose your word? It can be anything, really,” he added.

Ah, that. She tried to come up with one earlier, but everything sounded so ridiculous. Maybe she was simply overthinking. Perhaps there was something around their house that would inspire her. Nothing crazy, maybe even ordinary. But to her dismay, the house was virtually spotless. Or at least that's what she thought if it wasn't for the half-empty cup on the kitchen counter.

“Smoothie.”

This earned a deep and genuine chuckle from Jeno. Jinhae was unsure why he laughed, after all she wasn't trying to be funny. Jaemin followed her line of vision and when he found the same cup she spotted on the counter, she could almost see his patience leave his eyes. It was obvious it wasn't because of her, but instead his bubbling anger was aimed directly at the blonde haired man beside him.

“Sounds great,” Jaemin said through gritted teeth, forcing a wavering smile. He flashed a glare towards Jeno, wiping the shit-eating grin off the latter. It was only a small glimpse of their dynamic yet Jinhae wondered how close they actually were.

“Now Jaemin, you know that's not the way we act around our guests,” Jeno teased.

“You're right, I’ll deal with you later,” Jaemin calmly agreed before looking back over at Jinhae. “Sorry about that, believe it or not we do actually live together.”

“How long have you two known each other?” It was a futile attempt at easing the tension in the room, but Jinhae couldn't help it. She was just curious.

“”I don't believe I said you can ask any questions,” Jaemin quickly replied. And in one swift motion all the attention was back on her. There was nowhere to hide now. Jinhae attempted to apologize for overstepping, but Jeno cut her off.

“He's right. You know you're lucky you're cute,” he said coldly, “Hides the fact you’re secretly a brat who can't follow basic instructions.”

Fuck.

Jaemin sighed, “It's a shame, we thought you were smarter than that.” Jinhae tried to defend herself, but her words failed her. No sounds came out except a sigh of defeat.

“Use your words, now,” Jeno instructed.

“Don't get flustered on us, we’re just making sure you follow the rules.” Jaemin assured her, but Jinhae couldn't help but feel embarrassed by her impulses.

“You're right. I’m sorry,” Jinhae said. No need to fight against it. If it were a normal conversation she would've cursed them out by now. But she had to remind herself that this was part of it.

“It's okay, better to get it out of your system now while we're being nice,” Jaemin said, his face returning to that sickeningly sweet smirk that made uneasiness pool in her stomach.

This was being nice? It was crazy how effective their words were. Jinhae couldn't believe how smoothly they were able to gain control of the conversation and put her in her place. To remind her of who she was in this relationship. No, not as an equal. Her role was to be subservient. Questioning their commands would be seen as rude and would lead to punishment. It was supposed to deter her, but the thought alone of them punishing her only left wetness in its wake.

“Don't get any ideas, sweetheart.” Jeno stated, an eyebrow quirked. “Trust me, it won't be fun for you.”

Jinhae wanted so badly to challenge him. But there was no need, because they all knew that she would in fact enjoy it. All of it.

“But you want to find out, don't you?” Jaemin perked up.

“Of course she does, look at the way she's practically squirming in her seat.” Jeno chuckled mockingly.

“No need to deny it, babe.” Jaemin grinned deviously. “You can tell us, we promise we won't get mad at you.”

“Play nice, Jaemin.” Jeno warned. But Jaemin’s face only grew more sinister as he leaned in closer.

“I bet you're soaked right now, darling.”

And there it was. The dampness in her underwear was borderline uncomfortable now, his words only making it worse. It would be so easy to lie to them that she didn't want to find out. But this? She was stepping into a landmine. One wrong move could have her sprawled across their laps, her skirt at her ankles. It sounded so delicious, both of them touching her at the same time. It was electrifying and she could feel the warmth dance across her cheeks.

On one hand, the idea of being rewarded for being good sounded heavenly. But the idea of being bent over and having her ass slapped sounded intoxicating. Jaemin and Jeno might be the ones calling the shots, but she was also in control. They weren't the only ones playing games.

“I can't help it,” she whispered as the red heat brightened on her cheeks. To really sell it, she rubbed her thighs together. Partly for herself and mostly because she knew they would eat it up. It was like they were smacked across their faces, leaving behind no trace of amusement.

“Aw babe, you look really flushed. Do you need help?” Jaemin said. Jinhae might’ve mistaken his concern to be real if it weren't for the fact that his dick was straining against his pants.

“Y-yeah, I don’t feel so good,” Jinhae said, pressing the back of her hand against her temple. Might as well give them a performance.

“You must be so hot in that sweater, too,” Jeno added, but his stare was entranced at her chest. Ah, so that's how it was going to be? Jinhae didn't think her innocent act would get them this riled up, but it gave her an extra boost of confidence to keep going.

“So warm,” she huffed as she pulled the sweater over her head to reveal her satin camisole underneath. It draped just perfectly over her bust and thin enough to show her nipples. Jaemin gave Jeno a glance and he nodded in approval without breaking his stare on her newly revealed skin.

“We’ll help you, but first you need to show us how much of a good girl you are. Can you do that for us, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” Jinhae replied, rubbing her thighs together again. This time in anticipation. As she rose from her position on the chair, Jeno quickly shot up and placed his hands on her shoulders to lower her back down.

“Ah-ah, did we say you could get up?”

“No, sorry.”

Jeno chuckled as he rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Let's try that one more time. Did we say you can get up?”

“N-no, sir,” she whispered. Shit, with a voice like that how could anyone not comply?

“That's more like it, darling. Now, let's hope you don't forget next time.” Jeno said softly, but his tone was contrasted by the abrupt clinking sound of his belt.

“Now you're gonna show Jeno how much you deserve it. Isn’t that right, angel?” Jaemin said lazily from his seat on the couch.

“Yes, sir,” Jinhae said with confidence, but it quickly faltered when Jeno snickered.

“Looks like this one is messing with you,” Jeno laughed, pulling his tank over his head. Fuck, of course he was ripped. Jinhae would have ogled a bit longer if they let her.

“She’ll learn quickly not to do that,” Jaemin replied, his voice increasing in volume, his tone borderline threatening.

Clueless. Jinhae felt utterly clueless as to what she did wrong now. Did he not like to be addressed as Sir? If not that, then what? It wasn't exactly fair that they never mentioned it to her before they started. It had to be on purpose.

“Don't act like you didn't do anything wrong, now,” Jeno said, pulling his jeans down to his ankles, just now in his briefs. “You can make it up to him, but first I need you to open your mouth nice and wide.”

Without hesitating, she did exactly as instructed. Jeno let out a deep grunt in approval before he roughly grabbed her jaw and forced her to look up at him.

“Such a pretty mouth,” he mused to himself.

“Do you think she's gonna suck you well?” Jaemin chimed in. He only watched from his position on the couch, still clothed. Like he was waiting patiently for his turn.

“I know she will, cause she loves sucking dick. Hmm?”

“Yes, sir.”

He let out a guttural groan of satisfaction at her reply. Then, he finally took off his briefs. Jinhae was practically drooling at the sight of his erection, but didn't have much time before he forced his way into her. Nothing could prepare for the fullness she felt in her mouth. When he began to thrust without hesitation, it burned.

It was obvious he didn't care that each time he hit the back of her throat she let out a cry. In fact, it made him speed up his pace as he roughly fucked her throat. The burning sensation only grew and tears gathered at the corner of her eyes. She was such a mess. And she loved it.

“Such a good fucking slut,” Jeno cried in pleasure as his moans and lewd sounds coming from her mouth filled the living room.

“She’s such a whore for dick,” Jaemin said as Jeno neared his release. “Isn't that right, baby girl?” Jinhae could barely let out a sound. The only noise she could muster was a barely inaudible “hmm”. But that only sent Jeno over the edge. It all happened so quickly, one second she was trying to reply to Jaemin, the next Jeno released inside her mouth.

“Show us how good girls swallow,” Jaemin ordered, his eyes locked with hers. She did as told, feeling the hot liquid move down her throat. Jeno slowly took his dick out, his movements less harsh than before.

“Now I believe good girls who do what they're told get to come,” Jeno mused as he flashed her a devilish grin.

“I don't think we should let her, Jeno,” Jaemin quipped as he finally stood up from the couch. “After all, she made a lot of rookie mistakes today.”

“Ah, you want to play with her?” Jeno asked, his eyes never leaving hers. She was so entranced in his stare that she didn't notice Jaemin move around so that he was now behind her.

“I think it would be nice to see if our kitten is willing to beg for it,” Jaemin mused as his hands began to massage her neck.

“Hmm, I like the sound of that,” Jeno replied. He cradled her jaw in the palm of his hand gently before it slowly snaked towards the strap of her camisole.

#nct dream #nct dream smut #nct dream fanfic #nct dream jeno #lee jeno #lee jeno smut #lee jeno scenarios #nct jaemin #jaemin smut #jeno smut #nct dream hard hours

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hopesangelsprite · 5 months

Text

Too Sweet 🍭(Illumi x Reader)

Summary: Illumi never really liked sweet things... until he met you, of course.

Pairing: Illumi x Chubby!reader

Warnings: manipulation (duh-), violence, mentions of blood and murder, obsession, etc. (let me know if I missed any)

Note: Best read while listening to "Too Sweet" by Hozier ;).

It can't be said I'm an early bird It's ten o'clock before I say a word Baby, I can never tell How do you sleep so well?

Illumi had become accustomed to certain kinds of diets throughout his years. He knew how to eat like royalty as well as how not to eat at all for days on end. That was simply how he was raised. This diet of his not only applied to food but to people as well. He'd acquired a taste for the strong, bitter types; the ones almost as barbarous as he was. If there was one thing he almost never had a taste for, it would be sweets.

You keep telling me to live right To go to bed before the daylight But then you wake up for the sunrise You know you don't gotta pretend, baby, now and then

He'd noticed how out of place you were instantly. The club he frequented was a haven for assassins, thieves, crime bosses, and other unsavory types of the lowest lows. Most people here didn't want to be seen and made an effort not to be, clothes dark and eyes darker. Yet there you stood behind the bar, hues of soft blue and yellow brightening your work attire, eyes brighter and purer than stars. His eyes followed you as you made your rounds across the club, eyes focused on your plush thighs and wide hips. It made him sick how soft and weak you looked. Most of him wanted to brush of your existence, to him you were an anomaly and nothing more. The other more sinister parts of him wanted to break you, to watch that innocence in your eyes fade into nothingness.

Don't you just wanna wake up, dark as a lake? Smelling like a bonfire, lost in a haze? If you're drunk on life, babe, I think it's great But while in this world

I think I'll take my whiskey neat My coffee black and my bed at three You're too sweet for me You're too sweet for me

Against his ingrained desires, he let you be. There was no use in him breaking you, in his eyes it wouldn't be long before someone else would anyway. So, Illumi carried on with life and ignored the small craving he was developing for you. It only grew deeper with each visit he made to the club. It wasn't often he was there either, his missions carried him all over the world for extended periods of time, but you never failed to be working each time he took his seat in the far corner of the building.

Illumi tried to drown out the yearning with whatever he could: bloodshed, money, women, etc. Still, he found himself watching night after night, taking note of the things that made you smile and the things you didn't smile as much at. Your interests became delicacies he dined on whenever he could. It wasn't long before he found himself wondering if your palate could handle the depth of his own flavor.

I aim low, I aim true and the ground's where I go I work late where I'm free from the phone And the job gets done But you worry some, I know

But who wants to live forever, babe? You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate The rest of you like you're the TSA I wish that I could go along, babe, don't get me wrong

The first time he approached you, he was unassuming. he took a seat at the bar far enough to watch but not close enough to get caught. He nursed the whiskey he'd order earlier in the night, not particularly interested in the taste of it anymore. It seemed you were a little more confident tonight, meeting the eyes of other patrons unlike your shifts prior. You offered polite smiles and gentle chuckles as you carried on conversing with a man Illumi knew to be violent murderer no doubt priming you for the kill.

A whisper in the back of his subconscious told him to follow the brown-haired male out tonight, ensure he'd never get the chance to savor in your sweetness. He washed away the thought with the last of the amber liquid in his cup deciding he'd use him to his advantage instead.

Illumi wrapped his knuckles against the dark oak of the bar drawing your ears and eyes toward him. Another warm smile replaced the questioning look you'd donned upon the interruption after noticing his empty glass. You pulled his favorite brand of whiskey from the shelves before making your way over to refill it. He watched your movements, keenly taking note of your body language. Once the glass was filled, he nodded in appreciation. You nodded back, preparing to resume your previous conversation, only to pause upon noticing the ring on his finger.

"That's a pretty piece you've got there, sir.", you chirped over the loud music, "Must've cost you a fortune!". So, you had a thing for jewelry, huh? Illumi took a mental note before shaking his head. "It cost me nothing if you don't count my life as currency.", he mused while looking over his family's crest at the center of a jeweled band, "It's an heirloom, a part of my birthright.". You hummed in understanding while taking his hand in yours to get a closer look. A shiver ran down Illumi's spine at the softness of your skin against his. For a second, he wanted nothing more than to kill everyone in the building and have you all to himself.

You gently placed his hand down before displaying another one of your million-dollar smiles. "Well, I guess that makes you the priceless one then.", you spoke smoothly before leaving him for the murderer. From that moment forward, the seed had been planted and obsession had taken root within Illumi's dark heart.

You know, you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape If you can sit in a barrel, maybe I'll wait Until that day

I'd rather take my whiskey neat My coffee black and my bed at three You're too sweet for me You're too sweet for me

Two months passed before he decided it was time to carry out the rest of his plan. He'd spent the past few months at the very end of the bar making small talk with you and keeping you company when the nights got slow. He learned many new things from talking to you; how you were only a few years younger than him, your favorite foods and alcohols, the apartment complex you lived in. You seemed to be the most open with him when there was no one else around. He made you feel safe.

He'd also built rapport with you, taking out time to keep other criminals off your back and walking you out of the bar every night. Tonight, however, would be different. Instead of waiting with you for your taxi arrival, he ducked back into the bar with the excuse that he'd forgotten something of his. He crept his way to the back of the club eventually finding the stairwell to the roof. Illumi perched himself on the balcony and watched a shadow approach you from a rancid looking alley. He'd known the serial killer you been so kind to at the beginning of your job here would be waiting for you to be left alone just like any other night.

He listened to closely as the brunette rounded the corner and struck up a conversation. Not to his surprise, you kept it going smoothly in spite of the growing discomfort altering your tone. A beat and a half passed before your muffled screams fell upon Illumi's ears. He looked on patiently as the dark-haired man ambushed you and drug you into the alley he'd emerged from.

He followed closely behind from the rooftops, listening to the sounds of your struggling and crying. He fought hard to keep himself from intervening too soon and waited until the two of you stopped progressing into the maze of dark, damp passages. You'd been dragged into a dead end and unceremoniously shoved onto a pile of rotting trash. Illumi made note to have a bath drawn for you as your attacker drew closer with a long blade in hand. He waited for it to be raised above you before dropping down far away enough not to be noticed. Before any more harm could befall you, Illumi swiftly took control of the situation he'd manufactured and killed your would-be murderer.

I take my whiskey neat My coffee black and my bed at three You're too sweet for me You're too sweet for me

Illumi disposed of the bloodied blade before turning to face you. He braced himself just quick enough to catch your sobbing figure falling into his arms unbothered by the blood covering them. He sank to the ground with you in tow and held you close while whispering the promise that you were safe into your shaking frame. He tucked your head into the crook of his neck before gently rising to carry you to the safety he promised. As he cast a final glance toward the body of your dead stalker, he smiled.

All of you belonged to him, now.

He could indulge in your sweetness forever.

#illumi zoldyck #illumi x reader #hxh illumi #hunter x hunter #illumi headcanons #hxh headcanons #hozier #song lyrics #songfic #too sweet #chubby reader

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badathumanemotions · 13 days

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Elle's Pursuit

Elle Greenaway x Spencer Reid MDNI Master List Category: Smut CW: Seducing a Co-Worker, Use of Good Boy, Dom/Sub Undertones, Spencer Alludes To Being a Virgin,Corruption Kink, Masturbation, Wearing Revealing Clothing, Overhearing Someone Masturbate, Panty Steal, Dubious Consent, Towel Dropping, Oral Sex (fem rec), Vaginal Fingering, Outercourse, Riding, Unprotected Sex, Cum as Lube, Hopeful Ending. WC: 7,975 Requested

Elle wants Spencer. When the opportunity arises Elle puts a plan in action to seduce the shy genius. (Not Proof Read)

Elle Greenaway felt a shiver of excitement run down her spine when she found out she'd be sharing a hotel room with Spencer Reid. It wasn't just the thrill of being on a new case. It was the tantalizing mystery of the man himself. There was something about his shy, awkward demeanour that she couldn't quite put her finger on, something that made her want to coax out the hidden layers beneath that stoic exterior.

The hotel room was bland and unassuming, like always. But she had a plan that would make this stay anything but ordinary. She tossed her bag onto the bed nearest the window and announced, "This one's mine."

Her eyes gleamed with mischief as she began laying out her most provocative pajamas. Spencer hovered by his own bed, unsure of what to make of her sudden territorial claim. He was too polite to argue, though, and took the one by the door.

Once she was in the bathroom, Elle slipped out of her clothes and into a pair of shorts and a short, silky camisole. She looked at herself in the mirror, a smirk playing on her lips. The fabric clung to her curves, leaving little to the imagination. She knew this would catch Spencer's attention. She took a deep breath and stepped out, the cool air making her nipples stand at attention.

Spencer's eyes widened as she slunk into the room, her hair falling on her bare skin. He tried to avert his gaze, but it was like trying to ignore the sun. She could see the flush creeping up his neck, the way his eyes kept darting back to her. He was trying to hide his erection, but it was as obvious as a neon sign in the dark.

Elle took a step closer, watching his reaction. "Spencer, is everything okay?" she asked, her voice dripping with innocence. She knew he was nervous, could almost feel the anxiety fall off of him in waves. It was endearing, really.

He gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "Y-yes, I'm fine," he stuttered, his eyes darting to the floor.

Elle couldn't help but chuckle softly. "You know, Spencer, you're acting like you've never seen a woman in her pajamas before."

Spencer's cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. "It's just… I wasn't expecting… I mean…" He stumbled over his words, his thoughts tripping over each other in a mad rush to escape his mouth. It was adorable, really.

Elle felt pity for the poor guy. She took another step closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm just messing with you, Spencer," she said, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "You don't have to be so nervous around me."

The tension in the room eased a bit, and Spencer's shoulders slumped in relief. "Oh," he murmured, his cheeks still aflame.

Elle slid into her bed, the sheets cool against her skin. She lay there, watching him from the corner of her eye, her heart racing. She knew she had planted a seed of curiosity in his mind. She was playing a dangerous game, but the thrill of the chase was too tempting to resist.

"Goodnight, Spencer," she said sweetly, flipping the switch for her bedside lamp.

"Goodnight, Elle," he replied, his voice strained. She watched him disappear into the bathroom, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing in the silence.

Elle waited, listening for any signs of movement. The water in the sink turned on and off, the faucet squeaking slightly. But it was the time that ticked by that had her eyebrows raising. Spencer was in there for what felt like an eternity. She couldn't help but wonder what he was doing in there. Was he trying to compose himself, or was he indulging in a private moment of desire?

Her thoughts raced, painting vivid images in her mind. Images of Spencer, his hand sliding under the waistband of his pants, stroking himself to the image of her lying there, half-exposed in her bed. It was a heady thought, one that made her bite her lower lip. She had to admit, she was getting turned on by the idea of him getting turned on by her.

Finally, she heard the door to the bathroom open and close. Spencer padded quietly across the room in the darkness. She held her breath as he climbed into his bed, the mattress groaning slightly under his weight. The room was silent once more, save for the distant sound of traffic outside.

Although the evening had been uneventful, Elle felt a strange sense of victory. It was a start, a crack in the wall she was determined to break down. As she lay there, she contemplated her next move. It was clear that subtlety wasn't going to cut it with him.

The second night, she decided to kick things up a notch.

When they got back to the hotel room after a long day of interviews and evidence collection, Elle was ready to test the waters further. She unbuttoned her shirt just enough to show a tantalizing glimpse of the swell of her breasts. She watched Spencer from the corner of her eye as he took in the sight, his eyes widening slightly before darting away, his cheeks flushing a darker shade of red.

"Could you hand me that notebook?" she asked, bending over the bed and giving him a clear view down her shirt. He swallowed hard, his hand shaking as he reached for the notebook. His knuckles brushed against her skin as he handed it over, and she could feel the heat radiating off of him. She straightened up, smiling sweetly, and pretended not to notice his reaction.

Elle decided to take a bigger, bolder step. While getting ready to shower, she purposely left the bathroom door ajar. She wanted to make sure he'd hear this next part. She turned on the water, letting it heat up.

Once in the shower, she let her hands wander and tease her body, her fingertips gliding over her soapy slick skin with a deliberate slowness.

Elle knew that Spencer could hear the sound of the shower from his bed, and she didn't hold back. She pinched her nipples, gasping at the sensation that shot straight to her core. The water cascaded down her body, making her skin tingle and her breath hitch.

Her hand slid down between her thighs, her fingertips dancing lightly over her clit. She moaned softly, the sound echoing off the tiles. It was a performance, a seduction in the purest form. She knew that Spencer would be lying in his bed, listening intently, his imagination running wild.

Her other hand found its way to her breasts, her fingertips teasing the sensitive skin around her nipples. She pinched and rolled them, the pleasure building with each twist. Her breathing grew heavier, and her moans grew louder, no longer bothering to hold them back.

As her fingers slid down from her clit to her hole, she felt the slickness of her arousal. She was wetter than she had ever been, and she knew Spencer could hear it all. The thought of him lying there, listening to her pleasure himself, made her even wetter. She slid one finger inside herself, her eyes closing at the feeling. It was tight and warm, and she could feel the beginnings of an orgasm building within her.

Elle began to pump her finger in and out, her hips moving with the rhythm. She added a second finger, feeling the slight stretch, but it wasn't quite hitting her g-spot. She bit her lip, trying to find the perfect angle.

Still unable to reach her peak, she decided to switch things up. Leaning against the cool tiles, she bent one leg, lifting her foot onto the edge of the tub. This new position allowed her to penetrate herself more deeply, and she gasped as she found that sweet spot. Her moans grew louder, echoing through the small bathroom.

Her other hand abandoned her breasts and moved to her clit, rubbing it in fast, firm circles. She leaned her head back, the water going forgotten as she lost herself in the sensation. The pressure was building, her toes curling in anticipation. She knew that with each loud gasp and whimper, she was driving Spencer wild. The thought of him lying in his bed, listening to her pleasure herself was all the motivation she needed.

Elle felt her orgasm approaching, but she forced herself to slow down, to draw it out. She didn't want it to end yet. She wanted to make him suffer a little longer, to make him crave her even more. But her self-control was waning, the need to cum was too strong.

With a guttural moan, she gave in. Her body shook as the orgasm washed over her, her muscles tightening around her fingers. She threw her head back, her eyes squeezed shut. The sound of her moans filled the small bathroom, echoing off the tiles.

Elle caught her breath and quickly finished up her shower, washing away the last of the soap and her own arousal. She stepped out, wrapping a towel around herself, her skin still tingling.

After drying off, she pulled on a pair of pajamas that were just as revealing as the night before. It was a tight-fitting, lacy number that barely contained her breasts and hugged her hips in a way that left little to the imagination.

As she stepped into the main room, she saw Spencer sitting on his bed, his back to her, pretending to read a book. His posture was rigid, his shoulders tense. She knew he'd heard everything.

Elle walked over to her bed, swinging her hips slightly. Spencer's face was indeed beet red, and he had a pillow clutched tightly in his lap. He couldn't hide his erection from her anymore, not that he ever really could.

"Did I disturb you, Spencer?" she asked. "I hope I didn't interrupt your…reading." She arched an eyebrow, her tone dripping with knowing.

Spencer's eyes darted up from the pages of the book that hadn't moved since she'd started her shower. "N-no," he managed to say, his voice hoarse. "You didn't interrupt anything."

Elle smirked, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Good," she said, while crawling onto the bed. The way her pajama shorts rode up, revealing the roundness of her ass, was not lost on him. She knew he was watching, could feel his gaze burning into her.

For a moment, Spencer's eyes remained glued to his book, his knuckles whitening. But eventually, the silence grew too much. He looked up, and their eyes met. There was something in hers. It was a challenge, a promise of something more.

He swallowed hard, the pillow in his lap doing little to hide the obvious bulge. "Elle," he began, his voice shaking slightly. "I…uh…" He trailed off, his brain a whirlwind of thoughts and desires.

Elle watched him, her expression a mix of amusement and excitement. She knew she had him on the edge, and she wasn't about to let up. "What is it, Spencer?" she asked.

He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "I…uh, I think I'm just going to turn in for the night," Spencer stuttered, his voice strained. He quickly set his book down on the nightstand and practically sprinted to the bathroom. The door slammed shut behind him, and she heard the sound of the lock clicking into place.

Elle couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed. She'd hoped for a more substantial reaction from him, but she knew that patience was key. She'd made progress, and she wasn't about to give up now. As she lay in bed, her mind raced with ideas for what she could do tomorrow to push him even further.

After a few minutes, she heard the bathroom door unlock and open. Spencer emerged, his face still flushed, looking slightly damp. He cleared his throat and took a tentative step towards his bed. "Goodnight, Elle," he murmured, his voice still husky with restrained desire.

Elle returned the sentiment with a knowing smile. "Goodnight, Spencer," she said. She watched him slip into his bed, the tension in his body palpable.

As she lay in the darkness, her thoughts swirled with visions of Spencer's reaction to her little show. She imagined the look on his face, the desperation in his eyes. It was a powerful feeling, knowing she had that kind of effect on him.

On next night, she played it a little more subtle. No more blatant displays of seduction. Instead, she opted for a soft, almost innocent approach.

Elle did her usual night time routine in the bathroom, brushing her teeth, washing her face, and changing into her pajamas. But this time, as she slipped out of her panties, she decided to leave them on the floor. It was a small gesture, but one that she knew would get Spencer's attention.

"Spencer, bathrooms free," she called out. She stepped out of the bathroom, her pajama bottoms riding low on her hips, exposing the bare skin of her stomach.

He looked up from his book, his gaze flickering over her barely-there attire. She noticed the way his eyes widened slightly before quickly looking away, his cheeks flushing. The sight sent a thrill through her.

Spencer took a deep breath, gathered his toiletries, and stood up. "Thanks, I'll just…uh…head in now." He couldn't hide the tremble in his voice, the evidence of his internal battle.

Elle watched him walk into the bathroom, her heart racing. She'd left her panties in the middle of the floor. It was a bold move, but she knew he'd seen them. The moment the door clicked shut, she could almost hear the gears in his mind turning.

She waited silently, her ears straining for any sound that would give her insight into his reaction. The silence was maddening. What was he thinking? Was he embarrassed? Aroused? Annoyed?

Finally, she heard the shower turn on. Slowly, she got out of bed and tiptoed over to the bathroom door. Pressing her ear against the cool wood, she held her breath.

At first, all she could hear was the steady flow of the water. But as the minutes ticked by, she began to detect something else. It was faint, almost imperceptible at first. But as she focused, it grew clearer. It was a soft, rhythmic sound, one that sent a thrill of excitement through her.

Finally, she heard it. A low, almost inaudible grunt. Spencer's breathing had changed, grown heavier. She bit her lip to keep from smiling. The sound was unmistakable. He was jerking off in the shower, and she had driven him to it.

Her own arousal spiked at the thought, and she had to force herself not to touch herself. Instead, she remained by the door, listening intently. She savoured the sounds, letting them fuel her imagination. In her mind, she could see him, his hand moving rapidly over his erection, his eyes tightly shut as he thought of her.

Spencer's breathing grew more ragged, and she knew he was close. The image of his hand pumping away at his shaft made her wetter. She wondered what he was picturing, what fantasy was playing out in his mind. Was he imagining her on her knees, begging for his cock? Or perhaps she was riding him, her breasts bouncing in his face?

The thoughts made her dizzy with lust. She had to bite her lip to keep from moaning out loud. What would he do if he knew she was listening? Would he be mortified or would he be turned on by the idea that she knew his secret?

Elle's mind raced with scenarios. Perhaps he was imagining her naked, her legs spread wide as she begged for his touch. Or maybe he was picturing her in her underwear, the fabric barely covering her. Or was it something darker, something she hadn't even considered?

The thought of what Spencer's mind could be conjuring up made her wet. She could feel the slickness between her thighs, her clit pulsing with need.

As she listened, the noises grew more pronounced, and she heard him climax, his quiet groan barely muffled by the sound of the shower. She quickly got back into bed, trying to compose herself. She didn't want to give away that she'd been spying on him.

When Spencer finally emerged from the bathroom, his face was flushed, his hair wet and sticking to his forehead. He avoided her gaze as he climbed into bed, his movements jerky and nervous.

Elle feigned ignorance, rolling over to face the wall as Spencer returned from the bathroom. Her heart was racing, her body still humming from the erotic sounds she'd heard through the door.

But she knew she couldn't give in to her desires just yet. This was a game of cat and mouse, and she was the cat, enjoying every moment of the chase. She had to keep her cool, maintain the façade of innocence.

The next morning, she couldn't resist checking the bathroom floor. To her satisfaction, her panties weren't there. Had he picked them up? Was he keeping them? The thought made her cheeks heat up, and she had to hide her giddiness. She decided tonight was the night she was going to do something bold. No more subtle hints or teasing smiles. She wanted to see how far she could push him.

When they got back to the hotel room after another long day, Elle immediately made her way to the bathroom. "I'm just going to wash the day off," she called out over her shoulder, her voice light and casual. But she knew it was anything but that. She had a plan, and she was going to see it through.

Once the water was running, she stepped into the shower. She took her time, soaping up her body with care, her eyes closed as she imagined Spencer's gaze on her. She knew he was out there, waiting, wondering. She lathered her breasts, feeling the slickness of the soap against her skin, her nipples hardening from the anticipation.

Elle took her time, making sure every inch of her body was soft and smooth. She wanted to be perfect for him, to drive him wild with just the sight of her.

When she stepped out of the shower, the air was hazy with steam. She took a deep breath, the scent of her body wash filling her nose, and reached for the towel. But she didn't dry herself completely. Instead, she left her skin slightly damp, the fabric sticking to her curves as she wrapped it around her body.

With a mischievous smile, she left the bathroom without a change of clothes. She had a plan, and she was going to stick to it. Spencer's eyes shot up from his book as she entered the room, his gaze lingering on the towel that barely covered her. She pretended not to notice, walking over to her bag.

"Oops, I seem to have forgotten my clothes," she said with feigned innocence, turning to face him. "I hope you don't mind. It's not like we haven't seen each other in our PJs before."

Spencer's eyes widened at her boldness, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He was torn between his desire to avert his gaze and his inability to tear his eyes away from her glistening skin.

Elle bent over, her towel riding up, revealing the curve of her ass and the soft, pink folds of her pussy. She pretended not to notice his stare, her heart racing with excitement. The anticipation was thrilling, the power she held intoxicating.

Spencer's eyes were glued to her, his breath coming in short gasps. He knew he should look away, but he couldn't. Her bare skin was drawing him in despite his better judgment.

Elle took her sweet time rummaging through her bag, her ass swaying slightly with each movement. She knew he was watching, his eyes devouring every inch of her. The thought of it made her wetter, and she had to fight the urge to spread her legs and give him an even better view.

Once she thought he had enough time to commit the view of her pussy to memory, she straightened back up, her towel barely covering her.

"Here we go," she murmured to herself, tossing the pajamas on the bed with a deliberate flourish. She pretended to fuss with them, smoothing out the fabric.

Spencer's eyes were glued to her every move, his breathing shallow and erratic. She could see the struggle in his eyes, the war between his desire and his fear. It was exhilarating, watching him fight his urges.

Elle decided she'd waited long enough. If she wanted to break down his walls, she had to go all in. She turned to face him fully, her towel dropping to the floor with a soft thud.

Spencer's eyes went wide, his breath catching in his throat. He stared at her, his gaze moving over her body hungrily. She was naked, and she didn't even try to hide it. Her breasts firm, her nipples erect from the cold air and the excitement of the moment. Her hips curved gently, leading down to her pussy, already glistening with arousal.

Elle stood there, letting the moment sink in for him. She watched as his eyes took in every detail, the way his pupils dilated with lust. She could feel it crackling in the air, like lightening ready to strike.

"Elle…" Spencer's voice was strangled, his eyes flicking to hers briefly before darting away again. "I-I'm not sure this is appropriate."

"Why not?" she asked, her voice low and sultry. She stepped closer to him, the towel at her feet forgotten. "We're both adults."

Spencer's eyes snapped to hers, his breath coming in shallow gasps. She could see the conflict in his gaze, the desire warring with his innate shyness. He was torn, but she knew she had him.

He stood up, unsure of what to do with himself. His eyes darted to her bare skin, then back up to hers, filled with a mix of shock and arousal. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, frozen in place.

"Elle, are you…are you doing this on purpose?" Spencer's voice was filled with confusion and need. He couldn't fathom why she'd be so brazen with him, of all people. Was it a game to her? Did she know how much he craved her?

Elle stepped closer, the scent of her body wash and freshly showered skin filling the space between them. She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. "What do you think, Spencer?" she whispered. "Do you think I'd be standing here, naked, if I didn't want you?"

His eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of a joke or a trick. But all he found was raw, unbridled desire. He swallowed hard, his own body responding to her touch.

Elle could see the war raging inside him, his desire and his fears locked in a fierce battle. Without another word, she closed the distance between them, her hand sliding up to cup his cheek. She tilted his face towards hers, her lips finding his in a soft, lingering kiss.

But Spencer didn't remain passive for long. His hands surged up to her face, taking hold of her cheeks and deepening the kiss. His fingers dug into her skin, his kiss becoming more demanding, more insistent. It was as if he'd been holding back for so long, and now that the dam had broken.

When they finally broke for air, Spencer's chest was heaving, his eyes searching hers. "I don't know what I'm doing," he confessed, his voice shaking. "I've never…I need you to take charge, Elle."

Elle's smile grew wicked. "With pleasure, Spencer," she whispered.

His tie was the first to go, her fingers unknotting it while her mouth explored the sensitive area just below his ear. She felt his breath hitch as she nipped and kissed, her tongue flicking out to taste his skin.

Next, she quickly got rid of his shirt. Only unbuttoning a couple buttons before pulling it over his head, revealing the expanse of his chest. Spencer's eyes were on her, wide and unsure, but she didn't let his nerves slow her down.

Elle took a step back, and with a knowing smile, she placed Spencer's hands on her breasts. His touch was tentative at first, but she didn't let that deter her. She guided his hands, showing him how to squeeze and massage them gently. His fingers brushed against her nipples, and she gasped, her body responding to his touch.

Encouraged, Spencer grew bolder. He let his thumbs circle her nipples feeling them tighten even further. His palms cupped her breasts, his thumbs flicking her nipples with increasing pressure.

Elle's eyes fluttered closed as she moaned softly. She took a moment to enjoy the feeling of his hands on her before she worked on his belt. The moment she slid the belt out of the loops, his pants fell to his ankles, revealing his boxers, tented with his erection.

Spencer's slim hips were unable to keep his pants up, and she found that incredibly adorable. She couldn't help but smile at his awkwardness. It was endearing, and it only made her want him more.

Elle took the opportunity to push him down onto the bed, her hand on his chest. She straddled his hips, her wet pussy pressing against the fabric of his boxers.

"I want to see what your mouth can do," she whispered, her voice a soft purr. With a devilish smirk, she rolled over and sat against the headboard, her legs spread wide.

Spencer stared at her, his eyes wide with shock and lust. He knew he was inexperienced, but the sight of her, wet and willing, was too tempting to resist. His mouth watered at the thought. He turned over onto his stomach and groaned at the pressure of his cock being trapped between the bed and his stomach.

Elle grabbed a handful of his hair and guided him to her pussy. He took a deep breath, his heart hammering in his chest. He'd never been this close to a woman before, especially not in this way. The scent of her arousal filled his nose, overwhelming him in the best way.

Without warning, Spencer dove right in, his tongue lapping at her clit with eager enthusiasm. It was clumsy, all over the place, but the raw passion behind it was undeniable. She gasped, her body jolting at the sudden sensation. It was clear he was a novice, but his hunger more than made up for it.

Elle gripped the sheets, her legs trembling as he explored her with his mouth. His tongue darted around her folds, occasionally finding her clit and sending liquid heat through her body. Each misstep was met with a gentle guide from her hand on his head, her breathy moans directing him to the right spot.

"Suck on it, Spencer," she instructed, her voice firm yet gentle. "That's it," she coached as he tentatively took her clit between his lips and applied suction. The sensation was new to him, but his instincts took over. He could feel her body responding, her hips rising to meet his mouth. Her moans grew louder, and Spencer felt a surge of confidence. He knew he was doing something right. His tongue danced around her clit, teasing and flicking.

Her hand tightened in his hair, and she began to rock her hips against his face, setting a rhythm that he eagerly followed. Spencer's own hips began to move, his cock straining against the fabric of his boxers as he felt her growing wetter with each stroke of his tongue.

But it wasn't enough for Elle. Her orgasm was building, the pressure coiling tightly in her core, but she needed more. With a gasp, she pulled Spencer's head back and looked at him with a fiery gaze. "Use your fingers," she breathed.

Spencer nodded. He'd read about this in books, seen it in porn, but never experienced it firsthand. His hands shook as he reached out and slid his fingers through her wetness. He marvelled at how warm and soft she felt.

He watched as his fingers entered her, disappearing into her tight pussy. The sight was mesmerizing, and he felt his own cock twitch with excitement. He started moving his fingers in and out, watching as her pussy gripped onto him, begging for more.

But it was when he angled them upward, pressing against the upper wall of her sex, that she reacted. Her body jerked hard, her eyes squeezing shut. He knew he'd found it. Spencer's mind raced with the knowledge he'd gleaned from anatomy books and scientific journals.

"Oh, fuck," she breathed, her voice filled with pleasure. "Just like that."

Spencer's eyes widened at the explicit language coming from her, but he didn't stop. He focused on her clit, his tongue moving in sync with his fingers. Her hips bucked upwards, meeting his every move. He could feel her getting closer, her muscles tightening around his fingers. She tasted sweet and salty, a heady combination that made him want to devour her completely.

Elle's grip on his hair grew tighter, almost painfully so, but Spencer didn't mind. Each tug was a signal that he was doing something right, and it only served to make him more eager to bring her to climax. He could feel the tension in her thighs, the way she held her breath as he applied more pressure to her sensitive bundle of nerves.

And then it happened. Her body shuddered, her legs locking around his head as she let out a loud groan that echoed. Her pussy tightened around his fingers, and she bucked her hips into his face. It was a sound of pure pleasure, one that seemed to vibrate through him.

Spencer felt the moment she came, her muscles clenching around his fingers. The feeling was indescribable, a mix of power and awe. And then, the realization hit him. He had made her cum.

With a shocked gasp, he realized his own release had come as well. He had blown his load in his boxers, his cock pulsing against the fabric as he moaned against her. The pleasure was so intense, so overwhelming, that he couldn't help but be a little embarrassed.

Elle looked down at him, her eyes dark with satisfaction. She couldn't help but feel a smug sense of victory. Spencer had come from just eating her out. The knowledge was intoxicating, stroking her ego in a way she hadn't anticipated. She'd never had a man so lost in her that he couldn't control his own body.

"Looks like you enjoyed yourself," she said with a smirk, her hand still gripping his hair.

Spencer's cheeks flushed, his gaze dropping to the bed sheets. He couldn't believe he'd lost control like that. But when he met her eyes, he saw not mockery but excitement. It was a thrilling revelation.

Elle didn't give him a chance to overthink it. With surprising strength, she flipped him over onto his back, straddling his hips. He felt a rush of excitement and fear. Her hands roamed over his body, touching him in places that made him squirm.

Spencer's refractory period was a mere afterthought as she worked him over. She slid down his body, her mouth leaving a trail of kisses from his chest to his stomach, and then lower. She pushed his boxers down, revealing his still-hard cock. The sight of him so ready for her was thrilling.

Without hesitation, she wrapped her hand around his shaft, feeling the stickiness of his release. It was a heady sensation, knowing she had caused that. He tensed up as she slid her hand up and down a few times, using his cum as lubricant. The feel of it was different, warmer and more personal than any other substance she could have used.

Spencer's hips jerked, and he let out a high-pitched whine. It was a sound that would have been comical under any other context, but in this moment, it was the sound of the power she had over him. He was so sensitive that even the slightest touch was too much, and she revelled in it.

Her hand kept moving, her grip firm and steady. She watched his face contort in pleasure, his eyes rolling back in his head. His body was begging for more, even though he hadn't fully recovered from his last climax.

Elle knew she had to be careful. She didn't want to push him too far too quickly. Her ultimate goal was to get him to the point where he couldn't resist her anymore, where he'd want to fuck her as badly as she wanted him to. So, she waited, her hand continuing to stroke him at a leisurely pace, watching his reactions with like a hawk.

When she felt his cock begin to harden again, she knew it was time. She positioned his cock along his stomach, laying it flat against the warm skin. Then, with a seductive look, she lowered herself, pressing her wet pussy against him.

"You like that, don't you, Spencer?" she whispered, her voice low and husky. "You like feeling how wet I am for you."

Spencer nodded, his eyes glazed over with lust. The sound of her voice, the explicit words coming from her mouth, was like nothing he'd ever experienced. It was filthy, and he loved every second of it.

"Tell me, Spencer," she began, her voice a sultry purr. "What do you think about when you're all alone?" She leaned in closer, her breath hot against his ear. "Do you think about this?"

Her words sent a shiver down his spine, and he couldn't help but whimper. "Elle," he managed to get out, his voice strained.

"Tell me, Spencer," she urged, her voice a seductive whisper. "Do you think about me when you're alone at night, stroking your cock?"

Spencer's face flushed an even deeper shade of red, his eyes blinking with shock and arousal. He nodded, unable to form coherent words. The thought of her knowing his most intimate secrets was unbearably erotic.

"What do you think of?" she pressed, her voice a gentle coax. "When you're all alone, with just your thoughts and your hand…what do you imagine?"

Spencer's eyes darted to hers, and he swallowed hard. "I-I don't know," he stuttered, his cheeks burning.

Elle leaned in closer, her breath warm against his skin. "Don't lie to me," she whispered. "Tell me what you think about when you're touching yourself."

With a shaky exhale, Spencer gave in. "I-I think about you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I imagine it's your hand on me, your mouth…everything."

Elle's eyes gleamed with victory. "And what else?" she urged, her own breath quickening. She knew she had him now.

"I-I imagine…us," Spencer stammered, his eyes flicking to her breasts before darting back to hers. "Together."

Elle leaned in even closer, her breath fanning over his face. "Be more specific," she demanded, her voice a seductive whisper. "I want to know exactly what you picture."

Spencer's heart raced as he tried to put into words the images that usually remained locked in his mind. "I imagine you," he began, his voice shaky, "straddling me, riding me hard, squeezing your b-breasts."

Elle's eyes filled with excitement, her hips grinding down on his cock harder. "Is that what you were thinking about in the shower last night?" she asked.

Spencer's eyes snapped to hers, his mouth hanging open in shock. "You knew?" he gasped.

"Mhm," she hummed, her eyes showing mischief. "I also noticed a pair of my panties are missing. I wonder where they could have gone?"

Spencer's eyes widened with realization, understanding that she had set a trap for him. He was too aroused to feel shame, his body craving her touch and the closeness they were sharing. He knew he'd been caught, but his mind was too foggy with lust to care.

Her pussy slid along his shaft, leaving a trail of wetness as she moved up and down. Each pass of her lips over his cock was agonizingly slow, teasing him with what was to come. His body was on fire, his senses overwhelmed by how close his cock was to being inside her.

He felt his tip catch on her wet hole, and his hips bucked up involuntarily. "Elle," he whimpered, his voice a plea. He was so close to begging, but the words stuck in his throat. He was still too shy to voice the dirty thoughts that filled his mind.

But Elle was tired of waiting. She knew what he wanted, and she was going to give it to him. "Do you want to fuck me, Spencer?" she asked, her voice low and demanding. She watched his face closely, looking for any sign of hesitation.

Spencer's eyes snapped to hers, his pupils dilating with shock. He hadn't expected her to be so blunt, so forward. But the look in her eyes, the way she was moving on him, it was like she'd read his mind. He nodded, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Yes!" he said, the word coming out like a choked gasp.

Elle smirked, feeling high on the power she held. She positioned herself, his cock poised at her entrance. "Will you be good for me?" she purred, her hips tilting slightly. "Let me ride your cock for as long as it takes for me to cum?"

"Yes," he managed to say, his body begging for her to take control. She felt his cock twitch against her wetness, eager to be sheathed inside her.

With a wicked smile, Elle leaned down and whispered, "Good boy," before sliding down his length with an agonizingly slow grace. Spencer's eyes rolled back in his head as he felt himself fill her up. It was tight, so tight, and the sensation was unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

For a moment, she let him get used to the feeling, his cock buried deep within her. Then, she began to rock her hips, setting a steady pace that had him groaning. Her breasts bounced with every movement, and Spencer couldn't help but reach up to cup them, his thumbs flicking over her hardened nipples.

She watched as his shyness melted away, replaced by raw, primal need. The intensity in his eyes was something she hadn't seen before. Elle leaned in and kissed him again, her tongue delving into his mouth. Her hips gaining speed, her pussy enveloping his cock with a warm, slick embrace.

Every thrust brought Spencer closer to the edge, and he could feel it in the way her walls tightened around him. He had never felt anything so perfect, so all-consuming. It was as if he had been waiting for this moment his entire life, and now that it was here, he never wanted it to end.

Elle watched him with a smug smile, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She had worked hard to break through his walls, and now she was reaping the rewards. Her hips rolled with each downward movement taking him deeper.

She leaned forward, placing her hands on his chest for leverage. She began to bounce harder, her breasts jiggling with the motion. Spencer's eyes were glued to them, his mouth open in a silent moan.

"You like that, don't you, baby?" she purred, the words rolling off her tongue with ease. "You like feeling me tight around your cock?"

Spencer groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as he nodded frantically. He had never heard anyone talk like this before, let alone to him. It was like someone had seen into his brain, and suddenly, every dirty thought he had ever had was coming to life.

"Tell me how much you like fucking me" she urged. "Say it, Spencer."

Her words hit him like a rock, and he choked out a strangled sound. "I-I like it," he managed, his cheeks burning.

"Mm, that's not good enough," she taunted, her voice a seductive purr. "I want to hear you say it, Spencer. Tell me how much you love fucking me."

Spencer's eyes dilated with a mix of arousal and embarrassment. He'd never talked like this before, never heard such explicit language from his own lips. But the way she said it, the way her pussy tightened around him with each word, it was exciting.

"Say it," she whispered, her hips crashing down on him, emphasizing each word. "Tell me how much you love fucking me, Spencer."

Her words were like a match to dry kindling. Spencer's eyes snapped to hers, his cheeks flaming. "I-I love ff-fucking you, Elle," he finally managed, the words sounding strange and yet incredibly right coming from his lips.

Elle leaned her head back and let out a guttural moan, her body arching with the pleasure of his confession. Her pussy clenched around him, and she felt his cock swell even more at the sound. "Again," she demanded. "Say it again."

"I love fucking you, Elle," Spencer repeated, his voice stronger this time. The words seemed to resonate within him, giving him a newfound sense of power. He hadn't realized how much he enjoyed saying them, how much it turned him on to hear her react to his voice.

With a triumphant smile, Elle took his words as the permission she needed to let go. She called him a "good boy" again. Then, she began moving her hips impossibly faster, her body moving like a blur above him.

Each thrust stole Spencer's breath away, as if she were pulling it from his lungs and leaving nothing but pure, white-hot pleasure in its wake. Her pussy was a vice around him, so wet and warm that he couldn't even think of anything else. The friction was heavenly, and the way she took him in left him dizzy.

And then it happened. Without warning, Spencer's orgasm hit him. He didn't even have a chance to gasp out a warning before his cock pulsed, releasing his seed deep inside her. The intensity of it took him by surprise, and his whole body tensed as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over him.

Elle moaned, her eyes rolling back in her head. Even though he had already cum once, there was still so much. She had never felt so full. Spencer's gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as he tried to hold her down.

Her movements grew erratic, her breaths coming in short pants. Spencer watched her, his cock still buried deep inside her, as she chased her own release. It was mesmerizing, the way she moved, the way her body responded to him.

Elle threw her head back, her hair cascading down her back. Her eyes fluttered closed, and Spencer knew she was close. He could feel it in the way her pussy spasmed around him, in the way she was grinding down on his cock. He felt himself starting to grow sensitive, the pleasure turning almost painful, but he didn't stop. He held on for her, needing to give her everything she needed.

And then, she was there. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked down at him with a fiery gaze. "You're going to make me cum," she panted. "You're going to make me cum all over your cock."

Spencer watched the way his cock disappeared into her, the way his cum was leaking out around the base. The sight was too much, the overstimulation hitting him like a ton of bricks. He began to whine and whimper at the painful pleasure, his body writhing beneath hers.

"You promised, Spencer," Elle said, her voice low and sultry. "You said you'd be good and let me use you until I'm satisfied." She began to rock her hips again, riding him through it. The feel of his cum mixing with her own wetness was driving her wild. She loved that she had him at her mercy.

Spencer bit his lip, his eyes squeezed shut as he nodded. He hadn't realized how much his body was capable of, but with Elle, he was discovering a whole new world of pleasure.

And then, it happened. Spencer couldn't hold back anymore. He let out an unexpected curse, something he'd never done before, especially not in the presence of a woman. "Fuck," he yelped out, the word slipping from his lips.

Elle's eyes shot open, and she stared down at him, surprised. That mixed with the look of pure, unfiltered pleasure on his face was what pushed her over the edge. Her own orgasm crashed over her, and she dug her nails into his chest, leaving red marks behind.

Her pussy clamped down on his cock, the walls pulsing around him as she rode out her climax. Spencer could feel her arousal dripping out onto his pelvis, soaking his pubes. The sensation was overwhelming, and he was surprised by how much he liked it.

Elle collapsed onto Spencer's chest, boneless and panting. Her body was a mess of sweat and sticky fluids, but he didn't care. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as the aftershocks vibrated through her body.

For a moment, she let her guard down, allowing the tenderness to show in her eyes as she looked up at him. "You did so good," she whispered, her voice filled with affection. It was the first time she'd ever praised anyone during sex, but she meant every word.

Spencer felt himself falling hard, his chest tightening at the sight of her flushed cheeks and sated smile. He had never felt so alive, so connected to another person. As she lay on top of him, their hearts beating erratically, he realized that this was likely more than just a fling or a case of lust. This was something deeper, something that scared him and thrilled him in equal measure.

But the moment of tenderness was short-lived. Elle's expression grew serious, and she began to move off of him. He felt the loss of her heat immediately, his body already craving her touch. She slipped his cock out of her, the sensation of her tightness receding, leaving him feeling empty. He watched as she got off the bed, her legs wobbly and her pussy leaking their combined arousal.

The sight of his cum dripping down her thighs was like a call to Spencer's basest instincts. It was something so primal, so raw, that he couldn't tear his gaze away. He'd never seen anything more erotic in his life. It was a reminder of what they had just done, and the possession it stirred within him was overwhelming.

Elle reached out a hand to him, her smile playful yet filled with an underlying seriousness. "Come on," she said, her voice breathless. "Let's get cleaned up."

Spencer's heart leaped at the prospect of her wanting him to join her. It was as if she had read his thoughts, knew his insecurities, and was actively working to dismantle them. He took her hand, his own trembling slightly, and allowed her to pull him to his feet.

Once on his feet, she kissed him again, this time with a gentle, lingering passion that seemed to melt away any remaining tension. It was a kiss that spoke of comfort and connection, not just the raw desire that had driven them to this point. Then she turned and led him by the hand to the bathroom, her grip firm and reassuring.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds smut #masterlist #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #dr spencer reid #elle greenaway x spencer reid #elle greenaway smut #elle greenaway #mgg #matthew gray gubler #sub spencer reid #dom elle greenaway #reidaway #spencelle

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theshift · 2 days

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The Deal Part 2 (Reuploaded)

The first week as Lukas was pure exhilaration. For years, Marco had been weighed down by responsibilities—running a business, maintaining a crumbling marriage, and keeping up appearances in the upper-class world. But now, in Lukas’ lean, agile body, Marco felt untethered, like he had shed the chains of his old life. Every movement, every glance in the mirror, reminded him of his newfound freedom. He couldn’t get over how effortlessly Lukas carried himself—how easy it was to slip into a life without strings attached.

Lukas’ job at his office was simple, almost mind-numbingly so, but that suited Marco perfectly. No stress, no high-stakes decisions, just a few hours a day of mundane work. But the real thrill came at night.

Marco found himself drawn to bars, nightlife, and dating apps—anonymously exploring the side of his sexuality he’d buried for so long. He indulged in hookups with men and women alike, basking in the freedom to be someone else. He reveled in the casual, unburdened encounters, the excitement of living without the weight of his old life’s judgment. Every morning he would wake up feeling more like Lukas and less like Marco.

Yet Marco's initial thrill at living in Lukas’ skin had morphed into something more complex. The simplicity of the life he had borrowed was no longer enough. He craved the power and control he had in his real life, but wearing Lukas’ face had given him something different—access to people who didn’t see him as the calculating businessman but as someone unassuming, approachable. It opened doors to the kind of men he had never encountered in his high-stakes corporate world. The tension between them was delicious. Marco had met rugged men in the bar who smelled of sweat, leather, and cigarettes, the kinds of men who didn’t give a damn about luxury but commanded respect in a different way. There was something raw about them that Marco found deeply attractive. These men were real, unrefined, and authentic in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to be in years. Vincent, though, had been the turning point. He was sophisticated, ambitious, and had taken a liking to Lukas—well, to Marco wearing Lukas’ skin.

Vincent had approached Marco at Luka's company's late night casual networking event, drink in hand, eyes scanning the room before landing on Marco-as-Lukas with a smile that was equal parts charm and calculation.

Vincent: "There you are. I was beginning to think you'd slipped away again." His tone was playful, but there was an edge to it, the subtle challenge of a man used to getting what he wanted.

Marco (as Lukas) turned, offering a boyish grin that felt foreign on his face, but fitting for the persona he’d adopted. Vincent was every bit the kind of man Marco used to conquer in business, but tonight, the game was different.

Marco: "You think I'd sneak off without saying goodbye? That’s not my style." His voice was lighter, teasing, playing into the role of the carefree, younger man Vincent thought he was. "Besides, you’re the most interesting thing here. Why would I leave?"

Vincent chuckled, the sound rich and smooth, like the bourbon in his glass. "You flatter me, Lukas. But I’ve seen you watching everything, soaking it in like someone who’s never been in a room like this before." He stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough to make the conversation feel intimate. "Tell me, what do you really think?"

Marco leaned against the bar, keeping his posture relaxed, easygoing—nothing like the power stance he would’ve taken as Marco. "Oh, you know..." he began, feigning innocence, "it's a lot bigger than what I’m used to. Flashy. Expensive." He paused, locking eyes with Vincent and letting his smile turn just a shade darker. "But it’s not the room that makes the night interesting, is it? It’s the company."

Vincent's eyes gleamed with interest, clearly taken with the charm. He swirled his drink, considering the words. "You’re different from the others, Lukas. Most guys in this town don’t even know what they’re missing, but you... you seem curious. Like you want something more."

Marco shrugged, his expression mischievous. "Maybe I do. Maybe I’m tired of the same old thing. Figured I’d let someone like you show me what else is out there." He let the words hang, perfectly calculated, knowing exactly how Vincent would interpret them.

Vincent took the bait, leaning in, his gaze intense. "I can show you things you’ve never even dreamed of, Lukas." His voice was low, dripping with intent. You’ve got potential—could be so much more than what you are now."

Marco suppressed a smirk, playing into the role of the eager protégé. "You really think so?" His voice softened, feigning vulnerability. He let a brief silence pass, before adding with just the right amount of edge: "I mean, it’s not like I’m completely green, Vincent. I can handle myself. But... I wouldn’t mind someone showing me the ropes."

Vincent’s smile widened, clearly enjoying the game as much as Marco. "I bet you can handle yourself just fine. But a little guidance never hurt anyone." He reached out, his hand resting casually on Marco’s arm. "You’ve got the charm, the looks—everything you need to make it big. Just need to play your cards right. Stick close to me, and you’ll go places."

Marco (as Lukas) tilted his head, the hint of a challenge creeping into his tone. "And what do you get out of it, huh? Guys like you don’t do things out of charity. You’ve got an angle. I can tell."

Vincent chuckled again, clearly amused by Lukas’ feigned boldness. "Oh, I like you even more now. Sharp, aren’t you? Well, let’s just say I enjoy investing in the right people. And you... you're an investment I’m willing to make." He leaned closer, voice dropping to a near whisper. "But only if you’re up for the ride."

Marco let his lips curl into a knowing smirk, the predatory glint of the real man shining through just for a second. He leaned in slightly, their proximity intensifying the moment. "I think you’ll find I’m full of surprises, Vincent. You might be biting off more than you can chew."

Vincent’s eyes flashed with excitement, oblivious to the hidden meaning in Marco’s words. He saw a young, hungry man ready to be molded, and that was exactly what Marco wanted. "I like a challenge, Lukas. Don’t let me down."

Marco raised his glass, clinking it lightly against Vincent’s. "Oh, I won’t. But remember, it’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for."

As the night deepened, the tension between them thickened, the air filled with promises of secrets and power. Marco, playing the role of Lukas, had Vincent hooked, all while hiding the truth beneath a mask of youth and ambition. It was a dangerous game, but one Marco knew how to play better than anyone. And Vincent, despite his confidence, had no idea he was dealing with a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Something darker began to brew inside of Marcos. The more he tasted this freedom, the more he realized he couldn’t—wouldn’t—go back. A voice in the back of his mind whispered, “Why should you?” He ignored it at first, but with each passing day, the temptation to stay in Lukas’ body grew stronger, irresistible.

Lukas had crafted a morning routine that had become his sanctuary amid the chaos of Marco’s life. He would rise early, allowing the soft glow of dawn to spill into the room, illuminating the contours of his reflection in the mirror. Each day began with a ritual: a splash of cold water on his face to shake off the remnants of sleep, some light running in the morning, followed by edging session playing with his new borrowed member. Each stroke getting Lukas horny from the sight of seeing Marco's body pleasuring itself. Something he could only have hoped to imagine when he fantasized about being with Marco, but now it was his reality.

As he stood before the mirror, he couldn’t help but admire the features that had been borrowed from Marco—strong jawline, sculpted muscles, and that enchanting beard that seemed to whisper of adventure. He snapped a quick selfie, the camera capturing a glimpse of the man he had momentarily become. He traced his fingers along his cheeks, reveling in the unfamiliar sensation of confidence that washed over him. There was something undeniably attractive about Marco, a magnetic charisma that seeped into Lukas' very being, leaving him both enthralled and envious.

He relished the sound of Marco's voice echoing in his mind—the way it rolled off his tongue, thick with an accent that made even the simplest words feel like poetry. It was a voice that commanded attention, and in those fleeting moments of quiet, Lukas felt a thrill at the thought of embodying such presence. But as the day wore on, that initial allure began to fade, and he was faced with the harsh reality of the life he was now navigating.

Lukas was drowning. Marco’s life was a far cry from the easy-going world he had known. Running a business felt like trying to steer a ship in a storm—meetings, deadlines, pressure mounting with every passing day. The people around Marco were sharp, watching Lukas with keen eyes, expecting him to perform. Every moment was a struggle to keep up, to pretend he knew what Marco knew.

But it was Marco’s family that terrified him the most.

Serena, Marco’s wife, seemed distant, almost cold, though Lukas couldn’t tell if that was how their marriage had always been or if she was starting to suspect something. But it was Marco’s two sons, Ethan and Daniel, who posed the real challenge. They were home for winter break, and Lukas was thrown into the deep end—expected to be their father, to navigate years of inside jokes, shared memories, and father-son dynamics he had no grasp of.

The tension came to a head one evening at dinner. Ethan had been quiet, but Daniel watched him closely, eyes sharp. Then Daniel asked, seemingly innocently, “Dad, remember that fishing trip we took a few summers ago? When we caught that massive bass?”

Lukas felt his stomach drop. His mind raced—he didn’t remember anything about a fishing trip. He scrambled, piecing together bits of information Marco had casually mentioned, but it was like fumbling in the dark.

“Oh, yeah… that was a good one,” Lukas mumbled, trying to sound convincing. He forced a laugh, but Daniel’s eyes didn’t leave him. There was a flicker of doubt in his son’s gaze, a knowing look that made Lukas’ pulse quicken. He had to be careful. One more slip-up, and the illusion would shatter.

That night, Lukas lay in bed, his heart pounding. He couldn’t do this anymore. Marco’s life was suffocating him. He needed out.

The only plus side were at events and high-profile gatherings, Lukas, wearing Marco’s skin, found himself gravitating toward men Marco would have likely brushed off in another life. Among these men was Richard—a sharp, ambitious figure who wielded power like a weapon. Lukas could see it in the way Richard moved through a room, his presence commanding attention and respect. Yet, there was something else about Richard, something that softened behind closed doors.

Richard had been watching Lukas-as-Marco for weeks. His glances lingered just a little too long, and his smile held a certain knowing edge. Lukas, under the pressure of maintaining Marco’s image, had mostly avoided him, understanding the dangerous game that flirting with one of Marco’s powerful business partners could become. But tonight was different. Lukas was tired of carrying the weight of Marco’s responsibilities, and Richard’s eyes were burning into him from across the room.

Lukas decided to play along, just for tonight

As the event wound down, Richard approached, his gaze piercing through the crowd. He sidled up next to Lukas, drink in hand, and a cigar in his mouth, his tone smooth and suggestive. "Marco, you’ve been keeping your distance lately. Starting to think you’re avoiding me." His smile was coy, eyes glinting with challenge.

Lukas turned, letting the faintest smirk play on his lips. "Avoiding you, Richard? Now, why would I do that?" He sipped his drink leisurely, tilting his head just enough to meet Richard’s gaze head-on, the flicker of mischief evident.

"You tell me." Richard’s voice lowered, laced with innuendo. "You’ve been...different lately. Bolder, I’d say. I like it."

Lukas let the compliment hang between them for a moment before responding, his voice casual but dripping with flirtation. "I’ve found there are some advantages to stepping out of the box. Keeps things... interesting." His eyes danced with amusement as he leaned a little closer, just enough for Richard to catch the subtle shift in energy.

Richard raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Is that so? Well, I’ve always appreciated a man who knows how to keep things interesting. But you—" He gestured with his glass, "—you’ve been a bit of a mystery lately. And I do love a good mystery."

Lukas chuckled, a soft, knowing sound. "A mystery? Me? I thought I was an open book, Richard. What you see is what you get." The lie tasted delicious on his tongue. He knew he was playing with fire, but for the first time in weeks, it felt good—liberating, even.

Richard’s gaze sharpened, his smirk deepening. "Oh, Marco, you and I both know that’s far from the truth. There’s always more beneath the surface with you. And I like uncovering secrets." He leaned in, his breath warm as he added, "What’s changed? What’s made you loosen up all of a sudden?"

Lukas shrugged, pretending to be thoughtful. "Maybe I’ve just learned to stop taking things so seriously. Life’s too short for all that, don’t you think?" He let his fingers brush the edge of Richard’s sleeve, a calculated move that sent a silent message.

Richard’s eyes flicked down to the touch, a spark of something darker flashing in them. "I couldn’t agree more," he murmured, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "But something tells me you’ve got more on your mind than just living in the moment."

Lukas smiled, all charm and mystery. "Perhaps," he said, leaning back casually, "but some things are better left unsaid. Keeps people guessing."

Richard chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the game. "You’re good, Marco. Very good. But don’t think I won’t find out what you’re really after."

Lukas raised his glass, his eyes locking with Richard’s. "I wouldn’t dream of stopping you."

The tension between them simmered, charged and electric. Lukas could feel the thrill of the game pulsing in his veins, the subtle dance of power and attraction intoxicating. For a moment, he forgot he was in Marco’s skin, forgot the risks—this was his release, his way of letting off steam from the crushing pressure of being someone else. It was exhilarating.

But Richard, ever the predator, wasn’t one to let his prey slip away so easily. "You know," Richard said, his voice dropping an octave, "I’ve always had a soft spot for men who keep me on my toes. It’s rare to find someone who can play at my level."

Lukas leaned in, his voice low and teasing. "Maybe you’ve just been playing with the wrong people, Richard. Some of us are just waiting for the right moment to strike."

Richard’s eyes gleamed with amusement, but beneath it was something hungrier. "Is that a challenge, Marco?"

Lukas let a slow, deliberate smile spread across his face. "It’s whatever you want it to be."

Richard paused, studying Lukas with a new intensity. "Careful, Marco," he warned, though his tone was laced with approval. "Play too hard, and you might find yourself in over your head."

Lukas tilted his head, unfazed. "I think I’ll take my chances."

The air between them crackled with the unspoken tension, both men pushing and pulling in a game neither wanted to lose. For Lukas, this was his outlet, a moment to let go of the suffocating role of Marco and indulge in something riskier, more thrilling. But Richard was dangerous. One wrong step, and Lukas could unravel everything.

Still, as the night continued, Lukas couldn’t help but savor the adrenaline coursing through him. For now, he was winning the game, and that was enough.

After a month of silence, the day came when Lukas and Marco were supposed to swap back. Lukas arrived at Marco’s house, jittery with anticipation. He was desperate to shed this life, and to return to his own body. Marco, in Lukas’ body, seemed eerily calm. Too calm.

They went upstairs, the house quiet except for the ticking of the clock. As Lukas reached to peel off Marco’s skin, a wave of relief washed over him—but it didn’t last. No matter how hard he tried, the suit wouldn’t budge. Panic surged through him.

"Marco, it’s not coming off," Lukas’ voice wavered, his hands trembling as he tugged at the skin suit.

Marco, still wearing Lukas' body, stood back, watching him with an unsettling calmness. "Try again," he said, his tone too casual.

Lukas pulled harder, but it was useless. The suit had fused with him, like a second skin. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as the realization dawned on him. He turned to Marco, eyes wide with fear.

“What the hell is happening?”

Marco sighed, finally stepping forward, his expression hardening. "I didn’t want it to come to this, Lukas. But there’s something I didn’t tell you."

Lukas felt the world tilting. "What do you mean?"

"I had the ability to lock the suits. From the moment we swapped, I made sure we couldn’t undo it unless I wanted to."

Lukas’ breath hitched. His blood ran cold as Marco’s words sank in. "You—what?" he stammered, his voice rising. "Unlock it. Now."

Marco shook his head slowly. "No, Lukas. I’m not going back."

Lukas’ legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the bed. His mind raced, trying to make sense of the betrayal. "You planned this the whole time… You never wanted to switch back."

Marco laughed, shaking his head. “You wanted this, remember? You wanted to know what it felt like to be me. Don't lie and admit that you enjoy being me And I... well, I got a little attached to being you.”

Lukas lunged forward, grabbing Marco by the collar. The strangeness of seeing his own face reacting with surprise only fueled his rage. “You don’t get to just decide this!” Lukas shouted, his grip tightening.

But Marco only smirked, calm and collected. “What are you going to do, Lukas? Beat yourself up?”

Lukas faltered for a moment, realizing the futility of his aggression.

Marco’s gaze darkened, his calm facade finally breaking. "I can’t go back. You don’t understand. My life—it’s a cage. And this, being you, it’s the only freedom I’ve felt in years." He stepped closer, towering over Lukas. "You’ll get used to it. You’re smart. You’ll figure it out," Marco said coldly.

Lukas felt his world spin. Could he really let this happen? Marco, living his life indefinitely, while he remained trapped in Marco’s skin, playing the role of someone he wasn’t?

“I’ll... I’ll tell Serena,” Lukas stammered, grasping at straws. “I’ll tell everyone what you did.”

Marco’s eyes narrowed, his grin fading. “You think they’ll believe you? I’m you now. You look like me. You sound like me. Who do you think they’ll believe?”

The reality hit Lukas like a punch to the gut. Marco was right. He was trapped in Marco’s body, and no one would believe him if he tried to tell them the truth. Marco had all the power now, and Lukas was helpless to stop him.

“You’re stuck, Lukas,” Marco said softly, his tone almost pitying. “We both are, in a way. But we can make the best of it. You keep living my life, I keep living yours, and maybe—just maybe—we both come out better for it.”

Had to continue the story since so many of you requested. Should I do part 3? Let me know. - The Shift

#male body swap #male transformation #male body suit #male shapeshift #malebodysuit #maleshapeshift #malebodyswap

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