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fushitoru · 2 months

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chapter 1: the debutante a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ you begin to get ready for your presentation for your debut this season, and satoru steels himself to find a wife. you don't get the reception you'd wanted from some, and satoru will soon curse himself for letting his tongue loose (6.3k)

a/n tired of keeping this in the vault lol so I’ll just post it even if my perfectionist tendencies are screaming at me. thank you so much to @/sinn-clair for beta reading and lexi (@/ayyy-pee) for helping me brainstorm 💗

next. the aftermath

general masterlist | series masterlist

Dearest reader,

Another season comes as the ton descends to London yet again from the countryside. Young ladies and their mamas flock to the modiste in an effort to fluff their feathers to find a match.

The Itadoris are by far one of the most prolific families in the upper echelons of society. The sight of all the children at once⸺Miss Itadori, Lord Choso Itadori, and Mister Yuji Itadori⸺is enough to catch the attention of mamas and young suitors alike. Miss Itadori, making her debut this season, has much to be desired. The debutante is a meek and demure girl, but with many talents indeed. The oldest, Lord Itadori, has a quiet countenance that has ladies and mamas on their toes, counting the days until he finally joins the marriage market. Mister Yuji Itadori is quite the opposite; his physical prowess on horseback riding has had quite a few ladies swooning after.

Furthermore, the heir to the Duke of Gojo is a most interesting character. Although he has not deigned to find a wife during any season yet, This Author has heard whispers that he will be looking for a bride during this one.

Lady Mei Mei can certainly be expected to be on the prowl, waiting to sink her teeth into the wealthiest….

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

“Seriously?” Choso scrunched his nose in displeasure. “Why would ladies want someone who’s quiet? I use it to convey my displeasure, not to be charming.”

On the other hand, the other brother relaxed on the opposite couch, proud. “I knew I looked good on horseback,” Yuji remarked smugly. “You and my dear sister are clearly jealous of how appealing my muscles look while I’m grabbing the reins.”

“Those ladies clearly hadn’t seen you drop yourself in dung when you were younger. Or the face you make when you are so oddly concentrated. As if you just stepped into a chamber pot.”

Before Yuji could come up with a snide remark to his older brother, the two heard an incessant pacing leading up to the doors of the drawing room they sat in. The door slammed opened to reveal their mother⸺Lady Itadori⸺with a hand to her face in clear distress.

Choso and Yuji exchanged glances before Choso calmly set down the single-page newspaper he was reading. “What is the matter, mother?”

Lady Itadori moaned and sat down on a chair raggedly. “Your sister is the matter. I fear the queen will have reviewed every person in London before your sister leaves her room.”

Before Choso could get a word in, Yuji suddenly stood up. “This is a serious matter, mother. After all, she should be punctual to her debut. I will go fetch her.”

“Wait, Yuji!” Choso and Lady Itadori followed Yuji to the grand staircase of the Itadori manor. Hurriedly, they reached the foot of the stairs to see Yuji tilting his head back to take a deep breath.

“SISTER!” Yuji had his palms up to his face, as if to amplify his already booming scream. “YOU! MUST! MAKE! HASTE!” After the quite of bit noise he'd made, he cleared his throat, looking to the side to see his dumbfounded mother and brother, and shrugged. “Well, someone’s got to the job.”

Then, the brothers and their mother look up to see a peek of white and a “Miss, be careful with the hem!” You, at the top of the staircase, grab the front of your ivory dress, with your maids helping you with the train, as you start stepping down the staircase with an irritated frown. “Must you always be such a nuisance, brother?” Traversing down the stairs until your family members were visible, all you saw were dumbfounded and tense expressions. After enduring hours of painting your face and dealing with your maid Nobara’s fussing over your coiffure, you wished for a more fond reaction. Annoyed, you stomped your way past them to the exit, where the carriage was waiting for you four.

“Dear!” your mother exclaimed, rushing to your side and taking your hand as you reached the door. Her eyes, filled with concern, met yours as she nervously asked, “How are you feeling? I know this is a momentous day for you, but remember, you’ve always excelled in your lessons. It’s only natural that you’ll win the queen’s approval, dear.”

“Yes, Mother, of course,” you sighed. “It is just such a hectic day.”

“But you shall dazzle them.” Choso comes behind you, patting your back gently in his reassuring, elderly brother ways. With a proud smile, he says, “The gentlemen are not prepared for your entrance this season.”

“Indeed! They will be none the wiser to your snark, sister.” You see Yuji coming up on your other side, offering his elbow. You tentatively take it, eyeing him sourly as he continues, “I am simply elated that Mama’s attention will be on you, rather me.”

You reach to smack him on the head, eliciting an "Ow!" from Yuji just as your mother approaches next to him, frowning. "Of course, Yuji. But it won’t be long before I have to chase after you for your tutor’s complaints about your lack of proficiency⸺"

Yuji interjects hastily. "Well! Would you look at the time? The Queen is waiting!"

"I'm surprised the gossip pamphlet didn't mention how much of a rake you are," Lord Geto mused, taking a sip of brandy. At his right, Duke Nanami was stoic as always, focusing on the tastes the gin was bringing to his mouth rather than the two older men beside him.

"I'm severely offended you would even imply such a thing," Mister Satoru Gojo put a hand on his chest, feigning offense. Rather than a gin in his hand, Satoru preferred drinking water lest his mouth spilled something even more notorious than his signature calculative icy blue eyes.

He continued. "Honestly, I don't understand this whole Whistledown business. Some might even say the ton holds her words more in regards than the Holy Bible!"

"You're diverting the matter at hand, Gojo," Nanami took his tired eyes off of his drink to look at Satoru. "As the heir and first son, have your parents not urged you to cease your foolishness? There is a limit to the rakish behavior one can exhibit in your position.”

"Yes," Satoru sighed, "They have. That's precisely why I'm looking for a bride."

There was a silence in which Satoru looked up from his glass to see Kento and Suguru’s mouths agape. "What?"

Suguru leaned closer to Satoru, as if to inspect his countenance unsure if he was jesting or not. "So, is it actually true? You're going to get tied down?"

Nanami wrinkled his nose in disapproval. "Must you say it like that? Marriage isn't imprisonment, you know."

Gojo sighed. "Nanami, Nanami. It's clear that one year that separates us in age has also left a gap in experience." Nanami felt a vein pop as Satoru irritatedly continued in his know-it-all voice. "Marriage is an end. The dead end, in fact. It is when you are abroad in Paris, basking in all the fine entertainment and wooing ladies until you realize you are out of funds. Out of money. Marriage is coming home not to go out and drink, but to a wife that has endless needs of you and children that will have frustrating phases of life. An end to pleasure and an end of all jest."

Kento and Suguru exchanged a glance before Suguru asked, "So why are you looking for a wife?"

Satoru looked dejectedly at them, crossing his arms. "My parents insisted. Said they would freeze my funds and kick me out if I didn't get serious about my future." He continued on his desperate rambling, leaning back in his chair. "I don't understand. Must I have a wife to "get serious" in life? I’m serious about all the fucking mergers and dubious finances my father invests in! Look how well I managed his bets!"

"You know, Satoru, your outlook on marriage is awfully pessimistic," Suguru put down his glass to lean back as well, crossing his arms in seriousness. "Don't you wish for a love match?"

"That sounds ridiculous. Love matches are just a passing fancy young ladies have when reading their ridiculous romance novels."

"Well, of course you think that." Kento deadpanned. "No respectable lady in their right mind would fall for you and your attitude."

"Nanami, you wound me."

Suguru glanced at Satoru with concern. "My dear friend, you are making this harder for yourself than it ought to be."

Satoru groaned. "I came here for jest, not to receive words of so-called wisdom. I assure you both, all is well." He looked at both of his friends. "I do not need to be assured. I simply am looking for a woman fine enough to be my wife to appease my parents and their concerns of continuing on the line and handling the dukedom but for a woman so reserved that she'd respect my wishes and isn't so miserable. Or needy." Satoru shrugged. "I would believe these to be respectable requirements for a wife."

Suguru looked at him with mild displeasure. "It sounds like you are looking for a horse to ride, not a woman you would spend the rest of your life with."

Standing up, Satoru moved behind Kento and Suguru to give them a hearty slap on the back. "Trust me, my dear, dear friends. I will find what I am looking for and drink myself silly for the rest of my life!"

"You don't drink." Kento sighed.

"Never mind, you! Sir, more drinks!" Satoru grinned. "Here's to the bachelor life!"

The three men raised their glasses for the toast. Yet, only one of them contained thin water.

You restlessly arranged the feathers in your coiffure and adjusted the fabric essentially squeezing the breath out of your lungs to accentuate your bust. The palace waiting room was stuffy as ever as debutantes and their mamas fluttered across the room in an effort to catch the smallest of flaws on their person.

Before the Queen did, that is.

"Your feathers are fine, dear. Take deep breaths for me." Your mother raised her hands, prompting you to take a breath in and out as her hands lowered.

You gave her your practiced smile and curtsy to which your mother laid a hand on the small of your back in both approval and reassurance. With the other, she grabbed your own and rubbed comforting circles in the junction of your index finger and your thumb. "You have always excelled in your lessons, my dear. I could not be prouder of the woman you are becoming." She sniffed, and you smiled in appreciation. "The Queen will love you, I am sure of it."

You laughed. "Mama, that is what all these ladies think."

“But none of these ladies have poured in the determination you have, my dear.” Your mother holds your head gently by the cheeks. “Your character and proficiency⸺I am sure the Queen will see the promising young lady that I am proud to call my daughter.”

You felt a lump in your throat. While you appreciated your mother’s words, you could not help but think of the significance of this day. You almost felt dizzy thinking about messing up in front of the Queen; if you didn't find a suitable match as a result, what would become of you?

Suddenly, there was some fanfare from the main room. "Now, presenting Miss Itadori and the Right Honourable Lady Itadori." Your heart jumped out of your throat as you heard the call for you and your mother to walk up.

"Let's go, my dear." With a fond kiss to your temple, your mother led you by the hand to the center of the tall and ornate doors that opened to reveal the Queen and her audience. You couldn't help but notice that your mother's hand held a reassuring, yet tight vice.

When the doors opened, your vision blurred. Your heartbeat got faster, and all you could register was the stares. What felt like a million pairs of eyes blinking upon you, scanning your coiffure, garments, and carefully painted face. While the gossiping widows and mamas whispered amongst themselves, some gentlemen scanned you up and down in clear assessment of your constitution. A distinct smell of tobacco and vanilla wafted through the air, and you took an imperceptible breath in as you steeled yourself before putting your practiced, signature smile.

A memory from your childhood flashed before you.

"She is excelling in her studies," your tutor had said, discussing your performance with your mother in the drawing room. You, sitting beside them, had fidgeted nervously with your small hands clasped in your lap, sitting as straight as you could manage.

"What must she do to improve?" your mother inquired, her eyes sharp with concern.

"Madame," your tutor had said, turning his gaze towards you with a knowing look. "Your daughter is quite nearly flawless. She is of my most exceptional students; her obedience and composure are unparalleled, even at such a tender age." He then fixed his eyes back on your mother with an authoritative intensity. "But there is one element that will truly distinguish her as a diamond."

Your mother had leaned forward, abandoning her tea in anticipation. "What is it?"

"Her smile."

As you flash your smile to the room, you could feel the people in the room going silent. Your smile was what helped you focus and keep your eyes on the prize: impressing the queen. Smiling in the most innocent and demure way you could possibly muster, you straighten your posture as you advance towards the queen, your eyes serene and your expression a masterful display of delicate charm.

The stares of the ton were on your back, but all you focused on was the harmony of your countenance. Chin up, you reminded yourself. Everyone in this room is my prey, and I am the predator.

When you and your mother reached the foot of the Queen's throne, you dipped into the deepest curtsy you had to offer, keeping your eyes on the ground as you minimized your smile to a more polite and respectful one. You stayed there for as long as the Queen was silent.

Then, a rustling of fabric as the room silently gasped. The Queen was stepping towards you, and you felt a gloved hand take your chin. Not daring to breathe or rise from your genuflection by even an inch, you forced your body to stay in position as your face was raised to look at the Queen’s.

Her booming, yet regal, voice echoed throughout the room. “You, my dear. Perfect.” She then addressed the room. “I have found my diamond!”

The declaration sent a wave of murmurs through the gathered crowd. You could feel hundreds of eyes on you as you slowly rose from your curtsy, your heart pounding in your chest. Your eyes instinctively sought your mother’s, who looked at you with pride and a hint of warning.

“Keep smiling, my dear,” she whispers into your ear. “They are staring now, more than ever.”

Your mother was right, upon reflection. There were eyes observing you far more diligently than they had before. In particular, a pair of icy and brilliant blue ones.

“Choso, not today.” Your mother sighed. “I am not ignorant of your overprotective tendencies, especially towards your younger sister and brother.”

Choso was fully frowning in displeasure, arms crossed as he observed your mother, Yuji, and yourself board the carriage. “Mother. Sister is the diamond of the season. The men will be after her like hungry vultures!”

“Well, vultures have a tendency to eat freshly decayed carrion. When you get rid of those dark circles and don’t look like dead meat, you can join us.”

Choso protested further, stopping the doorman from closing the carriage door. “But, Mother⸺”

“Yuji, close the door. Your brother will join us when learns to get sleep and not work on those ledgers overnight.” As per your mother’s instructions, Yuji closes the door on him. As the carriage rolls out of your manor and into the London streets, you blow a mocking kiss to your brother, who is now brewing at the doorstep.

“Phew! Good riddance,” Your mother fanned herself. “I need this night with you, alone. God knows how many suitors will be warded off with that horrid glare of his.”

You laughed softly, leaning back against the plush cushions of the carriage. “I suppose it’s a small price to pay for a bit of peace.”

You and your mother were wrong; your brother should have been there.

Upon your arrival, you were followed by stares, whispers, and men. Bachelors appeared in droves, eager to engage in conversation, each drawn by your newly anointed title as the diamond of the season. After paying your respects to the Queen, you found yourself swept into a whirlwind of attention, each dance and conversation a testament to the allure your status had brought.

As you navigated the crowd with practiced grace, Yuji, ever the observant and cheeky sibling, leaned in close to you and murmured, “I must say, you’ve outdone yourself. They’re practically circling like hawks. Do you think we’ll need to hire a guard just to keep them at bay?”

You gave him a wry smile, barely concealing your exasperation. “Oh, Yuji, you’re so dramatic. They’re just eager to make their introductions.”

Yuji snickered and nodded towards a particularly earnest-looking gentleman who seemed to be making a concerted effort to catch your attention. “Well, if this is what the season looks like, I might have to prepare myself for a front-row seat to a parade of besotted suitors. Just don’t let them all think you’re here to catch them; we wouldn’t want them getting the wrong idea.”

Your mother, overhearing Yuji’s jest, gave a light laugh and shook her head. “Oh, Yuji, you and your theatrics. Just make sure you’re ready to fend off any advances that come your way.”

“What?” You’ve never seen Yuji’s smile drop so fast. As if on cue, there were mamas and maidens closer to Yuji’s age that were approaching, as if a pack, and he looked at you in panic. “Are they coming towards us? Sister, you’ve got to⸺”

“Mister Itadori,” It appeared it was too late. A pack of young ladies were right next to you, fluttering their fans and lashes and giggling. “Whistledown has praised you quite well in this last issue.”

Help, Yuji mouthed, but you merely winked in response. The young ladies had effectively formed a barrier around you, offering a temporary reprieve from the throng of eager suitors. Sensing an opportunity, you decided to seize the moment and discreetly made your way towards the punch table.

The cool, refreshing scent of the punch greeted you as you approached, offering a welcome contrast to the bustling, heated atmosphere of the ballroom. You filled a glass with the fruity, aromatic beverage and took a moment to savor the brief solitude.As soon as you took a deep breath in, savoring your newfound freedom, you felt a presence next to you at the punch table. “Miss Itadori.”

Upon turning, you were met with the infallible smirk of Naoya Zen’in. You had indeed heard⸺and read, in Whistledown⸺that his family adopted nontraditional ways of determining the winner of the family inheritance and leadership. While Lord Zen’in wasn’t guaranteed to be the heir, he definitely was one of the top contenders. You assessed him further, taking in his arrogant demeanor as he reached down to give you a kiss on your hand. Rather wet, you thought in disgust.

But you hid it well, fluttering your lashes up at him. “Mister Zen’in! I am flattered to be acquainted with you today. How do you find today’s ball?”

“Rather well, of course.” He reached to scoop some punch for himself. “I enjoy meeting all the young ladies and dancing with them, of course. Ever in search of my perfect bride.”

You forced an artificial giggle. “Of course. I’m sure all the ladies that have talked to you have been charmed, as am I.”

He swelled, exactly you expected, as you stroked his ego. “But none of these ladies are as valuable as you, my diamond.” To your displeasure, he took a step closer to you, discreetly tracing his finger from your upper arm to where your dance card resided. “May I have your next dance? I have been perfecting my dance skill to the point all my brothers are envious of my prowess!” He barked out a laugh. “In fact, I beat them in horse riding years ago, and…”

While Naoya kept talking, you merely fluttered your fan over your face in mock interest. You were really starting to mourn your short-founded freedom, wanting a respite from the self obsessed young man. For some reason, you could smell the same distinctive perfume of expensive tobacco and painfully sweet vanilla you had smelled in your presentation, like a warning. Realizing you were drifting off into space with the heady fragrance, you made sure to tune into his ramblings once more.

For some reason⸺that you were growing to find uncomfortable⸺he still had his hand on your dance card. You felt the previously faint aroma growing stronger by the second. “Of course, I am soon to be the heir of the Zen’in name⸺”

A flamboyant and mischievous laugh cut through the air. “Naoya, you amuse me.” To your alarm, a young man steps to the right of you. From what you can see on the side of his face, his head sports brilliant white hair and his eyes are focused on the bachelor in front of you, who is now displeased and openly glaring at the man beside you.

“Gojo, I⸺”

“Funny that you talk about the Zen’in inheritance, Naoya.” The man⸺Gojo⸺scratched his chin in faux puzzlement while cockily smiling. “Last time I checked, Naobito was discussing handing it over to Megumi over pall-mall!”

Naoya was clearly growing more and more distressed. “Father wouldn’t dare to hand that child with a whore of a mother⸺”

Gojo clicked his tongue, outwardly showing a nonchalant smile, but you could noticeably see his eyes darken. “That’s no way to talk in front of a lady, Naoya, and certainly not of a mother. Besides, Mister Zen’in, didn’t Megumi save your family from the edge of poverty?”

Naoya’s nostrils flared. Clearly at the end of his wit, he did a small bow towards you as he swiftly exited your proximity. You blinked, partially processing the conversation that happened as well as the fact that you were now alone with this Gojo. Turning, you prepared your signature smile, the act you had been presenting for countless of young bachelors today. However, what made you stop in your tracks was his eyes.

Even the pure Englishmen you had met in London didn’t possess eyes like his. They were intense and vividly blue, flashing with judgment and calculation. His face, though strikingly pretty and slightly more feminine than others, seemed carefully constructed to mask his true thoughts. His white lashes contrasted sharply with his hair as he blinked.

And then it hit you. This was the heir of the Gojo dukedom, Satoru Gojo. Known as a capital R Rake for reasons unknown to you (Nobara just insisted he was), you could see elegance and arrogance exuding off of him, yet another noble with an ego as big as his wallet. You recall, then, what Whistledown had wrote about him⸺that he has never shown interest in marriage before today.

It was only after he blinked once more that you realized he was waiting for some response to an introuction you didn't catch. In a panicked flurry, you curtsied and said, “My apologies, Mister Gojo. I fear I haven’t had the pleasure of making your acquaintance. Miss Itadori, pleased to meet you.”

Gojo’s smile widened, his blue eyes twinkling with an almost imperceptible amusement. “A pleasure indeed, Miss Itadori.” He returned your curtsy with an elegant nod, his voice smooth and teasing. “I must say, you handle yourself with admirable grace amidst such a tumultuous crowd, my diamond.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gojo,” you replied, attempting to regain your composure as you took a sip of your punch. “I do try my best to navigate these social minefields.”

He chuckled softly, the sound light and charming. “Indeed. Though it seems you’ve had quite the evening already, judging by your rapid responses to Lord Zen’in’s advances.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to draw a hint of a smile on your lips. “It appears you’ve been observing closely. Are you always so keenly aware of your surroundings, Mister Gojo?”

“Only when I find the scene particularly entertaining,” he said, his gaze shifting to watch the guests around the ballroom. “And tonight, the spectacle is quite extraordinary. I must admit, you are a refreshing change from the usual parade of predictable manners.”

“Predictable?” you asked, your curiosity somewhat piqued. “Do you find most of the guests here lacking in originality?”

“Perhaps not lacking, but certainly not as intriguing,” he replied with a playful grin. “Take, for instance, Mister Zen’in. A man of considerable ambition, no doubt, but with a flair for the dramatic that grows tiresome rather quickly.”

You nodded in agreement. “Yes, he certainly has a penchant for self-promotion. But then, one could argue that every gentleman here has his own brand of theatrics.”

“True,” Gojo said, tilting his head slightly. “But what I find most fascinating is how you’ve managed to stand out amidst this display of pomp and circumstance. It’s not every day one encounters someone who seems so effortlessly poised, even in the face of such overt competition.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mister Gojo,” you said with a light laugh. “But I assure you, my composure is a carefully cultivated skill, not merely a natural state.”

“Ah, then I must commend your efforts,” Gojo said, his eyes gleaming. “It is a rare talent to maintain such grace under pressure. If I may be so bold, might I request the honor of a dance with you this evening? I promise to provide a diversion from the usual pretenses.”

You hesitated for a moment, weighing the potential benefits of engaging further with this intriguing man against the immediate demands of the evening. Finally, you offered him a meek smile. "Of course. I shall be delighted to dance this waltz with you."

Pleased, he guided you to the center of the ballroom, your hand elegantly placed in his. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph as you noticed Lady Mei Mei’s envious glances and the heated stares from other young ladies.

Gojo positioned his hand on your waist as you both assumed the proper stance for the dance. “So, how are you enjoying your night? I trust you’re finding pleasure amidst the horde of suitors the Queen has so graciously provided.”

You smiled demurely, carefully maneuvering around him. “Well, my lord, I am very grateful to the Queen for her blessing this season.” You took a delicate step, noting Gojo’s amused smile. “However, it is quite tiring to meet so many people. Repeating my preferences for the countryside or the city can become rather exhausting.”

Gojo’s smile widened as he guided you through a graceful turn. “And which do you prefer?”

“I would argue that the city is preferable when I feel lonely,” you said, gliding with him. “Yet the countryside is ideal for moments of solitude and reflection. Naturally, it also serves as a lovely setting for fond memories with a future husband.”

“What do you enjoy doing in nature?”.

“Embroidering or practicing the pianoforte,” you replied, making sure to display a wistful smile. “There is something particularly enchanting about playing the piano with the door open, letting nature's melody blend with the music.”

“Do you have any other talents or skills?” Gojo inquired as you both continued your dance.

“Yes,” you said, “I am fond of reading and immersing myself in literature. I also have a passion for the arts and languages.”

“Which languages do you speak?” he asked, guiding you through a series of intricate steps.

“I am well-versed in the classics⸺Latin and Greek. I’ve also picked up some French and Spanish, when I was yearning to follow my older brother through Europe for years.”

“What about literature? What do you enjoy reading?” Gojo pressed, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your smile grew slightly strained as you felt the conversation veer towards an uncomfortable territory. You felt as if the duke was interviewing you for review of your admission into an academic institution rather than holding conversation. “I enjoy Byron, sir,” you said carefully.

Gojo hummed in approval. “And here I was, thinking all ladies were engrossed in Whistledown.”

“Ah, well,” you feigned a sigh, your smile tight. “Gossip has its charm for a lady, sometimes.”

“For men, too, I must admit,” Gojo said, tilting his head towards his group of friends. “But I must confess, it is rather unpleasant when the gossip circulates that I am a rake.”

That's because they're true, you whore. "I guess it's up to the smarter individuals in society to discern the truth from the slander."

Gojo’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he guided you through the final steps of the dance. “Indeed, it seems wisdom and discernment are valuable traits in navigating the labyrinth of society’s gossip.”

You nodded. “Quite so. It is the discerning few who see beyond the surface and recognize the true character of a person.”

As the music swelled to its concluding notes, Gojo drew you closer, his gaze fixed on you with a calculative expression. “And what is it that you seek to convey through your own character, Miss Itadori? In a world full of pretense, what do you wish to be known for?”

You maintained your practiced smile. "Mister Gojo, in a world where appearances often speak louder than words, I find it best to embody grace and humility. I hope to be seen as a gentle and devoted companion, one who supports and uplifts those around her.”

Gojo’s smile only sharpened, and you couldn’t help but shake the feeling of somehow being calculated, observed, even hunted as he offered, “A noble aspiration. It is refreshing to encounter someone who values authenticity amidst the artifice.”

As the final strains of the waltz came to an end, Gojo escorted you back to your starting position. He bowed deeply, his eyes never leaving yours. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Itadori. It has been an evening of unexpected delights.”

You curtsied in return, your eyes meeting his with a demure and sincere expression. “The pleasure was mine, my lord. I am honored to have had this opportunity.”

With a final, charming smile, Gojo stepped back, giving you a nod. “Until we meet again, Miss Itadori. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

After Gojo had taken his leave, you found yourself once again surrounded by a steady stream of suitors eager to engage you in conversation. You indulged a few with polite discourse, your smile unwavering as you navigated the well-trodden paths of societal pleasantries. Despite your best efforts, fatigue began to set in, and you soon reached your limit.

Deciding to take a brief respite, you excused yourself with practiced grace. You made your way discreetly to the veranda, seeking solace and a breath of fresh air away from the relentless din of the ballroom. As you stepped out into the cool night air, the sound of the revelry faded to a distant murmur, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the faint scent of blooming flowers.

With your mind fresh and clear from the suffocating revelry, you couldn't help but reflect back on the night. With the Queen deeming you as the diamond of the season, you knew your mother and Choso had been appeased. Of course, tomorrow was going to be a long morning; judging by the sheer number of young men approaching you today, you knew many of them would be visiting your drawing room to converse with you and gain the approval of your brother.

There were some suitors that stood out. Lord Ino seemed to take genuine interest in what you had to say, but Mister Fushiguro had both interest and quiet respect that you couldn't help but think was ideal for a marriage. After all, you just wanted a peaceful life after securing yourself and your family. While brief, you had conversed a bit with both Duke Nanami and Lord Geto, but it had been interrupted by some of their friends inviting them onto the terrace. You were sure Naoya wouldn't bother showing his face tomorrow.

That left him. Blue eyes. You couldn't help but think you had heard about him somewhere.

Gojo.

Even though you couldn't recall much other than his rakish tendencies, the future title of Duke was certainly attractive and respectable. He wasn't so bad; with dashing looks, you couldn't help but simply think that a pretty face wouldn't be bad to look at for all those years. You snickered to yourself at your sheer display of vanity in your thoughts.

If you had to think of the most vain reasons to justify your suitors, Mister Gojo would definitely top your list of the most handsome of men. With a sturdy and healthy build, you could notice the years of dedication he must put in to maintain his athleticism. Perhaps archery, you thought. Those shoulders were definitely wide for days. Or maybe horse riding. He definitely seemed to fill in his pants with his thighs.

However, it was impossible to ignore his mischievous nature. You couldn't imagine a man such as the future Duke showing any outward display of affection, and all your interactions⸺from him outwitting Naoya, to interviewing you under the pretense of dancing⸺have always had him either besting or calculating the other converser. He definitely had a superiority complex, you rolled your eyes. Clearly, your display of the simple and stupid maiden pleased him. You wondered if he treated all the other ladies with the same level of disrespect and evaluation.

Deciding you were too far into the gardens, you turned the opposite direction to join the revelry once more in fear of attracting strange rumors about your presence in the gardens late at night. As soon as you got closer and closer to the ballroom, you heard voices.

"Ah, but there is the diamond, of course."

You perked up, interested in knowing who was talking about you. The voices seemed to be coming from the entrance between the terrace and the ballroom. "Of course, I understand why the Queen has deemed her so." Crouching, you aimed to discreetly hide behind a large trimmed bush in such a manner that if someone were to be passing by, you wouldn’t appear suspicious.

Another voice chimed in. “She is beautiful. Not in the salacious way Lady Mei Mei is, but in a more authentic and innocent way.”

“I fear the ladies nowadays are salacious⸺hungry for suitors with money and power⸺so it only makes sense that the ladies appear that way. But the diamond; she is different.”

A slap, as if someone was affectionately patted on the back for attention. “Yes, yes. But let the man of the night give us his assessment. After all, he is the one who is here tonight with us, finding a wife, when no one who had ever talked to him would ever think he would be doing such a thing.”

“Well, of course. It wouldn’t take a fool to know that marriage is basically imprisonment.” You could discern the speaker’s wry tone. “The goal here is to appease my parents, and my ticket to that is the diamond.”

“Well, get on with it,” a voice pressed, rather impatiently. “What’s your assessment?”

“A bit simpleminded.” Some feeling struck your lungs, as you recognized that it was Gojo’s voice that was speaking. You swallowed, your heart pounding as you waited for more harsh words to torrent upon you. “Has no opinions of substance that should cause conflict. She’s perfectly fine for a wife. I shall begin courting her and will soon propose⸺"

You didn’t hear the rest because you soon found yourself dashing in the opposite direction, towards an alternate entrance to the ballroom. You couldn’t bear to hear any of the more degrading and embarrassing things Gojo had to say about you as you slowed your pace to a fast walk.

With the main entrance to the ballroom in sight, you thought about the other gentlemen⸺if you could even call them that⸺that must be present, conversing with Gojo. How widespread are these assessments of you? Do all gentlemen think you stupid? However, your thoughts are interrupted when you bump into someone, rather hard.

“Are you alright?”

You look up, putting a hand to your bosom as you try to catch your breath. You see Duke Nanami’s face in close proximity, as he furrows his brow in light worry. You’re clutching your forearms as you are heaving, trying to get oriented. “Yes,” you heave. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Nanami clearly didn’t accept your assurance as he helped you stand to your full height. “Is there anything wrong?”

“No, no, I assure you; I am quite alri⸺”

“Sister! There you are!” Yuji comes up from behind Nanami, and both of you turn to look at him. “I’ve been looking for you! The punch here is terrible, some of the mamas here are horribly intoxicated. Do you know Mei Mei’s mother just admit⸺” he cuts himself off as he observes Nanami, who’s still touching your arms, with wide eyes. “Di⸺Did I interrupt something?”

“NO, you didn’t.” You burst out, not wanting yet another man leaving with an unfavorable expression of you tonight. You and Nanami both take a step back to distance yourselves, and he clears his throat.

“Good night, Miss Itadori. Mister Itadori.” He gives you both curt bows as he makes his way past to his carriage.

Yuji blinks. “Oookay. Anyways. Mei Mei’s mother just barfed on top of Naoya as she was buttering him up. I must admit, Mei Mei and Naoya make a formidable match in being intolera⸺”

You could feel yourself filtering Yuji out as you thought about the gentlemen’s gossip from earlier. While you weren’t exactly surprised that Gojo appraised you as a pawn, you couldn’t help but be a little offended that he could talk behind your back. Who’s to predict the other naive ladies that would be subject to his callous and calculative behavior?

There was only one conclusion to be drawn that you swear to remember for the rest of the season: Gojo was not a man of honor, and you were not going to be one of his victims.

next. the aftermath

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gbhbl · 1 year

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Single Slam: Devildriver, Traveller, Antirope, Regicide, Sevendust, Burner, Deadline, In Fear, The St. Pierre Snake Invasion, Recall the Remains, Veil of Maya, Paradise Fell, Paledusk, Herod, Wifecult, Moor, and Kvelertak!

This week’s single slam features Devildriver, Traveller, Antirope, Regicide, Sevendust, Burner, Deadline, In Fear, Surya, The St. Pierre Snake Invasion, Recall the Remains, Veil of Maya, Paradise Fell, Paledusk, Herod, Wifecult, Moor, and Kvelertak. You can read our thoughts about the latest singles from these bands below. Devildriver – If Blood is Life Groove metal kings Devildriver recently…

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#Antirope #Burner #Deadline #devildriver #Herod #In Fear #Kvelertak #Moor #Paledusk #Paradise Fell #Recall the Remains #Regicide #Sevendust #Single Review #Single Slam #The St Pierre Snake Invasion #Traveller #Veil of Maya #Wifecult

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occamstfs · 3 days

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Man Of Your Dreams

Wallflower Dylan is gifted a new psychedelic from his friend. Used to watching frat bros from afar he finds the pill seems to affect far more than his mind.

Intended this to be plot light but so it goes! Probably going to take this week off to avail myself to other authors entering my Viral Transformation Challenge! The next story will likely be my own take on the theme so look forward to that next week alongside those from a litany of other stellar TF writers! Until then! -Occam

Dylan was fairly straight-laced, going into his senior year of university he hadn’t strayed much at all from class besides tagging along with his friend from high school to some of the more boisterous frat parties. Said friend Tony was quite more of a wild child, often invited himself because he was the source of some of the more illicit substances to be found at these parties. He’d invite Dylan whenever he’d need a more sober pair of eyes, namely if he was planning on rolling or otherwise getting high on his own supply. Despite his mild manner, Dylan always hopped on the chance, going to ragers was supposed to be part of the whole college deal right? And besides, he didn’t mind the chance to ogle brazen men he would under normal circumstances be fearful of making eye contact with.

Knowing of his friend’s meek disposition, and repressed hunger for the most vulgar of men, when Tony hears of a crazy new psychedelic on the market he has a feeling Dylan might finally let his hair loose. Reviews say the stuff makes reality feel like a waking dream. Anything seems possible and to your body it might as well be. Steamier sources swear that dreaming about sex on the stuff is even better than the real thing. Tony, never concerned about side effects of his material, gets straight to hitting up the usual channels to see what he can get and is able to scrounge up a single pill of the stuff. He wonders if he should try it out himself first before deciding he owes his friend at least first dibs.

Dylan is floored at how quickly he agreed to taking the pill. After initially being standoffish at Tony’s suggestion that he use it to fuck frat bros in his mind, once his friend started explaining what he’s heard Dylan couldn’t pass up the opportunity to really live out his fantasy. He’s not going to outgrow being a wallflower, nor is at all confident that any of the performatively masculine men would fuck him. Staring at the pill the only thing holding him back is Tony’s vapid instructions. ‘Just have a blast dude, fuck your way through those bros hah!’ Dylan’s asking about the side effects falls on deaf ears as Tony just crassly humps the air to try to convince his friend to go out on a limb. Despite his qualms and fears, and the lack of confidence inspired by Tony’s actions, Dylan feels sure that his friend wouldn’t give him something actually potentially dangerous.

Holding tight to that misplaced confidence, as soon as Tony departs Dylan pours himself a glass of water and chokes the pill down. The small tablet leaves a metallic taste in his mouth, quickly hidden by the copious amount of saliva and bile starting to rise in the back of his throat as he immediately feels the urge to vomit. Man of will despite appearances, he keeps it down and just as soon scowls as he thinks about the lack of preparation offered by his friend and prepares to tear into Tony as soon as the trip is over. Standing up he feels the room spinning around and murmurs in shock, “su- surely it’s shouldn- work this… fas-” He stumbles over to his bed and falls face down as he feels his body growing sweaty.

Before his well-practiced anxiety response can rise his mind is flooded with every pleasant hormone it’s able to produce. Every muscle in his body tenses and he feels his cock struggle to force itself erect in the awkward position he’s fallen in. Dylan moans as every sensation sends signals so intense and potent that his mind can barely maintain consciousness. Indeed he finds himself struggling to even hold his eyes open as his eyelids grow weighty. Even perfunctory bodily functions feel erotic as he begins to fade, the burning of cold air in his stretching lungs, the sound of his own heartbeat and the warmth of blood coursing through his veins. Drool immediately pools under his head as he crests into a stuporous induced unconsciousness, far too unprepared for what awaits him in his trip, and the new world he is to encounter afterwards.

Dylan is sitting in a chair across from a man he knows too well and not at all. Face to face with Ben Harrington, president of Beta Delta Alpha, Dylan has to push down the immediate rush of fear. Taking a breath he reminds himself that this is a dream, one that Tony swears he should have pretty lucid control over. As the president stands opposed, leaning on nothing he flexes his arms and the pastel button up Dylan usually sees him clad in changes into a t-shirt with the sleeves torn off. He smirks as he pushes sunglasses up his face and speaks in a tone intoxicated, under the influence of nothing but Dylan himself. His raspy voice sends a shiver down the meek man’s spine as he feels himself unable to retreat, “So, uhh, Dylan is it?”

Approaching enough to touch him, Ben puts an arm over Dylan’s shoulder, exposing his clearly unwashed pit. Dylan takes a deep breath and forces his eyes closed from the burning over-stimulation of this man baring down on him. Still, from the sticky breath blowing across the face it's clear he is continuing to inch even closer, “You want me do you?” Dylan gulps as the man gets even closer, Ben’s lips almost touching his own, “Or do you just want to be me?” This takes Dylan out of it as he steps back away from the imposing man. Eyes opening he tries to manipulate the scene as Tony implied he should be able to. The Ben of his mind tilts his head and tsks, “‘Fraid you’re not the one in charge here after all.”

Ben closes the gap once more and throws his arm around the easily manhandled Dylan pulling his body against his own sweat stained form. He smirks and leans in directly to whisper something into the dreamer’s ear, “and if you do really wanna fuck me, well. You’re gonna have to become something more my type. Yeah?” Dylan blinks in surprise, he’s heard of bad trips and the like but something seems decidedly wrong here. Before he’s able to come to any cogent conclusion the dream Ben reaches down his free hand into Dylan’s pants. His sweaty hand instantly wraps around the smaller man’s balls and squeeze. Dylan hasn’t a chance to scream in shock he feels himself lose control. Of his body, his mind, and the world around him as he begins to fall back.

He’s humping the air as he’s falling into an abyss. He doesn’t feel the fear that this descent should evoke. Usually nightmares that turn this way immediately blast him back to consciousness, instead it fills him with adrenaline that only heightens the delight coursing out from his cock. Sure that he’s now laying face down in a pool of his own semen in the real world, Dylan does what he can to focus on the pleasure as intended.

The sound of wind tearing past him makes him unable to hear his moaning screams as his clothes are shredded by the searing gale. Rapt in delight, the blaring gusts begin to slow. Air caresses him like a full body hug and suddenly he is deposited onto soft ground. Dylan doesn’t quite repose as his body continues convulsing. Cum begins to sprinkle down on him from the plethora of loads released during his descent and he finally finds wherewithal to paw at his crotch. Grasping at his balls he finds them unmistakably larger, “Wha?” No longer falling, Dylan opens his eyes and seems to be back in reality.

Dylan awakens and blearily rubs his eyes with clearly semen stained hands. “Oh what the, ugh- Am I awake?” His eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the lighting of a room that is decidedly not his bedroom. “Can’t be right?” Shaking the mess off his hands without a second thought he stands to his feet with a grunt and feels his cock bobbing, still impossibly rigid. His hands return to this turgid beacon before they almost happenstance fondle his balls. His sluggish mind struggles with how heavy and large they feel, nothing like the ones he has in reality. He smirks as the last words of Ben snake through his mind- “Become something more my type.” Who’d’ve thunk the president was into horndogs.”

Sniffing the air he begins to inspect the room surrounding him. Dirty clothes litter the floor and he finds a pervasive musk filling the air. Something in the back of his mind itches that there should be a can of axe around somewhere to cover it up, which he ignores for a number of reasons. He should be able to will the room to stop stinking. He certainly wouldn't do so with cheap body spray, and for the life of him he can’t bring himself to want to. Each deep breath of the stink he finds himself growing even hornier. Dylan feels his balls churning as he grasps them, he’s already cum a good number of times and yet he still craves release.

He imagines the firm ass of a frat brother and leans against his dresser he uncontrollably begins to hump once more. Something flickers at the back of his mind yet again and he rips into an open drawer. Throwing clothes onto the pile of dirtied garments already littering the floor, Dylan removes a fleshlight which he proceeds to make exuberant use of. No time for his mind to question why he’s suddenly a top as his cock fills the sex toy more with every grunting thrust.

Pubes scratch against his thumb as his crotch shifts into one that would instantly render a razor unusable. Likewise hair that has never even had to be controlled on his ass begins to thicken, growing itchy as a true jungle of curls begins to flourish on both sides of his waist. Soon enough his cock grows large enough that the toy is rendered unusable, with a furrowed brow and ungrateful grunt he tosses it to his room leaving it dripping on the floor as he somehow remains just as sexually unfulfilled as when he began, “Fuck I need the real thing…”

The real thing not present Dylan looks down at his cock and gasps as he sees what has become of his package. He doesn’t have a ton of sex but he usually keeps it clean and pretty hairless down there just for his own sake. Beyond the forest of pubes thick enough to get his hand stuck in, he covers his mouth in shock as he sees a veiny cock larger than he’s ever seen on a man with the low hanging massive balls to match. He does his best to focus up on anything besides how horny he is, but as pre continues to trickle from his hardened cock that becomes increasingly difficult. He bites his lip and looks past his throbbing cock at the floor. If he puts it away perhaps it’ll quiet of its own accord.

Dylan doesn’t pay heed to which clothes are clean or dirty as he throws on whatever best could hide his cock from his hands and mind. Nor could he notice just how far cleanliness and decency have fallen as priorities for him as he struggles to fit his package in clearly stained sweatpants. Itching at his waist as his pubes begin creeping up into a treasure trail racing to mee the spreading curls beginning to decorate his chest, his dull awareness finally notices that his whole body has begun changing. His thin arms have clearly put on powerful muscle from his mindless sessions of self-love, veins trailing down them make it difficult for him not to get straight back to masturbating at the thought of his own strength.

Similarly his eyes latch onto a chest that has somehow exploded into pecs without his knowing. Muscle that has never begun to grace his body now jiggles with every movement. He clenches his jaw hard trying to muster willpower not to give into his most basal urges, but as he feels his thighs fill the sweatpants he just threw on he wonders how long he could possibly hold out. His cluttered mind struggles to recall that he is on some kind of psychedelic trip as he fails to remember how long Tony said it would last. Instead swimming through dulling memories the voice of his, er, the frat president speaks up. “Ah god… You’re looking fucking good Big D. How’s your mind hangin’ in there?”

It takes a few moments for the words to sink in before Dylan can reply, “My, unh- mind?” His balls pulse as his eyes dash across the room while he struggles to think. God he’s been struggling to think this whole time. His cock lurches as he’s able to realize that every thought in his mind has been growing increasingly clouded. “Big D?” Dylan can’t help but smirk as his beyond impressive cock strains his sweatpants at being called Big D. He grunts as he tries to shake off the lusty delirium, “Need to chill out. Ugh. Sober up.” He hears the president tsk at him yet again, waiting with bated breath for the mans words his pecs bulge even larger on his chest. “Too late for that bro, just give in. Why have a trip into true unadulterated ecstasy when you can have a lifetime. You can finally be the man of your dreams.”

As soon as the words of Ben, his president, are spoken in his mind it becomes clear that Big D doesn’t even have the ability to fight back against the ever-present urges that now control his body. He tears off the sweatpants that were barely holding in there as he fully give himself to whatever is calling out for him, the drug, Ben Harrington, whatever. His body bulks beyond measure to become man enough to carry the vulgar package that lies in his crotch. He masturbates into the leg of his sweatpants torn asunder as his torso bulks up, evidence of his endless celebrations as a man of Beta Delta Alpha.

Bestial body hair begins to cover his torso as his beard grows thick and dark. The tangle of hair in his pits thickens and spreads enough that it, nor it’s dominating musk, could ever be hidden. Muscle bulges on his arms large enough to haul kegs and toss out fuckers that get to rowdy at their festivities. Beyond apathetic to manicuring his appearance as he knows he’ll have people lining up at his doorstep regardless of needless things like hygiene or cleanliness he rubs his thick sweat covered thighs and feels how sensitive every inch of his skin has become.

He smirks as he imagines, recalls rather, how constantly he gets to enjoy the sensual opportunities offered by his new form. He’s got all he needs dangling between his thick thighs and everyone who matters already knows it. The president certainly does. Big D smirks as he thinks of their vacations together on the frat’s dime. He puts his arms behind his head and sniffs his musky pits as he lays in repose, a thick cloud of musky sweat surrounds him as he begins to hear the sound of festivities breaking out on the floor below him and someone’s fervent footsteps racing up the stairs to his den.

Suddenly there’s a knock at the door and Big D imagines that some couple is looking for an empty room with urgency. He paws at his crotch excited to join in on their fun. Instead he sees some nervous looking guy who freezes as soon as he sees the behemoth, fear in his eyes. “D-Dylan!? I- That drug, there was something, something s-” He stutters and his hands shake as Big D rolls his eyes and stands almost two heads taller than he should over Tony, one of their frat’s little party drug dealers. Still, he wouldn’t have come up here for no reason. Big D silences him with a finger and slams the door shut behind him. Tony’s brow furrows as he looks around the room in confusion. Even his perpetually drug-addled mind can tell something unreal, something impossible has happened to his friend. “That pill can’t have done this right?” Tony takes nervous breaths and Big D’s musk rapidly fills his lungs, distracting him from whatever petty issue brought him in. Who cares about concern when his small cock is beginning to rise from simply standing near the priapic titan.

Big D’s voice rumbles through Tony, making him weak at the knees, “You wanna have some fun don’t you?” The drug dealer can’t help but nod and swallow the drool pooling in his mouth as the bestial Adonis stands over him, cock dripping ever-ready for another round. Tony isn’t sure if he’s started tripping himself or what, but as he begins making out with the frat bro he finds himself not minding as memories of whoever Dylan was disappear. After all pleasure is the most important thing, and no one is better at spreading heady delight than Big D.

#male tf #mental change #jockification #frat bro tf #dumber #hair growth #muscle tf #masculinization #male transformation #fratification #himbofication

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mrs-weasley-reid · 21 days

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AUGUST REC FICS

Hello, my sweets!! Here I am, once again, for yet another month of reading and living vicariously through our one and only Reader. I haven't read much this past month, and most of these sweet authors are people I follow (and shockingly, some are my mutuals, too !!! I'm too much of a fangirl to believe it's true). Give these gorgeous, spectacular writers a ton of love. They all deserve it so much, considering they're blessing us with such amazing work for free. Like. Comment. Reblog. The equivalent of a five-star review

Like always, I will be going based on what I've read recently and not by the date the fic was posted. Reminder to please respect these writers. Some contents are 18+. MINORS should not be interacting in any way.

— ✿ — ✿ ✿ — ✿ ✿ ✿

Spencer Reid

✿ a muted shade of green by @dalamjisung ↳ the flow of this fic was so smooth my jaw dropped down on the floor as i read through (writer's first reid fic, and it was chef's kiss)

✿ hearts aligned by @raekensluver ↳ OMG this one had me melting. roommate spencer is such a dream

✿ sick love by @misserabella ↳ guilty pleasure unlocked. a wonderful reading session filled with interesting discoveries

✿ behind closed doors by @incognit0slut ↳ i loved binging this so much !!! was a giggling, kicking mess while reading this one; and it has four parts ! we're so spoiled

✿ kiss it better by @nereidprinc3ss ↳ tmi but was having an episode of mild anxiety attack, and this saved me in the middle of the night, giggling myself to sleep, so thank you for such amazing work x

✿ dead of night & nightvisions by @cxrrodedcoffin ↳ lol i read this at work and had to fight battles not to make any facial signs that i was consuming kinky content. the second part was another level, i was cackling like a witch

✿ much ado about nothing: act iii, scene v & act iv, scene i by @incognit0slut ↳ act iii, scene v left me speechless, reader didn't fold and i took that as a win. act iv, scene i played with my emotions lol

✿ just a number by @reidsdaisies ↳ i became a stand-up actress while reading this because it's overwhelmingly spicy and filled with tension i had to provide comedic relief for myself

✿ untittled req response by @mandarinmoons ↳ no because i saw my reblog post of this and i immediately snorted and then laughed some more after rereading it. pipe cleaner will never not be funny to me

✿ poison me, i'm fine by @gghostwriter ↳ no because this one needs more attention ?????????????? i loved reading this so much i was so tempted to pull my heart out and ship it to pau, show how crumpled it was after reading

✿ my best colors for your portrait & my face in every place by @none-of-your-bullshit ↳ i wasn't lying when i said august is for angst and i immediately gobbled this up after seeing it. the way my chest was so tight but also smiling because the writing style is amazing got me looking like a lunatic

✿ cute, outraged genius by @lavenderspence ↳ tina got me laughing like a gremlin. it's so adorable she made me fall in love with spencer all over again

✿ another untitled req response by @mandarinmoons ↳ sorry, sweethearts, ket just couldn't be bothered with titles lmao. secret lover reader is my favorite lover, sooooo you all will enjoy this cutie patootie creation

✿ one single thread of gold by @gghostwriter ↳ you'll overdose of sweetness. it's so adorable and a great way to feel giggly about spencer reid.

✿ for the fear of falling apart | part one by @pathologicalreid ↳ i haven't read the rest of the parts but mhmmm this was DELISH. well-written creation that made me show emotions while reading at work. my coworkers asked me my my eyes were so wide and i think that says a lot at how great this is

✿ second to none by @raekensluver ↳ ooooo this one got my blood boiling in a good way

✿ untitled work by @sincerelybubbles ↳ adorable stuff make me melt especially when it's a spencer one

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

Aaron Hotchner

✦ darling, in any life series by @hotchfiles ↳ at this point are we even surprise im including yet another series form lari here ? anywayyy, i love me some old flame trope

✦ picket fence dream by @hotchfiles ↳ this is a new part from the choiceless hope series and i gobbled it up. i was screaming when i read this

✦ tells by @ssahotchnerr ↳ first thing i read in the morning, and i sobbed from the overwhelming sweetness

✦ silver by @solardrop ↳ okay but this was so adorable ??? plus im def one of those gals who tried to throw herself on him, maybe even catapult myself

✦ sympathy for the devil by @hotchfiles ↳ nosebleed. spice level is not as high as i make it seem but the writing really got me sweating. just read it, you'll understand what i mean

✦ spending time with you by @lavenderspence ↳ no because TINA CALLED ME OUT WITHOUT CALLING ME OUT. i was slightly offended. the gasp i gasped was so loud asdkfnkg. but it is adorable, go read it pls pls

✦ doctor, love by @none-of-your-bullshit ↳ i love when reader slaps the character with some reality like a seasoned raw steak.

sorry, not sorry if this post is filled with lari. I reread her works religiously, so here are my favorites from hers truly:

✦ help me hold onto you ↳ oh, this is like crack for me, and i always come crawling back no matter how hard i try to stay sober

✦ half asleep takin' chances ↳ still waiting for future aaron somewhere out there

✦ choices ↳ gonna be honest with everyone this one makes me wanna deck aaron hotchner and then deck reader for folding so easily and also deck myself because im no better than reader

✦ quis ut deus? & daniel 12:1 ↳ my fave series from lari and i will never not reread them over and over and over and over again because i love it so much idk what's the appeal on me but i love it and i want this framed and buried with me even if it's unfinished

I haven't had a lot of time to visit the good ole "for you" feed in a while, so I apologize for missing all the amazing work every writer has put out this month. I will make it up to you, I promise! And if you'd like, you can send me works or mention me so I can read certain creations that you deem noteworthy for the next rec fic month!

love lots, ker x

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greenglowinspooks · 4 months

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consider: danny son of Joker

All Sharp Angles

—

Danny had always known that he was adopted; far before his parents had actually up and told him, anyways.

He’d just never looked like his family.

Where his parents were soft curves, he was all hard angles. He was lean and slender, almost willowy once he got his growth spurt, where his parents were broader and thicker-built.

Where his father’s hair was a warm, light black, like a cup of coffee, his was dark and cold like an oil spill.

Even his eyes were wrong; sure, his father’s eyes were blue too, but his were far darker. Danny’s were as light and frigid as arctic ice; even before he had died, they had never reflected enough light to seem alive.

So, when his parents finally told him the truth once he turned 15, it was honestly more of a relief than anything else. He wasn’t uniquely strange, he just didn’t look like his parents because he wasn’t related to them.

Still, he couldn’t help but be curious as to where he had come from. Sure, he liked his parents’ stories about the Fenton family and their rich (probably false) history, but he had roots branching elsewhere, too.

So, with money he had earned from washing cars and mowing lawns, he had bought a DNA test for 50 dollars, and sent a vial of blood in to whatever shady company he had bought it from.

The results…

He stared at the letter in shock.

He had already crumpled to the ground; luckily, he had been standing on the plush carpet of his room rather than the kitchen tile when he had opened it.

Father - Unknown

Mother - Dr. Harleen Quinzel

Fuck. Fuck.

That couldn’t be right, could it?

He checked the reviews of the company with manic speed; not a single other person had been named as being related to a rogue.

Could it be a prank?

Surely, the actual Harley Quinn never had time to have a child. Or, if she did, she would’ve been made to keep it by the Joker.

He began to google in a daze.

…

After a few minutes, he had his answer.

The longest time that the Joker had ever been in Arkham was for a year and a month.

He had gone in roughly 9 months before Danny was born, which technically gave Harley the time to have a child, put it up for adoption, and lose some of the baby fat before the Joker came back, all without him ever knowing.

Harley had also been mysteriously inactive for most of that time, too, which only gave more credibility to his theory.

What was he supposed to do with this, though?

It’s not like he could tell anyone. It’s not like it really changed anything in his day to day life, aside from his entire worldview.

Obviously he told Sam and Tucker, as well as Jazz after a few days.

Obviously he didn’t tell his parents.

…

In the end, not much came of it.

It was just another fact of life, another thing eating away at Danny’s mind. Another fear to internalize.

He had gotten so good at ignoring it, in fact, that he didn’t even remember where he came from when he was accepted to Gotham U, and drove a whole day to the only university willing to give him a scholarship.

…Well, as long as he keeps his nose out of trouble, it won’t matter much anyways. After all, what are the odds he actually meets anyone who might be able to figure it out?

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dcxdp crossover #dcxdp fic #spook speaks #askbox chats #this was actually originally gonna be much darker #might make the alternate version eventually

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kykyonthemoon · 2 months

Text

Distraction

When you need to study for the upcoming Hunter competency assessment, yet his presence becomes your ultimate distraction.

── .✦ Character x Female Reader|MC

Included parts in order: Caleb - Xavier - Rafayel - Zayne - Sylus

Ky Ky's note: I chose this particular order for the LIs based on the time of day that you would meet him:

Caleb - early morning

Xavier - around midday

Rafayel: late afternoon

Zayne: evening

Sylus: night

── .✦ Tags: R16, MDNI, suggestive themes, biting, teasing, pinning, soft fluff, established relationship, study/work date, pet names (pip-squeak, kitten), no y/n - as always.

── .✦ Word count: 5k6

── .✦ Requested by Yue AuV

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic

Caleb

You awoke when the sun was still sleeping. Even on break, you had to carry a stack of books home to Grandma to prepare for the critical Hunter competency assessment the following week. The combat skills test was no issue for you. You were apprehensive about the theoretical test. That was the reason you had borrowed more materials from headquarters to study during these spare days.

As you proceeded down the stairs, you noticed heavy breathing in the living room. You were on high alert, clutching the book hard in your palm. With its thickness, a single throw may cause someone to faint on the spot. You walked gently down the final steps and entered the living room.

It was not quite as bright, but you could see everything in the room. On the floor, a person was facing the ground and doing push-ups. His unclothed back, soaked in perspiration, was displayed. You blinked for a second and recognized who it was.

"Caleb?"

He placed one hand on the floor and the other wrapped behind his back. He stopped performing push-ups and returned his attention to you.

"You woke up so early, pip-squeak?"

"When did you get back? I feared the house was being robbed!"

You sighed with relief, walked up to the sofa, and sat down. Caleb continued doing push-ups, saying:

“The train was delayed so I came home late. When I arrived home, you were already asleep, pipsqueak. So I missed the chance to say hi."

“I see. And why are you doing push-ups here?”

Caleb shifted his other hand to the floor. He replied:

“This is my morning practice routine at the Academy. But pip-squeak, you don't know this, right? Because you always sleep until past noon.”

Caleb chuckled, while you aggressively grabbed a nearby pillow and flung it at his back. "You are pestering me again! Every time you return home, it's simply to tease me, right?"

He rose up and turned towards you. His bare chest was exposed to you. When you realized you were staring at it for too long to the point it was not appropriate, you glanced away.

"What about you?" Caleb asked. “Why are you up so early on a day off?”

You were going to respond but lost what to say as Caleb suddenly leaned in close to you. With one hand, he lifted your book to read the title, while the other moved behind you; his intention left unknown.

Warmth radiated from Caleb, so much that the air in the room became stifling. Drops of sweat rolled down his face, his neck, his chest, and the muscles in his abdomen. He was right in front of you, only a touch away. His breath caressed your hair and cheeks. Burning.

"Review questions for Hunters?" Caleb commented after rapidly reading the book cover. He gazed at you, who appeared rigid and petrified in place. "Pip-squeak?"

You cleared your throat and coughed. Then pulled the book from his grasp. You explained:

“Well… I have to take the Hunter competency assessment exam next week…”

You hastily covered your face with the book, scared Caleb would see your scarlet cheeks. You also had to rely on the fragrance of papers to help you forget the scent of Caleb's body, which was both familiar and emphasized his masculinity more than ever at the time.

You simply hope the sofa would swallow you up so you would not feel embarrassed anymore. You were used to Caleb, including the fact that he trained his muscles in every possible place in the house. But it did not imply you felt fully at ease when you looked at him in this way. Even after you had confessed your feelings for each other.

Caleb knew what was going on in your mind. Why not, given how it was written on your face? He grinned and patted your head. The hand behind you abruptly took out a towel. He stated:

"You're leaning back against my towel."

He stood up and backed away with the towel. It turned out that was what he needed, not you. You inhaled heavily.

"Then let me get another one for you…"

You murmured. But Caleb brought the cloth to his nose. After closing his eyes, he said:

“Mmh. No need. This towel smells like you.”

Your cheeks burned like fire. You turned fast away.

“Y-You should get back to your push-ups!”

After speaking, you quickly opened the book and pretended to read more. You could hear Caleb laughing in the living room. He said:

“Pip-squeak, you can read books upside down? That is very great of you!"

That's when you realized how ridiculous you were. You swiftly adjusted the book in the correct direction and said nothing else. Caleb returned to his morning workout. Your mind could no longer concentrate. Your gaze was attracted to Caleb's strong physique. He looked to be much more purposeful about exercising in front of you. You exhaled.

"Caleb, can't you bring your push-ups to the garden?"

"Nope." Caleb reacted quickly, as if he had previously planned his response in case you wanted him out. “I was here first. You came here after me. If someone must go, it should be you."

You did not like to give in, but maybe you needed some cool, fresh air to recharge. You stood up. "Alright. I'll go out. Happy now?"

But as soon as you approached the main door, you felt heat emanating from behind. Caleb approached behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder. He whispered, somewhat petulantly:

“We haven't seen each other for a month. Are you just going to ignore me like that?”

You did not dare turn around, instead said gently: "I can't ignore you even if I wanted to..."

Caleb put one hand on the door, the other hand turned you around so he could look directly into your eyes. The book you clutched in your palm felt increasingly tight as he got closer. Your bare arm brushed against Caleb's toned abdomen. You held your breath while staring at him.

“So, pip-squeak, how should you welcome me home?”

Caleb gently stroked your chin with his hand. You blushed. The feet automatically tiptoed. You gave Caleb a kiss on the cheek. But it appeared that this gift had left him disappointed.

“Is that all? Do I need to go on duty for another month so you will miss me even more?”

You knew Caleb was teasing you, yet you did miss him a lot. It was just that you were still not really used to intimate contact with him. You looked up at Caleb, his eyes still fixed on you, waiting. Having failed to disappoint him, you stepped on tiptoe again, this time with your lips on his.

Caleb grinned softly. He placed his arms around you and pulled you up against his damp body.

"This is... how a welcome home should be like..." Caleb whispered to you between lengthy kisses.

Xavier

“Have you seen my book anywhere? I think I dropped it.”

Xavier's words echoed out over the coffee table. You looked up from the stack of books and stated:

“Why don't you check on the floor?”

The two of you were not on the sofa, instead, the floor. Xavier leaned down and discovered the half-read book lying under the table. "Here it is!"

You sighed. “Did you fall asleep again?”

"What?" Xavier's perplexed expression resurfaced in your vision. He massaged his eyes. “I didn't sleep… I just closed my eyes to rest a bit and tried to remember the information I just read.”

“Hmm.” You glanced at him. Obviously, you caught him falling asleep when he pledged to study with you.

Long story short, all Hunters must go through a competence assessment. The test included both combat skills and a theoretical test. Hence you had invited Xavier to your flat for a study date. Even a top Hunter like him would have to take the assessment exam.

After barely five minutes of sitting, Xavier asked you: "Is it time to break yet?", and then he felt frustrated when he received a shake of the head from you.

After that, Xavier was continuously distracted by many things around him, like the sound of a kettle boiling in the kitchen, birds chirping outside the open window, and even neighbors arguing down the street. You had to close the windows so you could concentrate on your studies. Xavier gave you one of his headphones and the review session proceeded well for the next half hour. Then he fell asleep and dropped the book on the floor again.

"Xavier, you're cheating!" You spoke as one hand reached out to pinch his face.

"It hurts."

Xavier spoke with a puppy expression. Even if he were like that, you would continue to review. You cleared your throat and coughed.

"Let us proceed. We have to complete the evaluation tomorrow."

Xavier put up his reading glasses and nodded. You heard him mumble a few questions from the book, followed by a long pause. You glanced up to him.

"Why do you keep looking at me?" You asked.

You placed the book you were reading on the table. You simply could not focus anymore. Your mind was racing, words from the document leaping all over the place. Your body screamed for rest.

You crawled to Xavier's side and rested your head on him. He was silent about everything, but softly rested his chin on your hair. The two of you stayed there for a long time, enjoying the tranquility of the lovely morning. Unfortunately, the test prevented you from going out with Xavier. A walk then would be great. You were ready to invite Xavier for a stroll later, but before you could say anything, you noticed his faint, regular snoring next to you.

"Eh, Xavier?" You were astonished. "Are you sleeping now, really?"

The bit of his head lying on you grew heavy. Even when you sat up straight and grasped his head in both hands, Xavier did not bother to wake up. You thought it both amusing and miserable. You allowed him to recline against the sofa. With a very gentle gesture, you helped him take off his reading glasses and put them away. You set one arm on the sofa, laying your head on it while watching him sleep. How beautiful Xavier was; like a prince, a knight who was always there to protect you. And in times when he was being vulnerable like this, you would defend him.

You could not resist but reach out and poke his cheek. Xavier did not immediately wake up, although he moved slightly. You tried to suppress your laughter. Your hand found a pen from the floor nearby and began a grand scheme.

You got up very carefully and climbed onto Xavier's lap. With the pen in hand, you sketched him a fantastic mustache. The tickling of the pen tip caused his face to quiver slightly, but he remained asleep. You gleefully painted the tip of his nose and slid a few strokes across both cheeks. After that, you removed your bunny ear accessories and placed them on Xavier's hair.

You reflected on your work once it was completed. He looked like a giant rabbit that had just grown a mustache. You giggled, planning to flee and get your phone to photograph the situation. But Xavier instantly held you back.

"Ouch!"

The power from him drew your wrist back, forcing you to collapse into his arms. Your rabbit awoke and appeared to comprehend what you had just done. Xavier looked down at your little body lying in his arms and said sleepily:

“What did you just draw on my face?”

“Eh… I didn't do anything…” You chose to deny the crime. You immediately flung the pen away, but Xavier caught you in the act.

Xavier adjusted his posture to sit up straighter, gently pulling you closer to his body. You were hugged tightly from behind by Xavier. His hand caressed your neck, causing you to tilt your head back and stare at him.

And you could not help but laugh at his funny face right there. Xavier grimaced, obviously dissatisfied.

"A Hunter sneak-attacked another Hunter. You understand that's against the rules, right?"

"Yeah…" Still, you thought it amusing. "You won't go gossiping about this to our supervisors, will you?"

Xavier said, "If you want me not to report back, you have to compensate me."

"How do you want me to compensate?"

Xavier's eyes were keen, unlike his drowsy demeanor only a few seconds before. He smiled gently at you, but why did you sense danger as if you had stumbled into a trap?

"You will know very soon."

Xavier's fingers began to move across your face. He drew an invisible mustache for you, followed by a nose and a bunny's whiskers. You felt ticklish and twitched in his arms, but Xavier gripped you even tighter. A while later, you thought he had finished drawing then realized, he was only getting started

“It would be so easy to let you go like that.” Xavier muttered into your ear before softly biting it, sending a powerful electric shock through your entire body, and a reminder to never tease him while he was sleeping again.

It was too late to backtrack; you clenched your teeth. Xavier's warm breath invaded from the nape of your neck to your ear. The kisses he placed on your hair, ear, and neck made you feel heated. Xavier chewed the shoulder of your shirt and removed it, showing your slightly shaking bare shoulder. He softly bit it, followed by a deep kiss. You inhaled extensively, turning around to feel his lips.

Your intention to go for a walk after the study session that day might need to be postponed.

Rafayel

You were seated across from Rafayel in his sunlit studio. Rafayel was painting and singing gently as you buried your head in the book, clutching a highlighter pen and marking practically every word on the page.

"So loud, Rafayel. You are too loud." You spoke with some irritation. Of course, you did not mean it, but the competency evaluation for all Hunters would be held in a few days. To proceed to higher ranking, you must score well in all tests, including the theoretical test.

"And you're so ferocious, Miss Bodyguard. You scared away my inspiration!"

You rose up and moved around the desk full of books and papers to stand next to Rafayel, gazing at the landscape that he was painting. An afternoon at sea that looked just like the sight outside the studio at the time, but in Rafayel's hands, it felt like an enchanting tale.

“It looks like you're still doing well even though your inspiration ran away.” You replied, folding arms across your chest. “As for me... If only I could pass the test as easily and gracefully as you when you paint.”

Rafayel did not glance at you; his brush was still moving across the canvas. He said, "Painting for me is not as easy as you think. It requires all of my attention, passion, and devotion. You, too, will perform well on the test. You've been getting ready for it over the past few weeks."

"But I still feel worried."

Rafayel stopped painting. He turned and looked at you. "Then it's great if you rest and relax a little. When your mind is at peace, everything you do will be more productive."

You groaned as you looked at the mound of books on your desk. You said:

“Let me find something to do then.”

You turned around, and by some force, your hand accidentally brushed his shoulder. In his artwork, an undesired stripe of color appeared.

“Oops! I'm sorry!" You responded instantly. Rafayel gazed up at you with a sulky expression.

“That's it. I'll have to tell Thomas that you've just chased away my inspiration and you're spraying colors all over my painting."

“I didn't mean to ruin it.” You explained. Rafayel said again:

“It's not really ruined. I can still fix it. But, why should I do that? You're the one causing trouble here. So you have to compensate me.”

"Huh?" Your eyes were wide and innocent as you gazed at Rafayel. He took your palm and placed his paintbrush inside.

“Come on, Miss Bodyguard, how should I fix this painting?”

You were not an artist. When you were a kid, you used crayons to draw on papers, but this was Rafayel's creation. Your fingers shook as you gazed at him. He gave you the palette while tilting his head towards the easel.

“Just consider this a way for you to relax for the time being.”

Hearing him say that made you even more stressed. You scowled and stared at him. That irritating smile of triumph made you resentful. Obviously, he was able to fix the painting himself, but he continued placing you in a difficult situation.

"So? If you can't fix it, you must give me a hundred compliments this week."

You frowned. His pompous demeanor was too much to tolerate. You grabbed the brush and began working. But instead of painting on the canvas, you traced a blue line over Rafayel's face.

"HUH?!" Rafayel stared at you, puzzled, and you chuckled. You lifted your hand to paint another line on the opposite side of his face, but he seized your wrist. "What are you doing?"

"Relaxing." You responded with a mysterious smile. "You just suggested that I should relax after studying hard, didn't you?"

"I told you to paint on the canvas, not to paint on me!"

Rafayel pouted, encouraging you to torture him even more. You quickly replied: "For me, Rafayel is the most wonderful work of art."

Hearing that, his eyes brightened up and he gazed at you with adoration. However, you must use the opportunity to swipe the brush over his other cheek while he let his guard down. You laughed loudly, and Rafayel became so irritated that you began to picture a fish with smoke coming out of his ears.

Your victory did not last very long. You felt something chilly on your face, and it smelled like paint. Rafayel lifted his index finger, which was coated in pink and purple. He was chuckling:

“You are also a work of art that I want to paint.”

Following that, the war between you and Rafayel began. You even let go of the brush and used five fingers to wipe as much paint as possible across his body. Rafayel applied additional paint from the tubes in the corner. Both his hands were stained. Seeing this, you attempted to flee, but Rafayel immediately grabbed your waist. He seized you from behind, and his pink, purple, and crimson handprints were all over your garments, covering your chest and neck. You resisted until turning the tables and snatching Rafayel's arm, holding it behind his back and forcing him to the floor.

"Ouch! Ouuuuuuch! You're breaking the arm of an esteemed painter!”

You snorted bitterly, then took advantage of the situation by pinning Rafayel to the floor and letting him struggle. You sat on top of him and began your revenge.

Starting with his dream-like, charming face. Fingers in varying shades of blue and white created traces on Rafayel's cheekbones, nose, and chin before sliding down his neck. He shuddered slightly in defeat.

"You… What do you want to do with me?"

You laughed in an incredibly hazardous manner. "What do you want me to do to you?"

Rafayel's face went crimson, and with the colors you had painted on him, he resembled a sunset over the sea. You slid your fingers inside his white shirt, brushed his powerful chest, and watched Rafayel slightly arch his spine.

"You…" Rafayel inhaled heavily. His heart rate surged. You could feel the heart throbbing beneath your hand. You leaned down very close, looked into his eyes, and whispered:

"Turned out, Rafayel also has the effect of reducing stress and giving me inspiration!"

Rafayel's lips curved up to say something, but you gently bit him. Rafayel fought but was unable to do anything since you gripped both of his hands and pinned him to the floor. You caught his heavy breathing between kisses, both unwilling and adoring to be pestered by you in this manner.

Zayne

Zayne picked up a glass of cold water and pressed it against your cheek, startling you awake. He noticed you nodding on the sofa, with a book face down on your stomach in your lap. He remarked:

“How can you fall asleep after just five minutes of reading like that?”

“It's the book's fault, not mine.” You made an excuse and reached out to grab the glass of water Zayne had given you. Soon, you would have to take the competency assessment for all Hunters. Since studying alone was dull, you asked Zayne over for a work date. However, the only hard-working person here was him alone.

He returned to the desk and typed on his laptop again. A little cool water only woke you up for a while. You leaned your head on the sofa, eyes half-closed, gazing at him in front. When Zayne focused on his task, he looked breathtakingly beautiful. Everything about him seemed to draw you in. These eyes, these eyelashes, the bridge of his nose, and the corner of his mouth... All of a sudden, he turned around and caught you staring at him. He asked:

“Does my face inspire you that much?”

You did not feel shy at all but nodded heartily. The corner of his lips curved slightly. He replied:

“Then after you're done staring at me, go review your papers.”

"Too far." You extended your hand towards him, as if you wanted to hold him. "My inspiration is sitting so far away, no wonder why I am so sleepy."

Zayne gazed at you. Obviously, he laughed. Then he rose up, held his laptop, and approached you. The seat next to you sank when he dropped down next to you.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah. It's good now." You joyfully responded and resumed reading the book. The Hunters Association handed you a vast stack of books to study, each of which was thick. You were certain that you would perform well on the combat skills evaluation, but the theoretical questions caused you a headache.

After a time, you started to become distracted. You noticed Zayne sitting by your side with a laptop on his lap and wondered how he could focus so intently. He seemed to be able to work at any time and in any location. You looked over to his screen. The stuff displayed there was much more perplexing than your books. You grumbled and struggled on the sofa for a bit, but failed to discover a position that helped you focus. Zayne inquired:

"What's going on? Are you uncomfortable sitting?"

You nodded your head.

"Maybe because you've sat in the wrong position for too long," he told you.

Before Zayne could give you any suggestions on how to improve your posture, you raised your legs on the sofa and positioned them in his lap, on top of the laptop keyboard. He rolled his eyes at you, then gently raised your knees up with one hand while swiftly taking out the laptop and setting it aside.

"Lean back against the cushion." Zayne placed a cushion between your back and the armrest of the sofa. After fixing everything, he inquired:

"Are you more comfortable now?"

You chuckled and nodded. Zayne gave you a face that conveyed both surrender and excessive tenderness. You buried your head in the book again, but the words faded away since all you cared about was Zayne's long fingers brushing your exposed uncovered legs. He was softly rubbing them, which made you feel a little ticklish.

Zayne turned to look at you; your face had become scarlet behind the book.

"Read your book." He said. Despite your best efforts, you could no longer recall anything. Your mind was whirling as he touched your legs. His hands are strong but soft, making you feel at ease and eager to be caressed by him.

So when you saw Zayne's hands leave you as he reached for his laptop again, you stretched your leg and pushed it as far as you could, all the way to the opposite end of the sofa. He grasped your ankle and gently reminded you:

“Be a good girl.”

Then he released you and took the device. He placed it on your legs like they were a desk. Of course, you refused to give up so fast. You continued shifting your legs, causing the laptop to tremble so much that Zayne was unable to continue working. He glared at you, and you retreated behind the book, pretending not to see his agony at all.

"Did you really call me here to work together?" Zayne's voice soared out, as if he had become upset. Before you could respond, he raised the laptop, placed his other hand around your waist, and drove you towards him.

"Erm… Doctor Zayne?"

Being pulled so suddenly, you leaned completely against Zayne. Your forehead lightly hit his chin and your nose touched his Adam's apple. It seemed he was also a bit startled, his throat became dry. For a moment, he looked down at you, and you looked up slightly to observe his reaction.

Zayne said nothing, his eyes fixed on your parted lips. Your heart rate began to rise at such a close distance. Your ragged breathing on Zayne's neck made him gradually forget his original purpose in coming to this place. The laptop was once again put down, and his lips glided lightly across the bridge of your nose.

“Hmm… Doctor Zayne… Are you not working anymore?” You asked softly, when his lips were only about the size of a mint candy from yours. He replied:

“Someone keeps distracting me. In order to work more effectively, I need to address this matter first."

You grinned. You were on Zayne's lap, but when he leaned slightly towards your lips, wanting to touch them, you turned away. His eyes were filled with disappointment when he gazed at you, wondering what you wanted from him or why you placed a little sweetness in his heart just to leave him hanging like that.

You looked up. Your hand stroked Zayne's face before moving down to his lips. Your voice was quiet:

“Doctor Zayne, it's not just your face or your lips that inspires me…”

Your fingertips carefully went down to Zayne's neck. He remained immobile, waiting to see what you would do next. You pressed closer to his body and muttered:

“To me, everything about you serves as an inspiration…”

Zayne's throat was dry. Perhaps when he accepted your offer to come here, he anticipated a work date with you that looked nothing like the way you grinned so wickedly as you pushed him closer to the sofa, slowly turning around and wrapping your legs around his sides. Sitting on his lap, you tilted your head, smiled, then gave him a kiss on his Adam's apple.

Sylus

Sylus appeared at your apartment after the doorbell rang so loudly that if you arrived even a second late, the door would definitely not be intact.

The problem was that he assumed something was wrong with you after learning from Luke and Kieran that you had not left the house in almost three days.

Sylus grabbed and spun you around to ensure you were not wounded. You had to explain that you were alright, but exhausted from several days of studying for the approaching Hunters' competence evaluation.

Sylus shook his head at the mound of books in your living room:

"They teach you these useless things in Linkon?”

“I've got a combat skills test, and a theoretical test. I must pass both.”

Sylus said nothing else. He allowed you to continue immersing yourself in books as he sat comfortably on the sofa, as if this place was his very home.

A short while later, you heard a rattling sound coming from Sylus. Looking over, you were startled to see his gun pointing in your direction.

"What on Earth—"

Sylus lifted his head to look at you, grinned, and continued cleaning his weapon. You let out a loud sigh. Before he came to shatter this quiet atmosphere, you had memorized many questions for the test. But his presence made it hard for you to focus since your gaze was always drawn to him.

You observed him for a long time. There were a few raindrops in his hair and leather jacket. His crimson eyes focused on the gun in his grasp, his head leaned slightly, and the light illuminated on one side of his gorgeous face. Every now and again, you would look up, and when he noticed your gaze fixed on him, he would smile as if he had you in his palm. And it was true.

When Sylus was around, you had trouble focusing on anything else. You groaned and asked him:

“Why are you still here? You know I'm safe and sound. Go home now, Sylus.”

Sylus replied with a to-the-point question: "Do you really want me to leave?"

Outside, it was pouring rain. It was past eleven o'clock at night. You decided to wait for the rain to cease before telling him to go home again. Otherwise, you would find yourself unable to pass the competency evaluation! How dare he be so desirable and captivating?

You had no option but to sit with your back to Sylus. About half an hour later, when the rain was over and you had finished most of the book that needed to be read, you turned to seek for him. Sylus slumped back on the sofa, his eyes closed tight. It appeared as he was sleeping. You approached and called his name.

Sylus did not respond, so you poked his cheek with your hand. He did not open his eyes, but gripped your hand fast.

“Let me sleep. I'll play with you later, kitten."

Even after he stated that, he refused to let go of you. He used force to pull you down next to him on the sofa. When you sat down, he leaned closer, putting his head on your thigh.

"Sylus?"

"Shhh. Just a moment..."

You decided to give up. Looking at him sleeping so peacefully, like a vicious cat who had retracted all his claws and snuggled up on your lap. You ran your fingers through his hair, tracing each line from his forehead to his chin. You thought to yourself how tempting it would be to steal a kiss from him. But the moment you dropped your head, he awoke.

His fiery eyes secured on you. You abruptly sat up straight, as if nothing had occurred. Sylus cracked a grin

"I caught you trying to sneak up on me, kitten."

"What are you saying?" You disputed it and then used your hand to shove him down. "The rain ceased. It's time you go home."

But Sylus grasped your arm. His moves were so quick that you were left startled. He rose up and spun around, using enough power to pin you to the sofa in a sitting posture, your hands securely clutched on both sides of your head.

Sylus leaned down to get closer to you. One of his knees was pressed tight to your thigh on the chair, while the other leg kept his body poised in front of you. This position made it difficult for you to flee, even if you wanted to. Sylus glanced at you like a cat toying his mouse. He clarified:

“I didn't come all the way here to Linkon just for you to order me around and send me back like that.”

Your chest started to throb. You said, "So, why did you come here?"

"To help you pass your test, of course."

"Huh?" You attempted to get away from Sylus, but he grabbed you so hard that your wrists began to turn red.

"Now that you've thoroughly read the book, kindly answer me. If a Hunter found herself in a situation like this, what would she do?”

You returned your attention to Sylus after looking at the pile of monotonous books on the table. He appeared to offer you a challenge:

Sylus undoubtedly had superior fighting abilities than you. He knew which way you would go, so he grabbed you around the waist with a simple arm extension. He picked you up with one arm and shoved you hard into the sofa. As you struggled to get away, he grabbed your ankle.

"Ouch! It hurts!" You yelled, but all you received in return was Sylus' smug laugh.

"Too slow, kitten."

He flipped you over so you could see how tightly he gripped your leg against his dominant chest. Sylus chuckled in a vicious manner and asked:

“Are these little tricks all that the Hunters Association teaches you?”

“You… Sylus… I… Argh!”

You were enraged and tossed several cushions at him at once. When one of them smacked his face, he did not even dodge; instead, he closed his eyes. After that, he gazed down at you, your hair tangled and your arms and legs thrashing in an attempt to escape. His fingers go along your exposed leg. He wrapped both of your thighs around his waist, and his enormous figure crushed down on you on the sofa. His hot breath painted your face and neck, causing you to lose track of everything else. He softly bit your ear and murmured:

“Be still. I could teach you a few combat tricks. But, I'm curious how much you would pay for it."

Header photos by x and x

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mimicmimikyuwrites · 1 month

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Who You Belong To - Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow) x Fem!Reader SMUT

Summary: You and your professor share what could barely be called a relationship, but what's there is tricky and difficult to put a positive label on. When a fellow classmate successfully asks you on a date, Dr. Crane decides to make one thing clear: who you belong to.

Contents/Possible Warnings: Age Gap (Reader is in her early 20's, Crane's in his mid 30's), inclusion of original male character, student-professor relationship, unprotected sex, P in V sex, toxic relationship (?), creampie, semi-clothed sex, mentions of masturbation, degradation, semi-public sex (they fuck in an office), SMUT, MDNI

Other Notes: You can read part two here.

Some people say there's over four hundred estimated phobias, others say that number can be even higher at five hundred; no matter the number, you were sure Dr. Jonathan Crane knew every single one of them by heart. Your slightly off-putting psychology professor with a passion for fear and its workings shared a relationship with you that had breeched its professional expectations long ago. You couldn't tell what he was to you, exactly, but it certainly wasn't just your professor, not when he had been inside of you more times than either of you could count.

It wasn't uncommon for him to ask you to stay after class, leading into an invitation to his office before you found yourself bent over an expensive, wooden desk that had already been cleared off in expectation of you being pressed to it while you took him. Sometimes if he wanted to strike a bit of fear of getting caught into you, he'd fuck you right in the lecture hall, always letting you know how terrifying the consequences would be if someone else did something as simple as come back for a forgotten pen.

You may have been his favorite teacher's pet, but you were sure there were others. Jonathan was an attractive man who taught an already difficult class, it'd be no surprise to you if he had other women lined up for a chance to recieve a better grade from him in exchange for a little "extra- credit" assignment, as much as you hated to admit it to yourself. He was never yours to begin with.

"Care to tell me why you're staring down at your closed text book instead of listening to my lesson?" Your professor questioned, breaking you out of your thoughts. Shit, how had you gotten so immersed in your little daydream that you had forgotten you were in class? You could feel the sympathetic stares of your peers burning into you as Crane loomed over you, a gleam of mischievous satisfaction in his blue eyes. You didn't respond.

"Stay after class," He said plainly, heading back to the front of the room. He'd still ask you to stay back regardless of how things went, the little show he had made out of you was his way of toying with you in just the way he liked. It was more of a tease at this point, you weren't scared, not of him. Still, you shrunk back into your seat in faux embarrassment to entertain him.

"To those who were paying attention, unlike a certain someone," he paused, gaze drifting over to you as he quickly took in the sight of what you were wearing.

While it was nothing out of the ordinary for you, you did choose to wear a skirt today, a favorite of his to see on you. How easy would it be for him to pull it up, bunching the fabric over your hips so be could get acess to what he was really after? He also took note of your gloss-covered lips, mind drifting onto how great they'd look wrapped around his cock or wide open as you moaned for him. He shifted, moving to be further behind his desk as he felt his pants tighten. He would wreck you after everyone was gone.

"You have a test on the topic of agoraphobia this upcoming Monday; today is Friday, which means you have the weekend to review the notes, which I hope you've been taking, for your own sake." He continued. "You're all free to go, except who I've already asked to stay." He really wouldn't stop rubbing that in, would he? Maybe he was trying to rile you up to make your usual "meeting" more exciting today.

As your classmates rose, you stayed seated, putting your stuff into your bag as you did. It was all routine, except for the man who had approached you before making his way out. He stood over you with a friendly smile, one that you had to admit made him look handsome. He didn't look too different from Dr. Crane in terms of basic features; dark hair and cornflower blue eyes. He was your type on the level of looks.

"Hey, I'm Ryan," He introduced himself, friendly smile remaining on his face. "I heard that you're pretty good in this class, making straight A's. I was wondering if you could help me study this weekend if you're free? Maybe we could grab a cup of coffee, too?" You looked over to where Dr. Crane was standing, the man in question observing your interaction from his desk, making it subtle by acting like he was sorting through papers.

You and your professor weren't exclusive, and if he had others lined up and waiting for him, then you could, too; it'd only be fair. Your classmate wanted to study and get coffee? He'd get what he wanted and more. "Sure! I'm free tommorrow at twelve if that works out for you," You finally replied, smiling up at Ryan. You had just met the guy and he was already doing something that Crane never did: asking you out on a date.

Ryan grinned, grabbing a notebook out of his bag and ripping out a piece of paper, writing his number on it before handing it to you. "I'll see you then!" He exclaimed happily before waving goodbye and leaving. After he had left, you stood up, pulling your bag over your shoulder before you made your way to where Jonathan was at the front of the lecture hall. He did ask you to stay after class.

"Throw it away," Crane stated plainly, moving the small, paper-filled trashcan that was under his desk to be in front of you. You looked down, not realizing you still had the slip of paper with Ryan's number on it in your hand.

"Do you even know what it is?" You retorted, shoving the paper into your bag.

"He gave you his number. You don't need the number of someone you turned down," He responded, moving the trashcan even closer to you. "Throw it away." He repeated.

"Except I didn't turn him down." You replied, watching his brows furrow in a mix of confusion, and then annoyance once your words sunk in. "We're not exclusive, you and I, are we?" Part of you hoped he'd prove you wrong, telling you that he was yours and you were his, while another part of you wanted to tell him 'fuck you" to his face. How many simultaneously lucky and unlucky women did he have waiting for him? Many, you were sure of it.

"I'm sure you have someone else in another one of your classes that you can spend your evening with, Dr. Crane." You smiled, trying to ignore the growing pain in your heart. "If you can have others, then it's only fair that I can as well."

"What makes you think that I have others?" He inquired, looking up at you with curious, blue eyes. "Do you think I'm the type of man to give out straight A's in my class in exchange for a fling or two? I don't even up your grades, darling." He chuckled lightly.

You rolled your eyes. He had to be lying to you... right? Were you really the only one and he just didn't see you as more than someone to have sex with? You didn't know what idea hurt you more, but the end result was the same: you meant little to him, and your body was all he wanted.

"I'll see you on Monday, professor." You mumbled out, feeling defeated. You already knew why he had asked you to stay after class, but the thought of him touching you while he wanted nothing more than just sex sickened you. What did you expect? That's all things had ever been. You shouldn't have caught feelings.

He watched you leave, letting out a long sigh once you were gone. You had always been a pain in his ass, but not one he'd ever get rid of.

Saturday at Twelve left just as quickly as it had come, and before you knew it, not only had you had your date, but you were also back in your Psychology class on Monday, a test on agoraphobia in front of you. Being nearly sixty questions long, it was intimidating to look at, even more so when the majority of questions were statistic-based. You were far from worried, however, having studied the topic extensively over the past few weeks.

Any confidence you had left you once you received your score later that same class period. You had failed by a large margin, the bright red ink in the corner shamefully exclaiming '34%' seeming to mock you as you stared back at it. You had yet to fail any assignment in your Psychology course, let alone one on such a common fear as agoraphobia. Your professor did this on purpose.

"Yes? Can I help you?" Crane asked, not bothering to look up as he shuffled through a stack of papers on his desk. You placed your failed test in front of the man, an angry frown on your face as you did so.

"Did you intentionally fail me because I went out on a date this weekend, you prick?!" He finally glanced up at you, his neutral expression not faltering a bit despite your obvious discontent. Then, he stood up, making his way over to his office door in the corner of the room.

"Come on, let's take this to my office so you can shout at me without embarrassing yourself as easily." The condescension in his voice only served to upset you further, much to his sadistic delight. You were the first one inside, Jonathan making sure to lock the door behind you. Before you could even open up your mouth to yell at him once more, he spoke.

"Did it feel good?" He asked nonchalantly, catching you off guard.

"What? What are you—"

"Did it feel good when he fucked you?" He finished, watching calmly as your eyes widened in shock. "You have a hickey on your neck under all that makeup you used to try and hide it. You've done the same to the ones I've given you in the past. It's just barely noticeable."

He stepped forward, closing in on you like a hungry animal would their prey, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "Did it feel good? Did he manage to fuck you better than I ever could?" His arm wrapped around you, a hand placing itself on the small of your back as he leaned into you. "Or did he leave you wanting more? Did you go home and grab that vibrator of yours, just wishing it was me that had been the one with you while you were forced to make yourself cum, because he couldn't?"

He moved, lifting you up so he could sit you on the desk. Of course, like always, it was cleared off ahead of time in anticipation of your visit.

"Maybe I need to show you who you belong to, hmm?" His hands moved down under your skirt, one resting on your inner thigh while the other gave an experimental touch to your clothed sex. You were already wet, your arousal felt through the thin cotton of your panties. "Soaking already, my dear? He must've left you worse off than I imagined." Jonathan purred.

"H-He barely touched me," You stuttered out, feeling Crane tug your underwear to the side, his deft fingers finding your clit. "All we did was make out." You let out a soft moan as he began slowly rubbing at the sensitive bud.

"I don't believe you." His hands left you, beginning to undo his belt. The prominent tent in his black slacks let you know just what was in store for you; he was starving for you. "Not when you admitted you let him touch what's mine." He continued, motioning for you to take your soaked panties off.

"What's yours?" You breathed out, slipping off the clothing in question, letting it fall to the ground below.

"You need to know who you belong to." He stated, pulling his cock out; hard and leaking pre-cum at the tip. Your pussy grew even wetter at the sight. You spread your legs on instinct as he came in closer, putting himself in between them, a hand resting on your hip while the other lined himself up with your eager cunt, the head of his cock teasing your entrance.

"Who do you belong to?" He asked staring into your eyes with his half-lidded, sultry ones swimming with lust and need. "Answer me correctly and I'll be nice and give you what you want."

"You. I belong to you. Dr. Jonathan Cra— oh, fuck!" You gasped out, feeling him thrust into you without warning. He set a quick, almost animalistic pace, wasting no time; not when he needed you so much. Every drag of his thick cock inside of your desperate cunt sent pleasure coursing through you.

"I bet he didn't fuck you as good as this," he groaned, a tight grip on your hips as he slammed into you, the lewd sounds of your shared pleasure filling the small space of his office. It had only been a few days since he had last fucked you, but with the way you were already trembling beneath him it felt like it had been months.

"You're the best I've —Oh!— ever had!" You managed to get out between your moans. It was true, too. Out of every man you'd ever been with, no man had made you feel as good as Jonathan did. "Harder– baby, please!" You begged, gripping the edge of the desk like your life depended on it.

"Look at you, begging like a slut," He growled, pounding into you even harder. "That's okay, darling. You're my little slut. Mine to fuck. Mine to ruin." He let out a loud groan as your pussy clamped down on him at the sound of his words. "Oh? Does that turn you on? The thought of me ruining you? Trust me, you're not going to want a single person other than me after I'm done with you, darling." You pulled him down, dragging him into a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Your tongue moved against his, just like you were made for each other.

"I love you," you whimpered out, feeling him nip at your neck. "Please— I want to be all yours. Only yours." You pleaded, your mind too clouded with the intense pleasure rocking through your body to fully process the potential impact of what you had just confessed.

"You already are." He responded, hips snapping against yours as he lost his rhythm. "I love you, too. I don't care what trouble I'll get into for what we've done. I don't care if I lose my job, as long as you're with me at the end of it all."

That sent you over the edge, along with the tip of his cock grazing your sweet spot. You came around him, your orgasm crashing over you as your legs shook with the force of it all. He spilled into you not long after, thick, warm cum shooting deep inside you and leaking out to drip down your thighs as he let out a long, loud groan of ecstasy.

You slumped back against the desk, feeling the cold wood against your warm, hot skin. Jonathan buried his head into the crook of your neck, pressing soft, chaste kisses to it as you both came down from your orgasmic highs. You stayed like that for a long moment until both of you calmed down, a blissful exhaustion filling you.

"There's a new restaurant that opened up in the town center," he smiled, caressing your cheek. "I hear it has some of the best Chicken Alfredo the city has to offer. Good wine, too."

You chuckled tiredly, not catching on to his offer. "You fucked me silly just so you could tell me about some Italian place?"

"I'm sure it's a better first date than whatever that guy got you," He said, letting out a chuckle of his own. "I'm free later tonight if that's not too short notice."

Your eyes shot open as the realization set in. "Wait— You're asking me out? What if someone from the University sees us, Jonathan? You could get—" He cut you off with a short, sweet kiss.

"Arkham always needs new doctors, darling. There's never a shortage of the need for psychiatrists. I'm tired of grading papers, anyway." He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. "You heard what I said earlier, didn't you? I love you. You belong to me."

You had finally learned who you belonged to, and you couldn't have been happier.

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ivypos-writes · 3 months

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i have often dreamed of those fires

— aemond targaryen

summary: He’s a firestorm. Her skin burns in his hands.

Or, marriage is her first duty. The second comes in the insurmountable task of seducing her own husband.

warnings: 18+, aemond x wife, arranged marriage, soft and insecure aemond, and a horny wife, he’s touch-starved, sexual tension, first times, fingering, p in v, multiple orgasms, smut with a sprinkle of plot, and the plot is just seduction before the smut

word count: 7.5k

notes: giving in to the brainrot while waiting for s2. english is not my first language. all reviews are very appreciated! thank you for reading<3

(also available on ao3.)

MASTERLIST

She spends the first night of her marriage in solitude.

The bedchamber bears no resemblance to the one she owned all her life. The lights are subdued, and a darkness her eyes have yet to get used to rules over every corner. It’s spacious; kept immaculately polished, as befitting a member of the royal family. That’s who she is now, regardless if she feels the part or not.

Prince Aemond—her husband, her husband—left the walls of the room in a hurry, as though scorched by fire. It is a silly thought. He is a dragon prince, and surely doesn’t fear flames.

He seems to fear her, though.

They entered the bedchamber as instructed by tradition, not quite hand in hand, but not too far apart, either. Her ladies rushed after to assist her in undressing; to unpin her hair, letting the waves cascade down her back; to cover her skin with a slip of a dress, more translucent than anything she’d ever worn. She was then left in just the nightgown, with her cheeks tinted pink. Once the ladies deemed her prepared, she was abandoned by all but her husband.

Later came silence.

It must have been the tears that dissuaded him. Once they began to flow, all of Prince Aemond’s attempts to breach the distance between them ceased. She was too shaken to speak; before she could gather her thoughts, he had already left.

Marriage is her duty to the realm. To her family who strived to ensure the best possible match. Marriage is to become her battlefield, and her life, and if the gods are kind—oh, please, let them be kind—it would eventually become a source of joy.

Only she sits alone amidst alien walls and furniture, and there is no trace of contentment she might have once envisioned.

How is she to find happiness, she thinks bitterly, when her husband refused to touch her once?

“Husband,” she greets him, and her voice miraculously doesn’t waver.

He is standing in the entrance to the bedchamber, stiff and pale, with dark shadows marring the underside of his eyes. Pink scar peaks from beneath the leather eyepatch he seems to never part with. His robes are as black as they were every time they have seen one another. He wears darkness like an armour.

Prince Aemond isn’t carved in shapes of impudent rowdiness that she now knows his brother wields to compel attention. There is a quietude in him; a softness coming through the sharp lines of his features. He keeps his face artfully blank; most of the time, it doesn’t betray a single emotion. She does not attempt to look into his eye. She fears that all she’ll find there is repulsion.

“My lady,” he says. Not wife. “I shall escort you to the feasting hall. The Queen wishes for us to break our fast in her company.”

His words lack warmth, though perhaps she should not have expected that from him. Prince Aemond doesn’t seem to possess much fire at all, what with the stone-cold composure he seems to cling to. She wonders if it is only a masterfully crafted mask; if there are any flames deep beneath its layers, flickering and crackling.

She smothers her silent musings. Hurt still lingers inside her.

The Queen may be the only kind face within these walls. Princess Helaena seems to always be lost in her own mind; Prince Aegon is never sober, and on the rare occasions that he is, it seems best to avoid him altogether. She cannot search for a companion in her ladies, or servants, and certainly not in any man.

She is alone.

And her husband doesn’t even want to touch her.

Scarlet shame rises to her chest, and she hopes that it’s not painted all over her cheeks. The Queen will know. She will look at her once, and immediately she’ll realise that she remains untouched.

Perhaps she knows already, and it is the reason for her summons. Perhaps she means to scold her, and berate her, and shame her for all nobles in the Red Keep to see.

Have the servants scanned the linen sheets? She doesn’t recall anyone looking for proof of the newfound union, but surely, they must have.

She swallows her trepidation down and forces her face to remain blank. She cannot decline. It is her duty to obey the Queen’s orders, and this one, she is capable of fulfilling.

When the newlyweds walk down the corridor, it feels like they are miles apart.

Solitude is all she knows.

Her days are filled with nothing of true meaning. She is mostly left to her own devices, be it embroidery or soaking up the sun. She traverses the foreign walls; explores the royal gardens; consumes book after book, hungry for entertainment. Sometimes, she joins Princess Helaena and her children, and they sit beside each other in complete silence.

It is not a bad life. She is luckier than most, she knows, though this fact does little to dissipate her desire for more. She wishes to be alive. She wishes for her smiles to be genuine. To be more than the pretty wife of a prince made of marble.

In truth, she isn’t even that.

Her marriage is not a marriage at all—not in the eyes of the gods—and all the freedom she now has is fleeting. She may lounge about in the courtyard, and eat the best cakes in the entire realm, and read every book to exist, but it’ll take less than a moment for the privileges to be lost.

“My prince.”

She hasn’t called him husband again. They shared all of a dozen words since their wedding night. Prince Aemond is clearly intent on avoiding her company, choosing to spend his time in the training yard or the libraries, and it doesn’t appear that he has even an ounce of desire to change this routine.

He is halfway to the door. Her eyebrow arches.

“Are you leaving?” she asks.

She falls asleep alone and awakes in the same manner, but she never thought that the Prince abandoned the bedchamber completely. Before, she imagined that he slept little.

He didn’t. He simply slept elsewhere.

“I wouldn’t wish to make you uncomfortable with my presence.” He strides over to the door without once meeting her gaze, and his hands clutch a collection of books. “The bed is yours.”

Her voice is harsher than she intends when she spits out, “The bed is meant to be shared.”

The Prince stops in his tracks; she traces the line of his spine when he straightens.

It must be the first time that he looks at her. Not even the vows they exchanged prompted him to meet her gaze. The last rays of sun that crawl through the window turn the purple of his eye a warmer shade.

“Do you—” she begins, and the tip of her tongue wets her lips when they suddenly go dry. Her throat closes up. She pushes herself to continue, “Do you find me repulsive, my prince?”

He must. She has heard many stories of marriage—both good and bad—and none spoke of husbands that refused to touch their wives.

Surely, there must be something wrong with her. Perhaps it is her hair that he dislikes, or her nose, or her lips. Perhaps he imagined her to look completely different, and there is no feature she possesses that pleases him.

Prince Aemond says nothing.

She picks her next words carefully.

“I know that I’m not a wife of your own choosing.” Her hands fidget, and she grabs onto her skirt to keep them occupied. “Neither are you the husband I wanted.”

Warmth. Gentleness. When she was a girl, she pictured a man who would hold her in his arms without shame. She imagined true affection and devotion. It’s been long since ascertained that Prince Aemond is not that husband. That her dreams have always been just dreams.

He doesn’t meet her eyes, and she finds herself vexed by his continued insistence to remain detached. She searches his face for scraps of emotion and finds none. He wields indifference like a sword.

She cannot so easily yield.

Her voice drops; nails sink into the skin of her palms. “You must understand, my prince, that it is me they’ll treat with contempt, should they ever find out.”

And they will. Of course, they will. Her womb will remain empty, and soon they’ll point their fingers at it and pronounce it barren. Humiliation will be hers to swallow; disgrace will fall upon her head like a thorned veil. They will feel pity for the Prince, to be certain, but not for her. Never for her.

The Prince’s hands tighten around the books, but it is the only reaction she receives.

He must not care for her at all. Why should he? She is but a stranger.

But they are now bound to each other. Strangers or not, their lives are intertwined.

She pushes closer to him, and finally, finally he raises his head.

“An untouched wife is no wife at all. It’s a breach of my oaths.”

There is a trace of contemplation on his face. It comes with a crease between his eyebrows, and the slightest twitching of his lips. Prince Aemond lets out a quiet hum, and she must strain her ears to catch its sound before it’s gone.

When their eyes meet, her heart lights up in flames.

“I will not touch you when there’s nothing but fear in your eyes.”

He is gone before she can retaliate.

There is a shift in his demeanour, though it comes hesitantly; with reluctance.

Prince Aemond enters the bedchamber while she’s seated by the vanity. She now recognises the sound of his footsteps—light and unrushed, often reminding her of a predator on a hunt. Her fingers become motionless, weaved into the intricate plaits atop her head. She warily waits for whatever comes next.

They have fallen into a habit of keeping one another at arm’s length. There is a barbed line that divides them, and neither is willing to cross it first.

Fear. This is what he thinks rules inside her heart. He never let her refute—now, she thinks it would have been pointless to even try. There might have been fear that shrouded her expression, but it was never induced by him. She feared the pain, and feared the unknown, but never, never feared the Prince.

He must think himself appalling. Capable of evoking dread. The realisation hits her like a tidal wave. She recalls whispers murmured in shadowed corners, all vicious and biting; wonders how many of them he has heard before. The scar on his face has been there for years. The Prince must have endured constant torment.

Whatever it is that they see—monstrosity, abomination, hideousness—her own eyes perceive nothing of the sort.

Prince Aemond is quite handsome. In truth, he is so striking that her heart jumps out of her chest each time she catches a glimpse of him.

It threatens to jump out now, when she sees him meeting her gaze without the usual aloofness.

He takes a hesitant step forward.

She freezes.

They are never alone. She sees him when they dine, and when he trains, and when he’s lost in another book. She sees him in daylight. In crowds.

Never like this.

There is a silent resolution that she notes in the tight line of his lips. Aemond comes closer, and closer, and doesn’t stop until his heat trickles down her spine.

She holds her breath when his fingers weave in between the strands of her hair.

Prince Aemond’s face betrays nothing. She watches his reflection so intensely that she forgets to blink, and all the while he keeps his expression blank. His fingers are warm. Gentle.

Just hours before, they were holding a sword and aiming it at his opponent.

It certainly feels as if he put a sword to her own throat. She can barely breathe.

His movements are slow and careful. One after another, he unravels the braids, mindful not to tug at her hair. His skilled fingers smooth out the tangles, and every once in a while, they come to her scalp to caress it in a soothing manner.

She traces the curve of his jawline, and the mangled flesh, and the dark eyepatch. He looks rough and feels soft. He is made of contradictions.

When he takes out the last little pin, she breathes out.

It is the first time that he has touched her.

For a fleeting moment, their eyes meet. She wishes to wipe at the mirror, if only to make its image clearer. Has he always been this delicate? Is the glint in his gaze a novelty?

When he clears his throat and averts his eye, his intention to leave becomes explicit. Tension dissipates. This time, she makes no objections.

“Sweet dreams, my prince,” she mutters, and the answer comes in the soft closing of the door.

Her head emerges from beneath the water surface, and she greedily takes air in.

She has wasted her day on blissful procrastination. For the entirety of it, she remained inside the bedchamber, shielded from all eyes and gossip, obstinately rejecting the company of anyone who dared offer it. These people know nothing about her, anyway. Their wish to spend time with her is masterfully feigned.

Sometimes, she misses her home. She misses it so terribly that her lip trembles. She misses being known. Despite the passing time, she has yet to acclimate herself to the new reality. The Red Keep feels as cold as it ever has.

Would she be dismissed, she wonders, if they knew that her marriage was a farce? Would she be ruined, or given a chance to start over?

Perhaps she ought to confess the truth.

Or maybe—just maybe—she should seek out her husband and push him into a wall, and claim his lips until all restraint dies.

Her depraved thoughts seem to summon him.

Aemond enters the bedchamber in his usual manner, and immediately turns back towards the door once he catches sight of her state.

Her breasts peak from the foamy water.

Her skin tints red.

“You don’t have to leave,” she calls out.

The words are quick. Too quick to come across as nonchalant. She bites her tongue, but doesn’t take them back. Perhaps she has reached another level of desperation, and this is the only opportunity she gets to let it run free.

He is more dragon than a man. He cannot keep running from her in fear. She sees the moment that Prince Aemond seems to come to the same conclusion; his hand flexes at his side, once and then again. His shoulders become tense.

She is quick to bite back her smile when he turns around. He wouldn’t have seen it, either way, what with the way he keeps his eye stubbornly downcast.

As if she wasn’t his wife. As if seeing her bare skin was a sin.

Reluctantly, with his head courteously bowed, he moves to take a seat by the table, reaching out for a random book.

Water ripples when she sinks deeper into the bath. If he has no desire to see her, she will not strive to bear herself before him.

The silence is heavy.

“Did you go out for a flight?” she asks, itching to dissipate the suspense.

The Prince hums, as is his habit, and offers a slight nod. “I did. It’d been days since I last rode Vhagar.”

This is a part of him shielded at all times. He keeps it deep in the crevices of his heart—in its darkest, deepest corners. She doesn’t blame him for it. Even without understanding the nature of the fire in his blood, she recognises it as something private. Intimate.

But it is the first time that he spoke the name in her presence, and she cannot hold the reins of her unabashed curiosity.

“When you’re apart,” she begins, “does her absence feel like a missing limb?”

The Prince’s eye turns to her, and though they are far from one another, she is able to catch a glimpse of intrigue.

Briefly, she ponders whether anyone has ever dared ask him unpracticed questions like this. If there was someone who wanted to know him—his innermost beliefs and convictions, and his soul. If anyone attempted to push through the walls he has built around himself.

She supposes that the slightest widening of his eye is an answer in its own right.

Prince Aemond doesn’t immediately reply, and she bites her tongue. “Forgive me, my prince. It is not my right to ask.”

“You’re my wife,” he says simply. It is the first time he acknowledges it. “You have the right to ask anything of me.”

Keeping her bewilderment subdued, she arches an eyebrow when he nods to himself.

“It doesn’t.” Prince Aemond clears his throat, fingers fidgeting against the pages of his book. “It doesn’t feel like a missing limb. Even in her absence, I always sense her.”

It must be the most that he’s ever said to her.

The water has gone lukewarm. Goosebumps rise atop her skin. She could politely request that he take his leave in order to get out of the bath. She could.

She won’t.

“So a part of her lives inside you?”

He turns, and now they are facing one another.

Has the foam dissipated? She doesn’t dare take her eyes off of him, and so she cannot check. If the foam is gone, he can see the outline of her body. Does he see it?

No, she thinks. Surely, he would have already looked away.

“As does a part of me inside her,” he admits. “In more ways than not, we are one being.”

One being. Is this why he refuses to let her come close? Is it because there is no more space in his heart left for her to rest in?

It seems a plausible enough theory. In truth, all theories seem to be true when she’s wallowing in solitude and sorrow and rejection.

“It must be nice,” she murmurs, and this time she is the first to break eye contact, “to be known from the inside. Intimately. In the deepest crevices of your heart.”

Something in him changes. She catches it when she glances at him. The Prince’s hand abandons the book, and when he stands from his seat, she is sure that he’ll leave.

But he doesn’t. She gapes at him when he comes closer to the bath.

“Scoot over,” he instructs.

Her mouth parts, ready to sputter questions, but they all dissolve into nothing when she catches the intensity in his gaze.

She holds her tongue. No words could reflect the depth of her confusion.

Prince Aemond now watches her without past shame.

The scent of fire and smoke permeates the air, and she inhales it sharply. His heat engulfs her back in gentle flames, and she draws her knees to her chest, oddly bashful.

When she does as instructed, he is quick to put his hands on her scalp. A gasp falls from her lips at the touch.

He is washing her hair.

Does he hear her heart pounding? It’s so loud. So very loud.

“It does feel good.” His fingers weave through her hair. “Before her, there was no one who wished to know my heart at all.”

They dine with the Queen, and she engages in conversation with a desperate sort of enthusiasm. The past days have mostly gone in perturbing silence, and she yearns for the opportunity to erase it, even with idle talk. They speak of the gardens, and the ladies-in-waiting, and Princess Helaena’s children that seem to be growing more and more each day.

Aemond holds his tongue beside her, and the quietude in which he wallows no longer takes her aback. More often than not, his silence speaks for itself. All she must do is look into his eye to comprehend the words.

“Children are a woman’s greatest joy,” the Queen rambles on, and there is a softness in her face that takes away all remnants of the usual misery that she wields. “It is only a matter of time before you’ll find it yourself.”

She straightens her spine.

Words die inside her throat. Does she smile and change the subject? Does she confess that she will not find it—she’ll never find it—because her husband has no desire to be a husband at all? All protests and confirmations and pretty promises are insufficient. She thinks it is better not to speak at all.

She nearly jumps out of her seat when something warm engulfs the skin of her palm. It’s Aemond. He has taken her hand into his, and the way he holds her is both gentle and firm.

Do they not fit perfectly? Aemond’s hand is larger than hers; its lines are harsher. She lets their fingers lace together, and when she hesitantly turns her eyes towards him, she finds him already watching her.

He holds her gaze with unmasked expression, as if to say: this is me trying.

She is possessed by a surge of boldness.

The lights of the chamber are dimmed, and she is long prepared for the night. There is a tremble in her hands. She cannot discern if it’s one of trepidation or excitement.

Aemond offers nothing more than his usual greeting when he stalks into the room. It’s neither warm nor cold; as always, it’s not enough. She watches him stride towards the table, and he sinks onto the chair, hands reaching for one of the books.

He doesn’t truly read them. It took her a while, but she now sees right through his habits. Aemond repeats the same exact process every night. He sits with a book, and keeps his eye downcast, and sometimes—just sometimes—his gaze moves towards her when he thinks she isn’t looking.

Each day, he comes back not to read, but to see her.

Each day, she waits for him to act.

There are moments when they touch, and when their touches linger longer than they should. There are moments when he takes her hand into his, or brushes hair away from her face, or grabs her waist as he walks by. There are moments that she allows herself to push closer to the heat that he radiates.

She is tired of surviving on moments alone.

With her breath unsteady, she waits.

Aemond taps his fingers against the surface of the table, and she cannot help but observe the motion. His rings shine in the flickering lights.

“What are you reading?” she asks, keeping the buzzing anticipation on a leash.

His shoulders tense. She never interrupts his lectures.

The floors are cold beneath her bare feet. She keeps her pace slow. The distance between them shrinks, and soon she is standing right behind him.

Aemond’s heavy exhale hits her ears. She wishes she could preserve the sound.

With her shaky hands, she reaches for his shoulders. He is firm and solid; strong and warm. Scorching. When he says nothing—when he doesn’t move away—she lets her hold on him tighten. Just this once, she wants to touch him as though he was hers. Like a wife ought to. The way she never learned how to.

Emboldened by his stillness, she bends closer; their faces are at level. She brushes away the silver strands of hair that shield him from her, and soon she is free to take the sight of him in.

The line of his lips is thin and tight. There is a small, white scar on his temple. His skin catches the slightest hint of pink, and it crawls onto his cheeks in gradual motion. He is right there—right there—and her mouth is dry. She puts her lips to the soft skin of his cheek before she can hesitate again.

Aemond’s breathing turns rugged. She sees the rise and fall of his chest, quicker with every inhale. Her fingertips burn with the want to feel his heartbeat.

When she grabs the book he holds in a vice grip, he turns to her.

Their noses brush.

The air is gone. There’s nothing left of it. Her gaze trails from his eye to his mouth, and they’ve never been this close.

It takes the smallest tilting of her head for their lips to meet.

She is blinded. Flames flood her vision. Her heart bruises her ribs, and Aemond’s fire burns her tongue, and never before did she imagine that a kiss could leave her so ruined.

He is quick to match her pace. His mouth moves against hers with a brutal force; he breathes her in, and she catches the silent groan before it dissolves. She nibbles at his bottom lip, hungry for more, and when their tongues mingle, she no longer remembers her name. He’s sweeter than any cake she’s ever tasted, and she wishes to forever devour him—to never, never stop.

But then his lips are gone. Strong arms seize her hips, and he effortlessly moves her away from him.

She doesn’t understand. Aemond shoots out of the chair, and rushes towards the door, and she watches his shrinking figure—always, always watches him leave.

She senses his gaze on her skin.

An entire day has gone by, and she’s long since stopped expecting Aemond to return. Her heart has turned into stone. She forced it to do so.

And now he’s standing there. Watching.

“Am I not worthy of your affection?”

She regrets the obvious cracking of her voice, though there is little to do about it now. He isn’t deserving of the mask of collectedness that she could attempt to put on. She will not veil her hurt. Because he chose to cause it, he may well see its aftermath.

Aemond doesn’t answer. She knew that he wouldn’t.

“Is it because there’s no fire in my blood that you deem me below you?”

She turns, eager to see his features, and then almost wishes that she hadn’t. There is something broken about him. His face is ashen, marked by shadows of exhaustion. His lip quivers.

“I’m chained to you,” she half-whispers. “The least you could do is not tighten the shackles around my neck.”

“I never wished for it.”

“I never wished for it, either!”

There is a dull ache in her chest. The stranger before her won’t meet her eyes, and she loses her footing again, alone and tired and desperate for a change.

She won’t beg. She’ll never beg.

But she is not yet ready to stop pushing.

“You won’t even let me close.”

Aemond’s face crumbles, and she finds nothing in him but raw, agonising vulnerability.

“It is not easy to learn something so foreign.”

Her fingers find the lacings of his riding leathers.

They have succumbed to a heavy sort of silence. It stretches and grows; haunts their days and nights with equal intensity. She allows this quietude to exist with a trace of vindictiveness inside her bones. If one of them ought to break it, it is him.

As always, he prepares to leave with the first mark of sunset. She bites back all protests rising to her lips. She will not speak. Her words do little more than fall upon deaf ears.

She allows herself this much: crumbs of him, all stolen, when she stands close and brushes her fingers against his clothes. She ignores his scent, and his warmth, and the way her skin itches with the want to press closer.

Aemond’s eye scorches the skin of her cheeks.

He hasn’t moved away. She is glad not to have been forced to choke on scarlet shame—to have him flee her touch again would be the end to all the lingering remnants of hope. Aemond stands still and stiff, and she is half-convinced that he’s holding his breath.

She freezes in her tracks when one of his hands grabs both of hers into a gentle embrace.

The tips of his fingers are calloused. He strokes her skin with his thumb, and she clings onto the last of her composure, unwilling to melt before him.

A single touch. That’s how much it takes to shatter her resolve.

“You’re too good,” he says, and the words are little more than a whisper. “Pure. My hands could only ever ruin you.”

Her eyes find his, and she wishes she could decipher what remains unspoken by looking at him alone. She wants to know his heart and his mind. She wants to know all his thoughts.

Her greedy fingertips trace the lines of his palm. His hand trembles.

“How could something so gentle ruin?”

He has only ever held her with meticulous cautiousness. She knows his touch as tender and attentive. Warm. Doesn’t he see the shivers he evokes? Doesn’t he know that they come from fondness and devotion and the deep affection that she drowns in? He cannot ruin her. His hands are not capable of it.

Aemond doesn’t believe her. His vulnerability shows through the cracks of his usual composure. He tries to enshroud himself in indifference, but she has long since learned his mannerisms. The mask of blankness will not deceive her.

He attempts to tear his hand away, but she tightens her hold.

“Look at me, husband.”

It is a demand. Aemond must recognise it as such, because the lowered eye flickers and gives in.

Because she is a woman of weakness, she lets herself put a hand on his cheek. Her fingers hook under the strap of the eyepatch. She hears him gasp for air, and the sound reverberates in her ears like a prayer.

Her heartbeat is wild and strong, and she whispers, “Don’t you see? There is no fear in my eyes.”

The memory of his gaze induces odd tremors long after he departs.

The mattress dips behind her.

There is an onslaught of heat that spreads over her bare skin, though she has yet to discern what it stems from. The air goes still. Heavy.

It begins with a fingertip tracing the length of her forearm. The touch is featherlike—no more than a gentle stroke that lacks any pressure. So light. So light, barely even there, and yet at once she is consumed by flames.

“Husband,” she breathes into the night.

A rush of hot air hits her ear when he whispers an answering, “Wife.”

Aemond’s fingers traverse the expanse of the skin that isn’t covered by blankets. He moves from the side of her palm, through the nook of her elbow, higher, higher. His hand reaches her shoulders; fingers spread towards the outline of her collarbone, dipping into the crevices and searing a string of goosebumps into her skin. She holds her breath. Her heart pounds against her chest in violent patterns.

He smells of smoke. She wishes to inhale his fragrance until she chokes on it; until it fills her lungs and replaces all oxygen. Aemond presses closer to her, and she holds back a whimper when he moves his hand to her neck.

“I have neglected you,” Aemond murmurs.

“You have.”

“And now I must beg your forgiveness.”

Aemond’s hand closes around her throat, and she holds back a gasp.

Their bodies are pressed together. She exhales in surprise when she finds his forearms as bare as hers. He must have abandoned his shirt before crawling into bed.

Their bed. The bed that is supposed to be shared.

“I rather thought your constant neglect was deliberate practice,” she says, forcing her voice not to crack. “Why would you beg forgiveness for something you feel no remorse about?”

A gasp tears out of her throat when Aemond seizes her arm and flips her onto her back.

Their faces are close; closer than she thought they’d ever come again. In the pale moonlight, his features become soft and veiled. She wishes she could see him in sharp lights; wishes to trace every blemish and mark on his skin. This subdued version of him is not sufficient. She must imprint every part of him in her mind.

When he hums, her own skin vibrates with the sound.

She clamps her legs together.

“Yes,” he muses. “You have voiced your displeasure with astonishing fervour.”

Her lips part when one of his legs sneaks in between hers. He is quick to push her knees apart.

“As was my right,” she replies, and the words come out as breathless.

Aemond’s thigh is solid. She feels the flexing of his muscles against her own skin. Her nightgown rides up from the friction, and soon her calves are left exposed.

“You said you were chained to me.”

“And it was the truth.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Only when you pretend that you’re not chained to me as well.”

Slightly, slowly, she pushes her head up. His breath hits her cheek; her lips come so close to his chin that she could press them against it without straining.

Aemond’s fingers tighten their hold on her neck.

Their eyes meet, and it is fire clashing with fire. The purple gives way to a deranged darkness; Aemond’s face is unmasked. She looks at him and holds her breath. Looks at him until everything in the background blurs. Her trembling fingers reach to cup his jaw, and when they connect with the soft skin, he lets out a quiet gasp.

“I do it for your own sake,” he breathes out. “You know nothing about the depravities living in my mind.”

She trembles when his thumb comes up to caress her lips.

“So good. So pure.” Aemond trails the outline of her mouth, voice dropping with each word. “And yet you’ve instilled a madness in me that I can no longer quench.”

She wants to grab him by the neck and pull him closer. She wants their lips to press together; to meld into one, and turn to ashes from the force of flames. Does he know that she dreams of the shape of his lips? Does he know that her eyes trace it when he’s reading—that she now knows it by heart? His taste haunts her. Sometimes, she puts her warm fingers onto her mouth and imagines that the heat is him. Sometimes, she touches herself and imagines his lips nibbling on a different spot.

Keeping her scorching desire leashed, she remains still.

It is he who must cross the remaining distance. It is he who must light up the flames.

His hand comes up to her face. Her cheek tickles from his fingertips; lashes flutter when he brushes his thumb against them. She opens her mouth—to taunt him, or curse him, or beg. She only knows that she must say something. Anything. She cannot let this fire die. Her head spins and her skin tingles—

And then his mouth is on hers.

It is a hungry kiss. He aims to devour her. She moans into his lips when he bites down; he shifts his weight, and her skin burns underneath his body. Aemond holds her chin; tilts it to his liking, claiming her mouth with greed and lust and depravity. She forgets to breathe. There is no need for air when he’s this close.

Out of fear that he’ll try to move away, she wraps her arms around his broad shoulders. His skin is scalding-hot, and she cherishes the way it burns.

She licks his bottom lip, demanding entrance, and he is quick to oblige. Their teeth clink, and she pulls him closer, and soon their tongues swirl around one another, none willing to yield. He tastes like fire. She wants to swallow him whole.

They break apart when his fingers grab the fabric of her nightgown.

“I want this off,” he says, already hiking it up, impatient to leave her naked.

“Do you?” she teases.

Aemond is not in a mood for her games.

She gasps in surprise when something rips apart, and then she sees two pieces of white cloth hanging from his hands. He has ruined her gown, and seems to be awfully pleased with himself. She should make her displeasure clear—

He traces the outline of her lips with his tongue, and she forgets all about the robe.

“You’re so sweet,” he pants. “My sweet wife.”

His words push her to the brink of madness. Wife. Wife.

His eye trails from her lips to her throat, and lower towards her breasts. He looks at her peaked nipples, red and aching like her mouth.

One of his fingers brush against the pebble, and she stifles a moan.

“Look at you,” Aemond breathes, and his chest rises and falls with increasing intensity. “I barely touched you, and you’re already trembling.”

He must not realise the extent of his influence on her traitorous body.

She opens her mouth to tell him as much, but then his mouth travels down her throat and her breastbone, and soon replaces his fingers. He peppers her sensitive skin with kisses; nibbles at the flesh in the hollow of her bust. She quivers under his attention, hands finding the strands of his hair. When Aemond’s lips wrap around her hard nipple, she cries out.

His hand traverses up her thigh. Wantonly, she spreads her legs so that his hips can fit in the middle. He is quick to push against her—push until there’s barely any space left between them—and when she feels his rock-hard length, she forgets all about swallowing the desperate sounds. Her back arches, and Aemond keeps sucking at her breast, alternating between soft brushes of his lips and harsh bites of his teeth, and she is burning. Flames consume her whole.

She pulsates against him. Her walls clench around nothing—they’re empty, they’re empty, and she must be filled or else she’ll go mad.

“I want you inside,” she demands, nails sinking into his skin, too lost in her desire to veil herself with feigned innocence.

Aemond breathes out a laugh in response, and the warmth mingles with the cold saliva that he’s left on her nipple. She makes a strangled noise.

He raises his head, and there is a sudden sobriety in his expression. She knows its roots. Aemond insists on holding onto self-deprecation, and it is clear that he still doesn’t think himself worthy of touching her.

She will rip this doubt out, even if its thorns draw blood.

Her hands come up to cup his face.

With intensified ardour, she repeats, “I want you inside.”

Slowly, hesitantly, he rids himself of his resolve.

Her breathing turns rugged when Aemond grabs both her thighs, pulling them further apart. It’s dark, but he must see the way she glistens under the moonlight. Her cunt is dripping wet. She restrains herself from rocking her hips forward in search for friction.

“You do want me.”

She does. She does. She needs him, and she must be touched, and if he doesn’t bury himself inside her—

Her body jerks when Aemond’s fingers descend to her clit.

His touch is a firestorm. She shudders when he circles around the nub; all her rational thoughts die in flames. Aemond flicks his thumb back and forth across her clit with a firmness that has her panting. His digit is already slicked with the wetness pooling out of her entrance; his fingers gather the moisture and spread it over her pulsating lips. Her face and chest must be red with want. She wants him so much that it hurts.

A shaky moan tears out of her mouth when the pressure of his touch increases. Aemond speeds up his movements; it burns, it burns. She buckles her hips, and the muscles of his thigh tense, and he is watching her with raw wonder.

Aemond kisses her sloppily. The way their tongues brush against each other is filthy. She takes his bottom lip in between her teeth, and he grunts into her mouth, and his fingers don’t stop moving against her. The friction is euphoric. Before she knows it, it brings her over the edge.

She spasms beneath him, and he doesn’t let their lips part.

It is like reaching the stars. Like drowning. Like water given to someone dying of thirst. She’s suspended in a place without time; without faces that aren’t his. There’s just Aemond. His lips. His fingers.

He doesn’t slow until she cries out from overstimulation, and even then, he strokes her bundle of nerves in a featherlike caress.

“Touch me,” Aemond breathes against her shoulder.

Still reeling from her high, she is quick to oblige.

“Here?” she asks, hands trailing down his spine, and his answer comes in teeth biting her neck.

He’s softer than she ever imagined.

The way Aemond shudders underneath her palms makes it clear that he’s unaccustomed to tender touch. It breaks her heart into pieces to think of the boy he once was—the one so starved for love but unable to accept it, always, always thinking himself undeserving of it. It hurts even more to know that even now—even when they’re chest to chest, bodies bared and mouths connected—he believes himself unworthy.

He’s so soft. Hard. He is made of harsh lines and smooth dips, and her hands greedily traverse the expanse of his exposed flesh, hoping to prove that her desire for him has no bounds. She wants him as he is. She wants every part of him.

Aemond looks into her eyes, and the purples become blurry. “Your touch heals the rot inside me.”

She claims his mouth because she can. Because he is hers.

When he enters her, she is finally whole.

It hurts because it must. He pushes until the barrier inside her relents; he is slow enough to let her adjust to his length. Pain doesn’t take away the overwhelming sensation of being full. Her breath hitches, and Aemond is quick to steal another kiss before the sound dies on her lips. He kisses her once, twice—kisses her for so long that she forgets who she is.

His next thrust renders her dazed.

Aemond’s neck is slick with sweat. Emboldened—crazed—she gathers the dampness on her tongue. There’s a sound of skin hitting skin; he ruts into her with increasing force. She is not herself anymore; no longer recalls who she was before this. Before him. No one, she thinks. Empty, empty no one.

Her vision swims when his fingers find the spot where she aches most. Aemond sears the smallest of circles into her clit; one of his hands remains on her breast, and her eyes roll back from the onslaught of sensations. His cock thrusts inside her at an agonising pace. The stretch burns.

She begins to toe the line between lucidity and delirium, and he is there to carry her through the threshold.

Her fingers tug at his silver hair. Legs wrap around his waist with a crushing force. She holds him close, and he presses against her, and the sinful sounds that fall from their lips are surely loud enough to awaken the entirety of the Red Keep.

She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care. Now that Aemond is inside her, she never wants him to leave.

Aemond’s grunts become desperate. His movements are stripped of control, and she feels him sink his fingers deep into her hips. He holds her like he wants to leave bruises; pulls her closer with each thrust.

“Is this duty?” he whispers into her skin.

“No,” she is quick to answer. “It’s not. It’s not.”

This is something else. Something more. This is wildfire engulfing her heart; flames bursting through her bones. This is her body moulding into his in a perfect shape; lines blurring.

When his teeth sink into her shoulder, she knows that he is close. She rocks her hips against him, meeting each of his thrusts. She’s somewhere high above ground. She is flying.

“Inside me,” she rasps with the last of her breath. “I want your seed inside me.”

“Fuck.”

It sends him over the edge.

Her toes curl. Aemond’s movements turn wild, bordering on violent, and when he shudders and cries out and collapses, he takes her right with him.

There are stars inside her, and all erupt at once. She can do nothing but thrash beneath Aemond’s solid body; hold onto him so she doesn’t fall. She thrums with pleasure and pain and something else—something she cannot name—that has her gasping his name into the darkness. Aemond. Aemond.

He smothers the words with his lips on hers.

She cannot breathe. Air isn’t sufficient for her lungs. Aemond’s hands trail up her body, slow and exhausted, and soon he is cupping her face.

Their foreheads are pressed together.

All she knows is the colour of his eye.

Husband and wife. He holds her close, and their heartbeats match, and they are one.

#aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond smut #hotd #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #house of the dragon #asoiaf

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slut4thebroken · 3 months

Text

Teacher’s Pet

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jonathan Crane x reader

Summary | After months of trying to earn your professor’s praise, he finally gives you an opportunity to prove you deserve it.

Warnings | Smut, dub con, blackmail, coercion, humiliation, anal, bondage, praise, creampie, degradation, inappropriate use of fear toxin.

Words | 6.2 k

Notes | Started this a million years ago. Finally got the motivation to finish it cause of @hllywdwhre ‘s fic that I proofread lol. Also ty to the post that gave me the fear toxin idea 🙏🏻

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

In honor of the one year anniversary since the start of my Cillian hyperfixation <3

Dr. Crane was one of the most strict and unforgiving professors at Gotham University. He graded harshly, didn’t tolerate late or incomplete work, and no one would ever dare be late— if they were, they just wouldn’t show up because an absence was better than his response to tardiness. He didn’t have any favorite students, just some that he tolerated slightly more than the rest. That was what you hated the most.

You’ve always been the favorite student for every single teacher you’ve had, whether they said it out loud or not. After the first couple of weeks, you figured he’d just be harder to crack than the rest. But after almost two months, you were starting to get frustrated. Nothing you did ever earned you any sort of praise. You were always early, always the first to turn in assignments, participated in class, paid attention— you were the perfect student. But he never seemed to recognize that. What made you snap was when he gave you a B on your latest essay.

Lightly knocking on his office door, you tried to control your nerves and push down the nausea— You’ve never had to talk with a teacher about a grade before…

“Come in.” He called out. So you opened the door and hesitantly stepped inside. He glanced at you quickly, then did a double take once he realized it was you. “Close the door.” He said, resuming what he was doing. You took in a quiet, deep breath and closed the door before walking over and sitting on the chair across from his desk.

“I’m assuming this is about your essay?” He asked, not even looking up from his work.

“Yes.. You gave me a B, I was hoping to understand why.” You said tentatively.

“Did you not read my notes?” Of course you did. But it still didn’t make any sense.

“No, I did, but-” He finally looked up at you with a sigh.

“Then you should understand why I gave you that grade.”

“This essay was practically perfect.” You argued, holding up the stapled together pieces of paper, marked up with red ink.

“Clearly not if you got a B.” He raised his brows and you clenched your jaw, trying not to get too upset or emotional.

“Dr. Crane, I’ve aced every single test and assignment, I’d hardly say this is a fair grade.” You frowned.

“Your argument was weak and biased.” Your lips parted in shock at the bluntness of his criticism. “And your previous assignments have no impact on my grading. If you’d like them to though, I’d be more than willing to grade them again to see if I missed anything.”

“It- it wasn’t… I spent weeks on this.”

“And yet… You still weren’t good enough for an A.” He said, making your stomach churn. Especially because he didn’t even say ‘your essay’ he just said ‘you.’ Looking down at the papers in your hands, you scanned them quickly as if it would magically give you the answer. “Review my notes for the next essay. Maybe you’ll do better.”

“What is your problem with me?” You snapped, looking up at him again, watching his brows raise slightly. “Have I done something to offend you?”

“I don’t tolerate entitled students who are used to being the teacher's pet. Whatever previous, unearned success and praise you're used to receiving is of no concern to me. It is not my fault if you came into this class expecting to be treated differently for doing the same thing as every other student.”

“I- I’m not.. entitled. I just like my work and effort to be appreciated and not.. given a B.”

“You want me to tell you that you’re such a good girl, turning in everything on time— as expected— and doing well on your assignments— as expected.” The faux praise, as well as the condescension that laced his voice, made your cheeks heat up instantly.

“No, but,”

“Then I think we’re done here.”

The next day, you almost considered not going to class, but you’ve never had an absence on your record and you’re not about to start now.

“We’re going to deviate from the lesson plan a little and talk about something else today; fear. Specifically, fear of rejection.” Your mouth dropped open at his words and if you had any doubts that this was because of your previous conversation, they quickly disappeared when he made eye contact with you.

“There are a few different causes, can anyone give me an example?” This would’ve been the time where you raised your hand. But that apparently wasn’t necessary because he called on you anyway, making you freeze.

“Um, I— I’m not sure.” You said nervously, sinking back into your chair a little.

“There’s a perfect example right there; anxiety and social comparison. Too anxious and insecure to answer a simple question. Who else can give an example?” You stared at him with wide eyes that quickly started burning with tears. Now you felt even more stupid than you would’ve, had you just answered him and potentially gotten it wrong.

Class dragged on slowly. He talked more about causes, what it looks like, how it affects performance— especially in school— and various treatments.

You couldn’t have been more relieved when he finally dismissed the class. You rushed to pack your things and stood up, quickly making your way to the exit.

When he called your name though, you froze, praying you heard him wrong. “Stay back for a moment.” Your peers gave you sympathetic looks as you turned around and slowly made your way back over to his desk.

“Yes, professor?” You asked, voice strained.

“I hope you found today's lesson helpful.” You gritted your teeth and gave him a dry smile.

“It was… inspiring, Dr. Crane.” You said plainly, trying to control your tone. His expression was only becoming more and more amused.

“I’m glad. Though I didn’t see you taking notes.” That made you falter.

“I- I was,”

“Great. Let me see them.” You looked away from him and shifted your weight awkwardly.

“See them?”

“Did you not understand?” Your face flushed with anger and embarrassment at his patronizing tone.

“I did. I just wasn’t aware that notes were something you needed to see.”

“If a student isn’t paying attention for the entirety of my class then, yes, notes are something I need to see.” You swallowed thickly, trying to come up with a response, and he watched you intently as he waited.

“Look, professor, you’ve made your point, okay? I don’t think you need to continue humiliating me.” You said quietly, not looking at him. He let out a heavy breath through his nose and you watched in your peripheral vision as he took off his glasses, setting them down. He slowly rounded the desk and you couldn’t help it when you instinctively took a step back.

“That’s a shame. I had hoped this lecture would’ve been helpful, but since you clearly weren’t paying attention, maybe I need to try another method.”

“I- I was paying attention…” You muttered, keeping your head down.

“Really? Then why don’t you tell me some of the ways one can overcome a fear of rejection.” He leaned back on his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. The feeling of his eyes on you almost made you shiver and you took a quiet, deep breath before lifting your head to look at him again.

This is an easy enough question. You can probably figure out the answer if you just use critical thinking since he was correct about you not paying attention.

“Um… cognitive behavioral therapy?” You waited and when he didn’t out right humiliate you, you assumed that was a right answer and continued. “Exposure therapy. Self esteem enhancement… Emotion regulation?”

“Anything else?”

“…You said “some.’” You muttered, briefly looking away from him again.

“I did, didn’t I?” His tone made it clear that he didn’t care about what he previously said.

“Um, I- I’m not sure…”

“Feel free to use your notes.”

Fuck.

When you looked up and saw the almost smug expression on his face, you finally snapped. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry that for one day, I couldn’t pay attention after you humiliated me in front of the entire class.” You spat, clenching your jaw as soon as you finished speaking. The longer he stayed silent, the more uncomfortable you became under his gaze, making you look away from him awkwardly.

“Tell me why this shouldn’t affect your grade.” You knew his question was rhetorical, but you still tried to defend yourself.

“Dr. Crane,” You started, but he raised his brows, silently warning you to not talk back.

“I’ll see you later today during my office hours.” He said as he packed up his belongings.

“But,”

“Five pm.” He didn’t let you continue as he walked toward the door. All you could do was stand there and watch him leave.

At 4:30 you paced around your dorm, debating what to do. At 4:35 you decided not to go. At 4:40 you changed your mind. At 4:50 you were pacing outside his office. At 4:55 you finally knocked, feeling like you could throw up at any second. He called out for you to enter, so you hesitantly opened the door and stepped inside.

“Close the door and sit down.” He didn’t even look up from what he was working on. You closed the door quietly, then made your way over to the chair in front of his desk. You tried to sit there patiently, but he wasn’t saying anything. Your leg bounced incessantly as you picked at your cuticles, over thinking more and more with each tortuous second that dragged on.

“Professor?” You finally asked.

“You’re early. I told you to come at five and I need to finish this.” He still didn’t look up from whatever “this” was and you were quickly growing angrier.

Was this some kind of mind fuck? Making you sit here, stewing in nerves that were only getting worse? You weren’t sure how much time had passed because you didn’t want to check your phone and give him another opportunity to chastise you. But after a while, he finally sighed and gathered the papers, setting them in a pile on the side of his desk.

You forced yourself to stop bouncing your leg and place your palms flat on your thighs to keep from fidgeting, trying to exude confidence you were severely lacking.

“I’ll admit, I’ve been struggling to decide what I should do with you.” Immediately your stomach churned, getting even more anxious. “I could have you removed from my class, but that would be a lot of paperwork.”

“Professor,”

“I’m speaking.” He said harshly, making your mouth immediately close. “However, that does mean I’ll have to put up with this for another few months… So the paperwork might be worth the hassle.” You tried not to cry at the thought. You need this class to graduate— getting dropped from it will set you back a semester unless you add another course to your already heavy schedule for next semester. You waited, not sure if he was done talking or not. After another few seconds you decided to try again.

“Please…” You said hesitantly, waiting for him to snap at you again. When he didn’t, you continued. “Please don’t drop me, professor. I need this class to graduate.” He stayed silent, eyes dragging over your body as you did your best not to squirm. He still hasn’t said anything… Is he going to drop you anyway? With tears in your eyes, you tried again, “Please… Please I- I’ll leave you alone— I won’t bother you about grades anymore, I swear, just please don’t drop me.” You all but whimpered, feeling even more pathetic now.

He sighed and took off his glasses, then set them on his desk before leaning back in his chair a little, still studying you.

“I’d still have to put up with you in class as well though.”

“Please! I’ll sit in the back and not talk— I’ll do anything, just please don’t drop me.” You cried.

“Anything?” You stiffened a little at the dark expression that suddenly took over his face. Would you really do anything? You wouldn’t mind fucking him if that’s what he’s implying— despite his off putting personality, you’ve always been attracted to him.

“Y-yes?” You said, unsure.

“That didn’t sound very convincing and I’m not going to force you so I’ll just go through with the drop request,”

“No! I will— I’ll do anything… Please.” He continued studying you, probably trying to gauge if you were telling the truth or not.

“Fine. We’ll call it an internship of sorts. You’ll come with me to Arkham Asylum every Friday and help me in whatever way I may need— no questions asked.”

“I- I don’t know if I’m qualified for that.”

“Good thing it’s not an actual internship then.” He sneered, the patronizing tone making you blush.

“What will you have me do?” You asked quietly.

“It’ll be easier to just show you instead. Give me your essay and after Friday if I’m satisfied with your performance, I’ll change the grade.” Your heart practically skipped a beat— all you have to do is go to Arkham with him for a day and you’ll get an A? You’d be stupid to say no. So you retrieved your essay from your bag and handed it to him. “Good. Six pm, do not be late. I’ll meet you in the main lobby to take you to my office.” He said sternly.

Since you left his office, your heart has been pounding. You weren’t sure what to wear so you just decided on a skirt and blouse that were professional, but still mostly casual. After that, there wasn’t much else you could do. You were too anxious to focus on literally anything so you just sat at home, overthinking. Friday rolled around and you left at five, just in case anything happened, and arrived at 5:25. So you sat in your car, waiting anxiously and watching the clock on the dashboard. You were too scared to even listen to music. At 5:55 you decided to go in, worst case you’d just have to wait five minutes for him, but you figured it’d be better to be early— even after what happened during his office hours.

It was only a minute before six when he showed up. The second he saw you, he gestured for you to follow, so you trailed after him on wobbly legs. When you arrived in his office, he closed the door and told you to sit in the chair across from him as he sat behind the desk.

“I want to make sure that we’re on the same page and I have your consent for anything that happens here.” The way he worded that made you nervous, but you chalked it up to the fact that you were already overcome with anxiety.

“Yes.” You tried to sound sure of yourself, but you were having doubts. What would he make you do? Would it really be worth a better grade?

“Good. Take this.” He picked up a small paper cup from his desk with one pill inside and handed it to you.

“…Why?”

“There are certain aerosol drugs that are administered to patients sometimes. That will keep them from affecting you.” He explained calmly, easing your nerves a bit. So you took it from him and swallowed it, waiting for what was next. “Follow me.” He stood up again, this time holding a briefcase, and you followed him out of his office. He led you down some hallways before stopping outside of a door and unlocking it, gesturing for you to walk in.

There was a small table in the corner and two exam chairs with restraints on them, one of which had stirrups. Other than that the room was bare. The door closed loudly, making you jump and turn around.

“Sit.” He ordered, walking over to the table and setting the briefcase down before walking toward you.

“Why?” You asked skeptically. He just stood patiently and watched you. You suddenly got hit with a wave of dizziness and stumbled to the chair to sit down. The dizziness quickly turned into exhaustion and you could barely keep your eyes open. When you started falling forward, he quickly moved closer to catch you, then leaned you back against the chair.

Your head hurt like hell and you forced your eyes open to find that you were now laying on the other exam chair, thankfully not with your legs in the stirrups, but with the restraints on your wrists. You don’t even remember falling asleep.

“The effects should wear off soon. I apologize for using that, but I figured you wouldn’t willingly let me restrain you and I didn’t feel like fighting you.”

“What… what was that?” You asked through a breath. You could slowly feel yourself getting less and less foggy.

“A drug.” He said, in the most annoyed and patronizing tone you’ve heard from him so far.

“Why?” You whimpered, closing your eyes again because they still felt so heavy.

“If you’re going to ask stupid questions then I’m just going to gag you. I already answered that.” You heard some rustling noises and his footsteps, then a hand was running along your cheek, startling you and making you open your eyes. “You remember our agreement?” You nodded hesitantly. It felt like your heart was about to beat out of your chest with how hard and fast it was pounding. “Be a good little girl and if I’m satisfied, I won’t drop you. I might even change the grade of your essay.” You didn’t need the reminder, but the way he said the first part was making your stomach flutter.

“I have to say,” he removed his hand from your cheek and moved down to place it on your leg, just above your knee, “I prefer the sluttier skirts you wear to class than this.” He teased the hem of your skirt with his fingers, making you tremble. “Next week wear something shorter. And a more flattering top.” You figured by ‘more flattering’ what he really meant was more revealing. All you could do to respond was nod.

“Good. Let’s begin.”

He reached for the zipper of your skirt on your hip, making you stiffen.

“What the hell are you doing?” You asked, beginning to panic again, and he paused with a sigh.

“If you don’t consent, that’s fine… There is still the matter of your seat in my class.” He said coyly. “If you want me to let you go, just say that. I’ll fill out the paperwork first thing Monday morning.”

“No,” You choked out. “No.. please.” You felt like you were on the verge of a panic attack. He shushed you softly, staring at you with a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Relax. If you consent to this, you’ll keep your seat in my class. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” You nodded, looking up at him with teary eyes. “Good girl… Now be quiet and let me do this.” His tone was significantly darker and all you could do was tremble as he unzipped your skirt, then pulled it down your body before discarding it on the floor.

“I’ve been working on a new form of a drug.” You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a strangled whimper when he grabbed your leg and placed it in the stirrup, then used the restraints to keep it in place. “We’re going to try it together.” He grinned wolfishly and did the same to your other leg.

You heard his footsteps as he walked across the room for something, then back over to you, now wearing a latex glove on his right hand, holding a small bottle in the other.

“Remember, you can withdraw consent at any time…” You couldn’t though. Because you would be dropped from his class and set back months.

His hand landed on your thigh, making you jump a little, and he started slowly dragging it up. Once he was close enough, he brushed his thumb over your clothed mound, forcing a quiet sob from you.

“You probably thought this was going to go in a very different direction, didn’t you?” He asked teasingly, making you blush. Truthfully, you didn’t put much thought into your undergarments because you were too busy worrying about your actual clothes and what he was going to make you do. You cried out when he suddenly ripped the lace off your body, feeling the burn of the fabric pulling too hard against your skin. “Ready?” He asked, almost eagerly.

You saw now that the bottle was a clear liquid and when he squirted it onto his fingers, you assumed it was lube. As soon as his finger brushed your asshole, you stiffened.

“Wait!” You rushed out, chest heaving as your heart pounded in your chest. “I- I’ve never…”

“You’ve never done anal?” You almost thought he was going to give you sympathy. “Good.” You couldn’t even get another word out before he was pushing a finger in, making you tense up as you whimpered in discomfort. “Tell me when you start to feel it.”

“Feel what?” You said through a breath, trying to relax around the intrusion. Even though it wasn’t as bad as you were expecting, your heart was pounding even harder and faster in your chest, and your breathing grew ragged. “Dr. Crane,” You whimpered, suddenly a million times more anxious than only a moment ago.

“Already?” He checked his watch, “That was fast. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“Anxious.” You said quickly, letting out a strangled whimper when he forced another finger inside. “M-my heart is pounding and it feels hard to breathe.”

“That’s good… Anything else?”

“My hands are clammy… and it feels like I'm sweating a little.”

“No visual or auditory hallucinations?”

“What?” You choked out, eyes widening. “W-why would I have that??”

“The drug we’re testing is my fear toxin. It’s a hallucinogenic that targets the amygdala and releases stress hormones, causing a fear response in the brain.” He explained, only making you feel worse. “So far I’ve tested it two ways; administered intravenously and in aerosol form.”

“I don’t understand..” You said quietly, trying to calm your breathing a little. He let out an exaggerated sigh and forced a third finger inside you.

“I guess I should really expect you to.” He almost sounded.. disappointed. The realization made the twist in your stomach even worse. “Let me dumb it down for you. In its most potent form, it causes visual and auditory hallucinations of the subject’s worst fear.” If you weren’t currently on the verge of a panic attack with three fingers in your ass, you probably would’ve rolled your eyes at his tone.

“Now I’m testing it via rectal administration. The concentration is about the same, but the effects shouldn’t be as strong. At least, that’s my theory.” His fingers continued fucking you slowly, occassionally spreading apart to open you up more. Despite the amount of anxiety you were currently feeling, you could just barely feel your growing arousal.

“W-why would you want the drug in this form?” You asked, gasping for air between words.

“I’m a doctor. Why wouldn’t I experiment?” He asked rhetorically. You bit your lip and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on the anxiety rather than the arousal, but it was only becoming more difficult. A choked moan escaped you when he suddenly dragged a bare finger through your folds, spreading the evidence of your arousal. “Are you enjoying this?” His voice sounded unnervingly clinical.

In response, you bit down harder on your lip and shook your head, denying it. You could practically feel his eyes on you, studying you closely.

“I knew you’d be perfect for this.” He suddenly said, and you bit back a moan because he almost sounded proud. “You’re just pathetic enough and desperate for my approval to willingly become my little lab rat, and now look at you… Leaking onto my hand as I finger your ass.” He chuckled wryly. A dark blush took over your face and you whined quietly, but the flutter in your stomach was unmistakable. “I bet you want my cock also… Don’t you?”

You let out a choked sob and turned your head, trying uselessly to hide yourself. When he suddenly pulled his fingers out, you whimpered quietly at the sudden loss.

“Look at me.” He demanded, in a tone that left no room for argument. As if you were in a trance, you turned to face him and opened your eyes. “You want to keep your seat in my class?” He removed the glove and tossed it aside, then worked on unbuckling his belt and opening his pants.

“Yes.” You whispered shakily.

“And you’re willing to let me fuck your ass to ensure that happens?” He pulled his already half hard cock out and started stroking slowly as you gaped at it. How was that supposed to fit inside you?

“I- I’ve never..”

“It’s a yes or no question.” He sighed impatiently. “I fuck your ass or you leave and I fill out the form Monday morning.”

“I… I’m scared.” You whimpered, looking nervously between his face and his cock.

“That’s the whole point, darling.” Right. Because he was testing his fear toxin. You blushed furiously at the new pet name. “You have three seconds before I fuck you, then fill out the form anyway.”

Your stomach dropped at the threat and when he raised his brows, you blurted out, “Yes.” Tears were brimming in your eyes and he stepped closer, but didn’t line up yet. He just used his free hand to gently rub your thigh.

“Yes, what?” Your bottom lip began trembling when you realized what he wanted from you. “Say it. Beg your professor for it.”

“I- I want…” You let out a strangled sob and squeezed your eyes shut again, making his hand stop moving on your thigh to grip tightly in a silent warning. “I want you to fuck my ass… Please, Dr. Crane.” You whimpered. You’ve never felt more humiliated, but at the same time… you were only becoming more aroused. Your cunt ached to be filled, and your clit was practically throbbing.

“Good girl.” When you let out a choked moan at the sudden praise, he chuckled quietly. “Open your eyes. I want you to watch.” He demanded, lining up. Only after your eyes fluttered open, did he finally apply some pressure, entering you with little difficulty.

“Fuck- You’re so tight.” He hissed, moving his hand to your other thigh and squeezing almost painfully. Your breath and all of your sounds were caught in your throat as he pushed in deeper, not stopping until his hips were flush with your ass. “Tell me how it feels.” He said breathily, not moving yet.

“Big.” You whimpered, barely able to get the word out.

“Does it hurt?” You shook your head, trying to steady your breathing, but the overwhelming feeling of being stretched as well as the anxiety still weighing heavy on your chest made it feel almost impossible. “You look like you’re on the verge of a panic attack.” He sounded uncharacteristically dulcet.

When he reached for your shirt and unbuttoned it to expose your bra, your breathing picked up even more as your heart started pounding even harder in your chest. He pulled your bra down below your breasts and groped you eagerly, showing little regard for your pleasure with his rough, almost painful touch.

“Your heart’s beating so fast. Is my little lab rat still scared?” He cooed, very obviously mocking you.

“Professor..” You whimpered, staring up at him with glossy eyes as you struggled to cope with all of the overwhelming feelings, both physically and emotionally. He shushed you softly and brought his hands back down to rub your thighs, trying to soothe you.

“I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going to take it.” He said plainly. “You try to resist at all and I’ll keep fucking you until I finish, then you won’t have to bother showing up to class on Monday. Do you understand?”

You nodded reluctantly and he moved his hands to grip the tops of your thighs. He slowly dragged his hips back, then forward again, forcing you to feel every inch of his cock stretching you open. It didn’t… hurt. But it definitely wasn’t the most pleasurable thing you’ve ever experienced.

When he suddenly sped up, you cried out and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on taking deep breaths. He was grunting and moaning quietly with each thrust, clearly enjoying this far more than you, and you couldn’t help but open your eyes again to watch him. His grip tightened on your thighs, making you whimper, and you watched his mouth fall open in a silent moan as he closed his eyes.

“Fuck…” He said breathily, letting out a low groan before opening his eyes again. “I didn’t account for transdermal administration” He almost sounded amused again, but you could barely focus on his words. “The effects are far less than what you’re feeling, I’d assume. It almost feels like adrenaline, rather than fear. Next time we’ll try it intravaginally to see if your reaction is the same or more like mine.”

You almost forgot that this wasn’t a one and done. You have to let your professor do what he wants with you every week for the rest of the semester…

“And I think I’ll try the other forms of delivery on you as well. Not so much for an experiment… I just want to fuck you while you’re hallucinating your greatest fears.” His lips curled up into a small smirk at the thought of that. “I can’t wait to hear you scream and cry for me.” He cooed, but his tone was far from comforting and your anxiety was only getting worse as he continued sharing his future plans for you.

He started bucking into you rapidly and his sounds got louder, clearly getting closer to his release. You could even feel yourself just barely starting to inch toward the edge. Your moans caught his attention and a pleased look took over his face.

“You like this, don’t you?” You let out a choked moan and bit your lip, trying to quiet your sounds. “It’s either that or misattribution of arousal... but that seems less likely.” Even though you knew his guess was correct, you were still going to convince yourself that it was misattribution of arousal instead because that was far less humiliating. When he started rubbing your clit, any chance you had of keeping quiet was gone instantly. His moans got louder too when your body tensed up, tightening around his cock.

“Oh god— Dr. Crane, please.” You sobbed, feeling the arousal steadily taking over the anxiety that had settled in your stomach.

“What do you want?” Now that he asked, you realized that you don’t even know what you want. You wanted the overwhelming anxiety and stretch to stop… but the thought of him pulling out and ending this almost brought tears of desperation to your eyes. His fingers sped up on your clit and your back arched off of the exam chair as an involuntary mewl escaped you.

“Please let me come.” You whimpered pathetically and he let out a quiet chuckle in response to your brazenness.

“How curious…” He murmured, gaze dragging all over your body. “I’ll admit, I figured some part of you would enjoy getting to please me, but I never imagined it’d be to this extent.” He said amusedly and your blush darkened in response. “You want to come?”

You were nodding eagerly before he could even finish. “Please.”

“How about this— I'll raise the grade on your essay… or I’ll let you come.” You could see the barest hint of a smirk on his lips and you let out a frustrated sob, squeezing your eyes shut. “Well?”

“Dr. Crane…” You whimpered, bottom lip trembling as you tried not to cry. When you opened your eyes and stared up at him through the tears, his smirk widened. “Please..”

“Should I choose for you?”

“No…” You sobbed, looking away from him and biting your lip. The whole point of this was so he’d change the grade… You can’t give in to the pleasure now that you’re so close to finally getting what you came here for. “I- I want you to change my grade.” Your voice was barely a whisper. As soon as he got your answer, he removed his hand from your clit to grab the top of your thigh again, bucking into you rapidly as he chased his orgasm.

“We’re going to have a lot of fun together, my little lab rat.” He was clearly satisfied with your choice and while part of you was almost crying from frustration… another part couldn’t help but revel in the fact that you pleased him, even if it was at the expense of your own pleasure.

His hips snapped into you rapidly, the force of it almost pushing you up the exam chair, but the restraints on your legs kept you mostly in place. As he focused on his impending orgasm, you were practically mesmerized. He looked so… pretty. The pleasure in his expression was obvious and there was a faint blush on his cheeks. His normally pale blue eyes were darker as he took you in, studying every tiny reaction to his ministrations.

When he suddenly pushed forward all the way and stayed there, you let out a whine of displeasure, knowing whatever pleasure you might’ve been feeling before was about to disappear. But the choked moan he let out as he closed his eyes made you almost forget all about it. His hips bucked forward sporadically as his cock twitched inside you with each rope of come that shot out, filling you up.

Finally his sounds quieted into heavy breathing and his body went still. You waited anxiously for what was next, not sure what to expect. Opening his eyes again, he watched as he slowly dragged his hips back until his cock slipped free, forcing out a quiet hiss from him and a whimper from you at the sensitivity.

“Push it out.” His voice was raspy and still thick with arousal. When you pushed his come out, he let out a low groan as he watched, bending down a little to get a closer look. “Good girl.” He cooed, making you whine as the words went straight to your cunt that was still aching with need.

“You can remain here until the effects wear off. I want to see how long that takes.” He said, almost clinically, while checking his watch. Your eyes stayed on him as he tucked his cock back in his pants before collecting the lube and discarded glove.

“Are you going to let me go?” Your voice was quiet and timid as submission still heavily clouded your mind. He looked over at you again, almost surprised by your voice. He glanced at the restraints before dragging his gaze all over your body for a moment. Finally, he smirked a little and went back to what he was doing.

“Soon.” You sighed in response and stayed quiet. As you breathed deeply, trying to ignore the arousal still lingering in your stomach, you noticed that the anxious feeling was starting to subside a little. Your heart was still beating rapidly, but now it was hard to tell if it was from fear, adrenaline, or your own unsatisfied arousal.

“I think it’s wearing off.” You told him and he checked his watch again.

“What are you feeling?” He finally walked back over to you and stared at your face with an almost impressive level of professionalism, given the circumstances.

“My heart is still pounding, but my breathing is better. And I don’t feel very nauseous either.”

“Next week I want to test this again so I have a control group to compare these results to. It’ll be the same thing, but I won’t finger you for as long and I won’t fuck you until after it wears off.” He reached out and gently grabbed your chin, angling your face up to look at him as he stepped closer. “Of course… that’s assuming you still want to keep your spot in my class…” He trailed off, making the statement sound like a question instead.

“I do.” You said quickly. Especially after this… you were desperate to stay enrolled in his class, but you were also— as much as you didn’t want to admit it— desperate for more after he gave you this small taste.

“Good girl.” Your cheeks heated up instantly and he patted one with his hand before stepping back again. “Keep being my little lab rat and I have no doubt you’ll pass my class… maybe even with the grade you think you deserve.”

#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane x reader smut #cillian murphy

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thejoyofviolentmovement · 6 months

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New Audio: JOVM Mainstay Rhythm Scholar Shares Woozy and Club Friendly Remix of Tears for Fears' "Change"

New Audio: JOVM Mainstay Rhythm Scholar Shares Woozy and Club Friendly Remix of Tears for Fears' "Change" @RhythmScholar @tearsforfears

Throughout the course of this site’s close to 14 year history, I’ve managed to spill copious amounts of virtual ink covering the ridiculously prolific, New York-based producer, DJ, remixer and JOVM mainstay Rhythm Scholar. And during that same period, the New York-based JOVM mainstay has built a profile both nationally and internationally for crafting slickly produced, crowd-pleasing mashups and…

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#Change (Rhythm Scholar Remix)#EDM #electro pop #indie electro pop #New Audio #New Single #New Wave #remix #Single Review #Single Review: Change (Rhythm Scholar Remix)#Single Review: Tears for Fears Change (Rhythm Scholar Remix)#Tears for Faers #Tears for Fears Change (Rhythm Scholar Remix)#Youtube

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csuitebitches · 2 years

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On Becoming Well Read

Why is it important to be well read or well informed?

We tend to gravitate towards people who we find interesting. A fear that most of us have is that we’re not interesting enough.

“What if I don’t make any friends because they think I’m boring?”

“What if I don’t know what to say at that date and he ghosts me?”

“I have no idea what this person is talking about, but I’ll pretend like I do.”

“God, I wish I had done some more research before coming here. I feel so dumb.”

In order to combat such feelings, we need to actually address them and work on them.

It’s not that you’re boring or plain. It’s just that you may not have expanded your horizon enough.

Here are some things that I do:

1. Read 3 academic articles a month (this month I’m reading on parenting, globalisation and urban riots). Annual review is a great resource. The articles I’m reading aren’t more than 30 pages long.

2. Read the news every single day. I have 13 different news apps that I use. You don’t need to use so many (I just like being informed in what’s happening in my country, the world, and certain specific nations). Start by reading just the headlines everyday.

3. My brain likes reading about fashion, lifestyle, exotic travel as well. I refer to CNA Luxury’s website for that.

4. If you don’t like reading, watch videos instead. YouTube is a vast resource. Look for TED videos, Cold fusion, Slidebean, Circle of Life, History Matters, Ted Ed, Absolute History.

Here are some topics I think are interesting / you can research on:

* your country’s history

* Basic international history and some of the most notable/ infamous events

* Classic literature

* Architecture basics

* Interior aesthetics

* Famous people and families in your country

* Prominent CEOs, politicians and personalities

* Start ups and industries that are becoming popular

* Small talk

* Jewellery - stones, metal types, settings

* Massages - best pressure points

* Real estate - structure deals, buying and selling homes

* Economics - rates and what they mean

* Philosophy basics and notable figures

* Alcohol basics - how is French wine different from Italian, why is champagne called champagne, what is the most popular drink in every country?

* Lesser known communities and tribes

Based on how well this article is being received, I'm thinking of creating a free newsletter, with content like this. Sign up here! Launch on 8th January, 2033.

#c suite #powerful woman #ceo aesthetic #personal growth #that girl #productivity #strong women #getting your life together #feminine energy #balance

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romanoffsbish · 8 months

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So Kiss Me

Natasha Romanoff x R

Natasha was a perfectionist, something that normally benefited her, but when it comes to dating she is a bit lost. In her time as a spy and single woman she’d shared her fair share of kisses, but with you she’d yet to find the perfect moment… | WC: 1,521

"Pull over!" Natasha looked at you incredulously, it was pouring down rain and you were on a highway, driving away from her failed attempt at a picnic date.

Just before she denied you she let her gaze linger on your face, you looked so enthralled by the storm; wordlessly she pulled off onto the side of the road, her red emergency lights flashing in the dead of night.

——

If you were anyone else she'd have kept on driving, but you weren't. You were Y/N, the beautiful person who turned her world upside down just by existing. Gravity was lost on her planet though, so the vibe was wavy. All Natasha wanted was to make you happy so she stood beneath the dim light of the moon observing you. Not caring if it was cold and wet, because you were smiling.

After she helped you climb over a white fence and into a field you released her hand and began to twirl around the wet, open grassy area in a fit of infectious giggles.

You were perfect. This entire moment was, honestly.

Natasha wanted to dance with you, but she was lost in her depraved thoughts, of your lips pressing into hers.

It was too soon, right? Two months and four dates, alongside many a lazy night in at the compound, and she had yet to make the daring move. Was she scared?

No, she told herself she was just being cautious. If you move too fast then things are more likely to crumble to the ground and that was the last thing she wanted. In this moment though, where you are genuinely joyful she questions what even constitutes the perfect timing.

Natasha dreamed it could've been today, you'd have just finished eating: a pb and j for herself and a bit of snacking for yourself, a strawberry here, some cheese and cracker there, a brownie made by Wanda, always.

The thought made Natasha smile, she could only imagine the mess you'd leave behind on your face in your rush to gobble the treat down. Her heart would skip and she'd scoot closer to you with the excuse of needing to wipe your face clean. She'd tease the idea of trying a brownie herself, then she'd lean even closer.

You'd look at her lips, a jolt of electrified energy would surround you as your eyes met again. The desperation muddled into your sweet y/e/c eyes would compliment her desire. Natasha would gulp down her fear, masking it with a channeled confidence and kiss you firmly.

Soft and slow as her tongue swiped your lips, in a perfect world she would have you in her lap. It would be a gradual shift, and just as your thighs touched hers she'd squeeze your hips and slide her tongue into you.

Tasting the brownie, catching hints of a dark caramel, not caring for the way that it covers your natural taste. Yet she would be compelled to stay where she was, unable to separate herself from your affection until she felt your body tremble from the oxygen deprivation. As she'd pull away she'd hotly whisper, delicious—the brownies review; commentary laced with innuendo.

Natasha would observe you fondly, the moment you stop feeling a need to gulp down air you'll meet her gaze and your lips will tiredly upturn. The redhead would grin just the same as she lifted water to your lips. The both of you'd sip some down, silently regarding one another before the inevitable embrace.

You'd likely still have been there now, laid out on the blanket beneath her with your tongues entwined. A beautiful encapsulation of your heart's connection.

It would've been perfect...

Natasha caught you staring up at her, heart racing in her chest and she smiled, realizing it still could be.

"Fuck it," the redhead whispered under her breath. In two long strides she was stood right before you, leaving enough space for you to move away, but you moved right into her open arms with a radiant smile. The rain had soaked through the both of your clothes but you were warm and so content in her offered embrace.

Wonder; the look in your eyes, bright and refreshing as you stared up at your lover. Natasha's eyes were a bit murky, a silly fight going on in her stubborn mind.

"You're so pretty Natty," you giggled, a finger raised up to boop her flushed nose, "my beautiful Natasha."

The storm in her mind faded instantaneously.

Natasha was uncharacteristically nervous, even though it was near pitch black you could still see her face flushing under the bright stars. The redness on her nose from the cold trailed a bright stripe across her cheeks and you'd never seen her look more beautiful.

You sighed gently, "What's on your mind honey?" Natasha leaned more into your touch as your thumbs mindlessly stroked over her cheeks, comforting her. A stuttered breath left her lips, "C-can I kiss you detka?"

You grinned, heart racing incredibly fast as you pulled her face close enough that she could feel as you nod. A nudge to your nose and then her lips were on yours. It was like the atmosphere had thinned around you but it didn't matter, your urge to breathe was nonexistent.

If Natasha was a succubus you'd willingly submit, it was never a question you had but now it was answered. The taste of her blood should've alarmed you, but all it did was make you press your soft lips further into hers.

It was like you were trying to love her back together, kiss her until all her broken pieces fit as one again. A warmth spread through her chest and radiated off the brief smile you felt against your lips. Strong arms then wrapped around your waist until her hands could grip your hips and lift you off the ground. A continuation of the expression of her unbridled joy as she spun you.

Your legs dangled and clacked together momentarily until you followed your reflex to wrap them around her, pulling her front flush to yours; it felt natural, to finally be this close to your true love, bodies entwined.

There was no place else either of you'd like to be, even if the field was another's territory it felt like you two belonged here. At least for the time being as your relationship reached new heights; a melodic moan left you as her tongue sensually swirled around yours, her grip on your hips tightened and you both realized just how heated the moment was with your back to a tree.

Natasha's arms loosened, resting on the sides of your body now as she lowered your feet to the ground. Your head tipped back, hanging off to the side of the tree trunk, your eyes full of happiness gazed up at her.

A playful sigh left you when you saw her eyes dart to your glimmering lips. "Took you long enough, Natty."

Natasha gasped in offense, "What ever do you mean?"

"Don't get me wrong," you coo'd, hands going back up to cup her cold, wet cheeks, "This was perfect, but I just had anticipated it would happen far sooner."

"Oh," she squeaked, almost embarrassed but she steeled herself. "Mind telling me when sweetheart?"

Natasha chuckled when you shivered, a mental note made to remember how easily you react to her teasing.

"I was ready after our first date," you admitted with a dreamy sigh to follow, "It was a perfect night to me."

The redhead nods, remembering the moment too.

It was the most awkward night of her life but you only seemed to find her timid exploration of the situation endearing. When she grabbed onto your hand while in line for the massive rollercoaster you gently smiled, refusing to acknowledge the sweat coating her palms.

You wished she'd kissed you then. When she tried the cotton candy for the first time you wanted to kiss her. Seeing the glint of childish amusement in her eyes as the sugar melted on her tongue made you sentimental.

At the top of the ferris wheel, when she risked putting her arm around your shoulders you'd expected it then. Yet still, she missed the opportunity to lean in, just like she did that night when she left you at your own room.

"I thought you maybe weren't feeling me," you admitted with a regretful tone, "but then you asked me for a second date; I realized you were taking it slow."

"Wow," Natasha acknowledged, "I am an idiot."

You giggled, "It's okay Natty, truly, I appreciate the consideration you gave to our relationship so much."

"I just want this to work Y/N," she pleaded, "I need us to be endgame. Nobody else could make me happy."

"You wanna be my endgame?" Natasha nodded, and held your tilted face in her hand, then she instinctively leaned in for a kiss, stopping only briefly to whisper, "More than anything," against your parted lips.

"I want that too, Natasha." The moment was perfect.

Every single minute spent with you always was....

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