#and she was willing to live the rest of her life making up for what she had done I could give her some leeway

[asha-mage]

I think the philosophical difference between Wheel of Time and Game of Thrones's class politics is best shown in how they depict their servant characters.

Take Lini and Lars as really good examples: they are a nurse and cook respectively, and lack any sort of structural power or protection at all, something they both are very aware of. But despite their relatively low place in society they are still principled, intelligent, women who the narrative treats with a lot of respect. Lars's acts of mercy and courage come up repeatedly- from refusing to be part of what she sees as unjust punishments of novices in The Dragon Reborn, to smuggling Siuan, Leane and Min to safety in The Shadow Rising, to being ready to break Egwene free of her imprisonment herself in Knife of Dreams. Keyly, Lars does all this not out of any loyalty to other more powerful characters, but entirely because of her own sense of right and wrong. She has no concern for the shifts in Tower politics because that is completely out of her control and she knows it. Rather she makes choices based entirely on what she thinks is right, refusing to be complicit in something she thinks is wrong and taking huge risks to do what she can for others whenever the opportunity presents itself.

In the same vein Lini, while personally loyal to Morgase and her family, is one of the few people in Morgase's life who is willing to treat her as a human being first and a Queen second: speaking her mind even when she knows it will upset Morgase, giving honest advice and wisdom, and generally refusing to acknowledge the huge power gap in their relationship- and Morgase not only allows this but clearly values it, even when it makes her angry, because with Lini she doesn't have to have any pretense, and she can trust the sincerity of Lini's words in a way she can't with courtiers and other rulers. When Lini helps Morgase escape the palace in The Fires of Heaven, she isn't doing it out of fealty to her Queen the way the rest of the team is. She is doing it because she cares for Morgase as a individual, and as a girl she helped raise to adulthood. As they continue on the run, the nuance and complexities of their relationship are explored more heavily- particularly after Morgase abdicates, and Lini's loyalty endures, because it was never about Morgase's throne or her power, but her as a person.

Contrast that with the way Games of Thrones depicts it's servants. The only ones who receive any real depth of character exploration are a few of the House Stark servants, and even then they exist largely as extensions of their masters. Old Nan and Hodor lack agency of their own, and they are not treated as having value by the narrative as independent characters, or having interior lives, motivations, or relationships to complexly explore. Even if we stretch the definition of servant to include a clerical tutor like Septa Mordane and the (presumably) commoner born Knight Rodrik Cassel this picture doesn't improve- because the primary role of both is to suffer and be harmed as a way to hurt other, more important characters.

And this is something you can walk out to pretty much the entire way the two worlds are built. Every time Jordan shows off a new place from Fal Dara to the Waste he remembers to answer the question 'who is cleaning the chamber pots and cooking the meals the sweeping the streets'- and some of his most interesting world building details from the Aiel gai'shain, to the structure of Borderlander's households via the shambayan and shatayan are born of his answers. More over he remembers that those people have humanity: their own wants, needs, and beliefs that are important to them even if they aren't important players in the scope of the narrative. Even if our heroes are stopping at a random inn for a single night, Jodan doesn't forget to show that inn is staffed with people who are going about their own lives entirely independently of the main characters who just wandered in.

By contrast the commoners in Westeros are largely invisible except when they are being impacted by the actions of the noble characters. The idea of the 'small folk' is presented as this nebulous concept, a vaguely homogeneous monolith that in theory is supposed to matter to the nobles but in practice doesn't really- which would an interesting class commentary if the narrative didn't also treat them that way- as if their only real value is being the foundation on which these power struggles are being fought. We're not encouraged to empathize with the cook, or the street sweeper, or the maid gathering laundry because we're not directed to notice them unless they are being a problem, which is exactly how all the nobles in Game of Thrones behave. There's also no nuance or complexity to the relationships between servants and their masters- it is only an expectation of simple obedience, and no energy is ever expended on the relationships between servants at all.

Wheel of Time from the beginning takes the position that everyone maters- maybe not to the fates of nations and the path of destiny, but to themselves and to the story that is being told. Game of Thrones takes the position that only nobles matter and everyone else matters only in relation to them- which for a story ultimately about an aristocratic civil war is fine, but it limits the depth of the world and the ability to say anything meaningful about class or society.

[ogorodami]

Finally read F&B in full, some thoughts:

Oh, they ruined the Greens that bad, huh.

Weird, still haven't found that part where George was like "noooo dark fantasy royal women nooo stop that you can't do that dark fantasy royal women, you're girls and all girls should be friends and never fight like dem boys do all the time" I looked everywhere, guys

I really enjoyed Rhaenyra and Alicent as characters. I mean, was I supposed to not enjoy the cutthroat rivalry between two powerful, rich, entitled women who would burn the whole world down for their families and have the absolute audacity to salivate at the thought of destroying their enemies?

It's so funny how the show seems to completely trust Mushroom's pornbrain account of events, except when it comes to Nettles (who doesn't even exist in the show) or absolute lowlife scumbags like Hue and Ulf.

Nettles has got to be the showrunners' sleep paralysis demon: bonds with a dragon without any "superior blood" (gasp, the horror), cucks their one true qween (which is solely on Nyra's creepy ass hubby), exposes her racism by just existing, lives free while their fave ends up in dragon dung. Yeah, traumatized Dany stans wouldn't have survived that. I'm willing to bet that Nettles' removal from the story was the first order of business, they were never going to bring her in.

The way it's implied that Daemon's feelings for Nettles are some true love shit because she's not as young as the girls he's used to molesting (she’s 16).

Book Daemon's whole personality not being some edgy fanfic male lead manchild took me by surprise, not gonna lie. Turns out, he had genuine connection to people in his life besides precious Rhae Rhae. You know, like people usually do outside of Condalland. In fact, I wouldn't even consider Rhaenyra "the love of his life", that's either Laena or Nettles.

I will never take show Mysaria seriously after reading the book. I mean, she’s boring and pretentious, so I pretty much forget about her existence half the time, but wow, they really made westeros diddy a fighter for women and children’s rights. That’s embarrassing.

Book Aegon loved Aemond a lot more than his brother loved him. Doesn't change the fact that Aemond's betrayal in the show makes zero sense, and you know what book Aemond doesn't do? That.

Man, Aegon's post-munch arc is dark. as. fuck. Him watching Sunfyre die, his solitude, the unfathomable pain, his quiet return to the capital. The motherfucking burning of the Shepherd and his followers. Oh my god, what if something happens? What if Ryan and Sara just leave hotd for any reason? What if TGC will be allowed to devour all these scenes? What then, what would we even do with our lives?

jk the smallfolk will storm the Dragon Pit inhabited by actual man-eating dragons because of misogyny or something. And not because they were starving, isolated, and terrified out of their minds under Rhaenyra's rule. Then it will never be mentioned again and the show won't even attempt to tackle other characters after her death. Alicent will probably poison Aegon on Dragonstone and steal the rest of his arc.

I was so ready for the Mad King Aegon II Targaryen, I was not prepared for the "pay me money for your betrayal, oh and that toddler usurper will be raised in my castle" Aegon II Targaryen. C'mon man, you could've at least killed Mushroom.

People arguing over which queen is more feminist while completely sleeping on Gaemon's mom and her gf, rip legends

Aegon being granted a dignified death despite all the humiliation he has suffered

Cregan Stark ratio'ing everybody and being the only adult in the room (literally)

It would've made a lot more sense for either Alicent or Aegon (preferably Alicent) to be the main protagonist of the show. And I don't mean Condal's idea of a protagonist, just the central POV. Make Rhaenyra a wet-eyed victim, whatever, but don't butcher such a grand story down to her tiny ass arc. She spends at least a full third of it in mourning for her children and that's exactly what CondalHess chose to focus on for the better part of s2. In a show that's supposed to be the prequel to Game of Thrones. You know? THE Game of Thrones? Well, sucks to suck.

muppet tallys

[prisonhannibal]

!! DONT SKIP !! donations urgently needed They are only at €5,561 out of €50,000 goal

I was contacted by Nader to draw pictures for and help spread his brother Abdulsalam Al-Anqar’s fundraiser to save their family. Nader is a 17 year old boy who lives in Gaza with his family: parents Ahmed (54) and mother Iman (49), brothers Abdulsalam (26), Mohammed (14), and Omar (21) and Abdulsalam’s wife and their one year old daughter Iman. Imagine it was your sibling, your friend, your son, who should be in school or with his friends, who instead has to hide from bombs and ask for help online to save his family. His family have suffered through one year of genocide. All of you are their hope to get to safety.

This fundraiser is vetted by @gazavetters, number four on the spreadsheet here

Abdulsalams daughter Iman is only one year old and has lived most her life in a war zone. She is suffering from malnutrition. It’s every fathers worst nightmare to see their child starve and not be able to feed her. Please help him feed his daughter and get her to safety. No child should grow up hearing the sound of bombs. Every child has the right to food and safety. You can help give Iman the childhood she should have, where she can sleep in a safe bed at night with a full stomach.

Their father Ahmed has cancer and needs surgery and medication. It is not possible to get the treatment he needs in Gaza. every day his illness is left untreated, the cancer will continue to spread through his body, so he very urgently needs money for treatment and travel. If you help them get to their goal, you are saving their fathers life. Don’t let this family who have already lost so much lose their father, husband, and grandfather

Nader has showed me pictures of this explosion close to them, thankfully they were able to get away. Every day they stay in Gaza their lives are at risk from israeli bombs. Every day and hour counts. I know there are compassionate and kind people who are willing to help. every euro helps, YOUR donation will bring them one moment closer to safety. With love and hope I’m asking you to give what you can, I believe in the kind people of the world and I beg you to not let them die. If you can’t donate, please share so it may reach people who can.

Never forget that palestinians are not numbers on a list of deaths. Please think of each of them, think of their names and faces and know that you can help them. I think of them every day. I think of the hopes and dreams they should achieve, I think of their education, their future, and the love they show when they work hard every day to get help. You may feel powerless to stop this genocide, but you have the power to save Abdulsalam and his family. I dream that the day will come soon where they may use their days to rest and recover from what they’ve been through, where they can share a meal and laugh and the children will play, instead of having to use their time to beg the world to listen and help them. We can make this possible.

50 000 euros is a lot of money for one person to give, but for all of us together, it can be done. Please don’t look away.

(drawing above by @neechees)

Thank you for reading their story. Please don’t keep scrolling without sharing

here is the link again to their fundraiser

tagging for reach:

@90-ghost @heritageposts @gazavetters @neechees @butchniqabi @fluoresensitive @khanger @autisticmudkip @beserkerjewel @furiousfinnstan @xinakwans @batekush @appsa @nerdyqueerr @butchsunsetshimmer @biconicfinn @stopmotionguy @willgrahamscock @strangeauthor @bryoria @shesnake @legallybrunettedotcom @lautakwah @sovietunion @evillesbianvillain @antibioware @akajustmerry @dizzymoods @ree-duh @neptunerings @explosionshark @dlxxv-vetted-donations @vague-humanoid @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @sar-soor @northgazaupdates2 @feluka @dirhwangdaseul @jdon @ibtisams @sawasawako @memingursa @schoolhater @toesuckingoctober @waskuyecaozu

[yieldtotemptation]

NOVEMBER ft. Somi

somi x male reader smut

9k words

"It's this challenge I'm doing. One whole month—thirty days—without having an orgasm," you're explaining, failing spectacularly at keeping things professional. Something possesses you to add: "No nutting. Hence the name."

Somi just stares at you. Flabbergasted.

Leans forward, elbows on her knees, chin in her palms; tearing your entire existence apart with her eyes.

"Can I just say, and I genuinely mean this in the nicest way possible—but that’s the stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard."

—

Here's the conclusion you've arrived at from the one hour you've spent with her: Jeon Somi is some kind of demon.

It’s not a joke, it’s not some painterly metaphor you’re drawing—Somi has clawed her way out from the depths with nothing but a ponytail and an alarmingly tight pair of leggings; arriving on Earth, in the flesh, to make your life a living, breathing, sweat-drenched hell.

So, yeah.

Somi, the succubus. Or something close to that.

It's the only explanation for it really.

See, you're a photographer. Of women, specifically.

Beautiful women in intimate settings, sparse aesthetics. That’s your whole deal. Just homing in on the subject, capturing something ‘real�� without any distractions. Get the essence of who they are when there’s no one looking.

Pretentious, sure, but it’s what’s kept you in demand with the glossy magazines and the avant-garde galleries and the starlets desperate to convince the public that they’re more than just the pretty robots their agencies have programmed them to be.

So, suffice to say, you've met all the types.

The innocent idols that need a mountain of coaxing to come out of their shells. The stone-cold divas that barely acknowledge your existence, yet somehow still expect you to anticipate their every demand. And the flirts, willing to do just about anything for the camera with a wink and a nudge, if it means getting an edge on the rest of the industry.

But Somi? She just is.

Pure temptation incarnate, from head to toe, without even trying. Thighs that threaten to strangle your self-control, a waist that makes sinners out of saints, tits that would have physicists reconsidering the very nature of gravity, all topped by a dangerous smile that could melt a fucking igloo with its sheer wattage.

Somi’s hot.

She knows it, the world knows it, the public crucifies her for it. And she just takes it all, all of it. Melts it all together and forges it into armour.

And now she’s here, in your private space. None of the usual entourage of make-up artists, managers, whatever. Just herself and an absurdly sweet frappé. Looking so comfortable that it’s making you feel like you’re intruding.

She’s leaning on your table, ass flush against the wood, arms crossed, and her eyes—those fathomless dark pools—land on yours, holding them hostage.

Barely has to make any effort when she laces her words together, piles on an unhealthy dose of insinuation, cocks an eyebrow and asks—“So, how do you want me?”

Naked, preferably. On all fours, ass to the sky. Or maybe on her knees, mouth hanging open, tongue out, elbows squeezed together to make her tits sing.

Yeah, you're already composing the perfect shot in your head.

Fuck.

You rub your eyes. Maybe thirty days of self-imposed abstinence has finally broken you, and this is all some kind of feverish hallucination driven by your libido.

But no, Somi is still there, lounging in your studio, all curves and challenge. Just being insanely hot.

You cough, clear your throat. Put on the mask of someone far more professional.

“Anywhere you’d like,” you’re answering, keeping your expression decidedly blank. This isn’t the first time you’ve been the only outlet for a young sexpot desperate to let off some steam. You have the experience. But again—fuck. Thirty days is far too long. Somi is far too much. “Just keep it natural. Like I’m not even here.”

Somi just laughs, sweet and sinful, her whole thing. Pushes off the table with a grace that seems almost supernatural (again, see the demon theory), before adding a thought, like it just sprung up in her pretty head— “Easier said than done.”

Distractions aside, all things considered, she’s the perfect subject.

Gets what you’re going for immediately, makes herself at home amongst your studio's chaos. Glides around the room, runs her fingers over your equipment strewn about—the lights, the lenses, the negatives hanging in the corner.

The sway of her hips, the flex of her back. The dip of her brow and purse of her lips when she asks, "What's this for?", and the genuine interest when she listens to you explain about aperture, and light metres, and so on and so on.

(Snap a photo of her silhouette when she's by the window, leaning against the glass to spy on the passers-by.

Snap a photo of her smile, when you say something that's really not that funny, but she laughs anyway.

Snap a photo of her legs, when she finds a couch to lay on—stretching herself out, showing off their length, the tone of her thighs, the promise kept hidden by her leggings being pulled tighter and tighter.)

Another hour passes quickly, and you take a break there, more for your sanity than her endurance. Leave her to her own devices while you flick through the shots you’ve managed to get so far.

Only, when you scroll through your laptop, scan through the dozens upon dozens of rapid-fire photos you've taken—it's a horror show.

None of them work.

Not because of her, but because of you.

The way you've shot her. Far too revealing—you've put too much of yourself in these pictures. Turned them from images to confessions. Each one a fucking love letter to her body—her legs, her tits, her lips, her ass, her tits again—everything about her that makes you ache.

It's not art. It's borderline pornographic.

And yet, Somi's still just lying there.

Drinking down another pick-me-up that she's had delivered, this one with enough caffeine to take down several horses, chatting away so casually while you try to stitch your soul back together. Sipping and talking about who-knows-what, throwing out feelers, smiling easily, laughing sincerely, utterly oblivious to the havoc she's wreaking on your self-control.

An effortless grace when she lifts herself off the couch, saunters over to you and leans in far too close, gets far too familiar, lays on far too much charm when she asks, “Mind if I take a look?”

Yeah, you do, but you still force a calmness into your voice that you’re certainly not feeling when you turn the laptop so she can see.

“Wow,” is her initial review, and now she’s touching you, hand on your shoulder, tits pressed up against your arm and you’re certain that none of this is accidental, like an oh, just trying to get closer so I can better appreciate the photos you’re flipping through, never mind that you're getting a precise estimation of my cup size just from the feeling alone.

Do your best—ignore the pressure, the warmth, the softness. Watch her face, see all the tiny details; her eyes lighting up when she catches something she likes, her thoughtful hum at a particularly good shot. The smacking of her lips, the furrow of her brow, the recognition as you scroll.

One by one, with each photo, her expression morphing from curiosity to understanding.

She notices.

“You’re good at this.”

You wait for it. “That’s all?”

Her eyes glint, “None of these can be used though.”

“I know.”

The screen’s frozen on a particularly compromising shot: there’s Somi’s face, barely in it, just the bottom-half, her lips pouting out and looking all plump and delicious. Camera angled up high, pointing down the dip of her tight, sheer top and the shadowy valley that makes up her cleavage. Scanning down to her legs, folded to the side beneath her, the squish of her ass cheeks over her heels, spilling into the corner of the screen.

Sin, captured in fifty megapixels, barely contained inside a four by six frame.

A submissive dream.

“These for your personal collection, or—” and when she catches the heat rising up the back of your neck, changing directions, “—not that I mind, as long as I get a copy.”

Clearly finding all this much funnier than you are—that smile’s a knife to your chest. So sharp and knowing; it would have you gasping for air, if only you’d look.

Keep it cool, play it off with a shrug, “We’ll try again.”

“I doubt we’ll get any different results,” Somi’s predicting, bouncing on her toes now, getting closer and closer until she doesn’t need to make much of an effort to make herself heard. Close enough that she could feel you now, if she wanted to. Just brush her fingers over you and get a good idea of the reason why this photoshoot is going so far off the rails.

She instead leans her chin onto your shoulder, breath hot against your cheek. Like throwing a match on gasoline.

All the power of this girl, this woman, wrapped up in a single gesture. Wielding it so freely, so innocently, so easily. Heat that's self-aware, that knows just how much it's burning.

You caution, “Keep it professional.”

“Doesn’t that run counter to the whole aesthetic. I thought we were going for raw?”

“Natural.”

“What’s the difference?”

You need to stop yourself, shut the laptop, end the session right now before it’s much too late. Before you’re turning to her and realising just how close her lips are to yours, just how tiny her waist is compared to your hands, and you're saying the words that will end all semblance of propriety and professionalism— “With you, I don’t think there is one.”

“Well as long as we agree,” and Somi’s turning away, striding back to the couch, leaving you to breathe again. Making you thankful for the space, but missing the suffocation of her heat all at once.

Plopping herself down on the cushions, one leg folded under the other, leggings so thin you can see the shape of her underneath. Natural, just like you asked—looking like she's the only one here that’s exactly where she wants to be.

You’re thinking you’re off the hook.

Maybe you can get back to work.

Only, “So, it’s been a while, then?”

“Somi,” you’re saying her name for the first time, officially, and it’s coming out far too strangled. Far too needy. She loves the sound.

“Come on, humour me.”

“Somi,” again, you’re trying, clearing out the cobwebs from your throat.

“Sir.”

What the fuck.

She doesn’t move. Waits patiently for your answer.

You give her the inch, knowing she’ll take the mile.

Raking a hand through the back of your head. “Thirty days.”

The look on Somi's face is apoplectic. You're glad you have the wherewithal to capture it.

"It's a—" and you're feeling quite stupid as you explain it to her in detail; the abstinence for a month, the purpose of it all, the supposed benefits, "challenge."

That sends Somi ranting, hands flailing in the air. Incredulous, at you, at this challenge, at the idea of putting yourself through this self-imposed torture. “Stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard.”

And then, when she sees your face.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But seriously. Thirty days? And not once.”

Your voice is dry. “No.”

“Not even by accident?”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Wet dreams, nothing? No jerking it? No sex? At all?” Somi’s bursting out laughing, hand flying to cover her mouth, barely even able to breathe. It’s so absurd to her.

And it doesn’t take long before she puts it all together. Processes the information, sees the picture she’s painted of you. The sad, desperate artist, with nothing but a dying hunger and a camera. Realises the predicament you’ve put yourself in just by having her here.

She’s not laughing any more.

“And so you chose today, November 30th, to schedule me?”

You’re very, clearly frustrated. “Not my choice.”

“I see.” She bites her lip. Angles herself just so.

“Dial it back.”

“Tell that to your boner.”

You look down. Pants distinctly flat.

Somi’s grinning. “Made you look.”

“Are you done?” You ask, forcing yourself to look away from her, busying your hands by screwing on a different lens, as if it’ll somehow make her appear any less distracting, like it’ll blur out all your worst intentions and bring back some actual decorum to this whole fiasco. “We don’t have much time left.”

Turning back to her, raising your camera, aiming straight and true and—

Somi, unzipping her heels, kicking them across the floor with a dramatic flourish.

Snap.

Somi, lifting her top up and over her head, stretching her arms up high to push her breasts out forward; making them tight, outlined, so obviously pebbled against the cotton of her bra.

Snap.

Somi, digging her thumbs into the waistband of her tights, pointing her legs up in the air so she can peel them off without getting up, thrusting her hips up off the couch to yank them over her ass.

Snap.

“Somi,” you’re saying again, because apparently, you’ve forgotten how to make other words.

“Just doing what feels natural,” she says, smile turning wicked, reaching behind her back to unclasp and oh, now she’s completely naked. Rearranging herself into this pose. As if she isn’t already the centre of your universe.

Thirty days, flushed directly down the drain.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

—

You’ve found it, the perfect photograph.

Somi, kneeling on the couch, hands folded on her lap, staring down the barrel of your camera with her tits out. Unreal. Works of art, both of them. Miracles of flesh, gravity be damned.

“You’re not taking any photos,” she points out.

You swallow hard. “I’m taking it in.” 

Her hands come up to cup her breasts, giving them a bounce. For fun. For you. For the look on your face. You capture the jiggle. "Good, because I'd hate to think all this was going to waste."

It’s a little fucked up, how right Somi is. You wanted raw, honest—here it is, Somi as she kneels. Just being herself, being the woman everyone accuses her of being—the sinner, the whore, the slut.

Being the woman she knows she is, with everything that it implies—the confidence, the appeal, the fucking powerhouse of magnetic attraction. Not an image being projected, not a role she’s playing, but the reality of her, shooting straight into your veins, raw sex personified—as natural as breathing.

And before you know it, you’re capturing her lips with yours, an ‘mmmph’ slipping out from her as your mouths collide and your tongues meet.

It’s not intentional, it just happens. You lean in, she’s hot, she smells like heaven and sin wrapped in a neat little bow and you’re kissing her.

Tongue finds hers, attacks, retreats, joins and intertwines, and it’s everything you imagined it would be turned all the way up—sweeter, hotter, and so much more fucking dangerous.

Lips head south, tongue sliding along her neck, teeth on her shoulder, kisses into her collarbone; and finally, you’re at her breasts.

Softer than a dream, tasting like pure addiction; you kiss the tops of her breasts, lap up all the sweat that’s beaded down in between. Drag your tongue down, follow the curve, the dip, and ending at the hard little points poking against your lips. Filling your mouth with as much of it as you can—licking, suckling, making a complete mess of spit on her chest, and then biting, just a little, just to make her moan.

“So this is what denial does to a man, hm?”  Somi slithers into your ears, under your skin, hands at the back of your head and holding you in place.

She arches into you, pushing herself closer, letting you taste, indulge. Feast on what you’ve been missing out over this long stretch of days.

And fuck, maybe it is the abstinence, the pent-up need, or maybe it’s the fact that tits in general are just fucking incredible things. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that it’s Somi, in all her outrageously perfect glory, so happy to be the one that gets to ruin you, that’s making you feel like you’re going to spontaneously combust.

Not that it matters one bit.

Not that there’s any thoughts at all in your head; there’s just Somi’s tits and your tongue. Lapping it up like you’re trying to drink her in, memorise every contour, every curve, every little goosebump you induce with each swipe of your tongue.

Somi’s tits; a canvas, and your mouth’s painting the picture of a lifetime.

“Baby,” Somi coos, hands on the side of your face, lifting you up off the cushions of her breasts. She’s giggling, her fingers wiping at the strings of drool that you hadn’t even realised you’d been leaving behind. “Remember what we’re here for?”

Right.

The camera. The art. The job. The no-touching rule.

But your mind is a blurry mess of tits and need, and all your blood has headed south for the afternoon, and it's making you feel like you're melting from the inside out.

“Let me give you a hand.” Somi’s gentle with you, like you’re a stick of dynamite with a frayed wick, just the slightest touch and you’ll blow.

She takes your hand, fingers brushing against yours, little sparks of electricity making your hairs stand on end, and lifts your camera up to point directly at her.

And then, she smirks. As if to say, yeah, she’s read all your thoughts; seen straight into you and has discovered the vault where you’ve kept every one of your deepest, darkest impulses locked up for thirty long days.

Somi repositions herself. Poses her body, determined to bring every single filthy, desperate, starving fantasy of yours to life.

Reclining back into the couch, thighs apart, spreading her legs wide.

Showing off her cunt.

Bare and gleaming. Shaven clean—just this perfect, pink, wet little pussy calling out to you. Open like a fucking invitation.

You’re staring.

She waits for you to catch up.

“Now would be a good time to start using that camera.”

You take a step back. Heart racing, hands shaking; you’re usually so much better than this. Take a deep breath, lift the camera, do your job, make your art, capture as much as you can while you have fucking perfection putting herself on display for you.

The click, the shutter echoing through the studio.

It makes Somi sigh.

Her eyes find the lens, locking down her target. A fucking miracle of biology, that’s Somi. Born to have cameras on her, as in love with them as they are with her.

Her fingers dip, trace down over her ludicrously tiny waist, her abs, her bellybutton, stopping short of her mound. Dancing over her pussy, light as a feather.

Fucking grinning as she asks, “Like what you see?”

The camera’s flash answers for you.

Touching herself, stroking, circling, pressing down. Building a crescendo that you can see painted on her; through the tensing of her abs, the heaving of her breasts, her cheeks going pink, her breaths getting shorter, and her lips parting to moan.

You’re barely conscious of the fact that you’re talking under your breath, a singular demand— “Keep going.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thirty days of denial has turned you into a starving man, only for Somi to show up and make herself a full-course feast. The perfect model, but also the worst fucking thing possible for your resolve.

You take a deep breath, grip the camera tighter.

If you’re going to crack, you might as well go out with a bang.

Guiding her, as if she was any other client, and this was just another photoshoot— “Open your legs wider, Somi. Show me everything.”

Her eyes widen, pupils dilate. Sparks, excitement, lighting them up. She does as she’s told, pushing out her knees further, sinking down into the couch cushions.

Thighs quivering, pussy sopping wet and pulsing. All for you. For your camera.

Another click, the shutter again, like a time-bomb ticking down to your doom.

“Play with your clit. Tease it.”

Her hand obeys, delicate, slender fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles, hips bucking slightly with each pass. The noises she makes are obscene. Harsh, breathy whispers that make you throb; moans that get caught in the back of her throat.

It’s a rush of blood straight to the head, an almost dizzying sensation, having Somi so eagerly following your every command. Her face says it all, this slut positively loves being told what to do.

“Keep it light. That’s it,” you say, stepping closer, hitting your marks, your angles. “Turn to me. I want to see your face.”

“Like this?” Somi breathes, turning to face you fully, her hand still playing with herself, stroking in a way that's almost cruel—so gentle, so teasing, so obviously designed to make you lose your mind. “Getting the pictures you’ve been dreaming of? Someone like me all spread out for you?”

You nod, jaw clenched, keeping steady. Or at least, you think you are, considering how good Somi’s making this for you.

Making sure you get the right shots of her—her pussy, swollen and puffy, dripping down a puddle onto your couch. Her tits; pinched until they’re hard and sensitive, a vivid red against the stark white of her skin. Her eyes, wide and wild and looking straight down the lens, communicating her arousal in a million different heated ways without saying a single word.

Let it be known; Somi knows exactly what she’s doing.

Knows when to sigh, knows how to arch her back, knows in which direction to pout her lips. Knows how to make every click of the camera count.

“Good girl,” you’re telling her, praising her, and it’s enough to make her keen.

“Am I?”

“Of course,” you say, leaning in closer, close enough to feel the heat of her body, a furnace against your skin. See the sweat dripping down her thighs, tiny little droplets shimmering against the muscle, begging to be licked away. “You’re doing so good, Somi. So, so good.”

You’re getting closer now, kneeling. All for the sake of the perfect shot.

Seeing her fingers work, spreading herself open, exposing her folds, glistening. Her clit standing tall and proud. Her entrance pulsing, waiting to be filled. It’s like watching a masterpiece come to life, a photo that’s been taken a thousand times before but never quite captured right. Until now. Until Somi.

Somi's smiling down at you, all knowing, all tempting, making your mouth water, and it takes all your self-discipline to not drop the camera and replace your lens with your tongue.

She laughs, low and throaty. “Looks like you’re enjoying the view.”

“You have no idea, Somi,” you answer, adding, “But you can make it better, can’t you? Make it wetter. Hotter.”

“Mmhmm,” she agrees, getting to work at making your instructions real. She’s a professional too, after all. A master of her craft. Her other hand snakes down to join her first; one hand pressing firmly down on her clit, the other plunging two fingers up into her cunt. Pushing in, curling, until it’s hitting that sweet spot that makes her preen.

“Perfect, Somi.”

You’re transfixed, as Somi starts to fuck herself in earnest, the camera almost forgotten in your hand. She’s so drenched that every stroke is accompanied by a wet, slick sound; and the way she’s creaming around her digits, dripping down her wrist, it’s far beyond a simple performance being put on for the sake of a photograph. It’s the real deal.

Somi’s breaths come faster, her eyes glaze over, and she’s biting down on her bottom lip, trying to keep from crying out too loudly.

You know you’re getting the best of her, can see it across her face: this is what she truly enjoys. Being watched, being desired, being told what to do all for your pleasure.

“Oh, baby,” she’s barely managing hushed, strained whispers, “Oh, oh, oh…”

You feel like you’re in a trance, your own hand wandering down, needing to adjust lest you rip right through your jeans. The sight alone is devastating enough, but it’s making you swell, until there’s no point in trying to hide it anymore.

“That looks so,” Somi’s licking her lips, seeing the state you’re in, seeing the desperation in your eyes, the strain down below, “Nice.”

The camera is your anchor, your north star in this whole mess. You keep it steady, even as Somi’s breaths grow shallower, turn to pants. Losing herself to you, to the moment, to being captured in all her vulnerability.

She’s fucking herself even faster now, fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, wetter and wetter still, knuckles turning white with the force she’s applying.

“You’re doing so good, Somi, such a good girl for me,” you’re reassuring her, unable to hold back your own need, your own desire from leaking into your voice. It’s a battle, a war really, against your own urges, your innate desire to just drop everything and dive into her, feel her tightness around you, make her scream out your name.

But it’s too soon, Somi’s too close, and it would be a fucking crime to stop her.

“Baby,” she gasps, the word a prayer and a taunt in equal measure, “Baby, I don’t think I can last any longer.”

You’re grinning now, heart racing, camera at the ready. “Good.”

Somi’s on a knife’s edge, balancing on the precipice of climax. You can see it in how her body’s seizing, how she throws her head back, exposing her neck to you—needing your kiss, your bite, your claim. But you resist, intent on capturing every moment of her unravelling.

Because you want to know. Want to capture it. How she cums. What sounds she makes, what noises she can’t keep in. What she looks like when she falls apart.

“Cum for me, Somi,” you’re telling her, “I want to capture it all.”

Somi trembles. She wants it too.

Her eyes screw shut, her breath hitches, and she’s there, sinking back into the couch, letting out this sweet little gasp of anticipation.

The studio goes silent except for the sound of her fingers in her cunt and the shuttering of your camera.

In, out, snap.

In, out, snap.

Fucking herself. Fucking you with her very existence.

And then—“I’m going to—”

Her body arches off the couch, a scream ripping from her throat, her hand working furiously, pussy clenching so sweetly around her fingers. It’s the type of photo people spend entire careers never getting to capture, the most beautifully obscene sight you’ve ever been lucky to witness—Somi, in the throes of pleasure, wracked by her own orgasm, all for the sake of your camera.

It hits her hard and fast and all at once, turns her body into a bow, taut and tense, before it’s released, snapped, melting her down into a boneless puddle.

You watch in awe as Somi cums, writhes and wriggles, and she makes these noises that you’ve never heard from a woman before; crying out so loud you’re surprised the neighbours aren’t banging down the door to see what the commotion is about.

It’s only when she finally relaxes, is released from her orgasm, that you lower the camera, out of breath from the sheer exertion wrought by just watching her.

You’re both near devastation—Somi sprawled on the couch, chest rising and falling, eyes closed and an elated smile on her face, and you, knees threatening to give out, unable to tear your gaze away from the sight of her satisfaction.

“That was—” Somi tries shaping the words, but they don’t come. She just lies there, lazy and sated, catching her breath.

Moments pass before she can open her eyes again, only to find you, standing over her, jeans vanished, cock out and level with her parted lips.

“That was just the beginning, Somi.”

It's just the sight of you, but Somi’s delighted. Seeing you like this—exposed and so ridiculously hard. All because of her.

She slides off the couch, kneeling at your feet.

“Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it. Anything at all. Just make sure you capture it.”

“Then suck.”

Wet, hot heaven. Somi’s mouth is heaven.

Tongue darting forward, swirling around the tip, teeth grazing the head, and you’re groaning, hips jerking forward involuntarily until you’re falling into her mouth.

Somi’s got a way about her, a finesse that’s unmatched in everything she does. So, so good for you; opening her mouth nice and wide, hollowing her cheeks just right, pursing her lips to make sure you feel it when she sucks.

Just gleeful when your hand finds purchase in her ponytail, when hers wrap around the base of your cock, and you push. Inch by inch into the sweet heat of her mouth, taking it all, making sure you can see it, see how thankful she is to be granted the privilege of swallowing you whole; of having you completely filling her throat.

Holding herself there, nose pressed up against your stomach, eyes looking up, watering slightly around the edges. Not even gagging, just warming your cock with her throat, pulsing, tight, unbearably hot.

She raises her brows.

Ah, that’s right.

Snap.

Pulling off you, dragging her lips, her tongue up your shaft, leaving behind a choked, drooling mess that she’s so fucking proud of.

Giggling around a mouthful of your cock, laughter vibrating across your skin, and it’s a wonder you don’t lose yourself right then and there.

But somehow, you hold on; brace yourself against Somi massaging your balls, tickling the underside of your tip with her tongue. Playing with you, taunting, enjoying every second. Popping your cock out of her mouth so she can truly take measure of you at your achingly hardest, so she can breathe onto your cock in wonder, “Just look at you.”

Balancing your length in the palm of her hand, barely able to wrap her fingers around your girth.

“So big, so hard,” she’s rapt, talking to you, to herself, making sure the ghosts haunting your studio know exactly what she’s dealing with her. “And it’s all for me, isn’t it?”

“Darling,” you’re calling her, making her swoon, “Take it all.”

And she does. Somi, eager, opens her mouth wide, and lets you fuck her face. Getting you deep, so deep that you can feel her throat clench around your tip, slurping, moaning, choking now, but never, ever stopping. Just drooling down your thighs like the good little slut she knows you need her to be.

You’re back at it, taking photos, trying to get the perfect angle, but it’s proving a big ask when your knees are wobbling and your vision’s growing blurry. You’ve got Somi’s eyes in the viewfinder, all wide and blown with lust, looking straight through the lens of the camera and at you, daring you to break first.

But there’s still so much more of her to capture, so much more of her face to fuck.

Her red lips against your skin. Her cheeks bulging with your length. The line of her throat as she swallows. The tears in her eyes when she gags.

Somi’s arms loop around your back, cupping your ass, pulling you closer, urging you deeper.

Winking, giving you all the right cues; a muffled, “Here,” she says with her eyes. “This angle.”

And she’s right. It’s perfect. She’s got a talent for this.

Taking you deep, feeling like your cock’s never going to be able to leave her throat, only to pull back so you can see just how much she’s enjoying herself. How much she’s into this, so grateful to have you capturing every moan, every gag, every little sound she makes as you fuck her mouth like it’s the first time—and after a whole month it might as well be.

“Fuck, take it, Somi, you’re doing so well,” you tell her, knowing what it does to her—the praise, the adoration. Absorbed straight into her bloodstream, making her work harder, suck better, choke a little more. “Such a good girl.”

She loves it. Her eyes brighten, she squeezes your thighs, nails digging in. She loves it all.

You’re getting so close, you can feel it—thirty days of denial are about to come to a head, and she's going to be the one to bring you there. And yet, you still haven’t gotten nearly enough pictures to do her justice.

Somi sees it too, she can tell, knows just how close you are, but still, she's just lie you. She wants more.

She pulls back, an idea hatching in that filthy mind of hers, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Wait,” she says, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, cleaning herself of her spit, her drool, your leakage. “I want another photo. For comparison’s sake. Just for my memories.”

You’re not sure what she means, but you don’t ask questions. You just keep your camera at the ready, watching her move, watching her lean closer.

Your cock hovering just above her cheek, tip bumping up against her nose, leaving a wet streak across her face. She holds herself there, your length atop her face, and it’s all in view—her eyes fluttering closed, the tip of her tongue poking out to catch a taste of your precum, the way she’s breathing, deep and heavy, smelling the scent of you, inhaling it like it’s oxygen.

Somi—her face, her tits, her waist, her thighs.

Your cock.

All in view.

That’s the photo.

And when it’s done, you’re backing off, relearning how to breath, how to stand on your own two feet without crumbling to the ground. Somi’s tongue chases you but you’re out of reach, setting the camera down on the floor.

You need to get in on this. Fuck silly challenges. Fuck being a passive observer.

You’re done just watching. You need to feel her.

Somi looks at you all smug and satisfied, on her knees, awaiting your next instruction. “Finished taking pictures?”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you start peeling off your clothes, each layer like a heavy weight of your shoulders; until you’re just as bare and needy as she is.

Back to Somi, cradling her face, letting her lean into your palm. Running your thumb across her jaw, dragging it across her lips, stamping it onto her tongue.

She sucks.

Christ.

Thirty days of hell, given up for one moment in heaven.

Fuck it. She’ll make it worth it.

You tell her in simple, clear terms. “I’m going to fuck you now, Somi.”

“Please.”

It’s your turn now.

You relax into the couch, legs spread wide, cock throbbing in the open air, beckoning her to come closer.

Somi reads the room, your posture, your need, and she rises to the occasion. Joining you on the couch, back on her knees, thighs gripping on the outside of yours. Hands planted firmly on your shoulders, and the whole time, her eyes don’t leave yours, not even for a second.

Appreciate her, this woman, giving herself over to you.

Untying her ponytail, sending honey-brown hair cascading down her face, caressing her neck, her shoulders, meeting the tops of her breasts, perfectly rounded and waiting for the return of your teeth. Her waist, her abs, tensing and releasing, with every hot breath. And her pussy, already there, shimmering, dribbling down your cock, waiting.

Somi’s waiting for your permission.

So, taking her by the back of her neck, pulling her close, kissing her hard. Forcing this whine into your throat as your cock bumps up against her folds, sets off fireworks down her spine.

It’s a translation. Your need, from your tongue to hers, telling her that it’s only her that can do this you. Can rip you from responsibilities, from sanity, from all the shit that’s been keeping you going for the last thirty days.

Telling her that it’s worth giving it all up for just a taste, because maybe that’s the point of the challenge in the first place. Not a matter of self-control but a way to save yourself for something—someone—so potent, so powerful, so fucking irresistible that you just have to surrender to.

You pull apart, breaths hot and ragged, tongues still connected by strands, your hands already at her waist.

“You’re going to ride me, Somi. You’re going to cum on my cock and I’m going to watch it all.”

Somi nods, understanding.

Letting you guide her by the hips, sliding her fingers between her legs to take hold of your cock, aiming it at her entrance.

Lowering herself down, slow, so fucking slow, like it’s a brand-new form of torture, until your cock is nestled at the entrance of her heat, and you’re both vibrating with the anticipation of it, the gravity of this moment.

You take a harsh breath. “Ready?”

Somi presses her forehead to yours. Teasing, “Are you?”

And then, inch by inch, dragging her cunt down your shaft, making you feel every bit of her wetness, her tightness, every bit of her heat, Somi takes you in.

Pussy tightening around you like a fist, walls pulsing, massaging your cock, like she’s already trying to milk you dry. This moan that’s torn from her lips, deep and primal, something she’s been holding in for far too long, this needy, unholy cry that takes the shape of your name.

And when she’s bottomed out, when you’ve filled her until all she knows is you, Somi looks down in your eyes, nothing but pure, unfiltered lust strewn across her face. “Everything you were hoping for?”

You try, but fail, to form coherent words, just manage a grunt of pleasure, a nod of your head, and she laughs—it's the sweetest, most evil sound you've ever heard. She's got you, hook, line, and sinker.

“Good to know,” she says, and that’s all she needs to start moving, to set the rhythm that’s going to shake the walls, send them crashing to the ground until all that’s left is the two of you fucking amongst the rubble.

Her thighs tighten around you, hips start to roll in a way that’s just too fucking good, too fucking perfect. The friction is everything, makes the world narrow to just the two of you, the sound of skin slapping against skin, the drenched slick of her pussy, the heavy scent of her filling the air.

“Baby,” she repeats, each time her thighs slap down against yours, each thrust all the way up into her guts. “This cock is so perfect for me, so fucking—”

A snap of your hips into her, pulling her down hard, making her tits jump at the force of it, making Somi wail. There’s her cunt, spasming around you, tightening, trying to hold you in, trying to keep you there, but you’re not letting up.

You take over, holding by the hips and fucking her, like you’ve been waiting for, like you’ve been so fucking desperate for, like she needs so badly.

“God, you’re really—really fucking pent up, aren't you?" Somi's words are chopped up by the relentless thrusts of your hips, making her stutter, her voice all strained and breathy. Bouncing on you now, letting you set the pace, eyes screwed shut, just giving herself over to you. “I’m so, so lucky. So lucky that it gets to be me that breaks you. That takes you. That gets all this cum you’ve been saving this whole time.”

You’re gritting your teeth, unable to do anything but just fuck. Driven mad by it, by every impulse coming right up to the surface.

Everything you’ve been holding back, it’s all here, being unleashed onto Somi.

Fuck her, fill her, make her scream—‘Please, please, please’. Those are the only thoughts in your head now. Forget about the job, the photographs, the responsibility—just be yourself, a man on the edge, ready to jump off the fucking cliff.

“Baby,” Somi’s repeating, as your fingers find purchase in her ass, as she lays kisses on your shoulder, marking you up along your neck and down your jaw. There’s other words too—filth, all of it; whining to you about how you’re filling her up so good, about how she’s so wet for you, about how you’re going to make her cum so hard. But it’s all just noise to you. Noise that can be summarised in the simplest of requests, right from Somi’s lips—“Please, fucking use me.”

It's the perfect way to come apart—have someone like Somi, with her heavenly tits in your face, and her greedy, greedy cunt soaking up everything you’re willing to give. Begging, wanting, needing to be ruined.

“So fucking tight for me,” you’re kissing into her chest, finding your voice somewhere between her breasts. Telling her, “Fuck, Somi, your pussy. It’s so good for me. So fucking perfectly wet.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Somi sighs back, arms barely hanging on, holding at your neck, unable to do nothing but whimper and bear it. Bear this fucking you’re giving her, your cock invading her cunt, making her pussy tighten around it like a vice, making her abs clench, her tits jump, her throat swallow—making her sweat.

It’s like she was made for this—cunt made for your cock, body made for your arms. Somi, perfectly designed to be used by you. To moan and whine at your mercy; to be fucked, to be filled, to ruin you and to be ruined all the same.

“I can’t, I’m trying but I can’t hold on,” Somi’s teary-eyed, kissing at your face, your neck, her breath hot and sweet against your ear. “Baby, please. I need to feel you. Need more of you.”

And you’re only too eager to oblige.

Lifting your head, pulling her body closer. Catching her left nipple in your mouth, sucking hard, nipping at the peak until she’s gasping, until she’s arching her back, pressing her chest closer. Feeling the flesh flush against your lips, hitting your chin with each hard thrust.

Fuck, her tits. You could suffocate between them only to claw your way out of the grave just for another taste.

Her nails dig into your scalp, demanding more—more attention, more adoration, more worship. You give it to her—switching between each of her breasts, suckling and licking, making her whine and buck against your teeth.

“Just like that, you’re so good at that, so good with my tits,” she moans, short, tiny sighs that send your hips jerking upwards. Fucking her faster, quick, staccato thrusts that hit her just right, make her walls quiver around you. “They’re yours, all for you. All of me is yours.”

Her orgasm builds; it’s palpable, a storm brewing in the studio, sweeping up everything in its path. Each breath she takes is a hitch, a little cry, a whine. So tight around you, fucking her so hard, so deep that you can feel it coming from the inside out.

“Filling me so good, so, so good,” she mewls, and there’s still some fight in her left, a burst of energy in her thighs, allowing her to grind down harder, drop her ass on you—an up, down, up, down that echoes through the studio with each smack.

“You’re going to cum for me Somi,” you’re telling her, detailing exactly how she’ll come completely apart. “You’re going to cum all over my cock, you’re going to scream for me when you do it, okay? Tell me how good it feels.”

“Yes, yes, yes, tell me what you want—anything—I’ll do it, I’ll be so, so good for you—”

“You’re going to beg me for my cum, Somi. Going to beg me to give it to you until you can’t take any more,” you’re growling, your teeth sinking into her tits, your tongue pushing up against her flesh, making her sing.

You’re fucking her apart, tearing her in two with your cock. This girl you've only just met, who only just walked into your life; nothing but sex in a pair of high heels, and you’re already rearranging the furniture of her soul.

Now she’s the one that can’t make sense of things, can’t form full sentences—just incoherent whines and cries, each one stacking on top of the other, until the foundation’s all tilted and it’s going to collapse any second now.

Just waiting for you.

Separate from her chest, take a fistful of her hair, pull her back so you can look in her eyes and see. See just how badly you’re ruining her, how terribly she’s falling apart.

Make sure she can see you, has her attention on nothing but you when you tell her, finally, “Cum. Cum for me, Somi. All over my cock.”

She’s breaking.

“Now.”

“Please, I—” Somi’s words live and die on her lips, barely making it out before it hits her, seizes her entirely, forces her cunt to strangle your cock as she shatters.

It’s all there, her pussy tightening, pulsing, clenching, releasing in this quake of bliss that feels like a sucker punch straight through your gut.

When she cums it hits her, hits you, waves of heat washing over your cock, splashing down onto your thighs. It’s the sensation. So overwhelming, so undeniable, grinding down her orgasm onto you, pleading, over and over and over again, “Don't stop, don't stop, please!”

Writhing in your arms, needing to be held close to stop her from falling off the couch completely. Eyes rolling, head thrown back, exposing her neck, the perfect arc of her throat. Her body jolts, jerks, twitches, and it has you fucking hypnotised.

And all Somi can do is say, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!”

She keeps going, until each thread is unravelled, until you’ve fucked loose every last bit of control she’s got, until she’s nothing but a trembling mess in your arms.

But it’s not over, not yet.

You’re still hard, so fucking hard. Bursting at the seams. And Somi’s looking down at you, pulling herself back together. Seeing your cock, buried inside her. Seeing the mess you’ve made of her, her own pussy. Seeing everything.

And she’s smiling, because she knows what comes next.

“Use me.”

You lift her off your cock, so easy to carry; her tiny waist in your hands, she’s so light. Still shivering, these tiny, little aftershocks quivering through her, it’s like she’s clay in your hands, ready to be moulded at your discretion.

Somi gasps when she’s laid out on the couch, her legs spread wide, her cunt leaking down her thighs, all cream and cum. She adjusts herself, makes herself comfortable, presentable. Putting herself in the best possible state to be used by you.

“Use me, baby,” she repeats again, that sweat plea that’s going to be you’re undoing. She’s so, so needy, practically whining for more, for everything, for anything as long as it involves your cock and her.

You stand over her, cock at the ready, eyes on your next target, the natural stage for the grand finale, the pièce de resistance of this whole fucked up photoshoot—Somi’s breasts.

She follows your gaze, realises, “You want to fuck these tits, don’t you?”

You find your voice gravelly, deep. “Yeah.”

Somi giggles, hands at her chest, taking either side of her breasts, pushing them together with her palms and creating this gorgeous valley, just waiting for your cock. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“For you to beg.”

Somi blinks. Once, twice. Sees the look on your face, sees how hard you are for her, how desperate you are to let go.

But she knows how much you need to hear it. Knows how much she wants to say it.

“Please. Baby, please. Fuck my tits. Cum all over me. I need it.” Somi’s licking her lips, massaging her breasts together, showing you just how soft they are, how ready they are for you. “I need to feel your cum on me. All over me. My face, my neck, my chest. Everywhere. Let me do this for you.”

That’s it.

You’re back on the couch, straddling her stomach. Knees on either side of her waist, cock between her tits. Soft, warm, inviting.

“Like this?”

“Yeah. Just like that,” you manage, each word a mountain of effort as you watch your cock disappear between her breasts.

It’s a gentle push, that’s all it takes, and Somi starts to move, making her tits jiggle around your dick, squeezing it from either side as you slide your cock up and down. So focused, eyes on your cock, then back to your face, studying your every reaction, waiting for that moment when you crack.

And it’s coming so soon, you’ve been teetering on the edge since Somi first walked in—fuck, on edge for thirty days—and now you’re hurtling towards the fall.

You’re not going to last, not when Somi’s got you like this. Her hands moving with you, her tits bouncing in time with your strokes. The cushioning of her breasts around you; this gentle, sweet, torturous pressure that has you grunting, has you smearing drops of yourself all over her chest.

“Fuck, you look so good between my tits. So hard. Doesn’t it feel right? Like this is where your cock fucking belongs. This is what my tits were made for. For you,” Somi’s whispering, stringing these words together like a spell. “You can go faster, baby, I won’t break. Just let go and use me like the slut I am.”

Pleading for it, so desperate for you. Sweet words, encouragement, filth, like a drug, pushing you close and closer to the brink.

Just obey, pump faster, fuck her tits quicker, watch as your cock slices through her cleavage, the gloss it leaves over her skin. See Somi, licking her lips, devouring you with her eyes, just waiting for you to join her on the other side of oblivion.

“Cum for me, baby. Please, please. I need it—I need to feel it—please!”

Her tongue stretches past her lips, flicking out to catch the tip of your cock, making you groan. Leaning in, breath hot on you, cock hitting her lips with every thrust, every drive through her tits. So fucking greedy, so eager to taste, so needy to be the one responsible for your total ruin.

“Oh, oh, oh, baby—yes—yes—yes—yes—”

She pinches her nipples, twists them just right, moans—

You feel it immediately—your balls tighten, your cock swells, and then—release.

Intense is the only way to describe it.

So fucking intense.

White hot jets of cum spurt out, firing everywhere, making a mess of her, coating her chest, her neck, her chin, her lips, her nose—splashing down all over her.

It’s a frenzy, a natural disaster, a hurricane that’s been building for one long fucking month, and now it’s here.

The way her eyes widen, the way her mouth opens, gasping for air, the way she shakes—she wanted this, but there’s no fucking way she was prepared for it.

And when you back up, she dives forward, hand seizing the base of your cock and pumps. Wrists twisting in this aching motion, winding up and down your cock, wringing you out until you’re just a slave to her fingers, her tits, her touch.

“Keep going, baby, keep cumming for me, give me everything,” she begs, sending shivers all the way from your shaft down to your spine as she works your cock.

You do, you have no choice, no say in the matter. You give her everything.

You're coming apart, torn from your own body in sticky, hot waves that leaves you absolutely breathless.

And she’s a fucking mess. All of her—her face, her neck, her tits. So beautiful covered in you. So utterly used. So utterly yours.

It takes a moment for the tremors to stop, for the world to come back into the focus. You sit there, panting, feeling like you’ve just done a triathlon and then climbed a mountain. Somi’s just smiling at you, looking at you through her lashes, glued together with your cum, her own little giggles escaping every now and again.

She looks like a dream.

“Fuck, Somi—”

“Mm?” She looks so content, so at peace with the universe. Wearing your cum like fine jewellery. As if she’s the one that just had the best orgasm of her life.

“You’re—” But what the fuck do you say? That she’s ruined you? That she’s shattered your world? That you’ll never be able to look at a camera again without thinking of her?

Ah.

That’s what you’ll do.

You lean down, pick the camera off the floor, and then—snap.

Somi, looking so sloppy and obscene. Looking like everything you never knew you needed. Looking like she belongs to you.

She wipes away at her eyes, collects the cum on her finger, before dipping it into her mouth. Sucking, tasting the flavour of your need.

“Get the shot you wanted?”

You let out a long, heavy exhale, sliding off the couch, off her, sitting on the floor next to her. Resting your head on her thighs while Somi just lies there, sprawled out, utterly wrecked.

“You weren’t kidding,” she says. “One whole month.”

You remember to inhale. “Thirty days.”

She’s fighting a losing battle, cleaning the endless fountain of cum you’ve covered her with. Looking like she just streaked through a fucking snowstorm.

But she tries, collects as much as she can, smearing it into a sticky mess. Playing with it on her fingers, rolling it around her tongue, enjoying this way too much.

You raise the camera, aim it at her. The way she’s looking at you, the way her hand moves, so fucking casual—like it's her natural state of being. Making you believe that Somi should be covered in cum, all the time. It's only right.

You just can’t help yourself. You click.

“I haven’t been fucked like that since,” Somi starts, clearly not minding being the subject of your post-coital art. “Since ever. That was—"

“A trainwreck,” you’re saying, and then finishing when you catch the look on her face, “Not like that. It was insane. Intense. Really, thirty days or not, it was fucking life changing.”

Somi smiles. “Good to know I didn’t disappoint.”

“Just. These photos. Completely unsalvageable. None of that can be sent to your agency.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Somi says, so easily, so carefree, as if she didn’t just obliterate every single professional boundary you’ve ever set. “Let me have a look. There must be some photos at the start that are useable. From before you… lost focus.”

You pass her the camera, let her scroll through the shots, see all the pornographic filth the two of you have created. She flicks through, each click another photo, another reminder of what you’ve done, what she’s done to you.

And she’s enjoying it. These little smirks, the nods of approval. Fascinated by these photos of her, of her body in these stages of ecstasy.

“Ah, yup. No. Nope. Definitely not. Oh, and that one is just… yeah.” Somi’s voice is light, teasing, but there’s a hint of awe in it. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

“It’s what you do to me.”

“I can see that,” she says, continuing until she gets to the last of the photos. “That’s pretty fucked. These are pretty fucked up. But, like. Beautifully fucked up.”

“Thanks,” you say, throwing your hands up, letting one fall on Somi’s thigh. It rests there, draws a circle over the smooth warm, skin.

It’s a good feeling. Having her here, like this. So relaxed, so comfortable. Knowing her in the most intimate ways possible, yet still not knowing much about her at all.

She sighs when your hand moves higher. You throb.

Yeah. After thirty days, only one time is not going to be nearly enough.

You already want to dive back into the land of debauchery with Somi, bring up more of those repressed fantasies you’ve been waiting to realise, even though you’re still knee-deep in the aftermath of the first round.

It’s in Somi’s eyes as well, you can feel it in the air, from the heat radiating off her skin—she's not done with you either.

Far from it.

You're going to ruin her again. You're certain of it.

“So,” she says, making a show of cupping her tits, raising them up to her mouth. Licking them clean.

Your response is swift. Immediate. “We’re going to have to reschedule.”

Somi’s laughter is pure gold. “How does thirty days from now sound?”

You blink. Stare at her, unamused.

She raises your camera.

Snap!

[bartxnhood]

mayberry | t.o

tyler owens x fem!reader

based on this request: Requesting one, where Tyler and his crew chasing the tornado as casual but there's a twist (it can be a happy or angst ending) what if the tornado they chase was heading to where reader lives, today he was planning on asking her to move on with him after they finished another successful on making the tornado gone yet when he noticed where it was going he drives faster and trying to outrun the tornado.

warnings: descriptions of tornadoes, reader loses her house, blood, cuts.

w/c: 1.8k

requests open

not proofread

Copyright © 2023 bartxnhood. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

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“shes a pistol, ty. hope you can handle her” javier begins, removing his sunnies and leans against his white truck while looking at tyler across the driveway of your mothers house.

tyler smiles to himself at the mention of you. he looks in his wallet, a picture of you and him at a rodeo. you’re wearing his red flannel and white cowboy hat as you kiss his cheek.

a picture he treasured most. no one knew about this picture in his wallet. it was his own little secret, you didn’t even know he had the polaroid.

tyler and you both majored in meteorology throughout your time in college. storm chasers had a limited dating pool. nobody was willing to chase after these monstrous storms in such a way and then return to laugh about it over a few beers.

that’s why he took such a liking to you.

tyler didn't try to hide his feelings first. he would constantly try to convince you to go out with him or do something else, but you would never accept his advances. you didn't believe that you could put up with his ego.

till you began chasing with him.

since then, you saw a side of him that you didn’t know. tyler was a kind hearted man, caring for the people that fell victim to these storms. he was so intelligent that it made you rethink your own decisions, that was rare.

before you knew it, you started falling for tyler owens. the rest is history.

“i’m thinkin bout asking her to move in with me after we get this storm tonight.” tyler confesses to javier, a sly smirk on his face. javier’s eyebrows raise, cocking his hip to the side and crossing his arms.

“you think she’ll say yes?”

tyler presses his lips into a thin smile, stuffing his wallet into his back pocket where it belongs. “i hope so.” he answers, looking up towards the house.

tyler had decided it was time to take the next step with you. he had been thinking about asking you to move in with him for a while now, and he was sure it was the right decision.

he loved you deeply and couldn’t imagine his life without you. he wanted to wake up next to you every morning, cook breakfast together, and spend evenings cuddled up on the couch watching movies.

the thought of you living together filled him with excitement and joy, and he couldn’t wait to see the look on your face when he popped the question.

“guys!” lilly hollers, exiting the rv, running towards the pair. “we have huge activity southeast. we gotta move, now!”

there’s a tension that settled in over the group as they all scrambled to get their things together and radars ready.

tyler’s first thought was you. he takes off, boots stomping in the puddles as he swings the screen door open.

“y/n?” he hollers, taking his sunglasses off.

“up here!” you answer, drying your hair after a shower.

you watch in the mirror as tyler appears in the doorway, “whats up?” you ask, dropping your hand by your sides. “there’s one southeast. big one.” he’s almost grinning hoping to get you excited but his smile drops when you don’t react.

there’s a silence as you begin to rake product through the ends of your hair. “cmon, we don’t wanna miss it. lilly says it’ll touch down in an hour at least.”

“m’not goin” you reply, looking into his eyes from the mirror. “what? whaddya mean?”

“it’s mom” you answer, followed by a sigh. “she’s doing bad again, she’s freaking out over it and i’m just gonna stay with her. the house isn’t in the path so it should be fine” you say, turning to him.

you can see a soft frown on his lips as he looks down at you, “we always chase together.”

you smile sadly, and nod. you let your hand come up and caress his cheek. “i know, darlin. we’ll get the next one i promise.”

you press a quick kiss on his lips, “be safe, baby.” he replies, kissing the top of your head and heading off with the crew.

the atmosphere was thick and heavy with a sense of impending doom as the tornado began to take shape. the clouds churned and wracked, twisting into a massive, menacing funnel cloud. the noise was deafening, a high-pitched roar that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

gusts of wind howled like a beast, tearing at anything in their path. this was no ordinary twister; this was an EF5, the most powerful and destructive tornado there was. it loomed on the horizon, a sinister harbinger of disaster.

tyler, now chasing the storm, was strapped into his well-worn red dodge. his eyes fixed on the churning sky as he chased a massive storm through the southeast landscapes. his truck was a trusted companion, having borne him through countless weather events.

its engine roared confidently as tyler navigated the treacherous terrain, seeking the perfect position to observe the storm up close and capture its raw power. he was fueled by a deep passion for the spectacle of the weather and driven by the adrenalin rush of being in the heart of the swirling chaos.

“you seein this, T?!” boone hollers from the passenger seat. “i’m seein it boone!” he yells back, knuckles white on the steering wheel.

tyler doesn’t remove his eyes from the storm raging in the wheat field, but something feels off. something isn’t right.

“what is it, ty?” javier calls over the radio noticing his decreasing speed. tyler is too mesmerized by the black clouds, he doesn’t reply. “T?” boone calls.

“something’s wrong.” he mumbles, “the path..the path is changing!” he says hurriedly watching the surroundings.

lilly pipes from the backseat, “its moving northwest! heading straight for mayberry!”

“shit.” tyler hits his steering wheel before making a sharp turn, turning around.

“the path is shifting!” boone alerts over the radio.

tyler’s heart launched in his chest watching the twister hurtling towards the small town where you lived. he’d often worried about this, and now his worst nightmare was unfolding before his eyes.

his grip tightened on the steering wheel, and his eyes darkened as he gunned the engine, pushing the red dodge to its limits. he had to get to you, had to make sure you were safe. his mind raced as he calculated how much time he had, the seconds ticking away in an excruciating countdown.

there was no warning, the storm was moving too unpredictably. you should’ve monitored it closer, you should’ve been more prepared.

the house trembled violently as the tornado tore through the neighborhood.

the windows shattered, spraying glass everywhere. the walls creaked and groaned, buckling under the immense pressure of the onslaught.

pictures fell from the walls, their frames splattering on the floor. furniture was hurled around like toys, breaking apart as it smashed into the remaining walls.

“mom!” you holler, staying low to the ground reaching out for her. she takes your hand and you pull her close to your body.

“hold on tight!” you scream.

the two of you huddled together, their screams blending into the cacophony, their eyes wide with terror. outside, the world had become a blur of debris and chaos, the swirling vortex ripping everything apart in its path.

tyler stepped out of his truck followed by boone and lilly. his heart thudding heavily in his chest as he saw the destruction hoping beyond hope that she was safe. but the sight that greeted him was a nightmare. your once-cheerful home had been reduced to a pile of rubble, the remnants of your life scattered among the wreckage. the tornado had ripped through the property, leaving destruction in its wake.

the property wasn’t recognizable, the only way he knew it was your home was your white jeep wrapped around the willow tree.

tyler’s hands come up and run thorough his hair, “oh god..” he breathes. “jesus christ..” boone says just above a whisper.

tyler can’t let his emotions get the best of him. he needed to find you.

“y/n!” he hollers.

“y/n!” lilly screams. “ms.l/n” boone calls for your mom.

tyler pushes his way through the debris, his eyes scanning the rubble for any sign of you.

he continued to pulled lumber, pillars, glass and furniture for what felt like hours. “y/n!” his heart thudding against his chest with every moment that passed. panic clawed at his gut as he continued his desperate search.

finally, he heard a faint sound, like a whimper. he turned, and there you were, buried under a pile of rubble.

his breath caught in his throat as he carefully dug you out, his hands trembling.

as your face came into view, it was smeared with dirt and blood, but your eyes widened with relief as you saw him. “t?” you rasp.

he gently picked you up, cradling you against him like a fragile doll.

"i'm here," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "im here, and you're going to be okay."

you wince, standing on the unstable ground. “mom..” you croak, tears brimming down your eyes again. “she’s down there..”

tyler nods, he looks back at boone and was about to go down and search for her but boone stops him. “i got her.”

boone disappears in the pile of rubble, then he emerges with your mother in his arms. “we need an ambulance!”

tyler nods and leaves you with lilly to call for first responders.

“‘m fine, t.” you say, say in the back of the ambulance. “just makin sure..” he whispered taking your arm in his hands and scanning your skin. he needed to make sure you weren’t seriously injured, even though you were just checked out by ems.

“t..” you sighs as he continues, his hand snow on either side of your face moving your head around still checking. “tyler.” you call him again, this time your hands gripping his wrists.

his eyes meet yours, the sign of tears still staining your cheeks. “i’m okay, i promise” you assure, smiling. “jus glad you made it to me, how’d you know?”

tyler shrugs, “the wind started morning north, learned it from you.” he answers, coming to your side and pulling you in.

you stay there for a while, the sirens flooding your ears and the lights illuminating the place where your home once stood. tyler rubs your shoulders and pulls the emergency blanket tighter around your body.

you lean your head against his shoulder and wrap your arm around his. “is now a bad time to ask if you want to live with me?” he looks down at you.

“what?” you look up at him.

and maybe it wasn’t the right time, but he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance to ask you.

“live with me. hell, bring your mom. i don’t care, just..” he reaches for your hand. “i just know that i love you and i want you around even more than you already are.” he laughs lightly, continuing to rub your shoulder.

“i would love to live with you.”

tyler smiles proudly, squeezing you closer to his side.

“now i just needa marry you.”

[creganslover]

I think it would be cool if you did a cregan x reader but reader has a dragon and her dragon is called the beast of winterfell or something like that and for the longest time even the people of winterfell have no idea what it means (they assume because of her family they are just referring to her) but while she’s giving birth or something the dragon hears and feels her pain and come out of hiding freaking out and finds her and like puts his snout up to the window to make sure she’s okay and it’s kinda like a crazy moment for the people of winterfell lol just a random idea I had hope you like it feel free to change any details about it

ofc! thank you for requesting, anon! i really hope you'll like it! i apologize if its not that great T^T

─── ⋆⋅ ❤︎ ⋅⋆ ───

beast of winterfell, cregan stark x targ! fem! reader

wc: 1.4k

warning/s: mentions of blood, childbirth, lmk if i missed anything!

─── ⋆⋅ ❤︎ ⋅⋆ ───

Ever since you had been arranged to Cregan Stark, the Lord of Winterfell and the Warden of the North, you knew you were about to live a completely different life as you were expected to live with him in Winterfell for the rest of your days. 

It had taken a while for you to get used to being so far from the West and your family, yet Cregan’s presence was like a breath of fresh air, albeit cold, really cold. 

The lighter clothes you used to wear back in Dragonstone now replaced with heavy furs, you could have sworn if you had listened closely you would hear your back crying in protest. 

Alas you carried yourself with grace, it helped that Cregan had understood where you had come from and he always made sure the fireplace in your shared chambers had been extra warm, even if he had to get the firewood by himself. 

One thing you had also missed in the West was being able to go on dragonback without feeling that you were about to freeze at any given moment.

Your dragon, Rhaegos or commonly known as the Red Beast, could not stand to be far from you either, even willing to visit from time to time due to his own stubbornness that reflected your own. Making himself a home far enough from Winterfell within a clearing in a forest, you think, he had been able to live and feed himself, keeping warm with his flames. 

The folks of Winterfell had not even seen a dragon before, you’d wager, and you intend to keep it that way as they would not need to worry of such a magnificent beast nestled near their home, if they had only known. 

Cregan had also known of Rhaegos, he very well knew the creature as the first ever day Cregan had seen you was you landing on your dragon onto the sands of Dragonstone, he was about to depart then, yet you made him stop in his tracks as the Red Beast had made its appearance.

And you noticed him upon your landing, the ship in the distance carrying the banner of House Stark, which you have soon learned who was going to be your betrothed. 

Rhaegos did not take kindly to strangers nearing you but you just had to see who the ship carried, if it included your soon to be husband. 

And when you hopped off your dragon and had reached him, Rhaegos was watching carefully, even crawling himself a yard behind you, though Cregan did not seem to waver, or was trying his best to keep his composure as a dragon was barely in the North and the way its eyes gleamed at him, had him gripping a little tighter on his gloves. 

To your surprise, Rhaegos had nudged its snout against your back, almost shoving you to Cregan that had sent both your cheeks running hot as he caught you in his arms.

It seemed Rhaegos wanted to play cupid at that moment as you profusely apologized to the Lord of Winterfell.

The marriage came and went, devotion had come easy with you and Cregan, no sooner than a moon after your bedding that you had noticed the changes in your body.

It only took a look for the maester to confirm it. You were with child. 

Cregan was absolutely delighted, he could not stop showering you with affection within the confines of your chambers, his big rough hands gently upon your stomach.

There were barely any signs of growth yet making you laugh. It was your first time pregnant, and of course you’ve seen and heard your mother Rhaenyra teach you a thing or two about it, yet it had always worried you as you saw how it could take a toll upon a woman’s body, like with your mother.

Cregan swore no harm will come upon you and your child as you carry it through the moons, always placing his most skilled men out your chambers if he ever was required someplace else than at Winterfell. 

And when he would return, he would not even mind the cheers of his folk, going directly straight to you, enveloping you in a careful embrace, before he would kneel to press his forehead against your swollen middle, the baby within you kicking in response.

The days had inched closer to your due, and you had felt it with the way your body had increasingly been feeling heavy, the way you waddled while you walked. 

Your scream had broken out the great keep of Winterfell as the moment had finally come when their lady was about to give birth. Your handmaidens paced around you in worry, the maester advising you on what you should do- yet it all seemed to drown out by the time it reached your ears.

Blood began to trickle down your legs as your handmaidens rush you to lay upon the bed, you were restless as your body had been covered in sweat, platinum hair matting to your face as you cried out for Cregan, the maester informing you he was well on his way. 

Your breathing came in rushed, panting as your eyes blinked back tears as you were positioned necessarily for birth. Your muscles had contracted painfully, sending you with another wail. 

Though on this day, not only your childbirth would be borne by Winterfell. 

After your long cry, an unfamiliar loud screeching could be heard in the distance, making every folk in Winterfell pause in their actions. Could it be…?

“Dragon!” A knight exclaimed as people began to panic and rush around. 

Cregan was on his way back to Winterfell speeding on his mount after having visited the Hornswood, but he was not alone. To the West of him was undoubtedly a creature he had not seen a long time, your dragon, Rhaegos. 

His screeching may as well echo throughout the North as the dragon flew itself close to Winterfell. Its intimidating and thunderous roars caused worry for Cregan’s folk as he finally managed to rush inside, dismounting off his horse and quickly telling his people to calm- that the dragon would not dare harm them, that it was yours. 

Cregan then rushed towards the great keep, where your screams and wails grew louder, tearing his own heart as he finally shoves himself in the birthing chambers. 

“Cregan!” You cried as he came into view, rushing beside you as the maester had told you to push for the nth time. You wasted no time bearing a deathly grasp upon his hand, knuckles turning white. 

The gap on the windows was then darkened by a shadow followed by a low rumble, the maidens in the room, even the maester was disturbed at the sight of a dragon’s nout, moving outside as its eyes tried to spot you. 

“Calm down, it means you no harm.” Cregan said firmly. “My wife is the priority.” He commanded, glaring daggers at those within the room. 

Your chest heaved up and down as you could feel Rhaegos’ bond clearly with you as your eyes found his slit ones through the window. “Rāpir�� (Be calm) Rhaegos!” You managed to say out loud, the dragon grumbling weakly in turn as it hissed at the maester, who quickly got back to his occupation. 

With one last push, you had felt it– the pain had numbed most half of your body, making you try and chase your breath, Cregan’s gaze flickering to you and the maester, with Rhaegos present out the window, his low grumbling ever a presence to your strength. 

All your body seemed to be in a haze, unable to move your legs- or the whole of your body for that fact.

Until a cry of the babe was heard, Cregan’s heart thumping in his chest as he looked at you and the babe being wrapped in the towel.

“You did it, oh thank the Old Gods.” Cregan murmured, pressing his lips to your forehead before his pressed against yours. “It is a girl, my lord, my lady.” The maester announced as the bundle of joy was placed into your arms. 

“Our- our own little girl…” You croaked out, a grin breaking through your face as tears of joy pricked your eyes, Cregan looking at the babe wriggling and making his heart near to bursting. “She’s a beauty like you.” He murmured.

Rhaegos outside began whirring as he seemed to be feeling your joy coursing through your bond, taking himself to the skies screeching happily, making you laugh weakly. 

Cregan then nuzzled both you and the babe, with Rhaegos’ sounds echoing above. 

Your children would need not worry for a protector, when they’ve got the beast and the wolf of Winterfell by their side. 

─── ⋆⋅ ❤︎ ⋅⋆ ───

cregan tag-list: @misswynters @i-padfootblack-things

[m4rv3l-girl]

I can help

Bucky x Y/N

Y/N feels unwanted and Bucky can help…

Warnings: Touch starved reader and touch starved Bucky. Smut. Fingering. Oral f!receiving.

Bucky Barnes stood in the doorway of the cozy living room, the soft light from the pendant lamp casting a warm glow over the figure curled up on the couch. His eyes searched the room, taking in the familiar sight of his partner, Y/N, surrounded by a mountain of pillows and blankets. Her eyes were glued to the TV, but the flickering images couldn't mask the sadness etched on her face.

"What's wrong, doll?" Bucky asked, his voice a gentle rumble.

Y/N looked up, and for a brief moment, she seemed surprised by his presence. "Oh, it's nothing," she replied, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Bucky stepped closer, his boots making no sound on the plush carpet. "You know you can tell me anything, kitten," he said, sitting down beside her and placing a hand on her knee. His touch was comforting, a silent question that sought permission to delve deeper.

Y/N sighed and leaned into his side, her head resting against his shoulder. "It's just… I haven't… you know," she mumbled, her cheeks flushing a soft pink.

Bucky's eyes narrowed as he studied her, his grip on her knee tightening slightly. "You haven't what, darling?"

Her eyes remained on the TV, avoiding his gaze. "Haven't had sex in a while," she finally said, the words barely a whisper. "It's just been a dry spell, I guess."

Understanding dawned on Bucky's face as he took in her words. Having experienced long periods of isolation and loneliness himself, he knew the feeling of being touch-starved all too well. He pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "How long, love?" he asked softly.

"Too long," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "It feels like everyone else is moving on with their lives, and I'm just stuck here, in this rut."

He brushed a lock of hair away from her face and kissed her forehead. "You're not alone in this," he assured her. "We all go through it sometimes."

The silence between them grew as he contemplated his own past, the lost time, and the warmth of her body beside his. He knew what it was like to crave human connection, to be desperate for the simplest of touches. His hand trailed down to her hip, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Let me help," he offered, his voice a low murmur in her ear.

Y/N tensed for a moment before relaxing into his embrace. She turned to look at him, her eyes searching his for any hint of judgment or pity. All she found was concern and care. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice small.

Bucky took a deep breath, his thumb tracing slow circles on her skin. "I know what it's like to feel unwanted, to feel like you're not enough," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "But you are. More than enough. And if you need someone to remind you of that, I'm here."

Her eyes filled with tears as she nodded. "I just… I don't know if I'm ready," she admitted, her voice trembling.

He leaned back, giving her the space she needed. "We can take it slow," he promised, his voice soothing. "Just tell me what you need, and we'll go from there."

Y/N took a moment to think, the weight of his words pressing against her chest. She knew Bucky was a man of action, but she also knew he was patient and kind. If he was willing to help her through this, she had to be willing to let him in. She looked into his eyes, the warmth and understanding reflected there, and took his hand. "Okay," she whispered. "Let's do this."

The air in the room grew thick with anticipation as Bucky leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips. It was gentle, a promise of more to come. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened. Y/N felt a spark of life return to her, a warmth that had been missing for so long. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair.

He pulled away, his eyes searching hers for any sign of discomfort. When he saw none, he began to pepper her neck with tender kisses, his hands roaming over her body with a newfound confidence. Y/N shivered, her breath hitching in her throat as she felt herself responding to his touch.

Bucky noticed the change in her and paused, his eyes locking onto hers. "Is this okay?" he murmured, his voice gruff with desire.

"Yes," she breathed, her voice a mere whisper. "More than okay."

Encouraged, he continued his exploration, each touch and kiss more intimate than the last. He was determined to show her that she was desired, that she was cherished. As they grew closer, the tension in the room began to dissolve, replaced by a warmth that radiated from their joined bodies.

The TV flickered in the background, forgotten as they lost themselves in the moment. Bucky's hand found the hem of her shirt, his fingers teasing the skin beneath. Y/N's heart raced as she felt his touch become more insistent, more urgent. She knew that this was just the beginning, and she was ready to let him in, to let him show her the passion she had been missing.

They stood together, their kisses growing more heated as clothes fell away. The room was filled with the sound of their ragged breaths, their bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle that had been apart for far too long. Bucky picked her up, carrying her to the bedroom as if she weighed nothing at all.

His eyes never left hers, the connection between them unbroken.

Gently laying her down on the bed, he took a moment to appreciate the beauty before him. Her skin was flushed with desire, her eyes filled with a mix of hope and vulnerability. He knew that this was a gift, one he would not take lightly.

With a soft smile, he joined her on the bed, his body covering hers as their kisses grew deeper. His hands moved over her, exploring every inch of her, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of her skin. Y/N arched into his touch, her body responding to his every caress.

Bucky's mouth trailed down her neck, his teeth grazing her collarbone as he kissed and licked his way to her chest. His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs teasing her hardened nipples as she gasped. He took his time, savoring the sounds she made, the way her body moved beneath him.

He continued his descent, kissing her stomach and tracing the line of her hip before finally reaching the apex of her thighs. He looked up at her, his eyes dark with need, and asked, "Can I?"

Y/N's response was a nod, her eyes never leaving his. She watched as he kissed her inner thighs, his breath warm against her sensitive skin. He was slow and deliberate, as if savoring every moment. When his tongue finally touched her core, she gasped, her body jolting with pleasure.

Bucky took his time, tasting her, learning her, as if it was the first time. His tongue was gentle yet firm, his movements sure and steady. He listened to her whimpers, her sighs, taking cues from her body as it began to arch towards his. He was thorough, his mouth exploring every fold and crevice, leaving no part of her untouched.

He lapped at her clit with the flat of his tongue, the sensation making her hips jerk upward.

He chuckled darkly against her, the vibration sending a fresh wave of pleasure through her body.

His teeth grazed the sensitive bundle of nerves before he sucked on it, the pressure perfect. Y/N's hands fisted in the sheets, her body tightening as the pleasure grew.

Bucky's tongue delved into her, tasting her wetness, swirling around her entrance before retreating again to focus on her clit. His thumbs spread her wide, exposing her fully to his mouth. He devoured her with a hunger that was almost desperate, his tongue flicking and stroking with a skill that had her gasping for air.

He suckled her clit, the pressure just right, as his fingers slid into her wet warmth. He curled them in a come-hither motion, stroking her G-spot with precision that had her back arching off the bed. Y/N's breaths turned to moans, her hips rocking against his mouth as he brought her closer and closer to the edge.

"You taste like fucking heaven, doll," he murmured against her, his voice thick with arousal. The crudeness of his words only served to excite her further, the sweetness of his sentiment shining through the vulgarity.

Y/N's cheeks burned, but she couldn't deny the thrill that shot through her as he spoke. "Bucky," she moaned, her voice breathless.

He paused, his eyes meeting hers with a smirk. "What's the matter, kitten?" he teased, his voice a low growl. "You like it when I talk dirty?"

Y/N nodded, unable to form coherent words as his fingers continued their magic. "Yes," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whimper.

"Good to know, darling," Bucky said, his grin turning wolfish as he went back to his task. "You're so wet, so fucking sweet," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her skin. His thumb began to rub circles around her clit as his fingers pumped in and out of her, the filthy words spilling from his lips as if they were a declaration of love.

"Your pussy's so tight around my fingers, Kitten" he groaned, his own arousal palpable. "So greedy. She’s hungry for it." He watched as she squirmed beneath him, her body responding to every lewd word and sensation. "You like that, don't you?"

Y/N nodded, her breath coming in gasps. "Yes," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Bucky's grin grew wider as he felt her tighten around his fingers, her body begging for release. He knew exactly what she needed, and he was more than happy to give it to her. He kissed her inner thigh, his breath hot against her skin. "I've got you, darling," he murmured, his voice filled with sweet reassurance.

He increased the pace of his thumb, the circles growing tighter as he felt her approaching climax. His other hand slid up to cup her breast, his thumb flicking her nipple in time with the movements of his mouth. Y/N's eyes rolled back in her head, the pleasure almost too much to bear.

Her legs began to shake, her toes curling as she reached the peak. Bucky felt her body tighten around his fingers, the muscles of her thighs clenching as she came undone. A guttural sound escaped her throat, a mix of pleasure and relief. Her orgasm washed over her like a wave, crashing against the shore of their intimacy.

As the last tremors of her climax subsided, Bucky kissed his way up her thigh, his eyes never leaving hers. She watched, wide-eyed, as he moved over her, his face flushed and his eyes dark with lust. He took her mouth in a deep, claiming kiss, their bodies slick with sweat.

To her surprise, she felt the warm, wet proof of his own release on her thigh. She looked down to find that just the sight of her pleasure had been enough to make him cum. Her eyes went wide with shock and a newfound sense of power.

Y/N looked up at Bucky, who was watching her with a smug satisfaction, his eyes hooded and his breaths uneven. He leaned down to kiss her, a smudge of her own arousal on his lips.

"You're incredible," he murmured against her mouth, his voice thick with lust…

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Requests Open!

[reidrum]

the many names | s.r

a/n: i could not get the idea that spencer would have little explanations for all the names he has for you so i give you this enjoy

summary: in which the many names that spencer calls you each have a special meaning

cw: mind rotting fluff

wc: 1.1k

honey:

spencer’s childhood was anything but ordinary. graduating high school at 12, with a schizophrenic mother, and an absentee father is a combo meant to mess anyone up. the one thing he felt was constant were the sitcoms his mother would watch when she had her good days. shows like i love lucy and cheers filled his ears as he watched the picture perfect families navigate through mundane and seemingly normal scenarios. the comfort he found in these televised families, something he wasn’t afforded in his own, was a nice little bandaid on the gaping hole left by the oddities of his life.

until he met you, of course. you changed everything for him, showed him what it meant to be loved and cherished, what family really was outside of the textbook definition. as a young boy he’d always envied ricky ricardo coming home to lucy at the end of every work day, bursting through the door and saying “honey, i’m home!” the phrase itself encompassed what he so dearly longed for; a home.

so when spencer calls you honey, he means it because you’re sweet and sappy and all the things normally associated with honey. but for him, specifically, when he gets to come back from harsh cases, bursting through the door of your shared apartment yelling “honey, i’m home!”, it heals that gaping hole from his childhood little by little, replacing the wound with the home you’ve built together.

sweetheart:

for someone who absolutely loves sweet things, calling you sweetheart was an obvious title in his book. the way you cared so deeply for the people in your life, the people you didn’t know, even those involved in heinous crimes were offered some of your never ending empathy. it inspired him, to know that someone who sees the true horrors of humankind on the daily can still hold hope and love for the world’s inhabitants.

when spencer calls you sweetheart, it’s in the more domestic moments of your lives. when he asks which tea you want, when he can tell it’s been a rough day and he lets you rest in the comfort of his arms saying “it’s okay, sweetheart. i’m here now.”, when he leaves you long and loving voicemails for when you’re not able to go on cases together. spencer’s sweet tooth could probably never be satiated, but if it keeps you around forever he has no problem with that.

angel:

calling you angel is still something he finds a little ironic. he’s an agnostic atheist, has no faith in the gods or whatever power that may be. he’d always say if you couldn’t find it in a textbook then it’s not a real thing. but here you were, defying literally everything he ever knew or thought he knew. spencer thinks that if angels were personified they would surely look like you.

his job has so many moments that put him in near death situations, he’s not proud of how many times he’s felt the pearly gates come for him. but every time he was close to that end, flashes of you would roll through his mind like a movie reel and it would tether him back to this realm.

add to that, you just always happened to be there when he needed you. if he was about to drop a cup of coffee you’d be there grab it, you had his back when you were on the field together, and you’d let him talk your ear off about the most obscure topic just to see him smile.

if proof existed for the theoretical, it would be you. you were his guardian angel, and he never let you forget it.

princess:

this one was rare, only invoked in the super intimate and special moments between you both. usually in the bedroom is where you hear this one used in both sides of the extreme. on one side he says it when you’re being just so needy, so pliant and willing for whatever he wants it just makes him want to give you everything in return. on the other side, when you’re being for lack of a better word, a brat, it’s used as a tease, a taunt for your slutty bad behavior. a reminder that even though you’re spoiled by him he’s still going to give you the world.

it’s also used when you both get dressed up, for an fbi event or a party at rossi’s. it always takes the wind out of him when he sees you getting ready or you come out to show your outfit to him. it makes him feel like falling in love with you again every time, like he’s been so blessed to live a fairytale where he prevails and gets the princess at the end.

baby:

calling you baby is quite literally second nature to spencer, probably the easiest thing for him to do. it slips out all the time people might think baby is your real name. he uses it when he asks what you want for dinner, when you’re upset over something he did at work that put him in danger, when he just really wants you to watch this one russian romance film he finally got his hands on and promises you’ll love it.

you also find it really funny to play songs that you know he doesn’t know that have the word baby in it, because even if he doesn’t know the words to always be my baby to mariah carey, it never stops him from giving you the biggest smile in the universe when he listens to you belt the song to him.

pretty girl:

he didn’t even come up with this one, derek did. stemming from his nickname for spencer, when derek realized that there was something between you and pretty boy, it just became so easy to get under his skin and call you pretty girl, telling him “don’t look now, your pretty girl is coming.”. before you had started dating and spencer was just pining from afar, he would get so red in the face when derek would let the name slip.

after he finally grew some balls and asked you out, spencer adopted the name for himself to use in situations he had you alone, where he could admire you in your entirety and no other prying eyes. to use when you just wake up and the sunlight hits you perfectly like a glowing halo, or when you’re both in the office and you’re explaining something relevant to the case and you just sound so smart and beautiful, and he can’t help but truly believe that the aphrodite reincarnate is his.

[smuttysabina]

Motherly Impregnations with Yiren

(Male Reader x Yiren/Jihyo(short), 4.3k words) Tags: More mommy time, You don't need massive tits to be a mommy, Slight incest, Stern mothering, Oral and vaginal sex, Erotic dancing, Disappointing sex, Premature ejaculation, Impregnation, Setup chapter for the tropical incest bonanza

Previous Chapter

You had always had Mommy issues, though to be fair, you had recently acquired more than a few "Mommies", who were more than willing to scratch that particular itch. As it turned out, your dear cousin Jihyo had a plethora of fellow idols who were only too happy to help satisfy your lack of motherly attention; in a manner that usually left you emotionally fulfilled, while testicularly drained. Even Jihyo herself had joined in on the fun, though she had coyly forbidden you from penetrative sex, her hands, thighs, and breasts had milked you multiple times over the months; and it had left you even further enthralled by her than you had been before Gahyun had popped your cherry. Now your cousin dragged you along to all sorts of events, and sometimes you didn't end up getting pampered by some amorous idol and drained of your seed simply for being Jihyo's relative. So that was how you found yourself backstage at a recital, while a beautiful vixen salaciously danced in front of you, her every movement an advertisement in lust; you quite honestly had not expected you would be getting fucked tonight, but Yiren seemed intent on making it happen.

Like most evenings these days, Jihyo had arrived after the sun had set, and cheerfully told you what you both would be doing this evening. Ordinarily you would have chafed at such tight control over your social life, but so you had grown so obsessed in your quest to fuck your cousin that you readily agreed to her every whim if it got you one step closer to that goal. Of course, Jihyo knew what you wanted, but was more that willing to use your arousal to mold you into the kind of man she wanted you to be; and it wasn't as if she was ignoring your sexual needs. Why, just last night... You moan pitifully as Jihyo's soft lips slowly move down your shaft, kissing every inch of your length until your tip is drooling precum. Your cousin smiles knowingly while she continues to stroke your cock, evidently you would not be lasting long enough for her to need to use her breasts, let alone her thighs, to bring you to orgasm. She still opens her mouth in pretend shock though when your load erupts all over her face, "Oh! Good boy..." she coos as she licks up the mess she made on your manhood... Next thing you knew you had been bundled into a car with the heavily pregnant Jihyo and driven to a nearby theatre, where an idol from a group you were not very familiar with was putting on a performance of sorts.

Jihyo had never been very close with the idols of Everglow, even if she had been extremely keen on assisting them with matters regarding... breeding. So you had been somewhat perplexed when she announced during the ride to the venue that Yiren had been practicing for a show of sorts, and had wanted to test her abilities in front of a live audience of discerning skill; which obviously meant Jihyo. Still, your cousin was usually far too busy with normal idol tasks for such a trivial request, and not from one of her favorites no less, so something about Yiren's offer must have caught her attention. You had never even met the girl before, and most of what you knew about her had come from watching a video of her and the other members of Everglow getting bred by some guy with a truly monstrous cock. Yiren had been quite dignified, and had indeed mounted it first, arrogant even while her belly was bulging obscenely and she looked on the verge of passing out. As for the rest of the girls, well, watching a girl so short you could rest you arm on her head taking a dick as long as her torso to the hilt had been... an experience to say the least. Even Jihyo had seemed somewhat queasy at the frantic glee those perverts had shown when stretching their bodies far past the breaking point.

So it was a touch awkward when you finally meet Yiren in person, after she effusively greets Jihyo, she turns her attention towards you; and it felt embarrassing to give her a polite hug after having watched her getting violated in such a visceral fashion. But she seemed none the worse for wear as she guides you through the modest venue and into the familiar surroundings of a practice room. Her attendants pull up comfortable chairs for you to sit in while you wait, as Yiren bows in gratitude before hurriedly leaving to get changed for you two; it seems like you and Jihyo would be getting a private performance of sorts before the main event began. The pair of you settle in, chatting idly like normal cousins would, though Jihyo's hand seemed oddly intent on stroking your thigh from time to time. The minutes swing by, until the idol's phone starts buzzing energetically, she idly answers it, her eyebrows narrowing as she glances intently to the side, before sighing and simply saying, "On my way," she pats your leg apologetically, "Sorry dear, Yeji broke into the intern pens again, so I'll have to go handle that, be a good boy and stay for me, okay? I'll be back once I get things settled down back at the office" Jihyo, kisses you on the forehead before marching out of the room, annoyance clearly written on her features as she waddles out; graceful even with a massive belly. Leaving you to enjoy the coming performance alone.

Yiren looks miffed when she waltzes back into the room and finds her feted spectator missing, looking accusingly at you as if you were the one who caused her to leave. Her fury only makes her look all the more attractive though, displeasure looks good on her, and her elegantly applied makeup only heightens the effect. Yiren was dressed like a courtesan of old, her taut stomach on display while her breasts were demurely pushed up, and her limber legs obscured by a tasseled dress. It made you feel as if you were in one of those period dramas, a nobleman indulgently allowing some peasant to dance for him only for her to catch his interest, as well as his seed later that night. In those shows though, the dancer tended to be humble and kindly compared to her competition while Yiren was... "Oh that fucking slut is at it again? Typical, she never could control herself," Yiren sniffs pointedly, as if she had never enjoyed sexual relations with several fans at once. And to be fair to her, you had also been shocked that the bumbling and cheerful Yeji harbored nigh sociopathic levels of nymphomania; her fear of Jihyo's displeasure was likely the only thing that stopped you from being ravaged long before those two Mommies ushered you into manhood.

With a resigned sigh, Yiren puts her hands on her hips and appraises you more closely, though judging by her raised eyebrow she was none too impressed by what she was seeing, "You are... Jihyo's cousin, aren't you?" she muses upon this, before nodding with slight satisfaction, her complex hairdo bobbing slightly atop her head, "Very well, I had wanted her feedback on my dance, but you will have to do. The show officially starts in an hour, so we have more than enough time," Yiren claps her hands to catch her attendant's attention, and they scurry to ignite scented braziers and lower the overhead lights to set the proper ambiance. A low, warbling undertone starts up from speakers bolted to the ceiling, tickling your eardrums in a not entirely unpleasant fashion, as Yiren leans down over you. She smiles as you awkwardly shift in your seat, "Don't worry, I won't bite, just... relax," she affectionately pats your cheek before whirling about and sauntering back to the center of the room. Yiren smoothly twists and bows towards you, her long, red armbands dangling as she demurely supplicates herself; giving you the barest peak of her modest cleavage before she sweeps back into an upright stance. The performance, had begun.

Yiren moves in long, languid movements, unhurriedly showing off her lithe body, wordlessly introducing herself to you as she glides around the floor. A slow, pounding drumbeat accentuates her every step, her hips swaying from side to side in time with it, her skirt rustling tantalizingly, emphasizing her slightest motion. The beat suddenly increases, and Yiren's dress swirls about her as she spins, her leg lifting up to briefly reveal a hint of pinkish skin amidst the roiling folds of her outfit before it is hidden once more as her leg lowers. You lean forward, your interest piqued by that flash of glistening flesh... Yiren, a light smile gracing her elegant features, returns to her sensually lazy movements; but now that you were fully acquainted with her body, she shows what she is going to do with it. The drums pound once more as the idol prances lasciviously about the floor, her limber legs swinging wildly as she draws ever closer to where you are sitting. You are dumbstruck as her skirts ride gradually higher on her hips, pushed upwards by her violent movements, giving you ever more glimpses of that unmistakable slash between her thighs. Your heart slams in your chest in primal sympathy with the beat, and you are utterly enthralled by Yiren, addicted to every seductive flourish of her legs. Your brain is fogged by desire that you do not notice how close she is until her foot sails over your head, granting you an unobstructed view for the first time, as well as the heady scent of a woman in heat. Yiren turns the motion into a spin, smoothly flicking her skirt about herself to reveal her bare bottom before ending in an arched pose; her arms above her head, with one leg raised just enough to, finally, show you what you hungered for.

You are almost drooling as you drink in the sight of Yiren's perfectly formed pussy. Her delicate clit heralding the smoothest set of lips you had ever seen, her modest folds demanding to be pampered and worshipped before you could even consider entering them. Yiren stares down at you, her chest heaving as she lowers her arms, "I take it... you enjoyed... my performance?" she glances pointedly down at the conspicuous bulge in your pants, a weary smile upon her face. Your manhood is all the response she needs, but you are still unable to stop yourself from moaning an affirmative. Yiren cocks her head as she slips into your lap, her arms draping themselves around the back of your chair, "Mommy?" she inquires, "Your mother is far from here, but I would be... happy to take her place," she slides a hand across your shoulders and down your chest, "Now then, Mommy needs something from you, do try and not disappoint, hm?" The strain in your pants grows even greater in response, and she steps back, hands on hips, "Well? Pants off. Now." You shakily shove your pants down your legs, your cock springing energetically as it tastes the humid air of the room. You both look awkwardly at one another for several breaths, before Yiren sighs once more, "I see, I had hoped the father of my first child would have a little more... gumption to him. I suppose I will be on top then."

You attempt to get up out of your seat in protest, but Yiren's hand firmly stops you before you can rise, "Oh, stop. You forfeited your chance to breed me in a dignified fashion the moment you did not fall to your knees and prepare me like a proper man would. So sit back, shut up, and let Mommy do all the work, since apparently you can't." You stammer out a question as she sits upon your lap once more, and Yiren frowns, "What do you mean, 'Already pregnant'? Why would- Oh. There was a video, wasn't there?" You nod shyly, causing the idol to roll her eyes, "Please, as if I would let a fucking peasant like that impregnate me? I had E:U clean me out afterwards, my womb deserves the seed of... worthy men," Yiren pats your cheek, "But you'll do," She smirks haughtily, clearly reveling in her superiority over you, but it wasn't as if you could do anything about; after all, your cock cared little about your wounded pride. Her hand grasps your now thoroughly erect member, orienting it towards her slick entrance, "Feel free to finish whenever you'd like," Yiren informs you, "But do try and impress me..."

Muggy warmth engulfs your cock as Yiren sits on it, her pampered pussy devouring your length, causing you to groan plaintively as you struggle to hold on. She politely pauses when she reaches your hilt, allowing you to collect yourself before she starts moving again, a slow grind that morphs into a languid bounce. Yiren skirt rasps against your legs as she arrogantly rides your dick, displaying not even an ounce of pleasure as she methodically fucks you. Her face remains serene as her folds clench tightly around your shaft, and only when you start to moan for her does a half-smile graces her lips, "Is Mommy too tight for you? I can feel your balls pulsating, are you going to let go? Go on," Yiren purrs, "Disappoint me..." You shudder as you feel yourself giving in, you were so used to being showered with praise during sex, but being sternly scolded was surprisingly arousing; and your traitorous testicles seemed more than eager to fill this fertile princess... Yiren plants herself firmly against you when you creampie her, callously ruining your orgasm to produce the largest load possible, your semen flooding her pussy as you twitch beneath her., "My," Yiren smirks as she strokes your face, "I had low expectations, but you truly managed to reach even those. Surely this wasn't your first time? Whatever," Yiren places her finger on your lips to forestall any protests, "Now hush, Mommy needs to open her cervix."

Yiren breathes deeply, concentrating upon her body's little used muscles, and flexing her exposed core muscles rhythmically until she lets out the softest of moans, "I can feel it..." she kisses your sweaty forehead, "Congratulations, you're going to be a parent, I imagine Jihyo will be pleased," With that she gracefully unmounts you, allowing your excess cum to drip down her slender thighs, and glances at the clock on the wall, and lets out an unlady-like snort, "It seems we are blessed with a surfeit of time, at this rate we will be able to fit several rounds in with ease," she glances at you, "Well? Get it up again. You might have impregnated me, but I will be damned if I let the father of my child be such an embarrassment in bed," You blush brightly from her scornful words, it was hardly your fault that Mommy's pussy had been so breedable... But Yiren's tongue lashing made not only your cheeks flush with blood, as your manhood rises once more to the challenge, still slick with her juices and slathered with your own. The idol nods in satisfaction, "Well, at least you still have your youthful vigor," she stalks over to the abandoned chair and bends over it, sweeping her skirt up over the side of her hip to give you an unobscured view of her perky rear, "Pleasure your Mommy. I am curious to see how you perform with a bit more stamina in you."

Filled with fresh determination, you approach Yiren eager to prove her wrong with a more forceful showing. Her pussy was on clear display between her petite cheeks, its delicate lips already glistening from your earlier sex, primly shut once more as it awaits your member. With one hand on her hip, you press your cock against Yiren's slit, attempting to find her entrance, until a resigned sigh halts your efforts. Yiren looks back at you, "Oh. It's worse than I thought, Jihyo truly has been indulging you hasn't she?" Your face crumples in confusion, causing Yiren to roll her eyes, "Let me guess, whenever you're with a 'Mommy' you grope them for a time, they touch you a little, then they guide you between their thighs, and after a few pumps you fill them, and they tell you what a 'good boy' you are for not just fucking exploding on them before entering?" Your embarrassed silence is all the answer Yiren needs, "Has Jihyo not trained you at all?" she asks in exasperation, "You would think she would want her cousin to at least be serviceable between the sheets..." you mumble a pitiful response, "Oh, she hasn't let you fuck her yet? I'm honestly surprised," Yiren shrugs and waves her hand dismissively, "Whatever, it's time for you to learn how to pleasure a woman, dear."

"My pussy," Yiren lectures, "Is more than just some rude hole for you to shove your sweaty meat into. Rub it, spank it, poke at it with your cock, if you do not make me feel good, then I will simply ruin your next orgasm onto the floor," With that stern warning in mind, you do as she says, brushing your cockhead against her slit, relishing in the way it gushes juices around it as you stroke your tip up and down her lower lips. Yiren lets out a speculative noise, "Hmm, decent enough I suppose, now penetrate me, slowly this time. You are not pounding away at some cheap fleshlight, you are having sex with a lady, do try to treat me like one." Blushing, you try and do as she instructed, and having spent the last several minutes exploring her folds with your dick, you have a much better idea where you are supposed to insert it. The angle is still poor though, and Yiren eventually has to help guide you inside of her, the heat of her pussy welcoming your tip back into it. It is all you can do to stop yourself from immediately shoving yourself balls-deep inside of your Mommy, and you manage to push into her gradually. Yiren lets out a pleased sigh, "Very good, now begin thrusting, also if you finish inside of me before I let you, Mommy will be very displeased, understand? Good, now fuck me."

With your hands wrapped around Yiren's tiny waist, you do your best to please her. Her tiny ass barely even squishes against your crotch as you thrust into her, and the easy view of your cock filling her modestly sized pussy drives you wild; it looks as if you were impaling her with every pump. Your Mommy seems unperturbed by your efforts however, and her folds grip tightly around your shaft, the pink flesh of her sex dragging along it whenever you pull back. Much like a courtesan of old, Yiren's pussy is supremely skilled at pleasuring cocks, and soon you are once more on the edge, and are forced to slow down. Yiren giggles demurely, "Well, at least you learned to control yourself somewhat. Now then, angle your penis downwards, and hit my sensitive spot when you thrust," She obligingly lowers her butt to make things easier for you, but it still takes a few minutes of ineffectual thrusting before you are finally able to get it right. But of course, a few minutes fucking an idol's sublime pussy was enough to once more have you leaking precum inside of Yiren. Who clucks in annoyance when you slow down once more, "Again? Pity, it was actually starting to feel a touch pleasant," Yiren's surprising approval is enough to cause another welter of watery fluid to gush into her, and she sighs indulgently, "Oh very well, I suppose it is too much to hope you would actually become competent in bed so quickly," she slaps your hand, "Pull out, now. I have a reward for you..."

Following your Mommy's instructions, you stand awkwardly against the chair while she gracefully settles herself in front of you. Yiren stares up at you with that familiar half-smile of hers, no doubt amused by your obvious hesitation, her delicate makeup still immaculate even after her exhausting performance, as well as her less intensive sex with you. With seductive laziness, she pulls down her top, revealing her perky breasts, her smirk widening as you hump the air; they might be of modest size, but the sight of any Mommy's breasts was enough to excite you. Yiren languidly places her hand onto your cock, causing you to shiver, her nimble fingers wrapping themselves around your slick skin. Without warning she jerks you off, skillfully stroking your dick while maintaining stern eye contact with you. You gasp, pant, whine, shuddering from the intense stimulation of your Mommy's hand squeezing your cock mercilessly as she works your load out; it was all too much, you were going to get ruined on the floor for being a bad boy! But Yiren had other plans for your load, as she brings her face close to your oozing tip, "Cum for me. Now," she demands, and you blissfully comply.

Yiren's refined makeup, an entire hour of the beautician's hard work, is obliterated as vast ropes of steaming semen spew all over the idol's face. She purrs with pleasure as her face is inundated with jizz, her eyes drowning in it, her patrician nose covered in it, her elegant hairdo soaked in it, and all the while she continues to work your shaft until the final trickles of sludge burble out of your reddened tip and into her mouth. Yiren lets out a pleased noise as she cleans your cockhead with her tongue, "Impressive, your stamina might be lacking, but at least your loads are pleasantly sized," You beam at her praise, but her grip remains tight upon your manhood when you try and move back, "Did I say I was finished, that was not your reward, this is," and Yiren promptly puts it in her mouth. Your cock was still sensitive from its recent climax, so the stimulation from the idol's blowjob was enough to have you gibbering with pleasure. You write against the chair as Yiren expertly sucks you off, your seed drying upon her face even as she salaciously works yet more out of you. Her tongue swirls around your shaft while her head bobs up and down your length, her lips locked tightly around it even as her hands massage your balls and press against your taint. Not even a minute after your last orgasm, your next load is already spraying directly into Yiren's stomach; and being a dignified lady, she swallows every last drop without even a cough.

When Yiren finally releases you from her clutches, you collapse back into the chair, utterly exhausted even though you had really not put all that much work in. Your balls ached horribly, and your manhood was stained red with her lipstick, "You have been marked," your Mommy explains, "So when Jihyo spots it she will know it was me..." Yiren snorts at your confusion, "I'm teasing, she'll smell my pussy on you, and know exactly just who you've been inside." She lithely gets back onto her feet, clapping her hands for her attendants once more; honestly, you had not even noticed they had left. You scramble to cover yourself as the girls rush inside, adjusting the idol's outfit, but abstaining from cleaning off the jizz coating the various parts of her body. Noting your curiosity, Yiren explains, "It is an old custom for courtesans to receive their lover's last load upon their faces, both as evidence of their sexual prowess, as well as their lover's virility. I shall wear yours in celebration of my impregnation. Stand proud dear, I wouldn't let any common dross breed me." And with that, Yiren sweeps out of the room, trailing her attendants like a comet's tail behind her as she hurries to the stage. If her performance was anything like your private one, then the reception would be a rather sticky one.

Left to your own devices, your pull your clothes back on, but before you can leave, your cousin bustles through the door, no doubt out of breath from hurrying back from the company building. She pouts as she notices that you are alone, "Aw, did I miss it? Why did they leave you here..." Jihyo sniffs the air, her eyes narrowing, before looking pointedly at you, "I see, so you enjoyed yourself then?" You nod shyly, unsure as to what her reaction would be, but she nods in satisfaction, "Good, I was worried she wouldn't get knocked up from a few weeks ago, she always has been a prissy little bitch." Jihyo pats your head endearingly, "Well done, I'm proud of you, good boy!" You blush with pleasure as your cousin leads you back out to the car, passing by various finely dressed people as they hurry to reach their seats in time. Most of them stop to stare at the obviously pregnant and deliciously voluptuous idol as she saunters by, causing the slightest stirrings of jealousy in you. Jihyo allows your hands to roam where they should not during the car ride back, but she gently pries them off of her when they attempt to slip down her pants, "Patience, dear," she reassures you, "I'm due in a few weeks, and then after that we have our trip with Lisa and some other girls. Don't look so glum! Momo will be staying over to help with things while I'm busy pushing the baby out, and you know how much she enjoys pampering you..."

It was to your surprise, later that night when showering off, that you were unable to remove Yiren's lipstick from around your shaft; it seems like she had not been teasing after all about marking you...

[vigilante-3073]

Obsessive Compulsivity

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Y/N has OCD and often struggles with her disorder in the workplace. Spencer looks out for her and ensures that no one is able to mess with her.

TW: Mentions of OCD/compulsions/feelings/panic attacks, disrespectful behavior, pranks, Spencer being a sweetheart.

Y/N had been diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder when she was only fifteen years old. Y/N had struggled with her compulsions for years before she was able to get on medication. Y/N lived with a persistent feeling of intense anxiety and distress, the medication helped but the side effects seemed to outweigh the good ones.

Y/N had been in psychotherapy since her diagnosis and was able to cope with her condition, but it still effected her day to day life.

Y/N had a few particular compulsions that Spencer kept an eye on. He noticed that she gave into her compulsions more when she was stressed or upset. In their line of work it was important to look out for one another and he tried to be there for her as much as he could.

Y/N needed everything to be in threes.

She checked her door three times to make sure it was locked, washed her hands three times, clicked her pen three times in a row and a few other things. Her apartment was spotless, all the cans were facing out in her pantry, hangers were equally spaced in her closet and book spines were all aligned on her shelves.

Y/N cleaned her apartment every day, unable to rest until everything was in it's proper place. Her desk in the bullpen was spotless, everything aligned properly in perfect symmetry. It really bothered her when other people touched her things, but she tried to be kind about it.

Morgan tended to take advantage of that.

He stood in front of Y/N's desk in the bullpen, shifting around the items on her desktop while she was in the office with Hotch.

"What are you doing?" Emily asked, Spencer looked up from his paperwork.

"Wind her up and watch her go," Morgan smirked.

"You're an ass," Emily said, shaking her head.

"I'll bet you twenty bucks that she doesn't make it a minute without putting everything back like it was," Morgan said.

"I'm not betting," Emily replied.

"Why not?" Morgan questioned.

"Because it's mean and juvenile," Spencer stated.

"It may be juvenile, but it's not mean, it's- Oh, here she comes," Morgan said, quickly returning to his seat as the door to Hotch's office opened.

Y/N walked down the stairs and made her way over to her desk, she froze in place as she stared at everything. Morgan watched her out of the corner of his eye, glancing over to Emily.

Y/N's eyes flickeed from item to item as she reached out and adjusted things. She returned the items to their proper place, tapping them three times as she moved them.

"Stop touching my things, Morgan," Y/N said, pulling out her chair and sitting down.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, sweetheart," He replied.

Y/N huffed, setting her files down and looking around at her things. Spencer watched her spend the next hour adjusting her items minutely, unable to focus on anything else until it was fixed.

Y/N was far too nice to do anything to get back at Morgan, but Spencer was always willing to help out a friend.

..

Later that day Spencer loosened the screws on the back of Morgan's chair, waiting patiently for him to return to his desk. Spencer almost felt giddy when he saw Morgan make his way over to his seat.

He sat down in the chair and leaned back, the backrest popped off and Morgan flailed his arms in the air as he fell onto the ground.

Morgan landed on his back, legs caught up on the seat of his desk chair as he looked around with a confused look on his face.

Emily laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as JJ sprang up from the edge of Emily's desk. Y/N turned around in her chair quickly and Spencer allowed a satisfied smile to settle on his face.

"Are you okay?" JJ asked.

Morgan stood up, "Somebody messed with my chair," He stated.

"He's fine," Emily smiled, shaking her head and returning to her paperwork.

"Who screwed with my chair?" Morgan asked.

JJ bent down and picked up the backrest of his chair from the floor, "The whole back fell off," She said.

JJ looked down at the floor, noticing the set of black screws on the carpeted ground, "Even the screws came out," JJ stated.

"You must have really pissed someone off," Emily said, not looking up from her desk.

Y/N looked over at Spencer, "Did you do that?" She asked quietly.

Spencer shrugged, "Just seems like karmic justice to me," He replied, sending her a wink.

Y/N felt her cheeks flush as she turned her attention back to the case files on her desk.

Over the next few months, Spencer became Y/N's avenging angel whenever Morgan decided to mess with her. Morgan tended to push the envelope with Y/N and Spencer absolutely hated it.

Y/N was a bit of a pushover and had always allowed people to walk all over her without a peep. Y/N deserved to have someone stand up for her and Spencer was happy to be that person.

Spencer expected Morgan to back off after a few innocent pranks, but he just wouldn't back down and Spencer chose not to either. He had changed out the sugar for salt in Morgan's coffee, added itching powder to his clothes in the locker room and had even superglued his pens to the top of his desk.

Spencer was honestly starting to get tired of thinking up new ways to mess with him. Y/N knew that Spencer was continuing to look out for her, she asked him to let it go, but he couldn't stand the idea of Morgan using her condition for his own amusement.

...

Morgan did not understand her condition until he saw how it truly effected her while they were out on a case.

The team had been on a case that required them to locate an unpredictable and dangerous unsub. Theories were thrown around and a long list of suspects gradually became smaller as more information was uncovered. The team finally reached the most likely suspect and a few searches from Garcia proved that they had their man.

The members of the BAU found themselves surrounding the man, snipers set up in the building across the street. Y/N had been trained in hostage negotiation and de-escalation, the unsub suffered from delusions and the team thought that Y/N may be able to get through to him.

Y/N was a profiler and did not carry a gun, she worked in the office and only went out into the field when the team deemed it necessary. Hotch ordered her to stay close to Morgan, putting her in a bulletproof FBI vest to ensure her safety.

The conversation had been going well and Y/N was beginning to establish a rapport. Suddenly a loud noise from nearby made the unsub jumpy and he became aware of how many officers surrounded him. He drew a weapon and everyone yelled at him to drop it, the man ignored them and charged towards law enforcement.

The sniper took aim and fired a shot, sending the unsub's blood splattering onto Y/N. She froze, eyes glossing over with tears as a nauseous feeling settled in her stomach.

Morgan stepped in front of her, looking her over for injuries, "Are you okay?" He asked.

"It got on me," Y/N stated softly, her hands were trembling as her breathing began to speed up.

"Are you hurt? Are you injured?" Morgan repeated, hand cupping her cheek and pulling her gaze away from the body.

"There's blood on me," Y/N mumbled shakily, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"You need to breathe, Y/N. C'mon, baby, you're fine, it's just blood," Morgan said, attempting to comfort her.

"Here, I've got her," Spencer said, tucking his gun away and moving over to them.

"Spencer," Y/N mumbled.

"You're okay, you're safe," He assured, one hand holding onto her wrist while his other settled on her waist.

"It's on me," Y/N said, staring down at the speckles of blood on her skin.

Spencer nodded, "We'll clean it off, okay? I'll help you, but first I need you to slow your breathing down," He said, Y/N nodded stiffly.

She was hyperventilating, breath coming out in panicked puffs as she looked around wildly. Spencer took off his vest quickly, taking her hand and settling it on his chest.

"Focus on me, alright? I need you to copy my breathing," He said, holding her hand against his chest over his heart.

"I can't," She hiccuped, shaking her head.

"You have to. Just close your eyes and stay with me," Spencer instructed.

Y/N sobbed, "Just close your eyes and focus on me," Spencer repeated, his other hand settling on her waist again and pulling her closer to himself.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, "Copy my breathing, okay? Nice and slow," He said.

Spencer took a deep breath in before releasing it as a slow exhale. Y/N struggled for a moment before slowly settling into his calm breathing pattern after a few breaths.

Her eyes fluttered open, glossy eyes meeting with his, "Let's get you cleaned up," He said, she nodded.

"She okay?" Morgan asked.

Spencer nodded, "I need to take her home so she can get cleaned up," He said.

"I'll let Hotch know," Morgan nodded.

"Thanks, Morgan," Spencer replied, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Spencer wrapped his arm around her and led her over to the SUV, he settled her in the passenger seat before he drove her home.

Spencer walked her up to her apartment, sittin on the couch while she got herself cleaned up. Y/N scrubbed at her skin roughly under the scalding hot water, desperately trying to remove all traces of the blood.

Y/N felt like she couldn't get clean, sobbing as she continued to scrub her skin raw. It took almost an hour before she had finally calmed down enough to shut off the water and step out of the shower. She dried herself off and got dressed, but her entire body still felt dirty.

Spencer stood from his seat on the couch as the bathroom door opened, "You didn't have to stay," Y/N mumbled with a soft sniffle.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," Spencer said.

Y/N nodded, eyes glossing over with tears again, "I can still feel his blood on my skin," She admitted shakily.

The skin of her arms, neck and chest were red and irritated from where she scrubbed the skin raw.

Spencer made his way over to her, "Can I touch you?" He asked, she nodded.

His fingers wrapped around her wrist gently, lifting her arm up to inspect her reddened skin. Spencer brushed his thumb over her pulse, "How can I help?" He questioned.

"I don't know," She replied.

"Can I give you a hug?" Spencer asked.

Her lip trembled and she nodded, Spencer let go of her arm and stepped closer to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her body against his chest gently. 

The smell of his cologne and the soft beating of his heart was calming. Y/N felt something break within her as she sobbed, tears rolling down her cheeks and soaking into Spencer's shirt as she slid her arms around him.

Y/N pressed herself closer to his chest, crying until her lungs ached and her eyes burned. She gripped onto the material of Spencer's shirt, he rubbed her back gently while murmuring words of encouragement into her hair.

It felt like an eternity before her sobs changed to shaky breaths, her tears drying on her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Y/N mumbled against his chest.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," Spencer assured.

Y/N reluctantly pulled away, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear gently.

"Thank you," Y/N mumbled, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"Is there anything else I can do?" Spencer asked.

She shook her head, "You've done more than enough already, Spencer," Y/N stated.

"I can stay if you don't want to be alone," He offered.

"You'd do that?" Y/N asked.

"Of course, I'd do anything for you," He answered easily.

[wlwxreader]

Queen of the Wilderness

not my gif

Yandere!Lottie Matthews x fem!reader

Summary: After the crash, came the need for survival. And with that, came the hunger. When you get selected as The Queen of Hearts, your girlfriend Lottie does everything she can to keep you safe, and starts to think of you of some kind of almighty being

Warning(s): obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, cannibalism, mentions of blood, Lottie being a cult leader, power dynamics, protective!Lottie

Word Count: 2.6 k words

Request: here

A/N: might make a part 2 idk

Masterlist: tba

You had lost count of how many months you have been stuck in the forest with your teammates.

You used to keep a very precise count. Every time you woke up, you would add another number to the figure. You would repeat it throughout the day, like a mantra that kept you sane.

You stopped counting when Jackie died, and Lottie started to talk about the Wilderness.

It made no sense to keep count anymore. No one would ever come to rescue you. You didn’t want them to, after what you had done. You all had broken a sacred human oath; you had eaten human flesh. Your soul would be forever tainted. It was only fair that you had to live the rest of your days like that, always hungry, always weighed down by your mistakes.

Lottie had changed too, but in a way you didn’t expect to. She was the leader of the group now, always keeping everyone on check.

She also kept them fed.

You never questioned her. You knew her. You knew she was doing whatever she could to keep the group together, and alive. You had known her your entire life, you knew she wouldn’t hurt a fly.

You knew it.

So when they started doing the card game, and she was a willing participant, you knew it was for the best.

“We have to do it, Y/N,” she whispered quietly, rubbing your back as you dry heaved over a bucket. You were in the attic, it was late at night. You could see her silhouette only because of the moon light, shining through the naked trees.

“I know,” you whispered. You moved away from the bucket. No matter how much you hated yourself, your weakened body couldn’t bring itself to throw up.

You had just eaten a person, and you were so hungry you would have gone for another round.

“Come here,” she whispered. Her hands were cold, but when you rested your head on her chest, she was warm. So damn warm against the coldness.

“I hate it,” you said. You wanted to sob, but were too tired to do so.

“I know, baby.”

Her voice was soft, unlike when she talked to the group. With you, she was still warm, she was still Lottie.

“What do you think we would be doing now, if the plane never crashed?” you asked. You used to ask a lot of questions lately; you needed to hear her voice, so it would drown out everything else.

“We’d be in college,” Lottie said. She ran her hand through your hair, and you sighed. “We would be in the same university. I would’ve gotten us a place close to college, and we would be living together.”

“You think?” you asked, sleepily.

“Yeah,” Lottie said, with a certainty that made you feel relaxed. “We’ll always be together, baby. Always.”

You hummed, closing your eyes. You fell into a dreamless sleep, and Lottie allowed you, sitting down on the floor. When she was certain you wouldn’t wake up, she carried you to bed and put all the blankets she could find over your body.

She left the attic with a kiss on your forehead. Almost everyone was already sleeping, laying as close to the fire as they could be. Natalie was laying against one of the walls, deep in thought.

“Have we run out of meat already?” Lottie asked. She crossed her arms, waiting for the blonde to reply.

“We have food for tomorrow’s lunch,” she said. Her eyes were on the rifle, as if she was considering how crazy it would be to get out in the middle of the night to find an animal.

“That’s it?” Lottie looked out the window, as she too was wondering the same thing.

“Yeah,” Natalie sighed. She looked reluctant to even speak the words. “Tomorrow, we’ll have to play again.”

Play. Lottie almost laughed at the word. They haven’t played in too long. Not even since the plane crashed.

“Okay,” she said instead. “I’ll work on it.”

Lottie came back to the attic, and laid down beside you. She put her hand on your cheek, and smiled when you moved closer, seeking her out even in your sleep.

Lottie knew what they were doing, what she was doing, would be considered psychotic if anyone outside of the group were to find out. But they couldn’t hear the whispers that came with the wind, they couldn’t feel the hunger that stuck like cheap gum on long hair. They couldn’t, but she could, and she knew she had to listen to the wilderness to keep you alive.

You were the most important person in her life. You were her lifeline. When she first saw you, her breath had stopped for a second. She had wanted you ever since, and had done everything to ensure you stayed by her side. She had the means for it. Especially now, in the middle of nowhere, with a group of people that would do anything she asked for.

“I’ll keep you safe,” she whispered against your hair. “I promise.”

The Queen of Hearts.

The card stared back at you, almost mockingly.

You swallowed hard, looking around the room. You wanted to take it all in, the tranquility of the cabin before you turned the card around and everyone would be craving your meat like wild animals.

Your eyes caught Lottie’s. She looked beautiful, with her antler crown and her dark brown hair falling on soft waves. She looked back, always aware whenever you looked at her, and the smile she gave you froze midway when she noticed your face.

“No,” she said, arms falling down to her sides. All strength seemed to leave her all at once. While the others kept choosing a different card from the stack, she walked up to you in fast steps.

“Run.”

You looked into her wild eyes, feeling her fingers digging into your arms. You blinked once, twice, and then once more, and before you knew it, the card was on the ground and you were running towards the door.

“It’s Y/N,” Shauna said. She looked detached, gone. Her eyes no longer had any warmth in them.

“Fuck,” Natalie said, looking at Lottie. She rushed to grab the rifle and held tight onto it, making sure no one else would grab it and use it to hunt you.

“She can’t get away,” someone said, and it was as if a light switch was turned on.

Everyone except Lottie and Natalie left the cabin, searching for you. They screamed your name, running in different directions to find you.

“This can’t be right,” Lottie said, completely out of it. She stared at the door, eyes out of focus. “Y/N is mine. They wouldn’t hurt her. The wilderness promised. I promised.”

“I—” Natalie was lost for words. She had never been okay with anything they were doing. She felt guilty; if she had managed to find enough food to keep everyone well fed… “I’m so sorry, Lot.”

Hours went by, and you remained hidden.

You moved stealthily, remembering all the advice Nat had taught you in those times you hunted with her.

Keep your head down. Use the woods to your advantage. Never look back, always move forward.

You did as she had told you all those weeks ago. You could hear them all around you, steps that never flattered unlike yours, screams that called for your blood, for your death.

You kept going, until you fell down. You almost moaned, but held yourself back in time. If they heard you now, it would be over.

You looked at your foot, grabbing it. It hurt like a bitch.

Something moved to your left, and you ignored the pain to get up. You couldn’t fight anyone sitting on the floor.

Instead, you found yourself staring at a white hare. You blinked in disbelief. It couldn’t be possible. Nat and Travis had said time and time again there were no animals left to hunt.

So why was a hare right in front of you?

You watched as it dug into the snow, disappearing from sight. You crawled towards the place the animal had just been at, and you noticed a small hole. With desperation, using the last remaining rays of sunlight, you moved the snow away, trying to find what you thought could be your salvation.

The hare’s den.

Your hands were numb and freezing by the time you found it. There were at least ten of them, piled up together in their home to keep safe from the cold. You felt sorry for a second before you reached for the first one, wasting no time to twist its neck.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered as you sobbed. You took off your jacket, and laid the animal there. You did the same with the others, only thinking of how long they would keep the group fed.

They wouldn’t go rotten for a while if you kept them by the snow, and someone could make broth with them. If the group was smart, the animals laying on your jacket would keep you fed for well over a month.

You got up when you were done, trying not to think of what you had just done with those innocent hares. Your steps were clumsy and uneven, what with the snow and your throbbing ankle. You took a big sigh, and walked back to the cabin, hoping you could explain yourself before you were attacked by someone, anyone.

When you saw lights by the cabin, you almost went back into the woods. They had regrouped, probably arranging themselves into different groups to cover the entire forest until they found you.

Taissa was the first one to notice you, limping toward the cabin. In a moment of loyalty you had thought long forgotten, she shut her mouth and turned back around, giving you some ahead time to run.

But you didn’t. You moved forward, stepping loudly so everyone could hear.

“Y/N,” Lottie said, out of breath. She ran towards you, wrapping her arms tightly around you, knees deep in the snow you had just fallen to, incapable of holding yourself up anymore.

You knew then, with the way she was holding you, that she would die protecting you. She wouldn’t move away from you even if they crawled at her skin until they reached muscle and bone.

“Lottie,” Shauna said, almost weary. “Move away from Y/N.”

“You won’t take her away from me,” Lottie said. You had never heard her sound so fierce.

“We need food,” Misty said.

“I have food,” you said. Your voice was muffled by Lottie’s chest.

“What?”

You moved away from your girlfriend, and rested the jacket on the ground. Silence was the only response you recieved.

Everyone looked at the hares, in complete confusion.

“It’s not possible,” Natalie said. She kneeled down in front of you and grabbed one of the hares, as if to check if they were real.

“It is,” Lottie said, with a conviction that made you furrow your eyebrows. “Y/N has brought us food. She’s the Wilderness’ daughter.”

“What?” Shauna asked, looking between you and the hares.

“Can’t you see?” Lottie asked, getting up. She faced the entire group with a smile on her face. “She is mine, and she is protected by the Wilderness. The Wilderness is her mother.”

You wanted to shake your head, to tell Lottie to shut up, but you were still in shock. In a few days, you would process everything that had happened and finally understand the severity of the situation, of just how close you had been to being hunted by your own friends, but at the moment you couldn’t think of anything except how scared you were, so you just allowed Lottie to wrap her arms around your forearms, trying to help you get up.

“My foot,” you complained.

“Someone hurt you?” she asked, sweetly. Too cheerful given the situation.

“No.”

But Lottie didn’t hear you. She got up again, looking at the crowd with fire in her eyes.

“Do you see what you have done?” she asked. “You hurt her. You know what would’ve happened if someone had taken her from me?”

The group remained silent, looking at Lottie as if they were mesmerized. A few of the girls had kneeled down to grab one of the hares, them checking too if they were real, and had stayed there, kneeling in front of your girlfriend.

“Everyone would have been killed by the Wilderness. She has been benevolent this time, allowing you to hurt what’s mine and still keeping you fed. But it won’t happen again.”

You looked in disbelief as everyone nodded.

“Now go work on dinner, and be thankful for the food she has brought.”

To your utter surprise, Lottie grabbed you bride style and lifted you up. She made you rest your head on her shoulder, and carried you back to the cabin. 

“I’m sorry, darling,” she whispered as she sat you down in one of the chairs that were by the fire. She kneeled before you, and took off your shoes. “I should’ve kept you safe. You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

You watched as she got up to get the little medical supplies there were left. She kneeled and grabbed your swollen foot, and left a kiss on your shin.

“I’ll do better next time,” she promised. She wrapped some bandage over the afflicted zone, apologizing when you complained. “I will. No more card games for you. No one is ever going to touch you again. No one but me.”

“Lottie…”

She gave you a smile after she was done with the bandage. It was slightly crooked, and a little tight, and she knew she should have asked Misty to do it, but she would rather die than see another woman touching you.

You were hers. She could finally understand— it had all happened for a reason. The two of you meeting, you joining the football team, the plane crash… It was all for a reason.

“Don’t you see, baby?” she asked, eyes wide open. A smile split her face in half, making you slightly uneasy. “You are mine. My queen. The child of the Wilderness. We both look out for you.”

On any other day, you would have been combative. You would have told her she was overreacting, and that she should calm down. That the entire thing was maddening, and it was no one’s fault.

But you were so tired, and your leg hurt, and you wanted to cry over the betrayal you had felt when your friends had tried to kill you to eat you.

So instead, you nodded, and followed her back to the attic.

“My baby,” Lottie wrapped a jacket around your shoulders. “You must’ve been so cold. But not anymore.”

She kissed your shoulder when you laid behind her on the bed, and you allowed her to hold you through the night.

Lottie smiled when she felt your breath slow down, indicating you had fallen asleep.

She could hear noises downstairs. The girls were already preparing dinner. She would go down in a while to grab food for the two of you, but until then, she held you tight.

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Alright, I'll say it: Jack Harkness and the Doctor's relationship is possibly the most fleshed out/complicated dynamic in Doctor Who and that is INCLUDING the master/doctor relationship. Seriously, think about it:

the fact that when they meet jack is presented as sleazy con man and the doctor makes him brave- makes him good

but that they are both willing to die for rose as long as she is safe

and then she comes back and dooms them both to live (even though jack has already died for her and the doctor WILL die for her)

(ninerosejack is canon and you cannot convince me otherwise)

but then the doctor sees jack as immortal as someone he COULD spend the rest of his life with

and instead of embracing it like you'd think he would because he is so wrecked by people leaving him/being left by him the doctor RUNS bc the Doctor is so scared of jack of what he means of what he is

jack ends up abandoned in dalek dust goes back in time to find the doctor suffers a hundred years alone/being tortured but STILL WAITS

(screw amy being the girl who waited or rory being the boy who waited- Jack Harkness is the boy who waited and he did it FIRST)

Jack finds out that he was abandoned. that the man that he loves HATES the sight of him. that the doctor would rather have a genocidal murderer than have him

and so Jack gets the hell out of dodge to go to a man who DOES love him

and don't get me wrong Jack loves Ianto and Jack DOES remember Ianto until he dies as the Face of Boe don't forget that (protecting Novice Hame from the virus as he couldn't Ianto

BUT AFTER EVERYTHING THE DOCTOR HAS DONE TO JACK JACK STILL LOVES THEM

Jack still considers five billion years cursed to never die to be BETTER than the alternative: dying a young time-agent-turned-con-man

Jack has more reason than any other companion save maybe Amy to hate the Doctor & yet spends 20 years in jail to rescue Thirteen still LOVES HER

AND AFTER FIVE BILLION YEARS HE ORGANIZES THAT FIRST MEETING ON SATELLITE FIVE HE ORGANIZES 9/ROSE'S FIRST DATE

jack harkness is a living ghost a reminder of the doctor's failures a physical fixed point and yet he still loves the girl who cursed him and the time lord that turned him into the kind of person that would give his dying breaths to protect the last of humanity in a dying city and tell the doctor that he is not alone

because fuck it, YANA was a warning but also a reminder a final gift

jack had been there all along, a ghost an echo a PROMISE

there is no more human character than jack harkness

[honeyedmiller]

Mr. Bakery Man

baker!joel miller x f!reader

rating: none

synopsis: it’s not every day you get to move from nyc to austin for your job and relish in a pleasant change of pace. it’s also not every day that you discover a cute family owned bakery in the heart of austin—and it’s definitely not every day that you meet the owner and fall head over heels for him.

warnings: this is pure, innocent tooth-rotting fluff ; fun flirting, we’ll call this one a hallmark type beat lol, sarah and ellie are both in this, joel is down bad in this (but so is reader), no use of y/n.

word count: 3.3k

a/n: this was supposed to be for @punkshort’s au writing challenge but i’m hella late on it. life has been crazy lately, but thanks for sticking with me during my unintentional hiatus 🤍

Moving from New York City to Austin Texas had been an oddity in life’s recent escapades. 

Your job had asked if anyone in your department was willing to do the big move because the office in Austin needed a strong journalist on their growing team. With the rest of your colleagues having kids and spouses, nobody was interested in uprooting their whole life to move to a completely different state. 

You, on the other hand, wanted to get out of New York. You yearned for new opportunities, and when this one arose, you didn’t hesitate to tell your boss you were interested. 

You’d been slowly settling into Austin, getting used to life in another city with a completely different atmosphere. You were grateful your new colleagues were all very nice and welcoming. 

The one thing you’d say you missed dearly back in New York City, though, was this amazing bakery off of Fifth you’d frequent before work. Their coffee and croissants were delicious, which is what led you to go on a Google hunt to see what bakeries were good around here in Austin. 

One caught your eye immediately—Sarah & Ellie’s— with five star reviews and multiple photos of all the sweets they had to offer. It was a cozy little café and bakery mixed into one with a homey, warm vibe and cute decorations. You mapped it to see how long it would take you to get to the place, and to your luck, it was only a ten minute walk from your apartment complex. So, you decided you were going to go first thing in the morning before work. 

And for some reason, you felt excited to try a new place. Maybe it was a sign of finally getting used to living in a completely different state, fifteen hundred miles away from your old life. 

You luckily got used to being an early riser, so once morning had rolled around, you were up n’ at ‘em by six thirty. You left your house around seven, making your way down to Sarah & Ellie’s. 

The shop felt more homey than it looked online. As soon as you stepped in, there was already a short line of customers and a waft of delicious baked goods and coffee that filled your senses. You suddenly yearned for a home you’d never even been to. 

You stood in line and observed the menu, deciding on sticking with a classic chocolate croissant and latte for the time being. You wanted to see if this place held a candle up to the place off of Fifth. 

The older gentleman in front of you greeted the cashier with a bright smile, and she immediately typed in an order. 

“Hey Randy, how’s it going?” 

“Hey sweet pea. Just here for my usual mornin’ coffee and danish,” he says, handing the girl a ten dollar bill. She counts out the change and closes the register with her hip before returning his beaming smile to him. “Tell your old man to stop workin’ so damn hard. Cheryl says I need to lay off the sweets once in a while, but I can’t do that if all his baked goods are too delicious to resist.” Randy pats his stomach with a satisfied hum, and the girl laughs. 

“I’ll be sure to pass on the message. Have a good one!” 

After she waves him off, she locks eyes with you and gives you the same beaming smile as you stepped up to the register. 

“What can I get ya, Miss?” she asks, tone cheery and light. 

“I’ll take a chocolate croissant and a latte, please.” 

She nods and rings in your order, grabbing a cup to write your name on it. 

“Not to intrude or anything, but are you new ‘round here?” Her tone is still light, laced with pure curiosity as the sharpie pen hovers over the latte cup. 

You gave her a smile and nodded meekly, “I am.” 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Sarah.” 

You give her your name and her smile never wavers, scribbling your name on the cup. 

“Let me get that chocolate croissant for you—” she started, but was accidentally cut off by a man opening the door that separated the front of the café from the back. 

“Hey babydoll, do we have anymore—” the man stops abruptly, eyes landing on you. A black apron adorned his clearly thick and strong physique, flour dusted on his hands and arms. He was tall, and had a sweet glint in his brown eyes that made warmth flood your whole body. He had a head full of thick brown curls with grays strewn in here and there, and the mustache along with the stubble on his chin mirrored the streaks in his hair.

He instantly gave off a charming aura, and when he smiled at you, you were a goner. 

“Hello Miss. Don’t think we’ve ever met before,” he says, dusting his hands off on the apron before extending one to you. His Southern accent dripped like thick, pure honey, and it made your skin burn hot. 

You couldn’t hold back your smile when you reached your hand out to shake his. It might’ve sounded cliché as hell, but the sudden surge you got from just touching him made every single cell in your body alert, yearning for more. 

“I’m new in the city,” you explain, “Just moved here not too long ago.” 

“Ah, makes sense. Think I’d remember ya even if you didn’t come in often.” 

You’re taken aback by his words. Was he… flirting? You felt your face heat, and your eyes nervously flit to the glass case full of delicious looking pastries. Well, if he was flirting, there’s no harm in doing it back… right? 

“Me coming in often depends,” you find yourself grinning like a fool, “Do your pastries taste as good as they look and smell?” 

“They’re the best in Austin,” he winks, and with that, murmurs something to Sarah before giving you one last smile before walking to the back again. 

Sarah can’t help but giggle as she hands you your croissant. “It’s on the house,” she waves her hand as you pull out your wallet, and you stop short to give her a confused look. She clocks the expression on your face and grins. “Dad said.” 

“That’s your dad?” You didn’t mean to pry, you were just taken aback. 

“Mhm. Family owned and operated bakery,” you immediately hear the pride in her voice, and you can’t help but smile. “I’ll have your latte out in a minute.” 

You grin and nod, stepping over to the other side of the counter. You decided to take a bite of your croissant while you waited for your latte, and god, it was the best pastry you think you’d ever had. The croissants on Fifth had nothing against these gooey, decadent, flaky treats. 

You nearly had to hold back a moan, and the man—Randy, you think—laughed beside you. 

“Good, ain’t they?” he asks, and you nodded expeditiously. 

“Probably the best croissant I’ve ever had.” 

Randy nods in agreement, “Miller’s the best baker in Austin. Been comin’ here since his girls were little.” 

And you finally figured that Ellie must be his other daughter. It warmed your heart that he’d name his place after his two girls, clearly his pride and joy. 

“That’s so nice,” you say, and give him a quick wave goodbye when his order is called out. 

“Hopefully I’ll see you again soon,” Randy shot you a smile before taking a sip of his drink, and you nod at him with a smile before you turn your attention to your name being called out. Sarah handed you your drink and you thanked her, taking a cautious sip. 

Even the latte was superb. You were one hundred percent sold on this place, and maybe even a little smitten with the owner. 

Yeah, you’d definitely be coming back. 

-

A month passes by before you know it, and you’re now deemed an honorable regular at Sarah & Ellie’s. You’ve met Ellie, who was a total opposite of her sister—but you loved both of their personalities all the same. You learned that Ellie was going to art school and you promised her you’d buy a commissioned piece. 

Sarah was going to school for business, studying to take over the bakery one day, and possibly even expand it as a franchise. You told her you’d be at the grand opening the day that it happens. 

As for the owner, Mr. Miller—or, Mr. Bakery Man, you teasingly called him—kept the flirting subtle but fun. You looked forward to the playful banter you two’d exchange, and it always earned a raised brow and a not-so-subtle smirk from either Sarah or Ellie. 

Unbeknownst to you, they’d tease their father about the ‘crush’ he had on the pretty regular that came in and how he should buck up and ask you on a date. 

And he planned to do just that. When you went in on a Saturday morning, you were surprised to see him working the front counter instead of one of the girls. 

“Well if it isn’t Mr. Bakery Man,” you say, and he runs a hand through his hair. 

“In the flesh,” he says, and you can’t help but laugh. 

“Girls didn’t come in today?” You lean up against the counter as he grabs a latte cup, writing your name out on it. He hesitates for a moment, but continues to write on it before setting it down on the opposite countertop. 

“Nah. Sarah was up late doing homework and it’s Ellie’s turn to have Saturday off.”

You nod in understanding, pulling out your wallet. He stops you and shakes his head, and you scoff. 

“You have to let me pay, Mr. Miller. You can’t keep giving me these discounts.” 

“Don’t worry about it, darlin’,” his smile was shy, and he was fidgety—almost like he was scared. Right when you opened your mouth to ask him if he was okay, he cut you off. 

“Would you wanna go on a date with me?” His words were rushed, and your heart melted at how nervous he sounded. 

You paused your movements completely, meeting those warm brown eyes that made you feel so safe. 

“I’d love to,” you answered, and relief visibly washed over his features. 

“Great. I, uh, wrote my name and number on your cup. Hope you don’t mind,” he says, and you have to bite back a smile. Then you suddenly realized you never even knew this man’s first name. You’d just stuck with calling him the nickname you gave him, or by his last name. 

You took the cup from him gingerly as he finished making your drink a few minutes later, and turned it in your hand to see his name and number scrawled on the side as promised. 

Joel. 

The name fit the gorgeous man in front of you. He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, and your palm landed on his insanely toned bicep with reassurance. 

He stared at you, the warmth in his eyes nearly making you weak in the knees. 

“I promise I’ll call you,” you say, giving his bicep a soft squeeze. Your hand falls to your side again before grabbing the croissant from the counter that you didn’t notice until now, and you eagerly took a bite. 

Joel wanted to laugh at the chocolate on the side of your mouth as you tilted the pastry toward him. He restrained himself from reaching up and wiping it from your mouth, but you beat him to it by using your knuckle to wipe it off. 

“Compliments to the chef.” You tease, wiggling your eyebrows. 

He couldn’t help but admire your playful side, ecstatic that you agreed to go out with him. 

“Anythin’ for you darlin’,” he said, and you left the bakery that day with a smile on your face that you couldn’t wipe. 

That night, you found yourself pacing back and forth in your apartment as you chewed on your bottom lip. Your phone was clutched in your hand, keypad open and ready to dial. Your other hand had the empty coffee cup with his name and number. 

You didn’t know why you were battling this in your head. Is it weird? Is it too late to call him? No—No, it’s not weird. He’s the one who asked you out, after all. 

Fuck it. 

You sighed as you dialed the number on the cup, pressing the phone up to your ear. Within seconds, Joel’s deep voice rang through the other line. 

“Hello?” He sounded a bit tired, voice hoarse from what had to be a long day. 

“Hey Mr. Bakery Man,” you said in hopes of lifting his spirits even in the slightest. 

His deep chuckle that sounded through the receiver had a warmth blooming in your chest. Even his laugh alone made you feel good inside—like a cup of hot cocoa in your hands on a cold night while you’re in your pajamas sitting fireside. 

Did it sound kind of insane? Sure. Did you care? No. 

The feelings you’d felt toward him almost blindsided you, but something in your gut told you that Joel would be a constant in your life from here on out. 

“Hey darlin’. How’s your day been?” He asks. 

“Good, good,” you pause for a moment, “So about that date…” 

“I was thinkin’ some dinner? Friday night at seven?” 

“That’s perfect. I can’t wait.” 

-

Friday night rolled around, and Joel was kicking himself for not exactly having a plan B. For some reason, the reservations he made got mixed up and you couldn’t be seated. 

You assured him that it was okay, and that his presence was enough for you to enjoy yourself. 

You both decided to get some pasta to-go and eat your food at a park nearby. Even though you both were dressed to the nines and didn’t exactly blend in, you couldn’t care less. You were enjoying your time with him and getting to know the amazing man that he is. 

He opened up and talked about how Sarah and Ellie were both his pride and joy, how he had Sarah really young and adopted Ellie later on, how he sometimes helped his brother Tommy in the contracting business, and how he’s loved to bake in the kitchen with his mom ever since he was a young boy. 

“Didn’t really think I’d make a career out of it,” he confesses. 

“Looks like it worked out for you really well though,” you nudge his side gently. You were settled onto a bench with him then, closer to each other than anticipated. Neither of you said a word, though. 

Being by Joel’s side radiated nothing but safety and comfort. It felt natural, like you two were meant to find your way to each other. 

“Guess so. ‘S funny though. I meet new people every day because of the bakery and, forgive me ‘f this is too bold to say, but meeting you has completely thrown me off my game,” he chuckles, and you furrow your brows. 

“What do you mean?” You try not to feign hurt in your tone, but he wraps his arm around your shoulders and brings you into his warm body. You’re engulfed in his scent, and you could stay here forever, you thought to yourself. 

“Don’t mean it as a bad thing, sweetheart. I mean you’ve been on my mind constantly, and truth be told, I didn’t think you’d ever agree to go on this date with me. ‘M not really one to put myself out there and go on dates, but somethin’ about you made me want to get to know ya more,” he explained, and you nodded your head in understanding. 

“I get it. I didn’t know what to expect when I moved out here. I always buried myself in work and didn’t pay much attention to dating someone, but I’d like to say this turn of events has been pleasant.” 

He can’t help but grin foolishly at your words. 

“‘M glad it worked out this way too. Y’know my girls pushed me to ask you out? Not that I didn’t want to in the first place, but ‘m… not very good at this,” he waves his hand to the side.  

You could easily picture Sarah and Ellie giving Joel a hard time, hounding him to ask you out. 

“Your girls know what’s best,” you tease, and he can’t help but let out a hearty laugh. “But you’re doing just fine, Mr. Miller. I promise.” 

“Even if I goofed and our reservation got messed up?” 

“Joel, I wouldn’t care if you took me to Whataburger for a date. It’s the company that matters,” you say, and you could’ve sworn you saw him blush. 

“Where have you been all my life?” His question sounded like it was meant to be directed just to himself, but you leaned in and gave his cheek a kiss. 

“Probably in New York City,” you shrugged. 

“You and your sarcasm,” he said, shoulders shaking from laughing. 

“Hey, you’re the one who asked me out. That’s on you,” and Joel couldn’t help the pride that bloomed within his chest. 

“Sure did. What do ya say? Wanna head back to the bakery for a cup of coffee and croissant?” 

“What, like a nightcap, but sweet?” You grinned, and he nods. 

“Somethin’ like that.” 

“I’d love to.” 

Joel offered you his arm and you wrapped your hand around his bicep, staying close to him as you both walked back to his truck. 

It didn’t take long to get back to the bakery. Joel made you some coffee with creamer and sugar while he drank his black. He made you a croissant too as promised, and you couldn’t help but gush to him about how you loved his baking. You’d tried a few other things off the menu since you started coming into the shop, but the croissants were what stole your heart. 

You and him sat there for what seemed like hours just talking and getting to know each other on a deeper level. You told him about your family, your dreams and aspirations, what made you want to become a journalist, and what drove you to reach your goals. 

He loved that you were so ambitious—he didn’t come across too many people these days that seemed to know exactly what they wanted in life. You impressed him, and as he sat across from you listening to you talk about work, he knew you were the woman for him. 

He would’ve deemed himself crazy not even a few months ago for thinking such a thing, but hell, if you know you know. 

So the months passed by, and you two became inseparable.

Both of you didn’t think you’d meet someone like this, let alone someone you both could see sharing a life with. This man, all kind hearted and selfless and a big teddy bear who treated you like a goddess, was the man that swept you off your feet and made you see that work isn’t everything life had to offer. 

You took that leap of faith to move to Austin, not knowing the outcome it would have. But, you sure as hell were so glad that it happened. That this thing with Joel happened. You were decently happy with your life before you met him and let him in, but now, you felt as if you’d been on cloud nine for months. 

You were helping Joel close up the bakery one Sunday evening when he turned to you and confessed that he loved you, and he couldn’t imagine his life without you. Neither could the girls. You’d changed him for the better, even if it hadn’t even been a year of knowing each other. 

You’d said it right back to him, and with flour still lingering on his hands, he’d grabbed your face and kissed you like you were the air his lungs needed, the blood to keep his heart pumping, and his god-given solace. 

And you thought, this was exactly where you were meant to be—safe in his arms, full of love, with a whole lifetime with him to look forward to. 

He was it for you. You'd won the heart of the charming Southern gentleman—your Mr. Bakery Man. 

dividers by @saradika-graphics

p.s. sorry if this sucked i’m genuinely so rusty w writing rn. thanks for understanding <3

[avelera]

Going along. with my theory that, "Both Jayce AND Viktor think the other guy is out of their league, which is why they never officially dated." I think one of the misunderstandings that keep them from hooking up sooner stems from how we, the audience, and Jayce see his first encounter with Viktor.

We, the audience, and Jayce see a sequence of events where Jayce met Viktor at his absolute lowest moment. His life's work just literally blew up in his face. Then, when he tries to pitch it to Heimerdinger he's immediately shut down, his future hopes are dashed by his expulsion from the Academy AFTER Mel goads him into talking about magic which turns the rest of the Council against him, his patron (Cassandra Kiramman) abandons him, and his mother calls him mentally unwell in front of everyone in the Council chamber and disavows what she's seen with her own eyes about the magic that has inspired him ever since.

Jayce has lost everything and is ready to end his own life in response because he sees no hope for himself, no purpose in living.

From that perspective, Viktor extending a hand, saying he believes in Jayce's work enough to dedicate his life to working alongside him, is a literal godsend. This senior classmate who is smart enough to earn a spot as the Dean's assistant throws all of that away just to give Jayce at his lowest moment his vote of confidence?

I don't think it's an understatement to say that Viktor saved Jayce's life and from that moment, the moment Viktor gives Jayce back the gem bracelet which was a symbol of Jayce's life and life's work, he is literally giving Jayce back his life and Jayce is determined to dedicate that life to saving Viktor's and making him proud with Hextech. He starts with Viktor on such a high pedestal above him as a result.

Ok, so that's all pretty obvious from the show itself. But what about Viktor's perspective?

From Viktor's perspective, Jayce saved his life, or rather, his career and all his ambitions for this world. When we meet him, Viktor had traveled as high as he can as a poor kid from the undercity, with all his disadvantages, using his own ability. He's assistant to the most powerful man (yordle) in the city on just his smarts alone. But now his life is stagnant.

His ambition was to discover a scientific innovation that would change the world and, possibly, cure himself. And here he meets this scientist, who is younger than him who through an independent study, on his own, has created the miracle which will actually transform this age. And he did it without going through the system (yes he had the Kiramman patronage but he was not telling them what he was working on), without telling anyone what he was working on, without the blessing or assistance of Heimerdinger.

Not only that, but this man is willing to stand up to the most powerful people in the city and say his research was groundbreaking. Then, when everything is stripped away from him, he's prepared to die for his convictions rather than live in a world where he can't advance his research.

I can only imagine this was incredibly humbling for Viktor, to see someone else coming up with the world's most life-changing technology while he was fussing around being an assistant. He takes the leap immediately from, again, working for the most powerful man (yordle) in the city to throwing his entire lot, his career, everything he's earned up to that point, in an all-out gamble to support the invention of Jayce's mind.

And then Jayce is generous enough to let Viktor come on board with him. To call Viktor his partner, even though he wasn't the originator of the idea (and oh BOY is that gonna become a time paradox in and of itself later, did Viktor technically originate the idea when he inspired Jayce with that stone? Where does it actually begin??). Viktor might be an assistant again, but at least he's an assistant to the most important and revolutionary work of this age.

But he doesn't see Jayce's rejection by Heimerdinger in the prison cell, or know what the strategy to survive the trial was supposed to be without the fuck-up of falling for Mel's goading, or his subsequent rejection by Cassandra Kiramman outside the gates, or his mother's rejection of the magical event they saw with their own eyes. He doesn't see Jayce's lowest moments, only the two ideological stands he took both in defending his work to the Council and being willing to die when it's taken from him.

Basically, Viktor could very well see himself as second-fiddle to Jayce in accomplishment alone, then throw in everything Jayce has just naturally, like his looks and his background, and you begin to piece together why both of them might have thought the other was out of his league, and why Viktor fought so hard to create innovations to match Jayce's, or seen himself as flawed and a work in progress until he had such independent accomplishments, and why he would hesitate to confess his feelings to Jayce until he felt he had something to offer in return, not realizing he had already given Jayce the world and literally given Jayce back his life.

[rafescvntyclubgf]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 ℕ𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟: ℂ𝕠𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕦𝕥 ℂ𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞 ℙ𝕚𝕖

𝙾𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚟!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙱𝚎𝚜𝚝𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

*part of the “Milkshake” AU — writen to be read alone.

warnings: dark!rafe, dark!reader, older!rafe (30s), jealous!rafe, perv!rafe, obsessed!rafe, fetishizes simple things the reader does, swearing, teasing, threats, begging, bribes for sex, cheating on spouse (sofia), semi public handjob, cum tasting, choking, angst, begging, shower sex, rough sex, dirty talk, praise, brief oral (female receiving)

📖 All of my asks got deleted 💕😭 so I'm not sure who requested this, but thank you! This was not a kinkmas ask, but I made it one 😋 The premise is that you hooked up with your best friend Rafe a few months back. He admitted to being obsessed with you and was even willing to pay for you to be intimate because he was so desperate. Since then, you have been hooking up, and he promised he would leave Sofia, but he hasn't yet, and you're getting impatient. When you show up for Christmas dinner at the Camerons with your ex Kelce, you can't help but smile while Rafe squirms.

❕note about Sofia: please remember this is a dark!reader fic. She doesn't like Sofia, and she's vocal about that. Sofia is solely there for the plot❕

Masterlist

Reader's POV:

The room buzzed with conversation and laughter, a sheen of perfection glossing over every interaction as it always did when Sofia hosted. The table was set—fine china, crystal glasses, formal centerpieces that screamed kook royalty.

Sofia smiled her perfect smile, stealing glances at her perfect husband. How could you not hate her? Not in the petty passing way that you would hate someone for being too poised or too sweet. You despised Sofia because she embodied everything you weren’t: composed, polished, obedient. And maybe that’s what he wanted me to be—doubtful, given the way he’s staring.

And despite having the perfect wife and life, he kept coming back to you.

You let your finger trail along the edge of the wine glass, eyes shifting to Rafe’s. His gaze follows your fingers as they do… Until someone startles him, Rafe comes to smile and laugh at shit he didn’t hear, just dreaming about your slight fingers tracing up his hard dick just like that—just like they were the night before.

And then his eyes cut fast: one seat to your right where Kelce sits. Your ex and one of his best friends turned ex-best friends no less than two hours ago when you showed up at the Cameron's front door, one hand holding Kelce’s, the other clutching a bottle of Sofia’s favorite wine.

Kelce had no idea what he was walking into tonight. You hadn’t seen him in years, and truthfully, you weren’t sure why you invited him in the first place… A smile rolls across your lips as you draw your wine glass to your mouth, taking a sip, living in that lie for another moment.

You wanted to watch Rafe squirm…

His jaw coils as Kelce leans in, complimenting your dress as his hand rests against your thigh. You let out a breathy laugh—the kind of laugh that has Rafe adjusting in his seat. The wood creaks on the other side of you; the man quickly clears his throat before asking for something else from down the table.

Rafe’s focus is shameless, burning a hole into your back as you reach up, fixing the collar of Kelce’s button down shirt. Rafe taps his ring against his glass in a subtle attempt to pull your attention back to him, but there’s nothing subtle about Rafe Cameron…

“Could you pass me that, baby,” Rafe mumbles, and you turn to him. His eyes are there when you bend back, gesturing lazily to something down the table, but his words also catch Sofia. That little ‘baby’ reached both of your ears, making Rafe draw a deep, flustered breath.

He chooses to ignore it, and so does she. You reach for the coconut cream pie, passing it to Rafe with a knowing smile. His eyes follow your fingers, your thumb dipping in the sweet treat.

“Rafe,” Sofia chirps, the tone in her voice letting you know that that wasn’t the first time she tried to catch his attention. You were so focused on each other that you missed her first attempt. Rafe glances at her, gripping the table's edge, trying desperately to keep his eyes on his wife, but he knows what you’re about to do next.

She asks him about his work trip, inviting Topper and Ruthie into the conversation in an attempt to merge the ends of the table in conversation—possibly trying to cut the tension she was feeling between the two of you too. Rafe’s words get lost on his lips as he watches yours wrap around your thumb, sucking it clean.

He quickly realigns his focus, talking about his conference in Vancouver—the one he had been begging you to meet him for. And just when he’s about to drop some figures, he tumbles over his words, swallowing thickly before starting again when he feels your fingers walk over to his thigh.

His features sharpen as you delicately trace the inner seam of his pants, watching him as he tries to keep his composure.

Topper starts to speak, and Rafe breathes a sigh of relief, glancing down at his lap for a moment without Sofia’s watchful eye.

Your hand widens, cupping his bulge, making him bite his lips and flare his nose to hold back a moan.

He swallows thickly, his broad chest rising and falling, flexing tightly on his exhale as he tries his best to continue his conversation with the Thorntons as you start to stoke him over his dress pants.

Rafe’s tongue runs along his red bottom lip, having bitten it so hard he drew blood. You reach over with your other hand, grabbing his napkin by mistake, dabbing the corners of your lips, letting it fall between your thighs.

You separate your legs, dragging the linen napkin up your soaked slit. Passing it to Rafe with a gentle “Sorry, I think this is yours.”

He shakes his head and grits his teeth as you rub his dick with one hand and fix the bottom of your dress with the other. “S’fine,” he mumbles gently, pressing the words past his quivering lips.

Rafe looks at the napkin, resisting momentarily before lifting it to his face, rubbing his mouth. His eyes shut, taking in the scent lingering far too long. He rests it on the counter, a wet mark of his salvia left behind.

Your fingers work his clothed cock over and over, Rafe’s muscular thighs trembling with each push of your hand. His cock throbs underneath your palm, pushing against his zipper so hard you just know it hurts.

Rafe looks up to the ceiling, shutting his eyes for a moment before letting them roll back in his skull in peace, not wanting everyone else to see the pleasure radiating from between his thighs.

His fists close into tight balls at the table, pushing down into the hardwood to keep himself soundless, trying to leave his face as unchanged as possible when you look his way. “Toronto sounds nice,” you smile.

Rafe reaches up, running his hand across his forehead and through his hair, catching the sweat that gathered on his brow. “So nice,” he mumbles.

He reaches down, snatching your wrist, holding you in place, squeezing you with the cadence of the heavy loads spurting in his pants. He hangs his head slightly, releasing your hand, muscles firing hot as you run your fingers over his warm, wet, spent pooled on his lap.

Your hands drift back, fingers lifting to your lips, sucking the tips of your middle and your pointer fingers. Rafe’s eyes tighten on yours, lust-blow and irate.

He looks down at his pants again, seeing the mess, before returning his eyes to you. Rafe’s gaze stays locked as he lifts his wine glass to his lips, purposefully missing, letting the red liquor fall to his lap, concealing the mess. “Shit,” he huffs, directing his frustrations at you more than anything else, wetting his linen napkin in water before rubbing it clean, spreading it all out.

“Oh, Rafey,” Sofia scolds him playfully, her words slurring.

“It’s fine. Alright?” He snips, his lip twitching in a scowl toward you as you pour yourself another glass of wine. You look across the table at Sofia, catching her empty glass. Ever the polite guest, draining the rest of the bottle of Pontet Canet for her with a smile.

“For you,” you coo.

”Excuse me,” Rafe mumbles as he pushes the seat out, heading toward the stairs as the couples leave.

Sofia stands up, wobbling slightly from one too many glasses of wine. You lean into Kelce, but he already knows what you’ll say. “I’ll meet you at the car,” he whispers through a soft, judgemental chuckle.

You walk around the table, looping your arm around Sofia’s. “Let me help you up the stairs,” you say, for her ears only. She gives you a gentle smile and accepts the offer.

As soon as her head hits the pillow, her eyes are shut, just a purr of a snore slipping her perfect lips as you tuck her in, turning toward the door.

Rafe’s big body darkens the exit, his shadow casting ominously across the floor. “We need to talk,” he says, his voice low and tight.

“Tomorrow. Kelce’s waiting for me in the car,” you whisper as you head toward the door, veering around him. He grabs for you, pulling you in close.

”Tomorrow?” He spits, his jaw set. “Right fuckin’ now. What the hell are you doin’ with Kelce?”

”What’s wrong with Kelce?” You ask dumbly, making Rafe smirk and roll his eyes at you. “You should put some stain remover on that, Rafey,” you whisper as you cup his bulge, making him hiss. “Wine is real hard to get out.”

“Kelce?” He ignores you completely as he steps closer.

”Why does it matter?”

”You know damn well why it fuckin’ matters,” he hisses.

“Not a clue,” you laugh breathily. “I have no idea why that would matter to you, Rafe. Maybe I should ask your wife why the fuck you would care about me if you have her.”

”Enough-”

”Please,” you scoff as you push past him, but he grabs for you harder this time, shoving you up against the wall hard enough for knick-knacks to clatter. Rafe looks back at Sofia, her body unmoved, sleeping peacefully in their bed. His eyes snap to yours, his grip tightening on you in frustration, pinning you against the wall.

“What the fuck is going on with you, huh?” He grunts; the both of breathing heavily, lips mere inches away from each other, making his eyes fall, wetting his own.

“I’m done waiting around,” you whisper.

“Stop,” he warns, his voice low and dangerous. His hand finds its way around your throat, squeezing tighter. “Stop actin’ like this shit is easy for me.”

”Let me go,” you gag the words out as your lips curl into a smirk.

Rafe’s eyes roll back when he sees your lips curl, growling in frustration before turning you around; pushing you up into the wall. He grabs your hips, pressing his clothed dick into your ass as you arch your back.

“Fuck, baby,” he moans as he paws for the bottom of your dress, pulling it around your hips. His big hands wrap around the front of your body, rough fingers gliding through your soaked folds as he moans in your ear.

”Rafe…” You whisper as you circle your hips; the man teasing your entrance with his big fingers.

“Sweetheart?” His deep voice vibrates against your neck, lips skimming your hot skin.

“I’m taking Kelce back to my place,” you whisper as you turn your cheek slightly, pressing a soft kiss against his lips. “So when you text me, begging me to let you in, and I don’t answer… Well, I’m guessing you know the rest.”

“You’re lying,” he mumbles, his voice laced with doubt.

“Hey, baby. You good?” You hear Kelce’s voice echo from the bottom of the staircase.

“Tell your wife dinner was lovely,” you smile.

Rafe lets you go reluctantly, stepping out in the hall to watch you as you walk away, heels clicking along the hardwood floor, giving him one last parting look and a smile.

The drive back to your house was electric—your phone vibrated with back-to-back notifications from Rafe, panicking over you and the utterly oblivious man in your driver's seat.

Once you got home, you poured yourself a glass of wine and started the shower, letting your party dress fall to the floor. You snapped some pictures before sending them off…

You bit your lip and smiled, thinking about the last picture you included as well—an old shot of you and Kelce, the bathroom mirror hazy—his hands covering all the right spots. There was no nasty message, no witty caption. The implication was clear.

It didn’t take long.

You look out your bedroom window, watching Rafe’s BMW peel down the dark road, his tires screeching to a stop outside. Rafe’s car door swings open and slams shut, doing the same to your front door until his heavy feet are pounding inside.

He calls your name from the bottom of the steps, his voice raw and hoarse with fear. You stay quiet, letting the sounds of the running water answer for you. Rafe’s footsteps thunder up the stairs as he curses under his breath, mumbling about the things he'd do next.

Rafe throws open the door; his face, a storm of emotions—anger, desperation, guilt as he struggles for a breath, his big hand clutching his chest as he fights for air. “You’re fucking insane,” he shouts as he sees you dry and alone, sitting on the end of your bed in a satin robe with a glass of wine. You raise an eyebrow, challenging him with your glare.

“Am I?” You ask, taking another sip.

“You were trying to make me lose my shit,” he snaps as he steps forward.

“Oh no…” You pout your lip condescendingly. “And it worked, didn't it?”

“You’re bein’ cruel. Jesus— we’re friends. You're my best friend, and you're treatin’ me like this? This is a mess, and it’s all your fuckin’ fault,” he screams, seeing red.

“How?” You laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

“You knew how fuckin’ weak I am when it comes to you, and you fuckin’ seduced me. Okay?”

“And you paid me to keep going,” you counter. “You could have ignored it, Rafe. You were the one who begged me for more.”

“Your… Fuck. Your-” Rafe words fall away as you tug at the satin bow of your robe, letting it fall open.

“You told me you’d leave her, Rafe. You promised. But here we are, alone in my house,” you whisper as his muscles strain, holding himself from reaching out for you. “And you're still playing house with Sofia.”

“I know,” he groans as he reaches out, touching the space between your robe, tracing your bare skin.

“You wanna talk about friendship? You lied to me.”

“M’sorry,” he whispers as he closes the gap between you, lowering one side of your robe, pressing a kiss against your shoulder. “I’ll leave her tomorrow,” he says, his voice breaking. “I swear to you, I will. Just… Don’t push me away,” he pleads. “And we’re not just friends. That’s fucking bullshit n’ you know it,” he mumbles as his lips meet your neck.

You lower the other side of the robe, the delicate material falling around your feet before you look up at Rafe. His blue eyes are locked on your body, studying you as you step away. He follows you close, pulling off his clothes with each step.

“Beg,” you say softly as you look over your shoulder before stepping inside. Rafe’s eyes soften on yours—his desperation tragic as you pull the door shut, leaving him outside.

“I’m begging you,” he pleads as he stands at the glass door, the shadow of his big body looming as he waits for you to say, ‘Okay.’ “You want me to pay you, baby? You want my money? Take it this time, alright? Anything you want.”

“I have plenty of money, Rafe.”

“Here…” He mumbles as his shadow shifts along the fogged glass, moving into the bedroom before running back in. “$5000 cash right now, all my credit cards, my Rolex, MY FUCKIN’ CAR,” he panics as he slams his keys on the counter.

“Your car, Rafe,” you chuckle breathily.

“If I had more to give you right now, I'd give it to you, I swear to Christ,” he rambles as his big hands rest on the other side of the glass, sliding down the condensation. “Please. Just let me inside. Alright? I'll make this right.” You watch him reach down, grabbing the handle, unsure if he’ll even wait for your go-ahead, the man so painfully obsessed he might just take that risk. “Please-”

“You have one chance, Rafe-” As soon as his name leaves your lips, the door swings open. Rafe pushes you up against the cold tile, pinning you against the wall just like he did in his bedroom.

His lips crash against yours, kissing you fast and hard, leaving you reaching for a breath just for him to steal it again. "Turn around,” he mutters, but before you can act, he turns you fast, his patience long gone. “Been thinkin’ about this… Always think about you,” he mumbles drunkenly as he grabs your hips, pulling your ass flush against him, his thick cock nestled between your plush thighs. He grabs his length, tapping his tip against your ass before running himself through your wet slit. “Thought I lost you… Losing my goddamn fuckin’ mind, and I'm still thinkin’ about this pussy-”

“Rafe!” Your voice bounces off the shower walls as he slams into you. His moan echoes closely behind as he bottoms you out.

“That’s it. Mmm, baby… Holy shit,” he hums, getting his fix as his rough hands circle your ass, slipping up your back. Before you can beg for more, his hands grab your shoulders, drilling into you from the back as water rushes between the two of you. “So fucking tight,” he grunts between rough thrusts, leaving you gasping as your hands slip against the wall from the impact.

“Choke me,” you cry as you feel your pleasure burn in your belly.

“Mpfhh… Fuckin’ love you,” he whines as his fingers find your throat, wrapping around you tight. The sound of skin slapping skin gets louder and louder, your heart racing as your pleasure mounts.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you sob, voice cracking from his tight grip.

“Cum for me,” he groans. “Make a mess for me, princess. Let me clean it up.”

Your eyes roll back in your head, pulsing around his long, fat cock. Rafe pulls you back by your throat, wrapping his arms around your neck and your waist as he fills your pussy with his cum and your ears with his fuck-out moans.

Rafe hangs his head momentarily, catching his breath, lips pressed against your shoulder. He lets out a satisfied breath as he lowers himself to his knees, grabbing your hips, turning you around as you smile down at him, your chest rising and falling fast as you giggle. He presses little kisses against your hips, burning his face against you momentarily before pulling back, his beautiful eyes in a daze.

“What are you doing, baby?” You whirr as you run your nails through his hair.

Rafe takes your thigh, looping it over his shoulder; he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss against your clit, making you whimper in sensitivity.

“Cleaning up the mess, princess.”

[d-z20]

The Agent Next Door part 3 (NSFW)

Pairing: Agent Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: When a ghost from Rio's past resurfaces, the safe haven you’ve built together is threatened. As danger edges closer, your bond deepens in unexpected ways, testing your trust and strength in each other. Amidst fear and uncertainty, you discover just how far both of you are willing to go to protect what matters most.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, angst, smut, fluff ending, fingering (R recv), oral (Rio recv), praise kink, slight power bottom Rio

Words: 4.2k

A/N: The angsty third (and final?) part as promised

AO3 | Part 1 | Part 2 | Master List

Under Her Protection

You’re sprawled out on Rio’s couch, nestled comfortably against her side as the TV plays in the background. It’s the kind of night you’ve both come to love—no plans, no rush, just the two of you together, half-watching some crime drama. You can feel the steady rise and fall of her chest as you rest your head there, her arm slung casually around your shoulders, fingers absently tracing patterns on your arm.

It’s a rare, peaceful moment, one that you’ve started to cherish more and more. You glance up at her; she looks different like this—softer. The usual tension in her jaw has melted away; her sharp features relaxed in a way you rarely get to see. You smile to yourself, the sight of her at ease filling you with a quiet kind of joy. She’s not just the composed, authoritative FBI agent you first met. Here, she’s Rio—your Rio—and you could watch her like this forever.

You press a kiss to her jaw, feeling her smile against your lips.

“Enjoying the show?” she asks, her voice teasing. You know she couldn’t care less about what’s on the screen, but it’s a running joke between the two of you—mocking the exaggerated, overly dramatic FBI agents depicted on TV.

“Oh, absolutely,” you drawl, playing along. “I just love how accurate it all is. Clearly, every case is solved in a day, and all agents wear heels and leather jackets.”

Rio chuckles, pulling you closer. “It’s ridiculous,” she snorts. “Half of this would get thrown out in court in a heartbeat. And don’t even get me started on the ‘enhance the grainy footage’ bullshit.”

You grin, enjoying the rare, playful side of her. “I bet you’d never pull a stunt like that. The great Agent Vidal would never dream of cutting corners.”

She raises an eyebrow, her smirk sharp. “Oh, you’d be surprised what I’ve pulled off. Sometimes rules are more like... guidelines.”

You laugh, leaning into her, and she squeezes your shoulder lightly. For a moment, everything feels easy—peaceful.

Then her phone buzzes, cutting through the quiet. She lets out a small sigh and picks it up, her expression immediately shifting as she reads the message. The shift is so sudden it makes your stomach drop. Without a word, she gets up and walks to the window, peering through the blinds like she’s expecting to see something—or someone—out there.

“Rio?” You ask cautiously, sitting up. “What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer right away, her shoulders visibly tense. Finally, she lets the blinds fall back into place and turns to you, her expression grim. “That was work,” she says, her voice low and controlled. “Someone I put away years ago just got released on parole. He... wasn’t supposed to get out this soon.”

You frown, confused. “Why is that a problem? Didn’t he serve his time?”

Her jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think she won’t answer. Then she sighs, running a hand through her hair. “The last time I saw him, he threatened to ruin my life,” she says quietly. “He’s dangerous. And vindictive. If he finds out where I live... who you are... how much I lov—.”

She doesn’t finish the sentence, but she doesn’t have to. The implications hang heavy in the air. You swallow hard, suddenly very aware of the weight of her job and the risks that come with it.

“Hey,” you say softly, standing and moving to her side. “I’m sure it’s fine. He probably doesn’t even know you’re here.”

Her eyes meet yours, and for the first time since you met her, you see real fear there. “Maybe. But I can’t take that chance.” She pauses, her hand brushing your arm. “I want you to stay here. At least until I figure out what’s going on.”

The seriousness in her tone leaves no room for argument, and you nod. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

You settle back onto the couch together, but the atmosphere has shifted now, an unspoken tension lingering in the room. Rio keeps her phone close, her other arm wrapped protectively around you, her eyes flicking back to the window every so often.

You try to focus on the TV show, but your thoughts keep drifting. It’s unsettling, this shadow of a threat hanging over the two of you, and you can tell Rio feels it too. Her grip on you tightens every time she hears a noise from outside, her thumb rubbing circles against your arm as if she’s trying to soothe both of you.

Eventually, you turn your head to look up at her. “You know, I don’t need a TV show when I’ve got my own personal action hero right here.”

Rio snorts, shaking her head. “Is that what I am now?”

“Yep,” you say, grinning up at her. “Neighbour, fashion critic, and now... bodyguard.”

She rolls her eyes but leans down to press a kiss to your lips, soft and lingering. “Just stay close, okay?”

You nod, your heart fluttering at the protectiveness in her voice. “I’m not going anywhere, Rio.”

Relief flashes across her face, but it’s fleeting. She takes your hand, leading you to her bedroom without another word. The silence between you is heavy but not uncomfortable—it’s charged, humming with unspoken worry and a need for closeness.

When you get to the bed, her hands are on you immediately, tugging you close. There’s a new intensity to her touch, her fingers gripping your hips firmly, almost possessively. She kisses you hard, like she’s trying to stake her claim, her mouth moving with an urgency you’ve never felt from her before.

“Rio—” you start, but she cuts you off with another kiss, her hands sliding under your shirt, nails raking up your skin. Her lips move to your neck, sucking and biting hard enough to leave marks that you know will last. It’s not just passion—it’s something deeper, rawer. Like she needs to prove to herself that you’re here, that you’re hers.

You let her take the lead, your own hands roaming her body, trying to reassure her in your own way. But she’s relentless, her mouth trailing lower, her teeth grazing your collarbone. She pushes you back onto the bed, her weight settling over you as she pins your wrists above your head.

Her gaze is dark, her eyes searching yours. “I need to know you’re safe,” she murmurs, her voice rough. “I need to feel it.”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, and it’s the truth.

Her grip on your wrists tightens briefly before she leans down, kissing you again, slower this time but no less intense. 

The night is a blur of heated touches and whispered reassurances, her possessiveness never crossing the line into discomfort. Instead, it leaves you breathless, the depth of her need for you pulling you even closer.

When you finally fall asleep, tangled in her arms, the weight of her protectiveness wraps around you like a shield. Even as your mind drifts, you know this is only the beginning of whatever storm is coming. But with her by your side, you’re ready to face it.

—

You’ve been staying at Rio’s apartment for a week now, and every night, her hold on you seems to grow tighter. Even in her sleep, her arms remain locked around you, as though her subconscious refuses to let you out of her grasp. It’s a level of protectiveness you’re not used to, but you can’t deny how safe it makes you feel.

The days are a strange mix of normalcy and subtle unease. You run errands, cook together, and share quiet moments on her couch. But in the back of your mind, there’s always a faint sense of being watched. You’ve chalked it up to paranoia—Rio’s warning had a way of sticking with you, and you tell yourself you’re just imagining things.

Still, it’s hard to ignore the nagging feeling when you start seeing the same person more than once. A tall figure with a hood pulled low over their face, lingering at the edge of your vision. You’ve seen them on the street, at the corner store, and now again as you leave the grocery shop, arms full of bags. You glance over your shoulder, your pulse quickening as you catch sight of them just a few steps behind.

You quicken your pace, gripping the bags tightly. Your heart pounds in your chest as you cut across the street and head for the apartment building. You take a chance and glance back again. They’re still following.

By the time you reach Rio’s apartment door, your hands are shaking so badly you almost drop your keys. You fumble with the lock, finally getting the door open and slamming it shut behind you. You lock it, bolting the deadlock for good measure.

You text Rio immediately: I think I was followed. Just got back. Door locked.

The response comes quickly. Stay put. Don’t answer the door for anyone. I’m coming back now.

You breathe out, trying to calm yourself, but as you read her words, a new sound sends a chill down your spine. A faint rattle at the door.

Your stomach drops, and you freeze, staring at the door as the sound grows louder. It’s not your imagination. Someone’s trying the handle. Your mind races, and you grab the closest thing within reach—a table lamp. It’s not exactly a weapon, but it’ll have to do. Your grip tightens on the lamp’s base as the rattling stops, replaced by a loud bang.

The door crashes open, splintering the frame, and the hooded figure steps inside. They’re taller than you thought, their broad frame filling the doorway as they pause, scanning the room. You take a shaky step back, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Well, well,” he says, his voice dripping with malice. “Look who’s made themselves right at home. You must be the little pet she’s been keeping around.” 

Your mind races, and you instinctively take a step back, trying to put the kitchen island between you and him. “Who the hell are you?” you demand. 

He smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “You don’t know me, but Rio does. She’s the reason I spent the last ten years rotting away in a cell. Thought I’d pay her back by taking something she cares about.”

He lunges at you with a knife, and you barely manage to swing the lamp, hitting him across the face. He staggers back, but only for a moment, then charges at you again. You fight back, kicking and screaming, but he’s strong—stronger than you expected. He pins you against the wall, one hand around your throat. 

“That’s right, scream for her,” he growls. “Let’s see if she gets here in time.” 

You’re gasping for air, your vision blurring, when suddenly, the already broken door is rammed open again, falling off its hinges from the force of the action. 

Rio barges in, her gun drawn, her expression a mixture of fury and fear. “Let them go,” she says, her voice deadly calm, the kind that promises retribution. 

The man tightens his grip on you, pulling you in front of him as a shield. “Shoot me, and you’ll hit them,” he taunts. 

Rio’s eyes meet yours, and you can see the raw, helpless anger there. You’ve never seen her look so terrified.

The man tightens his grip on you, and your vision starts to black. Your pulse pounds in your ears, the lack of air making your limbs feel heavy. Rio stands frozen in the doorway, her gun unwavering, her eyes locked on the man holding you.

“Let them go,” Rio repeats, her voice low and seething with barely restrained fury.

The man smirks, his grip loosening just enough for you to gasp for air. “You really think you’ve got the upper hand here, bitch? You’re so predictable—always running to play the hero.”

Rio doesn’t flinch. “This is the last chance I’ll give you. Let. Them. Go. Now.”

He sneers, then suddenly shoves you away with all his strength. You stumble, hitting the edge of the kitchen counter hard before crumpling to the floor, pain flaring in your side. Rio’s shout of your name echoes through the room, but you can barely focus as you clutch at your ribs, trying to steady your breathing.

The distraction is all Rio needs. She lunges at him before he can turn back to her, knocking the knife from his hand as they crash to the floor. The struggle is brutal—a chaotic blur of punches and grunts as Rio fights with a ferocity you’ve never seen before.

He manages to pin her briefly, his hands going for her throat, but Rio uses the momentum to roll them over, her knee pressing into his chest. She grabs the cuff of his wrist and twists him onto his stomach, forcing him to let out a pained shout as she pins his arm behind his back.

“You should’ve let them go,” she growls, forcing his face against the floor. He thrashes beneath her, but her grip is unrelenting, her strength fuelled by sheer fury.

She pulls her cuffs from her belt, snapping them onto his wrists with a finality that fills the room. She grabs his hair and yanks his head up, knee still pressing into his back. “And now you’re going to pay,” she says coldly before smashing his face into the ground, breaking his nose, and knocking him unconscious.

Her eyes flick to you, her expression softening with worry. “Are you okay?”

Before you can answer, Rio pulls out her phone, calling for backup. Her voice is calm and clipped as she gives the necessary details, but her free hand remains clenched at her side, still shaking from the adrenaline.

When the call ends, she crouches next to you, her hands ghosting over your body, careful not to touch the areas where you’re clearly in pain. “Hey, let me see,” she murmurs, her tone gentle now. “Where are you hurt?”

You wince as you shift, trying to sit up. “Just... my side. Think I hit the counter pretty hard.”

Her jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think she might explode all over again—but she just exhales, brushing a hand over your hair. “Backup’s on the way. He’s not going anywhere. I promise you’re safe now.”

You nod weakly, and she leans closer, her forehead briefly touching yours. The tension in her body doesn’t ease until the distant wail of sirens signals that help has arrived. Even then, her focus stays on you, her protective presence a shield between you and the man who dared to threaten what she holds most dear.

With the chaos finally under control and the intruder hauled away in handcuffs, Rio keeps a steady arm around you as she guides you back across the hall to your apartment. You can still feel the tremors in your hands, the echo of fear and adrenaline in your veins, but her presence is grounding.

As the door closes behind you, she doesn’t let go. Instead, she leads you to the couch, sitting beside you with her arm securely around your shoulders. “You okay?” she asks softly, her fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

You nod, leaning into her touch. “Yeah. Just... processing.”

A flicker of guilt crosses Rio’s face. “I never should’ve left you alone.”

“You couldn’t have known,” you reply, reaching up to squeeze her hand. “And you came back in time. That’s what matters.”

She exhales heavily, her arms tightening around you protectively. For a while, neither of you speak, the silence broken only by the rhythmic sound of her breathing. Then she shifts, her thumb brushing against your knuckles. “I mean it, though—I’m not letting you out of my sight for a while.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. The truth is, you don’t mind the idea of her staying close.

As the evening wears on, you begin to feel a sense of normalcy returning. Wrapped in her arms, you finally let your guard down, the weight of the day melting away. You tilt your head up to meet her gaze, your heart skipping as you notice the way she’s looking at you—soft yet intent.

“You’re staring,” you tease, your voice quiet.

“Can’t help it,” she murmurs, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re kind of hard to look away from.”

Your cheeks flush, but before you can respond, her lips capture yours in a kiss that’s slow and deliberate, like she’s savouring every moment. You respond eagerly, your fingers tangling in her hair as she shifts to deepen the kiss.

Somehow, the two of you end up lying on the couch, her body pressing against yours as your hands roam freely, exploring the familiar territory with renewed fervour. She pulls away just long enough to catch her breath, her forehead resting against yours. “Bedroom?” she whispers, her voice husky.

You nod, your heart racing as she helps you to your feet. The walk to the bedroom is brief, but each step feels charged with anticipation. 

You guide her to the bed, her hand sliding into yours as you both move with an unspoken understanding. She lets you press her down gently so she’s sitting on the mattress, her signature smirk tugging at her lips. “So, this is how it’s going to be tonight?” she teases, her voice low, challenging but still laced with warmth. Her eyes glint with curiosity, though you can sense she’s enjoying this shift in control. “Guess I can let you take the lead. Just this once.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, leaning down to press a playful kiss to her lips. “Call it a thank you for saving me. Hero perks, right?” You reply, your voice just as teasing.

Her chuckle rumbles low in her throat as her hands settle lightly on your hips, grounding you. “You’ve got an interesting way of saying thanks,” she murmurs, tilting her head to expose her neck—an invitation and a challenge all at once. “But I’m not complaining.”

You take her challenge with a grin, leaning down to press your lips to her neck, your kisses starting soft but quickly growing more heated. You find the spot just below her ear where her skin is most sensitive, and when she lets out a low, pleased hum, you focus your attention there. Your tongue darts out, followed by a sharp nip of your teeth, before you suck on her skin, leaving a mark to match the ones she gave you just nights ago.

She tilts her head back with a soft gasp, her fingers tightening their grip on your hips. “You’re getting good at that,” she murmurs, her tone teasing but breathless. Her words spur you on, and you trail more kisses down her neck, each one deliberate, each one claiming her in your own way.

As your lips continue their path, your hands slide over her body, unbuttoning her shirt and tugging it off. Your eyes roam her, taking in every inch of her toned body and the way her muscles flex under your touch.

“Enjoying the view?” she teases, arching a brow, but there’s a flush on her cheeks that betrays her confidence.

“Absolutely,” you reply without hesitation, earning a quiet laugh from her.

Your hands move to the waistband of her pants, your fingers brushing against her skin as you pull them down, leaving her bare before you. You grab her hips, pulling her into you so she’s perched on the edge of the bed, your legs pushing her knees further apart. Her dark eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of anticipation and challenge, and you can’t help but feel a surge of affection and desire for her all at once.

“You look good like this,” you say softly, your hands trailing up her thighs as you kneel between them.

Rio leans back on her palms, her smirk widening. “Show me just how grateful you are, sweetheart.”

Looking directly into Rio’s eyes, you drag your tongue through her wetness. 

“That’s it,” she breathes, her voice huskier now. Her nails coming to dig lightly into your shoulder as her body shifts beneath you. 

Hooking your arms under her legs, you push your face further into Rio, tongue pressing firmer against her clit and she rolls her hips at the sensation. Your tongue swirls over and around her bundle of nerves, eliciting more praise. “You’re so good at this, sweetheart,” she says, her tone uncharacteristically tender.

The praise makes your stomach flip, and you press your thighs together, feeling your arousal soak your underwear.

You notice the subtle change in her demeanour, her usual teasing grin replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. Her hands grip you tightly, but there’s a gentleness to her touch you hadn’t expected. “I don’t give up control often. But with you... it feels right.” Her voice falters slightly, and the admission makes your heart ache with tenderness.

As her orgasm builds, she finally lets go entirely, her usual defences falling away. Her head tilts back, her breathy praises and quiet gasps filling the space. After she reaches her peak, she pulls you up to her, her arms wrapping around you tightly as if grounding herself. “You’re incredible,” she whispers into your ear, her lips brushing against your temple as she catches her breath. “But don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

Her smirk returns, this time sharper, more determined. Before you can respond, she drags you down on to the bed, flipping you gently onto your back. Her strength is firm but careful, her lips curling in amusement at your surprised expression. “Your turn,” she murmurs, her voice low and promising. She begins to trail kisses down your body, her actions deliberate and knowing. “Let me show you how grateful I am,” she adds, her grin growing as your body arches beneath her touch.

With that, she strips you, her soft hands feeling all over your body. When her fingers trail up your thigh, she lets out a soft chuckle at the feeling of your arousal dripping. “Seems like someone enjoyed the praise.” 

You whimper as her fingers press lightly against your clit.

“You made me feel so good, baby.” Her middle finger slides lower. “Such a clever girl.” She teases your entrance. “You know exactly how I like it.” She pushes her finger in.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” you moan as it curls inside you. “More.”

Rio slides another finger in, biting her lip and groaning at how easily you take it. "Oh, darling, you’re taking me so well,” she praises, starting to pump her fingers in and out. She adds a third, and you feel the familiar tightening in your stomach. She picks up the pace, fucking all of the tension from the night out of you both. “You look so good like this,” she coos.

Arching into her touch, head pushing into the mattress, you keen, “Oh fuck. Rio, you’re going to make me cum.”

“That’s it, sweetheart; you’re doing so well, cum for me,” she whispers against your skin, kissing your neck.

Your mouth falls open, a breathless cry escaping as your orgasm overtakes you. The tension that had been building within you shatters, a wave of heat and pleasure coursing through your body. You arch into her, every nerve alight, the sensation so overwhelming that it renders you momentarily weightless. A strangled gasp follows, your voice raw and unrestrained, her name slipping from your lips like a plea and a prayer all at once.

—

Later, as the two of you lay tangled in the sheets, Rio’s arms wrap tightly around you, holding you, refusing to let go. The tension of the night seems to fade, replaced by a sense of closeness you hadn’t fully realised until now. She presses a kiss to the top of your head, her fingers tracing absent patterns along your back.

“You know,” she begins softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t usually do this—let people in, I mean. I don’t let myself feel this way.” She hesitates, her grip on you tightening slightly. “But with you... I can’t imagine not having you here.”

Your chest tightens at her words, and you tilt your head to meet her gaze. The raw vulnerability in her eyes makes your heart ache. “Rio...” you begin, your voice trembling slightly as your hand brushes against her cheek. “I love you.”

Her lips part in surprise, and then her smile grows, soft and genuine in a way you rarely see. “Took you long enough to say it,” she teases, though her voice is thick with emotion. She leans down, brushing her lips against yours in a kiss that’s slow and tender. When she pulls back, her eyes lock with yours. “I love you too, you know.”

You crack a small smile. “So, I guess you’re gonna be the one crashing at my place now, huh? Seeing as it’s your door that got kicked in this time,” you say, breaking the tender moment.

Rio blinks at you, then lets out a soft laugh. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you reply, grinning now.