#but I found it and can resume progress!

[reidrum]

if you keep asking | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

a/n: this was requested with “if you keep asking me i’m not gonna be okay” or smth along the lines 😭 i am a glutton for hurt/comfort fics so if yall have any more requests send em in :)

summary: in which you’re trying to keep it together when you hear some detectives talking ill of you, and spencer isn’t gonna have it

cw: hurt/comfort, self deprecation, insecure!reader, bitch ass detectives, protective bau my heart, use of she/her pronouns

wc: 2.2k

_______

the bau team was filing into the bullpen after landing from their last case in seattle, everyone making a beeline for their desks to get a head start on their reports so they could go home faster. everyone, except you. it felt like you were on autopilot, remembering your last known movements and just repeating them for as long as you could.

the case in seattle was rough to say the least. the unsub’s mo seemed to change every minute, making any progress the team made obsolete. the only thing that seemed to be somewhat consistent was where the unsub was taking his victims, which meant the geographical profile was the most important part to solving the case, a task you and reid were assigned to.

it started off fine, you both had found the comfort zone of where the unsub would strike next to figure out how to catch him in the act. except the next time he struck it was completely out of the predicted range, and this time a kid had died. no one could have anticipated that happening. it didn’t make the loss hurt any less.

the team knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault, humans are unpredictable, and that includes serial killers. spencer made sure to tell you specifically that it wasn’t your fault, he knew how you’d get if someone didn’t tell you.

his efforts went to utter waste when you walked by a room at the precinct with detectives whispering about how “you fucked up the whole profile, that’s why that kid died” and “it’s clear you make the team stupider, how did you even get into the fbi in the first place?”

it wasn’t the first time your abilities were in question. you were the newest member of the team, having only transferred six months ago from cold cases. you may be new to the field, but there was a reason hotch chose you personally for the bau.

you tried hard to prove yourself, despite pretty much everyone saying your skillset was enough proof. you’d stay late to finish reports, do extra research on cases to help garcia narrow her searches faster, and you spent countless hours at the training range.

you were a worthy agent, anyone who knew you or read your resume knew that. but right now, you felt like the smallest person on earth, an imposter. what the hell were you even doing here if you couldn’t save him.

you shouldn’t be allowed to feel relief that the team caught the unsub, not when there’s blood on your hands.

the bad thoughts swirling in your head causes you to stall your motions when you’re putting files away, gaining the attention of morgan, “you alright, sweet cheeks?”

“i’m good morgan, don’t worry.” you lie effortlessly. if he can tell you’re lying, he doesn’t mention it and turns back to his work.

taking a deep breath, you stand up to go to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, when you run into jj finishing up making her own, “i was just thinking about you, i got this new creamer i think you’d rea-, hey, are you okay?” jj starts but ends concerned.

you try to focus on metronomic tick of the clock so you dont escalate, “i’m fine j,” you laugh unconvincingly, “what creamer did you get?”

she ignores your question, “because i know that was a tough case, and if you need to talk about it with someo-“

“jj, drop it, please.”

the blonde’s face drops a little at your sternness, but respects your space and offers you to try the creamer before returning to her desk. you feel bad for snapping at her, but the growing guilt within you is giving you apathy, and you can’t bring yourself to care at this moment.

you linger in the kitchen so as to avoid any more concerned faces, and you’re left to your own devices that are slowly overtaking you.

unbeknownst to you, spencer had been watching you since you all landed back in quantico. he kept his distance, mostly because he knew how overwhelmed you get at confrontation, especially about your emotions. he was the same way, a man of logic getting befuddled by emotion was enough cognitive dissonance to last a long time.

he knew it was different with you. you had a way of internalizing everything in your surrounding, a downfall to your endless empathy for others even if they never deserve it. he could explain the logic behind your beliefs, and hopefully use facts to help you relax, but that was the other thing he knew about you; you were stubborn. asking for help is something you hated doing, and if it wasn’t on your accord to be asking, it was even more detrimental to your mood.

so when he watched you duck out from the kitchen and push past the glass doors of the bullpen, he knew you were reaching the head of your doom spiral quickly.

spencer got up from his desk, “i’m gonna go check on her.”

jj nodded, “just be mindful spence, something feels different.”

they’d all been on cases that hit a little too close to home, how could they not when all they do is rid the world of the evilest of evildoers. but after a good cry, a rant to a teammate, or even an emergency therapy session, even the worst of the scum could be washed away.

something about the way you’ve been acting since they landed seemed like those fixits aren’t going to work this time.

he let out a sigh in response and walked out of the bullpen, realizing he didn’t actually know which direction you went in. assuming you’d want to be alone, he thinks the bathroom might’ve been a viable option for you and heads towards it.

the nice thing about the seventh floor is that it’s only for the bau, the bullpen was where the team spent most of their time but outside the doors there were so many empty rooms being used for storage.

so as spencer walked towards the bathroom in the hopes of finding you, his ears pick up on a tiny sniffle a little ways before it. he stops in his tracks, hoping he was just hearing things. but another pained sob rang through the door on his left, and he knew he’d found you.

he rapps the door a few times, softly calling your name, “hey, it’s spencer…can i come in please?”

you were on the other side sitting at one of the abandoned desks with your head down, but shot up at hearing spencer’s voice, “i- i’m fine i just needed a minute. i’ll be back in like two minutes, i promise.” you angrily wipe at the tears pooling on your face, grateful that you took your makeup off in the plane.

“honey, that’s not what i asked,” he starts, “is it okay if i come in?

your heart clenches at the term of endearment as you stare at the door knowing he was waiting for your okay to come in, and you start to internally weigh your options. you could let him in, and let him in to do whatever comforting you know logically would help. or you could lie, and feign ignorance to the end.

don’t they say ignorance is bliss?

you make sure to wipe the last of your tears and your runny nose before practicing a few fake smiles so it didn’t look like your face was frozen in sadness for the last thirty minutes. turning the knob you swing the door open, borderline creepy smile on your face as you greet the man, “hi dr. reid! was there something you were looking for?”

he furrows his brows at your complete (fake) shift in mood, but he comes in and shuts the door behind him, and moves to stand a few feet from you, “what’s going on?”

“nothing spence, i’m fine.” you insist.

spencer thinks if you could be more see through you’d be a windexed window. you’re avoiding eye contact with him, picking at the skin of your thumb, he can see your nose is red most likely from all the tissue blowing, and your eyes are still puffy and lined with some unshed tears still. you are so clearly breaking at the seams, like an old childhood teddy bear with stuffing falling out the sides yet hoping you can offer some semblance of stability despite your state.

“you don’t look fine, honey. why won’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

his words almost make you falter, and you think the walls you built so high are starting to chip down. “it’s not a big deal spence, i-,” a hiccuped breath gives you away, “i can deal with it on my own.”

spencer instinctively shortens the gap between you two, “you shouldn’t have to. i just wanna help you.”

“but i’m oka-“

“no you’re not.”

there is only one tiny thin thread left holding you together. “well,” you take a deep inhale and your voice gets impossibly small, “if you keep saying things like to me i’m not gonna be okay.”

“that’s why i’m here.” he says softly.

you look up at him with the biggest glassy doe eyed look he’s ever seen, and it’s like spencer can hear the snap of the thread in real time when he watches your face absolutely crumble. he doesn’t hesitate to pull you into his embrace, allowing him to hold your head down in the middle of his chest while his other hand smooths up and down your back in comfort.

“i know, shh, hey it’s okay, i got you.” he comforts.

your hands wrap around his waist beneath his suit jacket and you keep your face buried in his chest, inhaling the musky vanilla scent of his cologne mixed with the fresh laundry detergent smell letting it ground you back to him.

“i’m sorry.” you cry.

“don’t say that,” he hushes, “is it about the case?” you nod in his embrace, “we talked about it remember? there was nothing we could have done. we did everything right, sometimes it just doesn’t work out, you know that.” he moves his hand to tangle in your hair and rub your head.

“i- i know,” you say through labored breaths. you take a big breath before admitting the true reason for your anguish, “when we were about to leave, i walked by a room with some detectives talking about how i ruined the case and that…i’m the reason the kid died.”

“what?” he pulls back to look you in the eyes hoping to find any indication that you didn’t believe those poisoned words, “we both worked on that geographical profile together, the whole team agreed it was accurate and acted accordingly. what happened was not your fault. at all.” he emphasizes the last two words.

“yeah but…i don’t know maybe i could ha-“

“stop. you can’t do that to yourself. we did what we could with what we had, the burden of that child’s passing does not fall on you. we were only able to find the unsub’s hiding spot when you figured out he’d been going to the same gas station since the murders started.” he reinforced to you.

“they said that they didn’t know how i even got into the academy in the first place, and that i make the team stupider.” you quietly added.

spencer felt the rage consume his body, already planning the ways he was going to obliterate seattle pd. he cradled your head to look at him in the eyes, “listen to me. you are an important asset to this team. you make this team better at what they do, you make me better at what i do. you mean so much to me and the team okay? please don’t forget that.”

he swipes at a fallen tear on your cheek as you tell him between sniffles, “thanks spence…” you hope he understands the sentiment and love you’re trying to exude to him, even thought you’re unable to vocalize it.

“you gotta tell me if something like that happens,” he softly scolds you, “i’ll make sure they lose their fucking jobs.”

you’re about to speak when he cuts you off, “and don’t tell me that we should be the bigger people, because once the rest of the team hears about this, they’re all gonna be fighting over who’s gonna kick the shit out of them.”

you let out a tearful giggle, “you sound really funny when you curse.”

he scoffs, “what the hell, i do not!”

“you sound like a baby duckling that just learned how to say fuck.”

he starts to guide you out of the room and towards hotch’s office so you can recount what happened, “ouch, i’m hurt. i’d like to think the pistol and fbi badge i carry makes me intimidating.”

you giggle again, and spencer puts aside his rage to revel in the fact that you’re feeling better.

when hotch learned of what happened he immediately called seattle pd to file a motion to get those detectives fired, and the rest of the team were secretly praying for a case in seattle again so they could, as spencer predicted, kick the shit out of them.

[dark-moonlust]

Cοckwarming Minοtaur PART 1: Office

I’m turning this imagine into a series!!!!

Pairing: Minotaur x f!human reader

Summary: your Minotaur boyfriend Balen is madly in love with you. And he has a wicked little obsession with cockwarming. He always finds excuses to have you sit on his lap. Even when you are at work.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, monster smut, semi-public workplace smut, Minotaur huge🍆, cοckwarming, lots of come. Don’t like, don’t read please.

This is a series and you can find more here and on Patreon.

You loved your Minotaur boyfriend, Balen.

The two of you had met three years ago at a workplace friendly to both monsters and humans. Balen was your superior, and you had just started working as his secretary. From the very first meeting, you had felt something deep and strong connecting him to you. You were attracted to him, incredibly aroused and in need of him. Balen had explained that it was the mating bond, a sacred bond that tied his heart to yours. Since then, you’d decided to give your relationship a chance and be together.

Your relationship was based on mutual trust and security, a connection deeper and stronger than you’d ever experienced.

Fast forward to the present, you still loved him like crazy, your relationship never better.

Balen was a fascinating presence in your life. Despite his towering and unusual appearance, your Minotaur was tender and sweet. You saw past his different appearance and found something deep and poignant with him. He cared for you better than any human boyfriend would — and fucked you with a passion that left you breathless.

Balen was madly in love with you. And he had a wicked little obsession with cockwarming. He was obsessed with the feel of you, the security of holding you in his arms while his cock pulsed inside you. And he always found excuses to have you sit on his lap, his cock thrust up your depths as he resumed his day as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

During shopping? During work? During lunch, dinner or any time of the day. Yes to all. Balen somehow made it work.

At work, he was particularly demanding when cockwarming him. Coworkers might enter his office, but he kept you there, your neat dress hiding your flushed face and betraying your state. Sometimes he played with your clit and made you cum, other times, he just stayed inside you and made work calls and reviewed business files. And when he finally pulled out of you, it was always with the promise to find a way to be close to you later.

That morning, you were in your office working on a presentation for an important project. You’d finished it with ease and were eager to share your ideas with your boss and colleagues. As you sat at your desk, typing away at your computer, the phone rang.

Called ID: Mr. Balen - Office.

You had an idea of what this call was about.

“Hello,” you answered casually.

“Come to my office,” your boyfriend said, his voice deep and throaty. “I need to check the progress of your presentation.”

“Yes, Sir.”

You complied, standing up and making your way to his spacious office. You knocked and entered discretely.

And there he was.

Seated at his magnificent mahogany desk, the sheer size of him dwarfed the surrounding furniture. Balen’s hulking form filled the room, his presence overwhelming. He was wearing a charcoal gray suit, the clothing tailored to fit his immense size. He was at least three times bigger than you, his body chiseled with muscles and silky fur. His head was crowned with a pair of curved horns, his face a captivating combination of beast and man. Upon seeing you, his dark eyes lit up and he let out a deep rumble, vibrating from his chest.

“Come here,” he said, his voice casual but demanding.

“I’ve brought my presentation,” you said but as soon as you were inches from him, he pulled you to him, his hands lifting your dress and guiding you to sit on his lap.

“Balen,” you whined as he quickly tugged away your panties, a finger finding its way inside you. You were drenched, wet from the earlier fuck he’d given you during the car ride to work. You clutched his broad shoulders, burying your face in his chest and biting your lips as that wickedly perfect digit stretched your walls, preparing you for his cock.

Soon, you felt him shift, unzipping his trousers and freezing his monstrous cock. Your Minotaur sported a dick unlike any other. It was long and curved, thick and surrounded by protruding veins. The head was broad and leaking pre-cum, his balls round and swollen, the poor babies squeezed between his legs.

Strong hands cupped your ass, positioning you over his raging girth. The cockhead nudged your entrance, coaxing your pussy lips apart and slowly invading your depths. With a slow, deliberate upward thrust, he buried himself inside you, a low groan of satisfaction rumbling from his chest. Your belly bulged from the sheer girth of him inside you. You moaned lewdly but quickly muffled your cries by biting his shoulder. He loved it when you did that.

“So good for me. Just for a little bit, baby, okay?” he murmured, his hands resting possessively on your hips. “I need this.”

You nodded, trying to control your breathing as you adjusted to the invasion and stretch. Balen resumed his work, one large hand rubbing your ass from under your dress while the other resumed his work, moving expertly over his keyboard as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He even studied your presentation while you struggled to focus with the constant feel of his cock stretching your pussy.

“Excellent work with your presentation,” he praised, “you covered every important point.”

“Th…thank you,” you murmured, running your fingers through the exposed fur at his neck.

You wiggled a little, desperate for release and rubbed your clit against him. His hand on your ass pressed you closer against him, thrusting just barely inside you. He did it again and again, rewarding you for taking his dick so well. A few minutes later, the friction against your clit was perfect and you came, your walls contracting hard around his cock. You bit his shoulder to muffle your cries and Balen followed, releasing pump after pump of his load inside you. He was surprisingly quiet and reserved, but you knew his passion was great; his heartbeat was erratic.

“Good girl,” he whispered in your ear, his breath warm against you.

It was at that moment, that a coworker knocked on the door. You clutched your boyfriend, your heart racing. Balen remained calm, his hands steady as he continued to work and bid the coworker to enter. The coworker, a male werewolf, entered, used to the sight of you hugging your boyfriend and what was happening beneath your neat clothing. Everyone in the office knew of your relationship and the demands of your minotaur boyfriend. Balen had made it so everyone respected you no matter what.

Balen and the werewolf discussed business as usual, while your face flushed with the effort of maintaining composure. Balen’s cock was throbbing inside you, his seed overflowing even if he was buried balls deep inside you. Once the coworker left, Balen kissed you, his tongue brushing against your lips before thrusting into your mouth. He tasted every crevice of your mouth and then drew back, a hint of a grin on his bull face.

“You did well,” he drawled, his voice thick with pride.

“Don’t I always?” you teased sweetly.

“Always.” He pressed you closed against him, his cock kissing so deep inside you that you groaned. “I love you mate. Love your beautiful smile, your lovely heart and your pretty little pussy.”

You smiled. “I love you, too, my horny minotaur.”

“Hmmm…” he growled. “You are my everything, little mate and it seems I can’t function without you.”

“Balen…” you trailed off, winching as more of his seed tricked down your thighs. “We made a mess. Shouldn’t we—”

“It’s alright, my love,” he said. “There are clothes in the cabinet. I always keep spares for both.”

Did you enjoy? Follow for more!

[reasonsforhope]

"Cody Two Bears, a member of the Sioux tribe in North Dakota, founded Indigenized Energy, a native-led energy company with a unique mission — installing solar farms for tribal nations in the United States.

This initiative arises from the historical reliance of Native Americans on the U.S. government for power, a paradigm that is gradually shifting.

The spark for Two Bears' vision ignited during the Standing Rock protests in 2016, where he witnessed the arrest of a fellow protester during efforts to prevent the construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline on sacred tribal land.

Disturbed by the status quo, Two Bears decided to channel his activism into action and create tangible change.

His company, Indigenized Energy, addresses a critical issue faced by many reservations: poverty and lack of access to basic power.

Reservations are among the poorest communities in the country, and in some, like the Navajo Nation, many homes lack electricity.

Even in regions where the land has been exploited for coal and uranium, residents face obstacles to accessing power.

Renewable energy, specifically solar power, is a beacon of hope for tribes seeking to overcome these challenges.

Not only does it present an environmentally sustainable option, but it has become the most cost-effective form of energy globally, thanks in part to incentives like the Inflation Reduction Act of 2022.

Tribal nations can receive tax subsidies of up to 30% for solar and wind farms, along with grants for electrification, climate resiliency, and energy generation.

And Indigenized Energy is not focused solely on installing solar farms — it also emphasizes community empowerment through education and skill development.

In collaboration with organizations like Red Cloud Renewable, efforts are underway to train Indigenous tribal members for jobs in the renewable energy sector.

The program provides free training to individuals, with a focus on solar installation skills.

Graduates, ranging from late teens to late 50s, receive pre-apprenticeship certification, and the organization is planning to launch additional programs to support graduates with career services such as resume building and interview coaching...

The adoption of solar power by Native communities signifies progress toward sustainable development, cultural preservation, and economic self-determination, contributing to a more equitable and environmentally conscious future.

These initiatives are part of a broader movement toward "energy sovereignty," wherein tribes strive to have control over their own power sources.

This movement represents not only an economic opportunity and a source of jobs for these communities but also a means of reclaiming control over their land and resources, signifying a departure from historical exploitation and an embrace of sustainable practices deeply rooted in Indigenous cultures."

-via Good Good Good, December 10, 2023

[meidiary]

( 📁 ) THEM ACTING OVERLY JEALOUS

synopsis: the monster trio and how they act when they're way too jealous for their own good...

characters: luffy, sanji & zoro!

warnings: a teeny tinyyy amount of swearing [:

a/n: first time writing for them so i'm pretty nervous!!! , hope you enjoy!! banner is made by me, inspired by the lovely @sixosix and the layout is inspired by the lovely @luckyscribbles <3

it was his fault! it really was.. he was the sole reason you were entertaining this way too confident guy- because he told you that he was out of your league! can you believe that?! and now ZORO is throwing daggers at the poor man just with his piercing gaze alone..

ignoring zoro's needy angry glares he's sending you two, you continue charming your ... acquauntance, growing his already far too stretched ego. "oh darling, how i could melt in those beautiful emerald colored eyes of yours~" and with that sanji cringe-worthy comment you got him babbling on about himself... again.

you're getting progressively more annoyed the longer you hear him try to flirt with you. nonetheless you don't move an inch, because you know he's watching your every move; waiting for you to come moping to him about the guy. he'd feel a sense pride because you came back to him. and that pride, the face he makes whenever he turns out to be right about something, albeit it's a very handsome one, is the last thing you want to witness right now.

so you keep yourself from throwing this guy's drink in his face and telling him his cologne is absolutely murdering your sense of smelling.

you look up as you suddenly stop hearing the random guy talk about some castle garden of his. he gulps hesistantly whilst zoro stands before you, hands in his pockets. "we're leaving." no you're not! "oh zoro~ i barely-" "now." you stand up and turn to leave, but quickly turn back around and give the stranger a kiss on his cheek before leaving with zoro, causing his cheeks to change to a red-shade.

"miss! will i ever see you again?!" he asks before backing up seeing zoro's death glare. "my love, if we are meant to be we will definitely meet again!" what's up with you and these shakespear lines?

zoro gives you a slight shove with his shoulder as he rolld his eyes for what seems like the millionth time this hour. "i think i found my soulmate zoro!" you sang while you interlocked you arm with his. you were met with yet another eye-roll.

"you were the one that said he's out of my league, remember?" zoro huffs annoyed. "shit- that was a joke damn it!" "if anything you're out of his fucking league, dumbass" you lean onto him as you two continue making your way back to the going merry.

"maybe i exaggerated a bit too.." you slowly admit before hearing his usual chuckle. "just don't go flirting with some stranger again, ever. shit could've gone wrong real fast y'know?" you smile sheepishly and nod. "good thing you were there huh?"

and you could've sworn you say his cheeks turn into a rose color before he swiftly turned his head to the side, greeting sanji and nami. was he blushing..?

SANJI was this close.. this close to absolutely losing it and slicing this daring man up with zoro's swords. who does he think he is? flirtingly, charmingly speaking with his lover?! well truth be told.. you two weren't official, far from it actually;

you two were so close to finally having the months-due talk about the classic, what are we-question. but of course sanji had to hit on the waitress that casually passed your table. that was your final straw. if he couldn't stop his antics for one night, you would resume yours for good.

and oh how it made him clench his fists so hard they became white, how it made him ignore all the beautiful ladies surrounding him, for what felt like the first time ever, how he saw you with your pretty dress on, that he bought for you because it reminded him of you, sat on some navy's lap, entertaining the bastard not worhty of a single enchanting smile of yours. yet there you were smiling, no laughing at something the navy said, all while you were supposed to be with sanji. laughing at something he said, playing with his hair, sat on his lap.

he was this close to exploding and increasing his bounty a good amount by punching this navy untill his fists fell off. "sanji, don't you fucking dare." nami warned him, glaring at him from the other side of the table, not in the mood to be on the run again after finally being able to relax for a day.

sanji heard nami, he did! but the minute he saw the disgusting navy's hand run up your thigh causing you to jump off of him, he finally lost it. "keep your fucking hands off her you sewer rat!" he jumped up sprinting at the navy, his snow-white fists ready to release all the pent up anger he held.

but before sanji got to the navy he was stopped by you. your soft, slightly cold hands holding back one of his clenched fists. causing him to slowly unclench it. you tried to push sanji back, knowing his uproar would bring about another navy chasing. "you alright, love?" it's as if all his previous anger vanished the moment he felt your soft touch, smelled you sweet perfume, the moment you felt like his again. "y-yeah i'm good.. but we should get goi-"

"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?!" the navy man roared causing the others to swiftly join the yelling. "hey aren't those those strawhat pirates with a bounty?!" from the other side of the room it felt like you could hear nami's long sigh. "see what you've done?! grab zoro, usopp and i will take luffy!" everyone complied and assumed their role.

sanji lifted his leg up ready to kick zoro awake right before you pushed him slightly making him stand on two feet again. "not doing that sanji!" he playfully rolls his eyes at your statement.

waking up zoro and running to the ship in a hurry, with a good 3 dozen navy soldiers running behind you calling you names, was the usual. but what surprised you was sanji holding your hand tightly the whole way, not letting go for a second.

once on the ship, back to sailing on the waters, while everyone was catching their breath, sanji took you aside, he interlocked your hands with his while he locked your gazes, still breathless he looks at you earnestly. his eyes illuminating the moon's glow. "i'll stop the flirting my darling, i promise. the only woman i'll charm will be you.. so you better not grow tired of it." he chuckled still a little breathless. you smiled, leaning your body onto his. "you better sanji.."

"i'm all yours sweetheart. all yours"

LUFFY felt weird. he had never met this man before, yet he suddenly has the urge to gum gum bazooka him for the rest of the day. why is he feeling this way right now? is it because he hadn't eaten yet? no that can't be it.. he just had a very good meal with you; you two had split up from the rest of the crew to have your lunch at some fancy looking restaurant on the beach.

luffy furrows his eyebrows once again because of this feeling. he figures, after a while to be completely honest, that the reason he wants to kick this man off the island is that he's taking way too long speaking with you. he's been occupying you for a good 10 minutes now.

how could he? how did he dare to take you from him so carelessly? you two were enjoying your meals, yes you were chatting about the dumbest subjects known to the world, but you were enjoying it. and then some buff man comes and dares to ask you for directions?! it would've been fine if he had left after receiving them, but no, he had to keep talking to you!

luffy was starting to see red at this point. he gets it he does, you're a beautiful woman, you're smart yet very funny, energetic and enjoyable! but you're his. even though you don't know that, even though he never told you that, you are his. and no buff, tall, slick back haired guy was going to change that one bit.

luffy dropped his food and started to walk towards the two of you, angrily eyeing the bold man who was about to get bazooka-d to some far-away island. luffy started stretching his arms, getting ready to send him off.

you notice right away and block luffy's path to the man. trying to laugh it off, you said your goodbyes to the fella and dragged luffy back to the restaurant. "what were you thinking, luff! that could've ended up horribly!" you whisper-yelled, not wanting to attract any more unwanted gazes.

"he took you from me for 10 minutes! how was I supposed to endure any longer!" luffy childishly pouts as he resumes eating. "you could've just said so! no need to bazooka anyone anywhere luf'!" his furrowed eyebrows soften as he hears his nickname.

the first time you called him that he truly hated it. "it sounds like a dog's name!" he complained. but over time, that nickname became apart of him, it was apart of his daily routine; he'd wake up to it, adventure the world with it, buy groceries with it, hear scolds with it. he became one with that silly nickname you gave him, and he wouldn't give that three-letter name up for the world. he wouldn't be able to go a day anymore without hearing you talking about how "the seashells here are so pretty luf'!", or how "i just love it when it's only you and i, luf'," and let's not forget you waking him up with the usual "luf'! sanji finished breakfast, get up already!".

"you can't go off with weird men. i won't let you.. you shouldn't leave my side for some guy that doesn't even know where he's headed!" you chuckle at his remarks. "i wouldn't leave you for anyone luf'! just.. don't bazooka someone next time.. just talk to me."

"you're mine y'know.." luffy tells you while he's munching on some of his cold meat. your eyes widen at his sudden words. "w-what?" "i said you're mine!" he says louder, a little annoyed thinking you hadn't heard him the first time. "you never said that before.."

"never needed to," he takes another bite. "but you are, so don't forget that!" he furrows his eyebrows again while saying that earning a chuckle from you. "i won't.. don't you worry"

NOTE: and that's for my first one piece ficcccc!!!

[milkteahood]

unmasked

Thomas Hewitt x fem!reader

Warning: smut! minors dni!!!

Summary: more smut. But with a plot. This wasn't supposed to be a smut, but of course it is. Because that's just how I am as a person.

Living with the Hewitt family wasn’t always easy, but it sure had its nice parts, and the nicest part was Thomas. Oh yes, the reason you were still alive today was simply being a decent person to Thomas. Which slowly progressed to more, finding yourself in this limbo of having a huge crush on him, while he was still keeping you at arm’s length.

It was very strange to fall in love with a man whose face you never saw. Yet here you were, catching yourself staring at him again. Even though he warmed up to you, Thomas was still caught off guard whenever he saw you staring, so you tried to do your best to avoid him seeing you. That of course didn’t always work and today was one of those days.

A couple of seconds passed before you realized he was looking back at you.

“O-oh! Sorry” you said, smiling at him.

He’s been around you long enough to know you weren’t being malicious, but he still didn’t know what to make of it, so he just nodded and turned back to what he was doing.

You mentally cursed yourself for making him feel awkward, not that you could’ve helped it. Your heart ached whenever he walked into the room, yet the fear of being rejected was enough to put you back in place.

I can’t just keep living like this you thought to yourself once you resumed to cleaning the potatoes Luda Mae told you to.

Be thankful you’re even alive.

***

At supper you tried your best to keep your eyes off of Thomas, only making small conversation here and there. He would listen, and nod, occasionally tilting his head to the side. Each time, making your heart skip a beat and your cheeks turn red. You blamed it on the weather and the soup.

After supper, you helped Luda Mae with cleaning the table.

“You know sweetheart, my Tommy might be naive, but I am not” she said.

“What do you mean?” you asked, trying to play dumb.

“Oh hush girl. I can see how red you get when you look at my Tommy. And I can tell he feels a certain way about you too”

You were so thankful she was old, because otherwise it would’ve been impossible not to hear your heart beat out of your chest.

“Just don’t break his heart”

“No. Never!” you protested before you realized what you just admitted to.

Luda Mae just smiled at you “you’re a very sweet girl. Go on now. I will finish here”.

And with that, you were rushing out to see what Thomas was up to.

You found him sitting on the staircase in front of the house.

“Hey Thomas!” you said, sitting down next to him.

He nodded to you, eyes softening at your sight.

“Did you have a good day?” you asked, earning yourself another nod. Thomas didn’t talk, but you did not mind. You’ve been around long enough to understand him.

“I can tell he feels a certain way about you too”. Luda Mae’s words echoed in your head, making you blush. Thomas tilted his head and pointed at your now very flushed cheek.

“I’m ok!” you tried to keep your cool “it’s just really hot still outside” you continued smiling. He seemed to take that.

“And since it’s so hot… say Thomas. Would you want to go hang out by the pond? I’m done with my chores”.

He just smiled at you from behind his mask and nodded his head.

***

“Oh come on Tommy! The water is amazing” you said, dress all wet because you didn’t care to take anything off.

Thomas tried to avoid your gaze, simply because his mama raised him better, and your dress became pretty see-through.

“Tommy? Are you alright?” you started to approach him.

Thomas lifted his hand, pointing at your dress. It took you a little to realize what he was trying to say, but once you looked down, a blush crept on your face. “Oh goodness”.

After he sighed, he took off his apron and handed it to you. You were swimming in it, and it was enough to cover yourself.

You knew Thomas wasn’t going to swim, he always preferred to hang out at the shore.

���It’s fine now Thomas” you chucked when he finally turned to face you. Both of you lay down on the grass, with you turning towards him. He was looking up at the sky, not seeming to notice you were looking at him.

“This is nice”

He glanced at you and grunted. This one meant yes.

“Isn’t it hard to always wear that mask Tommy? It’s so hot today”

He didn’t answer. But you could see him clenching his fists.

“I-I mean”

He turned his head to you, frowning.

“Sorry” you said and turned on your back. He turned away from you too.

“I just” just shut up. Don’t say it. Just don’t.

You looked at him. He was looking away.

With a sigh you decided that now was the moment.

“Whatever’s underneath that mask… it won’t change how I feel about you” you almost whispered the last part, but it was enough for him to hear.

Thomas turned his head towards you, eyes widen, looking confused and a little scared.

You just smiled and placed your hand over his. He tensed, but not for long.

“Even mama noticed” you said with a chuckle.

He looked at you for a while, and you were staring to get worried that you said something wrong, until he stood up, just enough to undo his leather mask. Yet he didn’t take it off, and he was no longer looking at you.

“Tommy?”

He didn’t respond, and while he was holding his mask up with one hand and his other was clenched in a fist, you were worried you might’ve upset him by pushing him into this.

“Thomas. It’s alright” you said, taking his hand in both yours “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to”.

When his eyes finally met yours, you could clearly see the pain in them, and something else. You could see a little bit of hope.

He sighed and finally let go of his mask. He was looking down, completely avoiding your gaze. You could swear his eyes almost popped out of his head when you cupped his face, got on his lap, smiled and called him handsome. His whole body tensed up at your words, almost not wanting to believe you.

“You’re so beautiful Thomas Hewitt” you repeated yourself, this time with an even bigger smile.

Meanwhile, Thomas was completely frozen. Were you making fun of him? But you looked so genuine. How could you be? Did it really matter? No. Not when your touch was so soft and you were smiling at him like that.

He finally snapped out of his trance when you kissed him.

He didn’t know what to do, but it didn’t take long for him to start kissing you back. It was inexperienced and needy and full of buildup emotions on both sides. His hands shyly rested on your waist, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, hands tugging at his hair as the kiss got more and more intense.

He started feeling your back up and down, while you pressed against him harder, earning yourself a moan when you brushed yourself against the bulge in his pants.

Both of you pulled away and just looked at the other for a while. Then, with a confidence you didn’t think you’d see with him, he pulled you into another kiss, holding the back of your head.

He worked on your clothes while you worked on his, neither wanting to break the kiss more than you needed to.

He then flipped you over and once he was on top, he stopped again, just looking and admiring you. Your hands exploded his chest while you kissed his neck, turning him into a moaning mess. He was intoxicated by your every touch.

Feeling his erection against your inner thigh made you moan.

“You can do whatever you want to me Tommy” you said while wrapping your arms around his neck.

He just whimpered, nuzzling your neck.

“It’s alright Thomas, I want you” you said gently stroking his hair.

He nodded against your neck before kissing you again.

You helped him adjust himself and before you knew it, he was sliding inside, both of you moaning into the other’s mouth.

The pace started slow, Thomas was holding your waist with one hand and using the other to support himself.

“Oh fuck… just like that” you moaned, nails digging into his back now.

The more you moaned, the more he slammed harder and faster into you. His face was buried in your hair, taking in your scent which was slowly driving him off the edge.

He was hitting all the right places, slamming into you so hard you knew you would have trouble walking afterward.

You knew he was getting closer because his pace became more and more erratic.

“Oh fuck Tommy, cum with me, please please cum with me”.

That was enough to drive him over the edge and with a few more deep thrusts he came, making your eyes roll back while you chased your own high.

Both of you stayed like that for a while, neither wanting to move. Thomas made sure not to let his entire weight over you, while you ran your fingers through his hair and planted kisses on his forehead.

“I love you Tommy”.

His eyes widened, and he looked like he just saw a ghost. The sight was endearing and it caused you to chuckle.

“I really do” you continued.

His lower lip twitched, and he immediately squeezed you close to him, making you smile even more. You knew he felt the same. There was no need for him to say anything.

***

The sky was full of stars as you made your way back to the house. Slowly, making sure not to disturb anyone, you made your way towards Tommy’s room. You gave him another kiss in the doorway before waking in, and finally getting to sleep in the arms of your now lover.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

In His Element

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: After watching Matt cross examine a witness, your patience is worn thin, leaving you to plead with the devil.

warnings: SMUT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. fingering, brief masturbation, descriptions of fem genitalia, dom!Matt's filthy mind, and also him being so attractive

a/n: THIS IS MY FIRST EVER SMUT THAT WASN'T GHOST WRITTEN SO IT MIGHT NOT BE GREAT. I am going to keep practicing for y'all though! As always, please comment/reblog and leave me feedback if you desire :)

w/c: 3.5k

With clammy fingers, you smoothed your wrinkled skirt until it lay flat over your knees, crossing your ankles under the pew you were seated in. In your haste to find a seat before the trial resumed, you’d landed directly below an A/C vent, which was blowing a harsh current over you. The hair along your limbs stood on end, your heart pumping your blood in smaller loops, leaving your extremities to slowly wither. It should’ve been uncomfortable, but you were far too focused on the heat churning in your gut as your eyes followed your partner’s pacing form.

Hands stacked loosely over the handle of his cane, Matt’s head tilted slightly as he prepared to ask the prosecution’s witness a question. He was facing away from you, but you could imagine the exact emotionless-yet-somehow-haughty expression that graced his face. It was one of the attributes of your boyfriend’s stoic appearance that emerged behind the courtroom doors that you found mind-numbingly attractive.

“Officer Bauer,” Matt’s voice sent a shudder down your spine. Though the man wore a literal mask most nights, he had a variety of metaphorical personality-masks that suited various environments—his everyday polite demeanor, the protective and concerned boyfriend that always surfaced whenever you were threatened or hurt, and, notably, the serious, calculating attorney persona he adopted during his trials.

Biting your tongue to freeze your body in place, you inhaled slowly, trying not to draw attention to yourself. A quick glance to the jury confirmed that you were not the only one entranced by the dark-haired man as he strode back and forth, a few feet in front of the witness stand. He had you all captivated.

Shifting his weight to his heels, Matt was angled enough that you could see the innocent smile he directed at the man sweating on the stand. “Can you tell me what you were doing at the corner of 52nd and 8th on the afternoon of Thursday, March 6th?”

A simple question, innocuous enough that the callous man he was questioning let out an indignant scoff as he answered. ”Patrolling.“

You rolled your eyes at his single word response, his disdain for the judicial process evident in his slouched posture and bored tone. He was practically falling asleep in the worn leather chair, his half-lidded eyes trained on Matt like a dazed serpent. The man looked foul and, from the little that Matt had told you, his personality matched.

Despite the apathetic participant he was dealing with, Matt remained calm and composed. His smile widened marginally, revealing a flash of his pristine teeth as he huffed in amusement.

"Of course. And when you were on patrol you noticed the defendant amongst a group of young adults. Is that correct?"

Your chest was convulsing as your heart pounded from your rib cage. Matt was exceptionally intelligent and had explained his tactic for cross-examining this inattentive cop, but that didn't make it any less suspenseful as you watched his game of cat and mouse play out before your very eyes.

The officer's slitted eyes wandered to the ceiling as he sighed. "Yeah."

"Can you describe the group to me?" Matt lifted his shoulders as he posed the question, not quite shrugging, but definitely indicating that, while he believed the leathery-skinned witness had not yet satisfied his curiosity.

“Buncha kids. Messin around.” Four words rather than one. That was progress, right? Akin to the marble rolling down a track at the beginning of a complex Rube Goldberg machine. The task was far from accomplished, but there was motion somewhere within the structure.

“And, as your partner stated earlier, most of the kids were white, is that correct?” The first hint of something substantial. You pressed your lips together, holding in a smile as your mind started to piece together the rocky, cobblestone path your boyfriend was laying for his uncooperative witness.

“Yes.”

“What encouraged you and your partner to approach the defendant and other students in the park?” Tone laced with what sounded like genuine curiosity, Matt raised a brow at the arresting officer. His ability to color his voice in a way that would appeal to the jury never ceased to amaze you.

“We got news of a nearby break in, and they were actin' suspicious.”

At this point, you were pretty much tuning the lazy cop out—waiting for Matt to open his mouth again, to speak in the beautifully deep, almost hoarse way he always did when defending his clients. His words were direct, controlled in the same manner his general conduct was, his anger and need for justice hidden behind an expressionless facade.

It was intoxicating, his ability to hold back. Almost as divine as his ability to let go.

“Can you describe these suspicious activities for the court?”

Fidgeting with a loose thread on the hem of your skirt, you let Matt's voice drape over you like a wool blanket on a winter night. Comforting, warm, and a tad prickly. Only ears as finely tuned to the man's peculiarities could pick up the barbed edge of his questioning—thousands of serrated teeth waiting to ensnare the animal as soon as it was within their grasp. Knowing how talented your partner was in his field, that moment wasn't far away.

The chair creaked as the cop shifted with a hefty shrug. “Ya know, talkin' all low to each other, shovin' things in their bags while lookin' over their shoulder...” He trailed off, mashing a fist against his nose with an awful throat clearing sound.

“And, while on your patrol, you noticed the group acting this way.” More of a statement than a question. Matt was closing in.

“Yea, that’s what I just said.” The cop snorted, completely unaware of the brutal fate that awaited him.

“So you and your partner decided to intervene?” Matt reasoned aloud. He was pacing again. Your attention had been solely on his voice, not his footsteps.

“Course that’s our job.” The ignorant man to the right of the judge shifted again in his seat, his frustration visibly growing as Matt continued to hurl benign and repetitive questions at him.

“And when you exited your vehicle, what happened?” Matt asked.

“They took off.” Bauer answered, irritated.

“On foot?” Matt clarified.

“Yes.” The witness rubbed forcefully at the bridge of his nose again.

“And it’s true that my client left with them?” Gesturing softly to the young woman seated at the defense's table to indicate to the room who his client was, in case they needed a reminder.

 “Yes.” Bauer confirmed.

“So the entire group dispersed on foot?” Matt asked with an air of confusion. His rumbling baritone lifting on the tail end to indicate his dismay.

“Yep.” Bauer grit his teeth, tiring quickly as Matt persisted.

“At the same time?” Matt asked with the same bewildered look on his face.

“Yes.” His witness growled.

“The same group that was acting in a suspicious manner?” Matt questioned.

“Yes. I just said that.” Voice raising, you could see Bauer's face getting redder by the second.

“Then can you tell me, Officer Bauer, why you and your partner BOTH decided to pursue my client?”

Bauer's eyes flashed with something similar to understanding, his mouth remaining clamped shut as Matt stepped closer, closing in on his prey.

“You’ve previously reported and just now confirmed that the entire group left when they noticed you approaching. Yet you and your partner both were solely focused on my client rather than any of the other members of the group. Tell me, officer, is that because of her race?” Matt's words flew out of his mouth rapidly, a string of poorly concealed accusations within them.

You barely had time to appreciate Matt's ingenuity before the lead prosecutor bolted out of her seat. "Objection, Your Honor, that is clearly leading."

"Sustained. Counselor?" The judge glanced at Matt for his next move.

Holding up a hand, Matt didn't miss a beat. “I’ll rephrase. Officer, what reason did you have for pursuing my client rather than any of the other students?”

"Well, she was acting weird," Bauer stammered, his eyes bulging with fear. He'd spotted the threat then.

“In the same manner as the rest of the group, as you previously stated, all of whom you approached with your partner. Yet both of you ran after my client.”

“Yes.” Nodding cautiously, Bauer's voice was suddenly small.

“And, besides her race, can you give any other reason she stood out to you as more suspicious than the rest of the group?”

“Objection, leading.” The prosecution called out, her voice a bit shrill with desperation.

"Overruled. Mr. Murdock, please continue with your line of questioning." The judge's gaze flitted between the prosecutor and the witness who was now sweating profusely on the stand.

“Thank you, your honor. Officer Bauer, can you explain to the court exactly how my client was acting differently?” Changing the question slightly, Matt's lips twitched with the hint of a smirk.

“I don’t know, she, she just was!” Bauer cried, flustered.

“Is there any other difference between her and the rest of the group that you can explicitly state other than her appearance or her race?” Matt asked, cheeks twitching as he gleefully listened to the snare clasp around its victim.

“No.” Bauer answered. "But, but it wasn't like that!"

Turning to the judge, Matt's spine was straight with satisfaction as he announced his intentions. “Your honor, the defense would like to file a motion to dismiss this case on the grounds of selective enforcement. The combined testimony of Officers Bauer and Burke demonstrates an intent to frisk my client because she was black, not solely because of her actions, negating the principle of reasonable suspicion.”

The courtroom exploded, the witness and prosecution both howling in protest as the defendant and Matt both smirked. Grinning ecstatically, you stifled a laugh as the uproar continued, until the judge finally granted the dismissal. You couldn’t lessen your smile if you tried. 

Flooding out of the courtroom amidst the sea of spectators and journalists, you stepped out of the current as quickly as you could. Craning your neck over the waves of bobbing heads, you broke into a wide grin when you saw Matt trailing after the masses, cane sweeping inches from their ankles like he was chasing them out. As soon as he was within reach, you called his name, eagerly grasping his outstretched hand and tugging him out of the doorway.

“God, Matty, that was incredible.” You exclaimed breathlessly, wrapping him in a tight hug. His forehead landed against your hair, his nose skimming the shell of your ear as he shook with a resonant chuckle.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss against your neck, a guttural noise slipping out as he did. “Fuck, you smell so good.”

His words were barely audible, a secret to only be shared with you. They sent another wave of need straight to your core. “Matthew,” You mumbled, his name breaking off into a whine.

Another huff of laughter sounded in your ear. Planting another kiss against your neck, Matt's broad hands squeezed your hips. “My place. Now.”

“What about you?” You murmured, mouth watering as every touch from your boyfriend left a lingering patch of heat along your skin.

“I have a few things to finish up here, but I'll be there when I can. I promise.” You didn't need to hear his heartbeat to feel the honesty in his vow.

The idea of waiting for him made your knees tremble, the joints threatening to buckle as Matt swiped a calloused thumb over the bare skin of your waist, his hand beneath your shirt. “Matty, please.”

Matt shushed you sweetly. “Not here, angel. Be a patient girl for me and I'll make all your pain worth it, I promise.”

With one final squish of your hips, Matt separated from you.

The walk to Matt’s apartment was excruciating. With each step, the throbbing between your legs grew more intense. By the time you’d made it up the stairs and flopped onto his couch, you were practically panting with want. 

Now, you were desperately trying to focus on your book, but the words on the page might as well have been gibberish given how little you'd retained since you started. How were you supposed to manage when the image of Matt's parted lips was branded on the back of your eyelids.

“Be a patient girl for me and I'll make all your pain worth it, I promise.”

Patience was never your strongsuit.

Digging your front teeth into your lip, you dropped your head to the arm of Matt's couch with a thunk, whimpering as your discomfort crested. Blowing out a breath, you clenched the paperback book with vigor, fingernails stabbing the parchment inside, scarring it with tiny crescents. If only this book was Matt's broad back.

He loved when you got a little rough with him. You couldn't help it. As soon as his mouth was on you, your eyes shut, vision blanketed with stars. Your hands would grapple for whatever surface they could find to anchor you as Matt rocked the two of you in tandem, your nails carving scratches into Matt's beautiful, sporadically-freckled skin in the process.

The first time it happened, you'd been horrified. Stammering out an apology and offering to apply antibiotic gel to the red marks, but your boyfriend had just smiled, assuring you that he didn't mind.

“Each of those marks is a reminder that I'm yours, sweetheart.”

Arching your back as Matt's dulcet tone echoed in your ears, the book toppled to the ground with a flutter of pages. Hands wandering over your body, you reminded yourself to be patient.

Matt will be here soon. He will.

But not soon enough. A voice buried somewhere in your subconscious warned, encouraging your primal desires and urging your hands to free the hem of your blouse from where it was tucked beneath the waistband of your skirt. Fingertips trailing over the now-exposed skin of your lower belly, you hummed softly as a ripple of pleasure circled out from your fingertips.

Unbuttoning your skirt, you slowly loosened the fabric enough for your hand to dip under it. Dragging a finger over your panties towards your core, you hissed as it finally reached your delicate clit. The bundle of nerves was overly sensitive after being ignored for so long. Pulling the cotton aside, you pushed your finger between your folds, smiling as it danced over your clit. Circling it carefully with a single finger, you shuddered as your body began to buzz with a familiar thrill.

Rocking your hips into your hand slowly, you could barely hear anything over the blood rushing in your ears—which meant that the slam of a closing door caught you off guard.

Yanking your hand out of your underwear with a yelp, you sat up, frantically jerking your head towards the door.

“I thought I told you to wait for me, sweetheart.” Matt's face was shrouded by an array of shadows, the glint of his malicious smirk tinted red in the light of his living room window.

“I—I was!” You mumbled, arousal seeping into your panties as Matt stalked towards you with a laugh.

“You know I can tell when you're lying, sweets. Want to try that again?”

“Depends,” You retorted, adrenaline reigniting the confidence Matt always brought out in you. “Are you planning on apologizing for being so late?”

Chuckling sinfully, Matt cornered you against the back of the couch, fingers deftly unlooping the fabric of your skirt from the remaining buttons. Leaning down until your lips were practically touching, his mouth glanced against yours as he spoke, ignoring your question. "Do you know how difficult it is to remain coherent when you've clouded the entire courthouse in your scent?"

"W-what?" You stammered, gasping shallowly when Matt's teeth grazed the underside of your jaw, his lips kissing languidly along your neck.

"Did you miss me that much, sweetheart? Wanted me to take you right there on the floor before the jury?" Matt purred, making your cheeks thrum with bashful heat.

"I'm not the only one who wanted that, it seems." You grinned, cupping your hand over the noticeable bulge in his pants. “I can't help it, Matt. Watching you in your element...you're intoxicating. I can't listen to two words out of your mouth without wanting to drag you to the nearest bathroom.”

Palming his cock through the layers he wore, Matt growled into the skin of your neck, nipping at your pulse point. Static ricocheted from the impact, freezing you in place as your thighs flexed.

Shedding you of your skirt, Matt gently caressed the cotton covering your drenched pussy. “Can I—”

“Please,” You begged, choking in a breath before Matt's mouth crashed against yours. His stubble bristled against your skin, the small pinpricks a pleasant contrast to his plush lips. Tearing the remaining clothes from your legs, Matt threw his leg over your torso, encouraging you to fully recline against the leather. One hand cupping the back of your head, the other was splayed across your mound, a single dextrous finger parting your glistening lips.

He tasted like salt, like want. His tongue lapping at you like he needed to swallow you whole, like he couldn't get enough.

His cheeks ruffled as a strangled moan escaped him. “You're this wet for me, sweetheart?”

“All for you.” You panted, the air between you growing thick with feverish heat. “Always for you.”

With a beautiful grin, Matt's finger swiped over your entrance. “You ready?”

Nodding sloppily, you brought your hands up to cup his cheeks, tugging him back to your lips. Mouth colliding with yours, the force became bruising when your body rutted upwards, a jolt of satisfaction striking your every cell as Matt's finger entered you.

You hissed as the familiar pleasant pain washed over you. Arching your back as Matt pumped his digit upwards, you moaned, clapping a hand over your mouth as the sound escaped you. 

Matt chuckled. “No need to be quiet, sweetheart. Tell me how it feels.”

“So g-good, Matty.” You whimpered, every nerve within your folds quivering as Matt dragged his finger out of you, pushing it in again as he scraped his teeth over your neck. You cried out, vision going black as your body strained to find release. Your fingers dug into the silk beneath you, yanking at the sheets.

As your desperation grew, the rest of your limbs faded into numbness, your brain solely focused on the sensations of Matt’s callouses scraping against your walls—as if he was scratching an itch that had been niggling at you for hours. 

Matt hummed against your throat, pressing the pad of his thumb against your clit, making you yelp. The fire within you was out of control, your body drawn taught like the string of a bow. 

Wriggling slightly beneath his touch, your breaths became shallow, your stamina worn thin after watching him in court. You whined, twisting slightly to avoid launching yourself over the alluring edge into heavenly oblivion. 

“So close already, sweets?” He teased, repeatedly strumming the bundle of nerves. 

You moaned in assent, fisting the blankets in your clammy hands. His thick fingers tangled in your hair, giving your locks a tug and drawing a pleased yelp from your mouth. 

“Go on. Come for me.” Matt rasped, his breath fanning over your face. 

The command shoved you over the cliff, your lungs clenching as you stifled a scream. Your tailbone rutted up, your back arching off the mattress. Everything went white, your ears ringing as sheer pleasure coursed through your veins.

Matt was murmuring to you, his words muddled by the blood rushing in your ears. “–at’s my girl. Always such a good girl.” 

Rounding the peak, you collapsed to the mattress, your body trembling viciously. Each beat of your heart shook your rib cage, the motions rippling throughout your limbs. Hands flexing, you hissed as the muscles stretched out of mashed fists. Cupping Matt’s cheeks, you smiled as he eagerly dipped to kiss you. 

“Good?” He asked, the question punctuated by the noise of your lips pulling apart. 

“Fuck, Matty,” You whispered, head still swimming from the influx of oxytocin. “Yes. Yes, it was good. S-so good.” 

Withdrawing his hand from between your legs, Matt cradled you against his chest, brushing a thumb over your nape as your soul re-tethered. Lifting one wobbly leg, you shifted, attempting to throw the leaden weight over him, but Matt gently caught you by the thigh, encouraging you to relax. 

“What about you, love?” You asked, drawing in a harsh breath when Matt’s teeth nipped under your ear, his fingers already spreading your legs again.

“Later.” He huffed, his stiff length falling against your plush hip. “I’m not done with you quite yet.”

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase @msjb2002 @blue-devil-of-the-lord @pigeonmama @daisy-arien0 @yarrystyleeza

[hoe4hotchner]

Hii ! Can I request a hotch x bau!reader with the grumpy x sunshine trope where hotch is kind of protective of the reader and she (or you can make it gn I don’t mind) is oblivious and I don’t rly have an idea for the plot maybe on a case or smt 😭 tysm if you write it and if you don’t it’s ok too <33

I honestly had to google the trope, I've been writing fanfics for nearly 10 years and at this point I still only remember the classic tropes.

Anyway, I don't know if I used it correctly. Hotch is a teeny tiny bit dramatic

"Alright, team we have a lot of work to do. The sooner we get on top of this, the better." Hotch said looking at his watch, hoping he could be back in Quantico by tomorrow morning for the yearly budget meeting. Who else would defend the expenses of the BAU?   "Don’t worry, Hotch. We’ve got this. I’m sure we’ll crack this case in no time!" You flashed him a smile, despite the situation.   "Let’s focus on the details for now." Hotch's eyes softened gradually as he nodded.   Throughout the day, Hotch’s attention seemed to drift toward you more often than usual. Whether it was a glance when you ventured too close to the edge of a crime scene or a slight increase in his tension when you had to interact with potential witnesses or suspects, it was clear he was more on edge than ever.   "Y/N, be careful over there," Hotch’s voice rumbled as you peered over the edge of the cliff the last victim had been thrown over, a hint of concern veiled beneath his gruff expression.   "I’m always careful, sir. No worries!" You glanced back with a bright smile.   Hotch’s jaw tightened, though he tried to conceal it with a curt nod. As the case progressed, so did the danger. In the evening, while following a promising lead, you and Reid were near a run-down building that had become a potential hotspot where the unsub potentially performed his twisted rituals and routines. Hotch was nearby, coordinating the team's efforts, but his eyes never strayed far from your location.   A loud noise echoed through the building, the dust stirring into the air. You instinctively reached for your weapon and moved toward the sound, but Hotch’s voice cut through the chaos.   "Y/N, stay back!" he commanded, his tone firmer than usual. You froze for a moment, a bit taken aback by the intensity in his voice, but quickly resumed your position behind Spencer.

"Got it, sir."   Despite your reassurance, Hotch’s anxiety was palpable. When you finally emerged from behind the building, safe but slightly shaken, Hotch was waiting for you, his concern evident even as he tried to keep his face emotionless.   "Are you alright?" He asked, his voice softer now, though still edged with an underlying urgency.   "I’m fine. Just a little adrenaline rush." You smiled up at him, brushing off the dust from your clothes. Hotch’s gaze lingered on you, a mix of relief and frustration in his eyes.

"You need to be more careful. I can’t always be there to protect you guys."   "But you are always there, Hotch. I’ve never felt unsafe with the team. We’re all in this together." You tilted your head, puzzled at what he meant.   "It’s just…" Hotch’s expression softened slightly, and he took a deep breath. Before he could finish, the team regrouped, and the focus shifted back to solving the case. Yet, the tension between you and Hotch remained.

It wasn’t until the case was closed and the unsub caught that Hotch finally found a moment alone with you.   "You did well today."   "Thanks, Hotch. So did you. I couldn’t have done it without your support." You beamed at the praise, trying to pay it right back to him.   "It’s more than just support. I—" He hesitated. Hotch’s gaze lingered on you, his usual stoicism cracking just a little. "I worry about you. Sometimes more than I should, I think." Hotch’s expression softened further, his protective and cold nature finally giving way to a vulnerable side. "Just promise me you’ll be more careful. I can’t afford to lose you."   "I promise." You reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. Hotch’s eyes met yours, a rare smile touching his lips.

Consider linking or reblogging if you enjoy my work

[dany-is-my-queen]

A QUESTION OF LOYALTY XVI

Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader, Alicent Hightower x reader

Word count: 2.4k

Summary: When dragons of green and dragons of black dance, you have to choose the color that suits you best.

Note: @nnightskiess have not forgotten, hope I don´t make you suffer before the series resumes 😣

Note 2: Thanks everybody for the patience!!! Lots of love.

"It will be okay," you heard the whisper, but the voice was unrecognizable, heightening your alertness. The fire intensified, burning your skin like never before.

You wanted to scream, use your voice to provide support, but in vain. "Y/N," you heard, but where was it coming from? "Y/N," louder now.

"Wake up," you finally managed to open your eyes; Alicent was by your side, concerned. "We need to bring down that fever," she said, trying to get up, and you snapped out of the trance.

"Is Rhaenyra okay?" you asked abruptly.

Alicent hesitated for a moment, then looked away. "Is Rhaenyra okay?" she echoed your question; cursing internally, you took her hand before she could stand. “I was worried about you, I am," she replied.

You squeezed her hand, then brought her hands to your face. Suddenly, a sensation took over your entire body. Silverwing was back. You needed fresh air to decipher the message of that nightmare.

Alicent looked at you with more confusion; you quickly got out of bed, dressed, and gave her a fleeting kiss, but it felt cold. Before she could even react, you found yourself in the dragon pit, facing a youngling who seemed unfazed by your dragon's presence. You regarded him with genuine curiosity.

"Are you new here?" you inquired sincerely. He turned to meet your gaze.

"Not entirely. My name is Addam, my lady."

"They can sense fear, so I advise against exposing yourself if you're not prepared," you advised, soothing your dragon with a gentle stroke.

He chuckled innocently, gesturing towards the cave adjacent to yours. "I haven't quite earned Seasmoke's utter trust yet, but we're making progress."

You furrowed your brow, prompting another laugh from him. "Why the surprise? Don't I have the demeanor of a dragonrider?"

You detected a hint of a familiar gaze in him, reflected in his eyes. "And your second name?"

"Once Rivers, now Velaryon," he declared firmly.

"Did you manage to tame my brother's dragon?" A touch of sadness tinted the conversation. "Whose son are you?"

"I believe it's time we speak to our father."

——————

A few days had passed since that disorienting morning, the unsettling dream, and the revelation of your "brother." You were grappling with a sense of disorientation, and encountering the girl you once held dear was becoming unbearable. Joffrey's arrival in the capital added to your uncertainty, leaving you unsure if his anger towards you would dissipate. You abandoned everyone while intending to be with everybody.

Despite Corlys's attempts to engage you in private conversation, you rebuffed him, as it reminded you too much of your mother. Did she know? If he did, did he share his secret too? It was a burden you couldn't bear to confront at the moment.

————-

Upon entering the room, only Daemon and Rhaenyra were present, apparently engaged in a heated argument.

"Your Grace, did you summon me?" you asked calmly to her, while Daemon sighed in annoyance upon noticing you.

"Here comes your whore," Daemon directed his hatred towards you, never having liked you. What a surprise.

"You will refer to her with respect, am I clear?" Rhaenyra ordered him.

"I've told her a thousand times that you're no longer interested in her, that you chose my brother's widow over her, and that she's the one who has you wrapped around her finger, that she should have forgotten about you a long time ago. You filthy traitor.”

You couldn't contain yourself and stooped to his level, simply recalling the kind of man he has always been and how he forced your sister Laena to stay and perish in a place foreign to her home. Laena deserved someone much better, just like Rhaenyra.

"Why don't you go back to Pentos and stay there for the rest of your days? Here, you'll never be more than a second son, a prince consort, and a first-rate oaf," you spat angrily. He grazed his sword with his hand, gripping it tightly, so you did the same with yours.

"I should have ripped your head off when I had the chance or pierced Dark Sister through your skull like I did with your pathetic, deviant brother. You disgust me just like he did," he confessed to the crime that haunted you for far too long since all the incidents at Driftmark, which instinctively led you to draw your sword in a flash before he or the Queen could react. He was stronger and taller than you, but you managed to bring him down to the floor, threateningly placing the blade at his throat. He just let out an insolent chuckle without attempting to defend himself.

"Oh, fret not, don't want you to be upset with my dear wife afterwards. She had nothing to do with it. We were going to let him go with his fifth-rate knight, but I figured he might do something stupid, as people of your kind often do. So I took care of it," he concluded, recounting his story with the corresponding details. You brought the sword closer to his neck, scratching it slightly.

"Go ahead, thrust it, I dare you," he began. Your body felt on fire, along with your anger and helplessness. You wanted to end him there and then, that cunt was a killer. “Oh, right, you don't have it in you. Could it be that you're reluctant because you'd rather shield Rhaenyra from glimpsing your less flattering traits? Are you afraid she won't love you the same way?"

"Y/N, please stop. I didn't know, I would have never allowed it. The plan and what we agreed upon with Laenor was to escape free of all burdens and responsibilities. If I could go back, I swear I would change it, I would change my decisions. He dithered because of you, he didn't want to leave you behind, nor Laena. I'm so sorry," she sincerely spoke with her voice filled with honesty. "You're better than this."

"But you're not better at fucking her," he murmured arrogantly. That's when you had enough, and with the hilt of Nightrider, you struck him, rendering him unconscious. You couldn't bear to hear any more poison coming from his mouth.

"Y/N… listen," Rhaenyra tried to get your attention, but you weren't interested in hearing her now. You stood up and left the room without uttering another word. Whatever she said next never reached your ears. "Don't walk away from me..”

———-

After Haelena's little one got murdered, the whole funeral ordeal, and all those revenge promises, Alicent ended up at the lake on the outskirts of King’s Landing. She was decked out in this white dress, her eyes carrying regret and fear. She knew things were about to go downhill fast; her mind was stuck on snapshots from her youth—like that time with you on Silverwing, cradling their tiny ones for the first time, holding her mom's hand exploring castles near the Hightower.

You came up, giving her a hug from behind, understanding her need for space but also getting she didn't want to be left alone, especially now. You trailed her quietly, wrapping your arms around her slim waist. The mist lifted, the water thickened. Your face found its way to the nape of her neck, planting a shy kiss; she felt the warmth of your lips, defying the chilly air.

No words were traded that time, and none were needed. Just being there for each other was what you craved at that very moment, just feeling.

———-

The early mornings persisted in tormenting you, and the same phlegm-filled scene was all that your retina perceived after witnessing the decapitation of the primary traitors to Rhaenyra, among them Otto. Your loyalty seemed to have lost its value; no one knew which side you were on, and a sense of unease pervaded your being. Doubt inundated your thoughts, and it inflicted more damage on Alicent than anyone else. It had to cease.

"Y/N…" she called out to you, finding you in the corridors. However, you chose to ignore her, as you had in the preceding days, even after her father's demise. "Will this continue in this manner? You no longer sleep in our room. What has occurred? Please, talk to me," she insisted. Nevertheless, you persisted in disregarding her. You had to act in accordance with what felt right at that moment. "We don't know where Aegon is or if he's well. My father has been beheaded, my children are distant, and Helaena scarcely leaves her chamber. I have no allies here. I feel like I'm losing you too." Her voice broke, accentuating your growing indifference, if that were even possible.

"Tell me why you're trying to conceal it if you have something to say."

You loved Alicent; there was no doubt about that. You loved her enough to spare her from this situation. Or were you merely succumbing to the same cowardice as years ago, when you sought her out solely because Rhaenyra had labeled you a whore?

"I'm sorry about your father," you murmured, still unable to articulate your thoughts.

"She did this, Y/N. She's here to seize everything, not just the throne but you as well. Will you allow it?"

Your countenance reflected an acute internal conflict. Alicent clung to the hope that what followed would be erroneous.

"Do you still love her after all she's done to us? Has she twisted you to her will once again so swiftly?" Each question was infused with pure pain, yet she desperately needed to hear you confess.

Your silence only served to confirm it; you had become mute.

"We've become a love that inflicts pain," you finally articulated.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"Aemond could return at any moment; you need to speak with him."

"So he forgives the lives of the usurpers?" she asked incredulously, displaying annoyance.

"We don't desire more deaths, Alicent. She is our rightful queen—" before you could complete the sentence, you felt Alicent's hand on your cheek. It was impulsive, born out of desperation, driven by jealousy, perhaps a culmination of various emotions; yet, she did not regret it in that moment.

You regarded her with surprise, but it was not unexpected. You had behaved like an immature 16-year-old girl, and she was unwilling to endure it again.

———

Rhaenyra was acutely aware of the imperative to persistently fortify her position within the heart of King's Landing. The lingering skepticism among a considerable number of individuals, who still refused to acknowledge her as the rightful queen, was more than mere whispers. It extended to some influential figures within the court, casting doubt on her legitimacy.

Simultaneously, Rhaenyra grasped the precariousness of abandoning the capital. The impending return of the middle Green brother signaled an imminent counterattack to reclaim the city. Aemond's unpredictable nature made it unclear how he would navigate the situation. Entrusting one of the Greens' scarce dragons to him, coupled with his lack of finesse in delicate matters, heightened the uncertainty.

The ensuing events took an unforeseen turn as the young prince and his dragon loitered on the outskirts of the city, in a secluded village where Vhagar had been observed for several weeks. Uncertainty loomed over Aemond's course of action, but Rhaenyra was wary of potential surprises.

"The Prince is in close proximity. His dragon incessantly circles the vicinity," reported the maester. Rhaenyra's countenance betrayed no overt concern, yet a flicker of resentment tinged her gaze at the mention of Aemond. It was only a matter of time.

"Let's pay my half-brother an unanticipated visit," Rhaenyra declared. Her gaze met yours, and it was evident that her directive for you to accompany her was not a matter of choice but a command. "And lady y/n, you're coming with me."

Your immediate acknowledgement underscored the non-negotiable nature of the order. "Yes, Your Grace," you replied succinctly. "It's prudent to intercept him before he reaches the city. The devastation he has wrought on remote villages, even among his allies, could escalate significantly if he arrives here."

"Exactly. I must engage him away from the populace. His intent is not only to seize my throne but obliterate what is rightfully ours," she concluded.

Daemon's audible discontent with being excluded was met with Rhaenyra's response. "Silverwing surpasses Caraxes in size. Moreover, your presence is essential here in case the usurper decides on an unforeseen return," she retorted, her tone dry and definitive. With an arrogant sigh, Daemon exited the chamber.

———

As you approached the Dragon Pit, you beheld her getting ready to mount Syrax, and your thoughts drifted back to that initial encounter.

"Who can understand the heart of a dragon?"

Another dragon emerged, and your alleged brother Addam, offered a timid smile as he mounted it—a moment reciprocated with your own nod.

—

The journey could've been briefer, but precautions were taken to avoid the townsfolk's prying eyes, where rumors of Aemond's presence lingered.

Out of the dragons' sight, the trio headed to a tavern to strategize. The plan seemed dubious to you, but you complied with the Queen's orders nonetheless.

Rhaenyra donned a chestnut wig, attempting to blend in inconspicuously, a stark contrast to her usual visibility. Addam, an unknown face, posed no issue, and you kept your hood up, adopting an Essos accent for authenticity.

"Ale, please," you asked the provocative waitress, whose intensity wasn't lost on you, making you slightly uneasy.

The Queen intervened, ordering "Water only" once the waitress was out of earshot. Perplexed, you questioned her choice.

"Here with a purpose. Can't afford distractions," she emphasized. Addam, sensing tension, lightened the mood with a jest.

“Can we indulge in a bit of enjoyment?”

“No.” She said stiffly.

Having received complimentary shots, the Queen, annoyed, paid and swiftly ushered you out. Adam stayed behind, kind of aware of the underlying dynamics.

In the rented room, the Queen discarded the wig, sipping wine. Perplexed, you questioned her abrupt change.

"Why the sudden shift? Now you are driniking," you remarked, gently yet seriously.

Concerned about potential espionage, she warned about the waitress being a possible spy. Frustrated, you defended the harmless encounter, asserting your commitment to the mission.

"I don't know why you're acting like this. We're not teenagers. What's gotten into you?" you queried.

Regretful, she apologized, admitting her lapse in judgment.

“I understand. We need to stay focused and vigilant,” she agreed, nodding. “We can’t afford any slip-ups”

“I've come to negotiate with Aemond," she disclosed, surprising you. In a moment of hope, you acknowledged the possibility of averting further bloodshed, honoring Luke's memory, Jace´s memory.

------

Taglist: @nnightskiess @loveislove4 @evattude @lethal-minds @sophiexoxsblog @claymoresword @tired-ninfa @glorioushamsterqueen @barbicent @newcaptainofsquad9 @pindoris @oh-thats-cute @rxscpctals @laenordeservedbetter @voniikg @toot-is-tired @letlovee-in @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valenciavv @the-camilucha @joliettes @itssecret2109 @i-nail-jello-to-walls @cone-fused-mind @livingdreams97

[hollymacycomic]

Holly & Macy November 2024 BIG Progress Update!!

Hi, everyone! I've written up a fairly exhaustive progress update about the status of Holly & Macy and Everyone Else. You can read the whole thing (and view the included pictures) on my Patreon. The Patreon post is public, so you do not need to be a member of my Patreon to view it. It should be available for free to everyone. I'll very briefly summarize the main points below. The gist of it is:

Holly & Macy will officially resume weekly updates starting Wednesday January 29th 2025. From then on, the comic will update on Wednesdays at 11am PST. That’s 1pm CST, 2 hours later than the previous update time.

ALSO I am open for commissions right now! I’ve joined an artist collective raising funds to help Shimaa’s family in Gaza. If you donate to Shimaa’s gofundme, you can get some lovely art from me in exchange! More information about how this works, the vetting process, and the participating artists can be found via our carrd. If you have further questions, you can also reach out to my good friend Matty (@maddzroks) who is spearheading this project. At the time of writing, I have 2 slots open for commissions. Let’s do our best to help Shimaa and her family out! 

Thank you all for your support and excitement, and for your incredible patience! Whether you’re a long-time fan or a new casual reader, your presence means very much. I draw comics to share them with people like you. See you again in January!

-Teratoaster <3

[lila-lou]

✨His true fate - Part 7/?✨

Summary: Jensen hasn't been happy for years. But it seems almost impossible for him to escape. After another nasty argument between him and his wife, he decides to visit his ´former´ best friend for his birthday. Back in Austin, an encounter awaits him that will turn his life completely upside down.

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language, age gap

Word Count: 5402

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

Just then, Jared approached the two of you again, knocking against the doorframe with a loud rap and yelling, “Is everyone still dressed?”. He had one hand comically placed in front of his eyes, clearly trying to add a bit of humor to the situation.

Jensen chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, Jared, we’re good. You can open your eyes”.

Jared cautiously peeked through his fingers before lowering his hand and grinning at both of you. “Alright, just making sure. I didn’t want to walk into round two or anything”.

Jensen rolled his eyes at Jared’s teasing, but couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s antics. Jared just wiggled his eyebrows, clearly enjoying the situation.

“Are you gonna stay and watch TV?”, Jared asked, pointing at the screen where a show was paused, ready to start. “We were about to start an episode”.

You scrunched your eyebrows, reading the title on the screen. “The Boys? Sounds cheesy”, you commented, a playful skepticism in your voice.

Jared’s grin widened, and he winked. “Oh, you’ll love it, I’m sure. Trust me, it’s anything but cheesy”.

Meanwhile, Jensen had already started blushing, realizing that the episode queued up was season 3, episode 7. He cleared his throat, trying to hide his discomfort.

“Uh, maybe we should pick a different episode”, Jensen suggested, his voice tinged with embarrassment.

Jared smirked, catching on to Jensen’s unease. “Oh, come on. It’s a great episode”, he teased, clearly enjoying his friend’s predicament.

You noticed Jensen’s reaction and looked between the two of them, curiosity piqued. “Why? What’s in this episode?”, you asked, genuinely intrigued.

Jared’s grin widened even more, and he leaned back, clearly relishing the moment. “Let’s just say Jensen’s character has a rather… memorable scene”.

Jensen groaned, his face turning a deeper shade of red. “Thanks, Jared. Really appreciate it”, he muttered sarcastically.

Jensen sighed deeply, resigned to the situation as he saw the mischievous glint in Jared’s eyes and your enthusiastic reaction to the revelation. He shot Jared a mock glare before turning to you, his face still flushed with embarrassment.

“Yeah, I’m in that episode”, Jensen admitted with a mixture of chagrin and amusement. “Apparently, Jared thinks it’s essential viewing”.

You couldn’t contain your grin, looking at Jensen with wide eyes filled with mischief. “Wait, seriously? You’re in this? Oh, I am definitely staying to watch this”, you exclaimed, your excitement growing.

Jared chuckled at Jensen’s discomfort but also nodded enthusiastically at your response. “See, I told you she’d be into it”, he said with a grin. “Come on, let’s see if it lives up to the hype”.

Jensen muttered under his breath, “Oh, fuck me”, but there was a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. He leaned back against the couch, resigned to the fact that there was no escaping this now.

You settled in beside Jensen, the atmosphere now light and playful despite the earlier intensity. As the episode resumed and Jensen’s character appeared on screen, you couldn’t help but watch with fascination, stealing glances at Jensen every now and then to see his reactions.

For Jensen, seeing you smile and laugh beside him eased the embarrassment of the moment, and he found himself genuinely enjoying the evening despite the unexpected turn of events.

As the episode progressed, you found yourself leaning closer to Jensen, occasionally whispering comments or asking questions about his character. Jensen answered with a mix of humor and self-deprecation, making you laugh even more.

Just then, the infamous scene where Soldier Boy is caught in a compromising position, jerking off in front of older women, flashed onto the screen. Your mouth popped open in shock and amusement, eyes wide as you watched the hilariously awkward moment unfold.

Jensen, fully aware of what was coming, covered his face with his hands, his cheeks deepening to a bright shade of red. He peeked through his fingers, stealing glances at your reaction and Jared’s amused expression. Jared, meanwhile, was grinning from ear to ear, clearly enjoying the situation.

“Oh my.. fuck, Jensen!”, you exclaimed, barely able to contain your laughter. “I can’t believe this!”.

Jensen groaned, his face still hidden behind his hands. “Yeah, it’s… not my finest moment”, he muttered, shaking his head in mock despair.

Jared’s laughter echoed through the room as he watched the two of you. "I told you it was worth watching”, he said, his voice filled with mirth. “This scene alone is gold”.

You chuckled, unable to resist teasing Jensen in the midst of the hilarity. “I didn’t think you were into older women”, you quipped playfully.

Jensen peeked through his fingers, a mix of embarrassment and amusement in his eyes. “Believe me, it’s all just acting”, he replied with a grin. “Soldier Boy has a… diverse taste, I guess”.

Jared, still chuckling, chimed in, “Yeah, diverse is one way to put it!”.

You leaned closer to Jensen, nudging him gently with your shoulder. “Well, I’m relieved to hear that”, you said teasingly. “I was starting to wonder what I’d gotten myself into”.

Jensen grinned at your teasing remark, his eyes crinkling with amusement. He leaned in closer, his voice low and playful. “Well, if you think Soldier Boy’s taste in women is diverse, what does that say about my taste in… younger women?”, he teased, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

You blushed deeply, caught off guard by Jensen’s teasing remark and the suggestive look in his eyes. His playful tone and the way he emphasized “younger women” sent a wave of heat straight to your core, leaving you momentarily speechless.

Jensen chuckled softly at your reaction, his grin widening as he noticed your blush. He leaned back slightly, his gaze lingering on you with a mix of amusement and something deeper, a hint of desire that sent a thrill through you.

“Got you blushing there, huh?”, Jensen teased lightly, his voice husky with underlying warmth. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your hand.

You managed to regain your composure, though your heart was still racing. “You’re terrible”, you replied with a playful smirk, trying to mask the effect his words had on you.

Jared cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting his gaze between you and Jensen. His own cheeks were tinged with a faint blush as he muttered, “Wow, um, it’s getting pretty intense in here”.

You and Jensen exchanged a glance, both of you amused by Jared’s reaction. Jensen chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Sorry about that”, he said to Jared, his tone still laced with humor.

Jared nodded, though he couldn’t hide the smile playing on his lips. “Just, uh, maybe tone it down a notch, you know, for the sake of my sanity”.

Jensen chuckled at Jared’s comment, a deep, resonant sound that filled the room. He groaned playfully as he stretched himself out on the couch, shifting to lean back comfortably. In the midst of his movements, he subtly reached out and slipped an arm around your waist, catching you off guard but pleasantly surprised.

You glanced down at his arm around you, feeling the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric of your clothes. Despite the playful banter and Jared’s presence in the house, there was an undeniable intimacy in the way Jensen held you close.

For a moment, you hesitated, unsure how to respond to this unexpected gesture. But then you leaned into him slightly, allowing yourself to relax into his embrace. His arm tightened around you instinctively, pulling you closer until your sides were pressed together.

Jared, oblivious to the subtle exchange between you and Jensen, busied himself in the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets for snacks. The faint sound of clinking dishes and cupboard doors echoed faintly from the other room, creating a soothing backdrop to the comfortable silence that settled between you and Jensen.

Jensen turned his head to look at you, his gaze soft and filled with unspoken words. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your side, a silent reassurance that he was there, that this moment between you meant something more.

As the evening wore on, Jensen and Jared continued to snack and chat while you remained engrossed in the TV show, occasionally joining in.

Despite the interruptions earlier, you found yourself fully immersed in the episode, laughing at the show’s storyline.

As the night progressed and the snacks dwindled, fatigue finally caught up with you. Your eyelids grew heavy, the comfort of the couch and the rhythmic sound of Jensen’s heartbeat beneath your ear lulling you into a peaceful state. Without realizing it, you drifted off to sleep, your head finding its way to rest on Jensen’s shoulder.

Jensen felt your weight against him, and he glanced down at you with a soft smile. He carefully adjusted his position to make you more comfortable, letting you rest against him while he continued to watch the show with Jared. His arm remained protectively around your waist, holding you close as if afraid you might slip away.

Jared, noticing your sleeping form, grinned knowingly but kept his voice low as he spoke to Jensen. “Looks like someone couldn’t keep up with the excitement”, he whispered teasingly.

Jensen chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Yeah, I guess the show was too much for her”, he replied in a hushed tone, his gaze fond as he looked down at you.

Jared’s whispered words caught Jensen by surprise, his gaze shifting from you to his friend with a mixture of curiosity and guarded interest. The room seemed to hold its breath as Jared continued, his voice still low and intimate.

“I like her, man”, Jared admitted quietly, a sincere smile tugging at his lips. “You’re so relaxed around her, and that’s a rare thing”.

Jensen’s expression softened, a flicker of gratitude and vulnerability crossing his features. He glanced down at you, sleeping peacefully against him, then back at Jared. “Yeah”, he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s… different”.

Jared nodded knowingly, his eyes reflecting understanding. “You should tell her, you know”, he suggested gently. “She might not know how you feel”.

Jensen kept his gaze fixed on you, his mind racing with Jared’s words echoing in his thoughts. He watched the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you slept against him, feeling a mixture of tenderness and longing.

“Yeah”, Jensen murmured softly, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. “When the time’s right”.

He stroked your hair gently, his touch feather-light against your skin.

After a while, as the night deepened into early morning, Jared also began to grow tired. He stretched his arms above his head, yawning widely as he stood up from his seat on the adjacent couch.

"Man, I'm beat", Jared muttered, rubbing his eyes and stretching again. "I think I'm gonna head to bed".

Jensen glanced up at Jared, nodding in understanding. "Yeah, good idea", he replied quietly, not wanting to disturb your peaceful sleep.

Jared grinned sleepily, nodding back at Jensen. "Take care of her", he said softly, his voice filled with genuine warmth.

Jensen smiled gratefully at Jared's words, appreciating the unspoken support and understanding between them. "I will", he replied quietly, his gaze returning to you, still resting peacefully against him.

With a final nod, Jared shuffled off to his bedroom, leaving Jensen and you in the quiet comfort of the living room. The soft glow of the TV screen illuminated the space, casting gentle shadows across the room.

Jensen shifted slightly, adjusting his position to make you even more comfortable. He couldn't help but smile as he looked down at you, marveling at the sight of your serene expression. His heart swelled with affection and admiration.

As Jared's footsteps faded down the hallway, the room settled into a profound stillness. Jensen sighed contentedly, wrapping his arm around you once more, holding you close against him. He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment and the warmth of your presence beside him.

After a while longer, the quiet of the room and the soothing familiarity of your presence lulled Jensen into a peaceful slumber. He lay half-sitting on the couch, his head slightly tilted back against the cushions. Your head had gradually sunk against his chest, finding a comfortable spot where his heartbeat could lull you further into your own dreams.

Jensen's arm remained wrapped tightly around your smaller body, instinctively pulling you closer as he slept. His breathing deepened into a steady rhythm, synchronized with the soft rise and fall of your chests pressed together.

The TV show played softly in the background, forgotten now as both of you found solace in each other's arms. Outside, the night continued its quiet passage, undisturbed by the deepening bond between two souls finding comfort and connection in the stillness of the moment.

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room as Jensen gradually woke from his slumber. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the gentle brightness, before his gaze fell upon you still nestled against him, your head resting comfortably on his chest.

A soft smile curved Jensen’s lips as he traced a strand of hair away from your face, admiring the peaceful expression that graced your features in sleep. He felt a surge of affection swell within him, a warmth that spread from his chest to every corner of his being. The intimacy of the moment enveloped him, anchoring him in a sense of contentment he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Carefully, so as not to disturb you, Jensen shifted slightly to find a more comfortable position. His arm, which had been protectively draped around you, tightened instinctively as he savored the sensation of having you close to him. The night had brought unexpected closeness, and Jensen couldn’t deny how right it felt to wake up with you in his arms.

After a while, Jensen gently brushed his fingers against your cheek, trying to rouse you from sleep. “Hey”, he murmured softly, his voice filled with tenderness. “Good morning”.

He leaned down to press a soft kiss on your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back slightly to gauge your response, hoping to see those eyes flutter open.

As Jensen pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, he felt a rush of emotions flood through him—affection, anticipation, and a hint of nervousness about how you might respond to waking up in his arms. He held his breath for a moment, waiting for you to stir.

You felt the warmth of Jensen’s lips against your forehead, a sensation that pulled you gently out of sleep. The soft murmur of his voice reached your ears, coaxing you back to consciousness. Slowly, your eyes fluttered open, blinking against the morning light filtering through the window.

“Morning”, you murmured softly, your voice husky with sleep as you met Jensen’s gaze.

Jensen licked his lips nervously, his heart skipping a beat as he watched you slowly awaken in his arms. The soft, morning light bathed your face as you blinked, adjusting to the realization that you had slept nestled against him on the couch. The warmth of your gaze met his, and he couldn’t resist the urge that surged within him.

Without thinking, Jensen leaned down, his lips brushing over yours in a feather-light kiss. It was so gentle, almost hesitant, as if he were afraid to break the spell of the moment. His heart raced as he pulled back slightly, searching your eyes for any sign of how you might respond.

For a heartbeat, there was silence between you, filled only with the soft rustle of morning birds outside. Jensen’s hand traced a soothing pattern on your back, his touch a silent reassurance of his affection. He held his breath, waiting for your reaction, uncertain yet hopeful.

Your gaze held his, filled with a mixture of surprise and something more tender. A small smile curved your lips as you reached up, your fingers lightly grazing his cheek.

Jensen exhaled softly, relief flooding through him at your gentle response. He leaned in again, this time more confidently, capturing your lips in a kiss that deepened slowly. It was a kiss filled with warmth and longing.

You weren’t sure if making out again was the best idea, given all the complexities and uncertainties between you. But in that moment, none of it seemed to matter. The only thing that did was the feel of Jensen’s lips against yours, the warmth of his body so close to yours. When he gently pulled back, a hesitant look in his eyes, you couldn’t resist the magnetic pull between you.

You reached up, your fingers gently curling around the back of his neck, and pulled his face back down towards yours. Jensen didn’t resist; instead, he let himself sink on top of you, his body pressing you gently into the couch. His lips brushed against yours in the most intimate and tender way, sending shivers down your spine.

Jensen’s hand cradled your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as he deepened the kiss. It was a slow, languorous kiss, filled with the promise of everything unspoken between you. His other hand slipped under your shirt, resting on your waist, his touch both possessive and gentle.

Your hands roamed over his back, feeling the play of muscles beneath his hoodie. The world outside ceased to exist as you lost yourselves in each other. Every kiss, every touch, seemed to convey a thousand words, an outpouring of emotions that had been building since the moment you met.

Jensen’s kisses trailed down your jawline to your neck, making you gasp softly. The sensation was electrifying, and you arched into him, your body responding to his in ways you couldn’t control. His name escaped your lips in a breathless whisper, and you felt his smile against your skin.

It was then that Jensen’s phone rang, the vibrations buzzing against your thigh, jolting you both out of the intense moment. Jensen groaned softly, his forehead resting against your shoulder for a brief second before he reluctantly pulled back, his eyes filled with regret and frustration.

“Sorry”, he murmured, fishing his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants. He glanced at the screen and his expression shifted slightly, the name on the display causing a flicker of concern to pass over his face.

“I have to take this”, Jensen said apologetically, his voice low as he sat up, the warmth of his body leaving you feeling suddenly cold.

You nodded, understanding but disappointed. “It’s okay”, you replied softly, giving him a reassuring smile even though your heart was still racing from the intensity of your shared moment.

Jensen stood up, answering the call as he walked a few steps away. “Hello?”, he said into the phone, his tone now businesslike. As he listened, his expression became more serious, and you could tell it was something important.

While Jensen spoke on the phone, you took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

Just then, Jared slowly walked into the room, clearly still half asleep as he stifled a yawn. He had been about to mumble a casual greeting when he noticed Jensen’s serious expression as he spoke into the phone. Jensen’s demeanor was that of someone discussing something important, and Jared immediately picked up on the shift in atmosphere.

Jared blinked, instantly recognizing the “my manager” expression on Jensen’s face—the one that meant serious business or perhaps some urgent matter related to work or personal affairs. He glanced at you, noting the mix of curiosity and concern on your face as you observed Jensen’s conversation.

Clearing his throat softly so as not to interrupt Jensen, Jared quietly made his way to the kitchen area, giving you a brief reassuring smile as he passed by. He busied himself with preparing a pot of coffee, the sound of water pouring into the machine punctuating the tense silence in the room.

Meanwhile, you remained seated on the couch, your mind racing with thoughts. The intimacy of the moment just before Jensen’s phone call seemed to linger in the air, juxtaposed with the seriousness of the conversation Jensen was now having. You couldn’t help but wonder what it was about and how it might impact the easy camaraderie that had developed between you.

After what felt like an eternity but was likely only a few minutes, Jensen finally ended the call. He sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging slightly as he turned back towards you. His expression was a mix of relief and weariness, and you immediately felt a pang of sympathy for whatever he had been dealing with.

Jensen walked back to where you were sitting, his steps heavier than before. He sat down beside you, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration.

“I’m sorry about that”, Jensen apologized again, his voice tinged with exhaustion. “That was unexpected”.

You nodded understandingly, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand in reassurance. “Is everything okay?”, you asked softly, searching his eyes for any hint of what had transpired.

Jensen managed a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, it’s just… some work stuff I needed to sort out”, he explained vaguely, not wanting to burden you with the details just yet.

Jensen’s faint smile lingered as he looked into your concerned eyes. Before he could say more, Jared’s voice cut through the quiet, carrying a teasing tone that broke the tension.

“You guys had a good night? Need to clean the couch?”, Jared yelled over from the kitchen, his tired voice laced with a big smirk.

You felt your cheeks flush slightly, and a laugh escaped your lips despite the serious moment. Jensen chuckled, shaking his head at Jared’s antics. “No, Jared, the couch is fine”, he called back, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Thanks for your concern, though”.

Jared sauntered over with two mugs of steaming coffee, handing one to each of you. “Just checking”, he said with a wink. “Wouldn’t want to miss out on the fun details”.

You rolled your eyes playfully, taking a sip of the hot coffee. “Very funny, Jared. But thanks for the coffee”.

Jared grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

Jared leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of his coffee before getting to the question that had been lingering on your mind. His expression turned slightly more serious, though his playful demeanor was still evident.

“So, when’s your flight back to New York?”, Jared asked, his gaze shifting to Jensen.

Jensen sighed softly, setting his coffee mug down on the table in front of him. “Thursday at noon”, he replied, his voice carrying a hint of resignation.

You felt a pang of disappointment at the reminder that Jensen’s time here was limited. Despite the uncertainty and the unexpected turns of the past day, you had enjoyed being with him more than you had expected.

Jared nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowing slightly. “Damn, that’s coming up fast”, he remarked, glancing between you and Jensen. “Have you figured out everything you need to before heading back?”.

Jensen hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering to you before returning to Jared. “Not quite”, he admitted, his tone thoughtful. “But I’ll manage. There are a few loose ends to tie up, but I think I can handle them remotely”.

Jared scratched his chin thoughtfully before turning to you with a friendly grin. “Hey, how about you stay for breakfast? I make a killer omelette”, he offered, raising an eyebrow in anticipation.

You glanced at Jensen, catching his eye as he observed your reaction with a hint of hopefulness. His gaze softened, silently urging you to stay a little longer.

“Yeah, that sounds great”, you replied with a smile, returning your attention to Jared. “I’d love to stay for breakfast”.

Jared nodded enthusiastically, pushing himself up. “Awesome! I’ll get started then”, he declared, heading towards the kitchen with a newfound energy.

As Jared bustled around in the kitchen, gathering ingredients and utensils, you turned back to Jensen. His expression was unreadable for a moment, a mix of relief and something deeper flickering in his eyes.

Jensen hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on you with a mixture of uncertainty and determination. Finally, he cleared his throat softly, catching your attention.

“Hey, um, I was thinking…”, Jensen began, his voice slightly tentative. “Would you maybe want to hang out tomorrow before I have to head back home? Maybe at your place?”.

You felt a flutter of excitement at his suggestion, the warmth of his gaze coaxing a smile from you. “Yeah, I’d like that”, you replied, trying to keep your voice casual despite the anticipation bubbling inside you.

Jensen smiled, relief evident in his eyes at your positive response. "Good", he said softly, a hint of nervousness in his voice. "We could order some food, maybe watch a movie or something".

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, a gesture you noticed he often did when he was slightly out of his comfort zone. It struck you that this was more than just a casual hangout—he was asking you for a real date, a chance to spend more meaningful time together.

You felt a surge of warmth at the realization, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering faster. "That sounds perfect", you replied, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. "I'd really like that".

Before either of you could say more, Jared's voice interrupted from the kitchen, breaking the moment with playful teasing. "Hey, you two lovebirds, hope you're ready for the best omelette of your lives!".

You both chuckled, Jensen shaking his head fondly as he glanced towards the kitchen. The warmth of his hand brushing against yours sent a thrill through you, a silent promise of what was to come.

After a hearty breakfast and Jared’s entertaining stories about his adventures working with Jensen over the years, you found yourself standing on the front porch with Jensen.

Jensen leaned against the porch railing beside you, his expression thoughtful as he gazed out at the quiet street. The sun was beginning to rise higher in the sky, casting a gentle warmth over everything around you.

“You know”, Jensen began softly, breaking the comfortable silence between you, “I had a really great time last night".

You bit your lip, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. “Me too”, you mumbled, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “Even though you’re an old man, you sure know how to keep me busy”.

Jensen chuckled, shaking his head before reaching out to gently grab your chin. His touch was firm but playful, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Alright, that’s it”, he hissed playfully. “You need to stop with the old man jokes”.

You laughed, feeling the tension melt away as you met his gaze. “Okay, okay”, you conceded, raising your hands in mock surrender. “I’ll stop… for now”.

Jensen’s smile widened, and he let go of your chin, his hand lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. “Good”, he said softly, his voice filled with warmth. “Because I’d really like to see you again. And I don’t want to be reminded of my age every time we’re together”.

You grinned, feeling a flutter of excitement in your chest. “I’d like that too”, you replied, your voice sincere. “And I promise, no more old man jokes”.

Jensen nodded, satisfied. “Deal”, he said, his tone light. “So, I’ll call you later?”.

You nodded, unable to keep the smile off your face. “I’ll be waiting”, you said.

Jensen's gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips, torn between the desire to prolong the moment with another kiss and the uncertainty of whether it was appropriate. He swallowed lightly, his fingers twitching as if debating the decision.

You sensed his hesitation and took a small step closer, closing the gap between you. The air between you crackled with unspoken tension, the warmth of the morning sun casting a gentle glow around you both.

Without saying a word, Jensen leaned in slowly, his movements cautious yet filled with longing. His lips brushed against yours in a tender kiss, a soft sigh escaping him as he melted into the warmth of the embrace.

The kiss was gentle, a silent reassurance of the connection that had grown between you. Jensen's hand found its way to the small of your back, pulling you closer as if he couldn't bear to let you go.

When you finally pulled apart, Jensen rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours. His eyes remained closed for a moment, savoring the intimacy of the moment before opening them to meet your gaze once more.

"Take care", he whispered softly, his voice husky with emotion.

You smiled, feeling a rush of warmth and affection. "You too", you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

As you turned to walk away, you felt Jensen's gaze following you, a mix of longing and hope in his eyes. The connection between you had deepened, and as you headed home, you couldn't help but feel excited about what the future might hold for the two of you.

Jensen stood on the porch for a few moments longer, trying to stifle the smile that was playing at the corners of his lips. He licked his lips absentmindedly, the taste of your kiss lingering.

He watched your car until it was out of sight, a sense of warmth and anticipation settling over him. The connection between you felt real, tangible, and it left him with a renewed sense of hope despite the complexities of his life.

With a deep breath, Jensen turned back towards the house, the smile finally breaking free. He walked back inside, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. Jared was still in the kitchen, tidying up after breakfast.

Jared glanced up as Jensen entered, a knowing smirk on his face. “Things got pretty intense last night, Ackles, huh?”, he mumbled, clearly referring to the moment he had walked in on you and Jensen making out on the couch.

Jensen chuckled, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Yeah, you could say that”, he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about that, man”.

Jared laughed, waving off the apology. “Hey, no need to apologize. Just didn’t expect to walk into that scene", he teased, his smirk widening. “You two seemed pretty into each other”.

Jensen nodded, the smile never leaving his face. “Yeah, she’s… something special”, he admitted, his tone softening. “I’m seeing her tomorrow. We’re going to hang out at her place”.

Jared raised an eyebrow teasingly, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Hang out, huh?”, he quipped, his tone filled with amusement.

Jensen chuckled, shaking his head. “Come on, man. We’re just going to spend some time together”, he replied, trying to hide his own amusement.

Jared´s grin widening mischievously. “Sure, sure, just spending time together”, he teased, emphasizing the air quotes with a dramatic flourish of his hands. “Because that’s totally what you call it when you’re making out like teenagers on the couch”.

Jensen rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help but chuckle at Jared. “Alright, alright”, he conceded with a laugh. “You caught us. Happy now?”.

Jared nodded, still grinning. “Ecstatic”, he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “But seriously, man, I’m glad you’re happy. It’s about time something good came your way”.

Jensen’s expression softened, touched by Jared’s sincerity. “Thanks, Jared”, he said quietly, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Part 8

-

Taglist: @cheynovak @chriszgirl92 @jenniferr0323 @angelbabyyy99 @cevansbaby-dove @muhahaha303 @jackles010378 @suckitands33 @n-o-p-e-never @mayafatimakhan @ladysparkles78 @viviandarkbloom06 @jassackles @evasmlp @acklesaddict67 @mostlymarvelgirl @emma1998sblog @mishaesque @headinthemoon87 @hobby27 @winchesterwild78 @impala67rollingthroughtown @manicjk @kr804573 @zaratahir @djs8891 @winchesterwild78

[eli0004]

Fuck me With Feelings

Pairing: Fwb!Jean Kirstein x reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: Jean and reader have been casually fucking, but Jean quickly learns that the whole no strings attached thing isn’t working for him. After confessing to reader, he’s unsatisfied with her response, but neglects to say anything and resumes their meetups as usual. He quickly finds out how badly he misunderstood, when the two of them engage in some very heavy, passionate and emotional sex on the kitchen floor.

Contains: marijuana usage, fem!reader, unprotected sex, fwb arrangement, praise, slight overstimulation, jean talks too much, biting, possessiveness, pining, jean is in love and SO soft for reader, fluffy shit, yk…the usual, no power dynamics.

“Wait…grab me the salt” You speak, lowering the cookbook to look at the tall male standing in front of you.

“Salt.” Jean announces as he sets the small white shaker on the counter beside you. You nod curtly, glancing at him out of the corner of your bleary red eyes with a smile as you turn back to the mixing bowl in front of you. Time is moving in slow motion, and all you can think about is getting some food in your stomach.

“Thanks. Now, it says we’re supposed to pour the mixture into the pan? Wait…shit, aren’t we supposed to butter the pan first?”

The two of you look at each other in shared confusion for a moment, before he begins laughing. You scoff in annoyance, rolling your eyes and shoving the cook book towards him to see for himself.

“Jesus Jean, can you be serious for 5 minutes?” You glare. The sandy-blonde stops laughing and looks at you with an unreadable expression, brown eyes glimmering with mischief before you both erupt in laughter.

As the giggles die out, he pokes at your side, causing you to jump in surprise, before stepping away from the counter.

“Alright alright, out of the way.” He sighs happily, taking the bowl from your hand. “Just leave it to the professional.” He turns up his nose, grinning playfully, as you roll your eyes and groan at his feigned arrogance. You slap his shoulder as you move away from the counter to change the music playing through your kitchen speaker.

It’s a Friday night, and the rain is coming down in sheets, slamming against your windows aggressively. Jean, dressed in a pair of grey sweats and a black oversized hoodie, had come over earlier in the evening as he has so many times before, although this time in particular, different from the rest. His demeanor had seemed slightly off, and it was clear something was on his mind, though he only seemed frustrated when you’d initially prodded.

The two of you had been seeing each other for months in secret, having mutual friends who would tease you both relentlessly if they found out you two were fucking. Because that’s all it was anyway, just harmless fucking. No strings attached, just blowing off steam. There wasn’t any need to announce it, and the both of you would’ve rather kept your business to yourselves anyway.

As time went on, however, Jean found himself hopelessly in love, having accidentally attached all the strings you’d told him to leave unattached. Your twinkling eyes, your sweet smile, the first thought he thinks in the morning, the last one of the night. Unbeknownst to him, the feeling was mutual, and you’d also quickly found yourself wanting to spend more time together outside of the bedroom. Earlier that morning, in a burst of courage Jean had texted you:

“i don’t think i can keep fucking with no feelings. I’m sorry…i just don’t know how to turn them off.”

Without much thought, you typed out a response:

“Ok…fuck me with feelings then. Duh.”

And that was that. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, stomach in knots all day, and a permanent frown etched onto his face. He felt defeated, stupid, for thinking he could stay away from you even if you didn’t feel the same.

The day progressed as usual, Jean arrived at your place 8 PM as usual, the two of you got violently high together as usual. By midnight, hungry and handsy, the two of you ended up in the kitchen trying to follow a recipe for skillet gnocchi, despite your altered cognitive abilities.

“Professional” Jean Kirstein is actually pretty good at cooking when he isn’t stoned out of his mind. But the task at hand is proving to be difficult now. The man stares at the skillet on the stove in confusion as you flip through your Spotify playlist. Recognizing the silence, you turn to him and glance over his shoulder.

“Everything ok over there?” You ask, raising a brow.

“Nothing is happening.” He states, matter of factly.

“Did you turn on the stove?”

“Oh..” He blushes furiously, thick brows pulling together as he scratches the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Well, shit” You immediately burst into laughter, slapping his shoulder a second time, affectionately.

“Wow! So “professional” of you!” You all but shout, doubled over against the counter and clutching your stomach. He rolls his hazy honey brown eyes, unamused at your exploitative jokes.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” He grumbles, turning away from you to find the stove dial. You sigh contentedly as your laughter subsides.

“Oh Jeanbo~ you’re so fucking cute…” you hum mindlessly, gazing at him with a dopey smile.

…

Jean freezes. It’s the first time he’s ever really heard you say something like that, and the affection dripping from your words has his stomach fluttering and his mind reeling. It’s unfair, really, and it irritates him. He turns to look at you in surprise, brows furrowed, eyes meeting yours before he looks to the ceiling. His reddened cheeks puff out as he contemplates a response.

“Uh…you mean that?” He asks, suddenly feeling vulnerable. His eyes scan your face for any signs of dishonesty, wondering if you might be playing with his heart to get what you want from him. The way you’ve been speaking to him tonight is so drastically different than how you’ve been treating him for the last few months. Not that you’ve been treating him poorly, you’ve just never been this open about how you feel towards him. Your words feel deliberate and meaningful whereas before you’d only compliment him like that when your eyes were lust-blown and your hands were all over his body.

“Obviously, i thought we established that this morning” you deadpan, head tilting to the side.

“No, not really, i actually had no idea what to make of it.”

There’s a moment of silence as you two stare at each other, before the realization hits and you begin to feel guilty. Had your message not been as clear as you’d initially hoped it would be? Unsure of what to say, you close your mouth. Jean takes your silence as confirmation, and sighs, shoulders slumping dejectedly, quietly turning back to the stove to turn it on.

Thinking for a moment, you frown, drawing shapes on the countertop with eyes cast down like a kicked puppy. Wiggling out of your seat, you approach him where he stands at the stove, gazing up at him with a soft, nearly sympathetic smile. He doesn’t dare look at you, afraid his burning face will betray him, knocking down his mask of fragile-aloofness.

“Jean…” you tilt your head to the side, hair falling over your shoulder. Bringing a hand to his back, you draw slow, gentle circles there. He shivers, but his silence is unwavering. “Baby~ you know something?” You hum.

Jean glances at you and shrugs, tossing some stuff you don’t care to look at into the pan.

“I think you’re so handsome. I think you’re adorable, and goofy, and sweet. I think anyone would be lucky to be the object of your affection. I feel lucky that i get to be…” you coo at him, your hand dipping below his hoodie to scratch his bare back, how he likes it. He can’t help but smile at your words, blinking slowly as he turns to look down at you, your faces only a few inches apart from each other. “Yeah?” He whispers “go on”

You snort, rolling your eyes playfully at his blatant request for praise, and reach out to click the stove off, having a feeling about where this was going to lead.

“You’re funny, you always make me laugh…“ you whisper “You’re strong” squeezing his bicep slightly with your other hand, you rake your eyes down his body. “So sexy~”

The man’s cheeks are impossibly red, his head is spinning and his body feels like it’s burning up as he listens to you sing his praises. He glances down at your lips, nearly nose to nose with you as he grins. “What else?”

You smirk, beckoning him to turn and face you head on and pressing your body against his own. Your hands place themselves on his chest as you murmur “You’re all mine.”

Something feral snaps within him and he all but attacks your lips, pinning your hips against the counter with his own. Your hands scramble to grab onto the fabric of his hoodie, desperately yanking at it as you peel it off of him. Your lips dance together fervently, pressing against each other with such passion, as if he’s worried you’ll slip away from him if he doesn’t hold you tightly enough.

He shoves his hands under your college sweatshirt, running his warm palms over your bare breasts and brushing his thumbs over your peaked nipples. His touch draws a sharp gasp from your mouth against his lips, and he swallows the sound of it.

You lick against his bottom lip and he accepts it urgently, parting his lips and moving his eager tongue in rhythm with your own. Tangling your hands into the roots of his sandy blonde hair, you push your hips forward to grind against his erection and he throbs, soft, sweet groans muffled against your lips.

Jean grips your waist tightly, pulling you against him as he backs himself up against the counter, sliding down to the floor. Pulling you on top of him, he settles you against his lap, tossing his head back when your lips attach to the column of his throat.

“Fuck baby…fuck” he gasps, feeling you sucking bruises into the skin. All visible places, and he knows why. The possessiveness, the feeling of finally belonging to you, it sends waves of intense arousal coursing through his bloodstream. Every movement you make, grinding your hips down against his hard cock sends his mind reeling with pleasure, senses wildly heightened by the pot in your systems.

“Gonna tell everyone that you’re mine baby, i’m so…fuck- happy you’re mine” he groans, guiding your hips to move against. You gasp softly at the friction, becoming increasingly wetter by the minute.

You pull away and quickly shimmy out of your pants, as best as you can while straddling the man’s lap. He brings his fingers down, eyeing the cute panties you wear before yanking them aside to collect your arousal on his fingers.

“Fuck..you’re so wet for me, all for me” he growls as he dips his slick digits into your pussy. His fingers are long, nimble, and curl up deliciously into the spongy spot inside you. You moan softly, feeling every inch of his middle and forefinger in places that your own fingers could never hope to reach.

“Oh god..Jean~ Fuck me” you moan out, rutting against his hand. He slides his fingers out of your hole, rubbing them against your clit and covering it in your own arousal. Tossing your head back, you groan at the loss of internal sensation, but you have no time to be disappointed as you hear him eagerly yanking the waistband of his sweats and underwear down to let his aching cock spring free. He’s leaking more than you’ve ever seen, precum dripping down the slit of his sensitive head and collecting below his navel.

Leaning in for another eager kiss, you swat his hand away and wrap your fingers around his shaft. He’s so deliciously thick, you can almost feel the stretch, the memory of it causing your cunt to throb. Biting his lip gently, you give him a few languid strokes, spreading the sticky precum over the length of him and guiding him to your entrance. His mind is hazy, he jolts as the sensation overwhelms him. You feel different this time, though he can’t pinpoint why.

You slide his tip through the slick folds of your pussy, before enveloping him in your wet warmth. jean nearly chokes on the strangled moan that erupts from his chest as you pull away from the kiss to toss your head back, breathing out a soft “fuck”.

His hands eagerly grip your waist, guiding you up and down on him slow and passionate. The pleasure coursing through him is building quickly in the form of an impending, earth shattering orgasm at the very core of his abdomen. The coil in his tummy, while not unfamiliar, is seemingly more intense than it’s ever been, he won’t last long. Why is he getting close so fast?

Suddenly it occurs to him as you bring your lips back to his own, kissing him passionately, and packed full of raw, unfiltered emotion. He feels wanted, he feels loved, he feels complete. Perhaps it’s the intimacy of having himself sheathed inside of you raw for the first time, it must be. Sex with you has never felt so intense and fulfilling than it does in this moment.

Your hips are moving quicker now as you chase your orgasm, every inch, every ridge, every vein of his length stroking your insides like it was hand crafted to fit there. Feeling your legs tense up, and your stomach begin to tighten, you throw your arms around Jean’s neck and pull him close, biting down on the muscle of his broad shoulder as you cum impossibly hard, eyes rolling back with a loud moan. He snakes his arms around your waist, holding you tightly there as he snaps his hips up into you, slamming into your cervix like his life depends on it. The feeling of your teeth in his skin threatens to push him over the edge.

“Baby! Right there- oh god keep doing that, don’t let go of me!” He rasps against the shell of your ear, and as you sink your teeth in deeper, mewling softly at the overstimulation, Jean cums with such intensity, he thinks he might ascend. More and more spurts out of him, and his body convulses with every rope of it, lurching him forward to moan loudly, muffled into your hair.

The sound of ragged breaths and sharp gasps echo off the kitchen walls as you both come down from the high of your orgasm, bodies tangled together and unmoving. After a minute, Jean’s hand finds itself in your hair, running his fingers through it affectionately. Something he’s wanted to do for a long time. He gazes down at you with adoration replacing old lust, smiling softly as you pull back to look at him.

The two of you stay that way for a minute or two, just panting against each other before he speaks.

“So…uh- does this mean-“ he glances down at the floor and then back up to meet your eyes.

“You’re never gonna get away from me” you grin, plopping down against his chest in exhaustion as you giggle slightly. He bites his lip, excitement bubbling up in him like a little kid, as he holds you tightly.

“Why would i ever wanna?”

[lobey-scribbles]

Playing Dumb - Fred Weasley X F!Reader

summary: Fred Weasley has always had his eye on you and when Professor Flitwick sits you next to each other in Charms, he can hardly believe his luck. In a desperate attempt to get close to you, Fred decides to play dumb in Charms class.

word count: 1.1k

themes: just fluff

warnings: none

a/n: happy birthday to gred and feorge! might do a part 2!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Fred Weasley stumbled into Charms class, out of breath and dishevelled. It turns out that despite staying up all night with George and wandering the castle with the marauder's map being one of his favourite activities, it didn't exactly mesh well with being a punctual student. Professor Flitwick paused his lesson, and gave one of those Fred-Weasley weary sighs, “Late again, I see, Fred.” he said in his usual squeaky voice.

“Very sorry, Professor,” Fred replied, giving Professor Flitwick the most apologetic smile he could muster. Before Fred could make his way to his seat, he stopped dead in his tracks. Peering around the room, he realised that Lee Jordan was no longer sitting in his usual seat. Instead, he sat next to a Slytherin student, Miles Bletchley, and was giving no effort to hide how miserable he was about it. Had Fred not been so devastated about being moved away from Lee, he would have found his predicament rather hilarious, but now he needed to figure out where he was sitting.

“Oh, Fred, can you please go sit next to miss Y/N L/N please?” said Professor Flitwick, noting the bemusement on Fred’s face. “Maybe you'll finally get some work done,” he muttered to himself under his breath before he resumed his lesson.

Fred Weasley scanned the room for his empty seat, his stomach lurching ever so slightly when his eyes landed on you.

Fred sauntered over to the empty seat next to you, determinedly ignoring the way his heart began to race in his chest. He’d noticed you in the corridor before, but he'd never had the chance to speak to you. Now, he was sitting right next to you in class, and he was determined to make the most of it.

“Hey there,” Fred said, flashing you a grin. “I'm Fred. Nice to meet you.”

You looked up at him, gave him a small smile and introduced yourself, but you didn't seem very talkative.

He really couldn't explain it, but you being as shy and reserved as you were, only made Fred’s need to be closer to you even stronger.

Fred tried to strike up a conversation, cracking a few jokes here and there, and making light of Lee’s unfortunate new seat in class. “Well, Y/N, I hope you feel lucky to be sitting next to me now instead of poor Lee. He's stuck with Bletchley, you know.” he chuckled, desperately trying to get a laugh out of you. Instead, you just gave him a polite nod and turned your attention back to Professor Flitwick.

As the class progressed, Fred tried his best to focus on the lesson and keep his eyes firmly on the textbook in front of him, and Merlin’s beard, was it impossible! It seems like no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't help but steal a glance at you, admiring your unwavering concentration and the way your fingers twirled your hair absentmindedly.

Finally, the class came to an end, and Fred and Lee met up with George and strolled to the Great Hall together for break time, plonking themselves down at the Gryffindor table. Fred’s mind was still preoccupied with thoughts of you, barely noticing Lee’s rant about his new seat, only half-heartedly piping up to express his sympathies, agreeing that it was such a shame to be separated from his best friend. George noticed his brother’s distracted state and nudged him, “What about your seat, Fredster?”

“Don’t call me Fredster!” he snapped, kicking George underneath the table, and then continuing as though he couldn't hear his brother yelp out in pain and a howl of laughter from Lee, his violent reaction being less to do with the stupid nickname and more to do with the fact that George had interrupted his daydreaming.

“Not too bad, I suppose,” appearing as nonchalant as he could about the whole thing, acting as if his stomach didn't perform backflips at the very thought of being beside you.

As the weeks went on, Fred persisted in trying to tempt you out of your shell. Fred wasn’t bad at charms by any means. In fact, he'd probably be great at if he put in the same amount of effort as he did with wreaking havoc amongst the castle. Yet, he took every opportunity he could to ask you questions in Charm class, acting as though he were struggling to get you to help him. You'd give him a look and scold him for not listening properly, turning to help him, and as you did so, your leg would brush his and a jolt of electricity would shoot through his entire body.

In the Charms class that followed, Professor Flitwick had the whole class on their feet, practising a bubble-head charm. Fred fumbled with his wand, making a complete pig’s ear of the movement, purposefully of course, and cried out in frustration, “What the bloody hell am I even doing wrong?”, his eyes darted quickly over to you to make sure you had heard him.

You rolled your eyes at him, walking over to his side, “Let me help you, Fred” and you placed your hand on top of his. If brushing your leg against his made Fred nervous, it was seriously nothing compared to how the touch of your hand on his made him feel. You directed his hand, mimicking the correct wand movement. “See, like this.”

“O-oh yes, I get it now, thank you.” he stammered, swiftly pulling his hand away from yours as if he'd just touched something scorching. He prayed that you didn't notice how hot and bothered he was and desperately tried to regain his composure.

As you were all packing up for the end of class, Fred asked Lee to wait up for him outside. Then, he turned to you sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck and asked, “I’m sure it's no secret to you by now how hopeless I am at Charms.”

“Oh, well you're not really-”

“Don’t sugarcoat it, Y/N, I'm a mess.”

You giggled, making Fred’s heart soar, he might get addicted to hearing you laugh, especially when it's because of him.

“So, with that in mind, do you think you would mind tutoring me in Charms? I completely understand if you're busy-”

“Oh, no I'm not busy at all!” you interjected, eagerly, “Of course, I’ll tutor you, Fred!” you smiled at him kindly, “Does next week sound good?”

“Yes, that's brilliant, thank you!” unable to hide the elation in his voice, “You’re amazing, you are. I owe you my life, seriously, Professor Flitwick glares at me as if my days are numbered,” drawing out another one of your melodic laughs.

Fred bid you farewell and walked out of the classroom with an undeniable spring in his step, and a goofy smile plastered across his face.

Fred stepped out into the corridor, unable to shake the giddy feeling that lingered from his conversation with you. He spotted Lee leaning against the wall, waiting for him.

“Hey, Lee!” Fred greeted his friend enthusiastically as he walked towards him.

Lee raised an eyebrow, “Don’t know what you’re so cheery about, mate, we've got Snape next.”

[which-item-poll-archive]

Archiving Which-Item-Poll

~~~NSFW items are on their way to the top of the queue. Here's a post about the tags to block if you don't wanna see them! :)~~~

Tag directory - A key to the tags I use as well as ways to browse by category or the month the poll was originally posted.

I also have a new survey about the tag directory

Please follow @pick-an-item-poll as they're continuing to post polls where you choose an item

If you want to follow the original blog's new poll blog, it's @hear-me-out-poll

What is this blog?

Basically I'm trying to (manually) reblog everything from their blog to this blog to create a more permanent archive once which-item-poll deactivates the original blog. I'm doing this because tumblr's search functions are notoriously useless for finding specific posts and many posts get entirely lost without a blog's archive page. Additionally, this preserves the tags that contain the information about the items, most notably the websites where they can/could be found.

Once the archive is complete and posted, we'll see where this goes from there.

@which-item-poll if you want me to delete a specific post or a couple that I re-blogged from you please ask me and I will. (Even after you've deleted the blog, since I know your main)

About the Archivist

You can call me Arc (not my name, but it works for now), I'm non-binary and my pronouns are she/they! I'm not the original owner of which-item-poll. I'm typically slow to respond to messages, but will take any suggestions into consideration even if I haven't responded to you yet.

Archive progress

Currently in the queue:

March, April, May, June, July and August 2024

Currently in the drafts:

September, October, November and December 2024

Completed Months:

January and February 2024

Needs to be queued/drafted:

Any posts remaining in which-item-poll's queue or any other post made between time of update (4:47am on the 15th of December EST) and when OP decides to deactivate the blog.

Updates

NSFW items are on their way to the top of the queue. Here's a post about the tags to block if you don't wanna see them! :)

I found my draft about opening submissions :) Now I just need to edit it so it's coherent.

The tag directory is completed! It can be found at the top of this post! There's also a new survey about it. Is it too long?

26/12/24 EST - Days left until completed archive: 27 days at 50 posts a day.

I've finished queuing and drafting existing posts and are now waiting to archive any future posts between now and when the blog is deactivated.

I'm also going to try and post some things manually to get that time down, but can't guarantee that I can do this a lot due to things happening IRL.

Previous updates under the cut

Update: My autotagger wasn't working, which I found out about 1200 posts into this. Currently working on restoring tags to the posts already reblogged. I've managed to fix my autotagger but I had to clear the queue and drafts. (I didn't want to do it... but must to preserve my sanity.... and more importantly my wrist) Once I've got the tags back on the January posts (manually) I'll be able to fill the queue and drafts back up with the original tags intact.

Update: Everything that was posted had the tags added back on. Resuming queuing posts (and I've confirmed that the autotagger is copying the tags). Starting the queue again since there's enough in there to run while I sleep.

Update: I have been misspelling February in all of my tags. I will fix this and continue to fix this as they get posted from the queue.

Update: All the miss-spelt tags have been corrected

Update: I made the pinned post nicer to read! I also added some information.

Update 15/12/24 EST: If I run the queue at 50 posts a day, it will take 45 days to post everything from the original blog to this blog.

19/12/24 7pm EST - Taking a very short break from working on the archive as I have my final assignment due for a university course due tonight. (in about 10 hours in my local time). I should be back to doing stuff with it tomorrow. :)

17/12/24 EST - Days left until completed archive: 40 days at 50 posts a day.

Update 21/12/24: I'm back to it and working on adding tags to posts before making a directory again. For now, All current archival posts and ones that are in the queue now have the tag #which-item-poll-archive

Update: I have lost my draft about new submissions somewhere :(

Since it was a majority yes vote on the survey about new polls, I'm currently considering how I'd go about doing that.

21/12/24 EST - Days left until completed archive: 35 days at 50 posts a day.

[charlosvibesonly]

Racing Hearts

pairing : max x fem! reader/driver

they both race for Red Bull and aren't on the best of terms. at a team party, things get a little out of control

please lmk if you want a part 2 to this.

The night in Monaco was a chaotic symphony of celebration, champagne flutes clinking, and the low hum of laughter filling the penthouse. The room was awash with the soft glow of city lights, casting a seductive aura over the glamorous crowd. You stood on one side of the room, Max Verstappen on the other, the rivalry between you crackling like electricity in the air.

The Red Bull Racing team had always been a cauldron of competition, and both you and Max were at the forefront of the intense battles on the track. Racing under the same banner fueled the fire of rivalry, with the media always ready to paint the narrative of two fierce competitors fighting not only for the team but for personal glory.

Max, dressed in a sleek black ensemble, sauntered over with a sly grin. "Well, look who decided to join the celebration. Ready for a change of pace, or are you still dwelling on the track?"

Your eyes met a silent challenge passing between you. "I'm always up for a challenge, Max. But let's make sure this one's a fair race," you shot back, the edge in your voice matching the intensity in your gaze.

The night unfolded, a dance of bodies and glances, the music acting as a backdrop to the unspoken tension. Max, never one to back down, pulled you into the crowd on the dance floor. The beat of the music pulsed through your veins as you moved in rhythm, each step a subtle play in the ongoing game.

As the night progressed, Max's voice found its way to your ear over the music. "You know, we're not so different, you and I. Maybe this rivalry is just a cover for something else." His words hung in the air, a challenge and an invitation wrapped in one.

You shot him a skeptical look. "Don't try to psychoanalyze me, Max. We're here for a good time, not a therapy session." But beneath the dismissive tone, a flicker of something else lingered.

The crowd was going wild, and things were getting interesting. The rivalry had been fueled by the competition on the track, but as the night went on, it was getting harder to tell the difference between competition and something more exciting. Max, always the one to push the boundaries, leaned in and said, "You can deny it all you want, but I know there's more to this than meets the eye."

With a scoff, you replied, "You're delusional if you think there's anything more to us than racing." Yet, even as the words left your lips, the charged atmosphere spoke a different language.

Max's gaze held yours, a silent acknowledgment of the uncharted territory you were entering. "Let's drop the act, just for tonight," he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent shivers down your spine.

As he closed the distance, time seemed to slow. The cacophony of the party retreated into the background, leaving only the symphony of your racing heartbeats. Max's lips met yours in a kiss that tasted of rivalry and a yearning you both dared not admit. The kiss held a tension, a push and pull that mirrored the battles on the racetrack. There was a rawness to it, as if every unspoken emotion, every unfulfilled desire, found expression in the meeting of your lips. As you pulled away, the intensity lingered, leaving a trail of unresolved emotions in the night air. Max's gaze held a lingering hunger, a silent acknowledgment of the uncharted territory you were entering. 

The kiss was a statement, a testament to the unspoken connection that had woven itself between you two. But as the night ended, reality set in. The Monaco night had been an intoxicating interlude, but the racetrack awaited, and the rivalry would resume.

Days later, the roar of engines filled the air as you and Max prepared for the next race. The tension between you was palpable, a silent understanding that the Monaco night was a chapter suspended in time.

The race unfolded with a familiar intensity, each turn and straight echoing the unspoken competition between you and Max. Wheel to wheel, the competition reached a climax, the crowd watching with bated breath.

However, as the race neared its end, Max executed a daring move, squeezing in too close and forcing you to drop back. The frustration bubbled within you as you climbed out of the car, ready to confront Max.

He stood there, hair messy and sweat glistening on his forehead. Ready with your accusations, you walked towards him. But he caught you off guard, pulling you into a passionate kiss in front of the entire crowd. The cheers and gasps of the spectators became a symphony to your racing hearts.

As Max breaks the kiss, he looks into your eyes with a mischievous glint.

"Two wins for me today" he whispered in your ear.

With a playful wink, he walked away, leaving you in a mix of surprise and amusement.

In the post-race interview, the atmosphere crackled with anticipation as the journalists couldn't resist probing into the heated moment shared between you and Max. Max, always quick-witted, handled the questions with his signature charm.

Reporter: "Max, there was quite a stir after the Monaco Grand Prix party. Can you shed some light on the unexpected kiss with your fellow Red Bull driver?"

Max, smirking: "Well, you know, Monaco is known for its surprises, on and off the track. Sometimes you just have to take a detour from the usual victory celebration."

Laughter rippled through the pressroom, and Max's response earned a round of applause from some amused journalists. Meanwhile, you found yourself caught in the spotlight, blushing furiously at Max's clever deflection.

Another reporter chimed in: "Monaco magic, indeed. So, Y/N, if you had the chance, would you recreate that magical moment with Max?"

You felt the weight of their gaze, and for a moment, you hesitated. The room hung in anticipation, and you could almost hear Max and Lando suppressing their laughter. You attempted to dodge the question with a coy smile, "Well, you know, Monaco is known for its surprises. Can't predict what might happen next."

The interviewer pressed on, "But would you be up for it? A little rivalry romance on the track?"

You glanced at Max and Lando, who were now grinning like Cheshire cats, and let out an awkward chuckle, "I mean, who knows? It's a fast-paced world out there. Anything can happen."

Max leaned into the microphone, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Well, I guess we'll have to wait and see, won't we?"

Lando chimed in with a playful smirk, "Monaco magic strikes when you least expect it, right, Y/N?"

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and with a nervous laugh, you diverted the conversation, "Let's move on to another question, shall we?" The room erupted in laughter.

After the interview wrapped up, Max pulled you away from the lively press room to a secluded, dimly lit room. He pushed you against the wall, sending a shiver through your body.

"So, Y/N, how about letting me win next time?" Max's words, warm against your ear, sent a rush of heat through you.

"In your dreams," you retorted.

Max's grin broadened, "This is going to be so much fun." Without hesitation, he pulled you into a kiss that defied the confines of the shadowy room. It was a fiery blend of rivalry, desire, and an energy that left you breathless.

In the dimly lit room, Max's lips claimed yours with an intensity that ignited a fiery passion within. Each kiss felt like a dance of flames, sending your senses into a delightful frenzy. Max's hands, dominant and purposeful, traced the curves of your back, their touch urging you deeper into the heart of the moment.

When the kiss finally broke, Max locked eyes with you, a mischievous glint shining. "Looks like the rivalry just got a whole lot more interesting."

[lifeofpriya]

“getting extremely worried when they get physically hurt” after this match for my boy Jack. Bring it on babe!!!

you got it, babes! 🤭🫶🏼 i originally intended for this to be a drabble, but i got carried away 😅

i'm always here for you

wc: 2.3k; tw: mentions of vomit

You swore you could hear your own heartbeat in your ears as you watched Jack retch on the pristine hard surface of the tennis court. The sharp contrast between the bright lights and his pale skin made the scene more disturbing. His body, usually a picture of vitality and strength, now contorted in pain and exhaustion.

Jack looked up, his eyes scanning the crowd for a familiar face. They found yours, and he offered a weak smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. You felt your stomach drop, knowing that smile was for you, to reassure you that everything was okay. But you'd known Jack since you were kids, and that smile was as much a cry for help as it was a promise that he'd be okay.

The match went on, and with each point, your anxiety grew. You watched as Jack's serves lost their usual bite, his forehands falling just short of the line. Jannik was relentless, capitalizing on every opportunity, but there was a part of you that couldn't help but feel guilty for watching Jack push himself like this. You knew how much this tournament meant to him, but you also knew that something wasn't right.

In between games, you saw the medical staff hover around him, whispering into his ear, checking his pulse, and passing him water bottles. His coach's face was a mask of concern, his eyes darting between Jack and the scoreboard. You bit your lip, willing Jack to recover, to find that spark that had made him a star. But as the match progressed, it was clear that Jack was fading.

The crowd grew tense, their murmurs of worry rising like a tide. You sat frozen, unable to look away, your eyes glued to the scene unfolding before you. The sound of the ball against the racket echoed through the stadium, punctuated by the occasional groan from Jack. His sweat-soaked shirt clung to his body, and you could see his muscles quiver with the effort of each movement. The scent of sweat was faintly present, even from the stands, a stark reminder of the physical toll this match was taking on him.

When Jack finally stumbled to the sidelines, you could see the desperation in his eyes as he took deep, ragged breaths, trying to keep his stomach in check. His fingers trembled as he fumbled with his towel, and you wished you could be there to help, to offer some comfort. But all you could do was sit and watch, your own stomach in knots, as the match continued. The silence was deafening, broken only by the squeak of sneakers on the court and the occasional thwack of the ball.

You watched as Jack take a seat and was handed a can of Coke he requested earlier in the third set. He took a tentative sip, hoping the sugary drink would help settle his stomach. The fizz danced in the light as the liquid passed his lips, but instead of sipping it, he threw the entire can's contents down his throat, his eyes squeezed shut in a silent prayer for relief.

The match resumed, and you held your breath with each serve, willing Jack to find his rhythm again. But it was like watching a ship slowly take on water. The points went to Jannik, one by one, and Jack's hope seemed to sink with them. You felt a tightness in your chest, a mirror of the pain etched on Jack's face. His movements grew more erratic, his breaths more labored. You'd seen Jack play through injuries before, but this was different.

Eventually, Jannik won the match and took all 3 sets. The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers for the victory and concern for Jack. As the players met at the net to shake hands, you could see the defeat in Jack's posture, his shoulders slumped, his grip on the racket loose. Jannik offered words of encouragement, but Jack's eyes remained fixed on the ground, his mind clearly elsewhere.

Jack stumbled off the court, surrounded by his team and medical staff. You made your way down to the player's exit, your heart racing. The cool evening air hit you as you stepped outside, and you felt the weight of the moment settle on your shoulders. You had to talk to him to make sure he was okay. The corridor was a blur of faces and flashing cameras as you approached the locker room.

You waited outside, leaning against the wall, trying to gather your thoughts. You could hear the muffled sounds of showers running and the distant hum of the stadium. The door swung open, and out came Jack, his eyes bloodshot, his skin pale and clammy. He saw you and managed a slight nod. "You okay?" you asked, your voice wavering slightly.

Jack took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling visibly. "Yeah, just… need some rest," he replied, his voice hoarse. You knew he was lying, but you didn't push it. You offered your arm for support, and together you made your way to the quiet solace of his hotel room. The silence between you was filled with the echoes of the match, the unspoken worry hanging heavy in the air.

Once inside, Jack collapsed onto the bed, his body a tangled mess of fatigue and pain. He closed his eyes, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of protectiveness. You knew Jack was a fighter, but seeing him like this was a stark reminder of his vulnerability. You sat beside him, your hand hovering over his shoulder, unsure of what to say or do.

"You have no idea how much you worried me out there, Jack," you murmur, your voice was tinged with worry as you sat beside him. His eyes remained closed, but you knew he heard you. His breathing was still heavy, a testament to the ordeal he had just endured. "I was so scared."

Jack let out a small, defeated chuckle. "I know," he whispered, his voice barely above a croak. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check. "You scared the living hell out of me," you admitted, your voice cracking slightly. "What happened?"

Jack sighed, his eyes still shut. "Don't know," he said weakly. "Stomach bug, I think. Been feeling off for a couple of days, but I didn't want to… to let anyone down." His voice trailed off, and you felt a pang of guilt. You should have noticed, should have said something.

"You shouldn't have played," you said, your voice firm but gentle. "Not like this."

Jack nodded slightly, his eyes still closed. "I know," he murmured. "But it's the US Open… Can't just… not play."

You felt the weight of his words, understanding the pressure he'd put on himself. You reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Rest," you said firmly. "That's all you need to do right now."

Jack nodded again, his grip on your hand tightening briefly before he let go. You helped him get into a more comfortable position, his body still trembling slightly from the exertion. You noticed the dampness of his forehead and the cold sweat that had soaked through his hair. With a heavy heart, you went to the bathroom to get a wet cloth, the quietness of the room only emphasized by the distant sounds of the hotel's hustle and bustle.

When you returned, Jack's eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. He looked at you as you approached, a sad smile playing on his lips. "Thanks," he murmured, as you gently placed the cool cloth on his forehead. He closed his eyes again, and you watched the tension in his face ease slightly.

"You have no idea how much I love you," Jack murmured drowsily as the coolness of the cloth began to soothe him. You felt your throat tighten, but you didn't say anything. Instead, you sat there, watching over him, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing as it grew more even.

He continued to confess his love for you in his sleep, words that you'd never expected to hear, not in this way, not after watching him push himself to the brink. You sat there, the wet cloth in your hand, your mind racing with thoughts. You knew Jack had always been competitive, had always been driven to win, but at what cost? You brushed a lock of hair from his face, his skin burning hot under your touch.

The room was suffused with the sterile scent of the wet cloth and the faint smell of his deodorant, a stark contrast to the sour stench of his vomit that lingered in the air. The TV played on mute, replaying the match highlights. You glanced at it, seeing the replay of the second set, feeling the same knot in your stomach that had been there since the first time you'd seen it live. You muted the TV, not wanting the visual reminder of his suffering.

Jack's eyes fluttered open again, and he looked at you, his gaze clear for the first time since the match. "You're still here," he said, his voice a mere whisper.

"Where else would I be?" you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the situation. You gently dabbed the cloth against his forehead, feeling the heat radiating from his skin.

Jack's eyes searched yours, looking for reassurance. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "For everything."

You squeezed his hand, trying to ignore the way your heart felt like it was being wrung out. "You don't have to apologize," you said softly.

Jack swallowed, his throat dry. "I do," he insisted. "For not telling you, for pushing myself too hard… I'm sorry."

You didn't know what to say. You'd watched him grow from a promising young player to a force to be reckoned with on the international stage, and now here he was, defeated and broken. "It's okay," you murmured, "but…did you know what you said in your sleep?"

Jack's eyes widened slightly, and you could see the panic in them. "What?"

You took a deep breath, feeling your cheeks flush. "You said you love me."

Jack's expression grew serious, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. He didn't say anything for a long moment, the silence stretching out like a tightrope between you. "I do," he said finally, his voice a little stronger. "I've always loved you."

Your heart skipped a beat as the words hung in the air. You also had feelings for Jack, but you'd never dared to voice them, not when his career had taken him so far away from the quiet life you both once shared. But here he was, confessing his love in the most unguarded of moments.

"Jack," you began, but the words caught in your throat. How could you tell him that you felt the same way, that you'd been in love with him since the days when you used to hit balls together in the park, before the cameras and the fans and the pressure?

Jack looked at you with an intensity that made your heart race. "I'm not just saying it because I'm sick," he said quickly, as if reading your mind. "I've felt this way for a long time."

You felt the weight of his confession settle on your chest. You'd been Jack's rock, his confidant, his best friend, for so long. But now, in the quiet solitude of his hotel room, the lines had blurred. You didn't know how to respond, so you just sat there, the wet cloth still in your hand, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts.

"I know it's not the right time," Jack continued, his voice a mix of apology and hope. "But I had to tell you. I can't keep it in anymore."

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the tumult of emotions churning inside you. Love, fear, confusion—they all collided together, leaving you speechless. You'd always been there for Jack, but you never imagined that you'd be the one he'd confess his love to, not like this.

Jack reached out and took the cloth from your hand, placing it on the bedside table. His eyes searched yours, looking for a glimmer of hope. "I know this isn't the way I wanted to tell you," he said, his voice thick with regret. "But I couldn't hold it in anymore. I had to let you know how much you mean to me."

You felt your eyes well up with tears, the gravity of the situation crashing down on you. "Jack," you began, your voice barely a whisper. "I… I love you too." The words felt strange and yet utterly right as they left your lips.

Jack's expression softened, a hint of relief washing over him. He reached out and took your hand, his thumb gently stroking the back of your palm. "Really?" he asked, his voice hopeful.

You nodded, feeling the warmth of his touch spread through you. "Really," you confirmed, a small smile ghosting across your face.

Jack's hand tightened around yours, and you felt the energy between you shift. The air grew thick with unspoken words and the weight of the moment. He took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours. "Can you stay with me?" he asked, his voice hoarse from the match and the emotion.

You nodded, not trusting your voice to speak. You knew Jack needed you now more than ever. You slid closer to him on the bed, his body still trembling slightly. You wrapped your arm around his waist, feeling the heat from his feverish skin, and rested your head on his chest. The steady beat of his heart was a comforting rhythm that seemed to resonate throughout the entire room.

Jack's hand found yours, and he laced your fingers together, holding onto you like a lifeline. His breathing grew shallower, and you could feel the tension in his body slowly release. The room was dimly lit, the only sound the occasional cough from Jack and the muffled noises of the hotel outside. You didn't know what to say, so you just held him, letting the silence speak for you both.

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

Good evening, my Darlings! I'm sorry about the lapse between updates, but I have a new chapter up on AO3 with the full fic and full content warnings and will have the newest chapter chapter down below.

Chapter Summary: The Reader tries to understand the Harkonnens and gain favor with her husband the old-fashioned way (Part Two.)

Tagged: @alexandrainlove @richardslady121 @blazeflays @wo-ming-bai @cavillandevanssandwhich If anyone else would like to be tagged, please let me know!

Content Warning: 18+; problematic smut; arranged marriage; dubious consent; implied/referenced child abuse; under negotiated kink; problematic BDSM; internalized shame; mild degradation; oral sex (m+f receiving) throat training, come eating, collars and lashes, nipple clamps/nipple play; Feyd-Rautha; impact play/slapping; semi-public sex; vaginal sex; vaginal fingering; knife play; switching; riding; Feyd's strange and fucked up methods of showing affection

Chapter Nine: Quick to Learn, Eager to Please

Your training continues.  You wouldn’t call your progress astonishing, but after a week, and then two, you find yourself first sliding into the familiarity of your old training and then picking up on new techniques.  You can’t help but smile to yourself when you get in an offensive, notice an opening that you can take that you wouldn’t have just a week earlier.  When Feyd-Rautha says, as he watches you spar with Korvo, “You remembered what I told you about your footwork.”

His own regimen is far more extensive, of course.  There’s one morning when he strips off his sweaty training shirt and you notice striations in the muscle fibers in his chest that you don’t remember seeing before.  Perhaps it’s the brighter lighting compared to your bedrooms.

The soreness becomes normal, stiffness you stretch out every morning before you leave for the Training Halls and soothe in the afternoons a couple of times a week in the Relaxation Chambers before resuming your self-imposed Harkonnen language lessons.  The routine is its own comfort that tides you over as you receive letters from back home that all sound relieved that you’re still in one piece.  And, somehow, you are.  These elements–the training, the moments spent in the library and studying the Harkonnen battle language–make you feel a little more like this Fortress is a home that you can live in.  You’re not confident enough to try and impress Feyd yet with what you’ve learned but have found that Idrisa’s an easy tutor.  The first time you tried speaking, unprompted, in battle language to her she did an almost comical double-take before politely offering advice on how to improve your pronunciation.

“The Na-Baron will be delighted to know that you’re making an effort to learn more about his culture,” she added to soften any potential blow to your ego.  Since then, every day, you exchange basic greetings and sentences in Harkonnen with her, and each day you try to add a little more.  Idrisa’s gentle, but honest once she realizes that you won’t be offended by her critique.  

The matter of your pregnancy is still in question–it’s still too early to tell, not for lack of trying.   The collar and leash make a reappearance–on a night he also placed metal clamps on your nipples and took your mouth again until between the shock of the clamps barely fading with time and the suffocating pressure of his cock venturing further and further within the wet cavern of your mouth had tears streaming down your face and silent pleas for him to finally fuck you–but strangely enough the flogger, as he calls it, hasn’t.  When he strikes your backside he seems to prefer his own hands, maybe because for every time his hand descends it stings his palm as well.  Sometimes he brings out ropes, one night ties your arms behind your back and takes you from behind, one hand in your hair until he comes hard and pulls out only to bury his face against your backside and lick your cunt, tasting his own spend as it leaks out of you until you shudder and climax around the flicker of his tongue.  You’re past the point of being shocked by the idea of your husband tasting his own semen; it’s funny to think that such a thing would’ve horrified you a few weeks ago.  Most of this probably would.  

The night that he introduces the clamps you use his bathroom afterwards, see your splotchy face and worn body, and wonder how much of your enjoyment is genuine and how much is simply a tool to acclimate to it.  Does it really make a difference?  The pain from the clamps had gone from sharp pain to an insistent ache that left you trembling.  The way he’d held your head in place as he’d guided his cock into your mouth and kept it there, pulling out only long enough to let you breathe and pushing back in for longer increments until you felt almost light-headed.  Does it really matter how or why it made you sufficiently wet to take him inside of you?  Is it not just easier to accept it than to dwell on the accompanying shame of it?

So far, you’ve realized, he hasn’t asked you to hurt him beyond scratching his back and arms when he’s inside of you, or biting down on the meat of his shoulder until you break skin.  Hasn’t asked you to subjugate him with the silver collar and chain he keeps, always noticeable but never mentioned after that night.  Perhaps he’s waiting for the right time, the right sign that you’d be able to hurt him as deliciously as he does you.

You think of the silver collar and how it would look against his pale skin as he waits patiently for instruction, like a fierce but loyal guard dog.

The image of it makes something you can’t quite name unfurl like black smoke in the pit of your stomach.  

Between training you to fight and training you to take his cock in a variety of positions, Feyd gives ample reason for you to enjoy the soothing attention you get in the Relaxation Chambers.

Once, when you enter the chambers, you see another woman walking by you; she’s well-dressed, clearly the wife of a high-ranking member of Harkonnen militia, and you speak before you can stop yourself.

“Hello,” you tell her, and she stops, blinking in confusion.  You’re starting to get better at gauging peoples’ ages around here without hair or eyebrows, and you guess her to be in her early thirties, with a round face and hazel eyes.

She stands, awkwardly, clearly wondering why you’ve just spoken to her, before inclining her head.  “Good afternoon, Na-Baroness.”

“My apologies.  I don’t think I’ve learned your name yet,” you tell her, extending your hand.

She takes it in a gentle shake.  “Indeed you have not, Na-Baroness.  It’s Liana Druganin, wife of Piter Druganin,” she says, managing to keep a polite tone before she drops your hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Druganin,” you tell her with a small smile.

She reciprocates and it looks as manufactured as the fake wood paneling.  

You’ve seen this before, but until now have been spared actually experiencing it: that moment when an attempt at friendship is made and the recipient can only think, Why are you talking to me?  Go away .  She won’t say it, not in a thousand years, because you outrank her.  But the look on her face, almost bordering on panic at the idea that you’ll keep trying to talk to her, says it all.

You clench your jaw, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.  “Well,” you say, “Have a lovely afternoon, Lady Druganin.”  You both know that it’s not true, and that it’s also not true when she replies with a feeble echo of your sentiments.

She turns to go with a polite bow of her head and a stiffness in her shoulders that hadn’t been there before you spoke to her.  You watch after her and for a moment, she starts to turn around before thinking better of it.

You try to stay resolute.  No matter , you tell yourself.  They will start by respecting me.  They don’t have to like me yet .  My children will play with their children and I will be their Baroness.  They’ll learn.

Still, the sting of it is enough that you have to look over a letter a friend sent you to remind you that you’re perfectly capable of making them.

You write another.  There’s a growing pile of letters that you keep in a desk drawer and in moments like these pull them out and re-read them and remember that even if they’re not here, there are still people who love you.

Feyd’s birthday is almost here–in a week the Bene Gesserit will visit and Feyd will execute prisoners in the arena under the guise of sport.  There will be hours of celebrating afterwards with more flash than the solemnity of a Harkonnen wedding.  You want to ask if there will be dancing, because there wasn’t at your wedding.  You’re not sure what Harkonnen dancing would even look like.  Or music, beyond ceremonial war chants.  The party afterwards will also be the first time you’re properly presented to the Fortress as the Na-Baron.

Not that you’ll be expected to make any speeches or hold anyone’s attention, but a dress is being made for you to commemorate the occasion and you’ll represent not a person but an idea, a symbol.  This is the part of marriage you’ve been preparing for most of your life.  When you were younger your mother was honest about what marriage would look like for you; that your husband would probably be someone you didn’t know very well or perhaps not at all until the wedding, and that it would be your duty to represent the best qualities of your House and, if your groom was from a different House, his as well.  That for you, marriage would be about politics first and that love would come eventually as you got acclimated to your new husband and the role you’d be playing, and even then that it might not be a passionate or easy kind of love.

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen isn’t a creature compatible with something like love.  You were almost surprised that there’s a word for it in his language.  You’re not sure if you could ever grow to love him, or he you.  You’re not sure if it’s an emotion he’s capable of feeling or if the strangely companionable routine you’ve developed with him is the best you’re going to get.  

Your children, though, you’re certain you’ll love, even if they’re raised to be cold, even as they’ll never quite look like you, and you’ll teach them how to express it.  You’ll make sure that no matter how strict and unforgiving their father will bring them up that they’ll always have you.

In a letter addressed only to your mother you ask her what you can barely form in your own mind and couldn’t possibly ask anyone else here. You ask her how early she was able to tell, because you can’t.  You must be, or else something’s very wrong, but you haven’t had a moment after he’s finished inside of you that you felt life growing there.  You don’t feel different yet, and certainly don’t look different.  When do you feel a tithe to them?  You look at your stomach in the mirror as if expecting it to swell already and wonder if the rush of maternal love will come once you can confirm it or if it happens once you have the baby.  There’s no shortage of information on the physical aspects of pregnancy but nothing on that.  The closer it gets to the Bene Gesserit’s visit the more real all this becomes: you’re going to be a mother, on a brutal and unforgiving planet that you’re constantly torn between assimilating into and rejecting to maintain your own sense of self.  You’re going to need all the help you can get.

There’s another shift, four days before Feyd-Rautha’s birthday.

It starts out as a normal training session, with Feyd putting you through close range maneuver drills.

While the rest of the Fortress is busy preparing for his birthday celebrations, he seems somewhat detached.  You’d assumed he’d be more excited at the chance to kill more prisoners in front of an adoring crowd; he’d seemed like he was having a decent enough time killing drugged men for Geidi Prime’s entertainment before the wedding.  This, however, he treats like an obligation that he discusses only in the most pragmatic terms and as part of his responsibilities as Na-Baron.  You’re not entirely sure why, or what if any moral quandary he might have now that he didn’t nearly a month ago.  But you decide that your grasp of Harkonnen pronunciation has improved enough that you can give him an early birthday present and surprise him with your efforts so far.

It’s while you separate long enough to take a minute-long break that you decide that now is as good a time as any.  You take a breath and remember how Idrisa taught you to say the words before offering him a friendly smile and throwing out the words in imperfect but improved Harkonnen.

“ Do you know what you want for your birthday, Husband? ”

He blinks, taken aback for the sweetest of moments before tilting his head and giving you a small smile as if to say, Huh.  How about that.  Like you’re a dog that’s performed an amusing trick.  It would feel embarrassing were it not for that he could have had a much worse reaction.

He responds in kind, with what you can only partially interpret as “ Yes, wife, and I ….” something garbled or a phrase you haven’t learned yet, “ what is mine .”  

Well.  Tone and implications count for a lot.  You might not understand the wording exactly, but you think you get the general picture he’s painting for you as you feel yourself blush.  He circles around you and adds, speaking faster than the instructions you’re used to hearing and a few words are indecipherable, “ I’ll eghl as my wife, lawswh you off to all of Geidi Prime .”

Before you have time to respond he locks you into position, his front to your back and his blade against your throat.  “ To zxncoh to my people that you took my seed and you’re sadghl my heir .”

Other people can hear, you think, scandalized.  Maybe not all that well, he’s not speaking loudly, and other people are focused on their own training but still…

His cock is hard and flushed against the small of your back.  Your head is spinning.  He inhales sharply, as if he can smell the growing wetness between your legs.  He withdraws his blade, holsters it in his scabbard, and turns off his shield.  On instinct, you turn off yours.  There’s a couple of seconds you’re both still, and he opens his mouth, nuzzles your hair.  And then…

“Everyone out!” he calls out, the gravel of his rasp not suited for yelling, but he manages all the same.  A servant opens the door and everyone files out without a word in less than a minute, and then the door slams shut.

He turns you around in his arms and kisses you hard.

He’d talked about doing this the first day he trained you.  It’s really a testament to his self-restraint that he’s waited this long to do it, you think as he backs you into the wall and braces one forearm beside your head.  His other hand sneaks into the waist of your pants and beneath your undergarment.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and gasp into it as he brings his fingertips over your bud and circles lightly, at first anyway.  One fingertip slides along the slit of you, feeling for your growing wetness as he rests his lips against your hairline.  You feel him break into a self-satisfied grin as he says, “I think you can handle two, don’t you, pet?” and slips his middle and index fingers in without waiting for you to respond.  You try to tamp down on your whimpers, the way the echoes of the room amplify every sound, including the slick wet noises of his fingers twisting and pumping inside of you, finally crooking forward the way you like.  It’s hardly fair of him to use that against you.

Oh, Great Mother, they’ve probably got their ears pressed up against the door, listening in, hearing everything—

–And then he slides in a third finger and crooks them again.

You buck your hips, the wind knocked out of you in a silent scream.

“You like that?” Feyd asks, his voice in your ear.

You know I do.  For fuck’s sake, Feyd, just do it again.   You let out a desperate whine, biting your lip as you nod and he rubs you down again, feeling you shake around him.  You feel searingly hot, knowing your face is flushed, knowing that everyone outside knows what the two of you are doing.

You made this choice weeks ago.  You made this choice over a month ago when the Reverend Mother told you who you were to marry.

You still his hand, giving a small nod as if to say, I’m ready, and he withdraws, tilting his head and waiting.  You hardly take a breath before you turn and descend to your knees, pulling your pants and smallclothes down your thighs and spreading your legs as far as you reasonably can before bracing your hands against the wall.  Your breath is already ragged.  You rest your forehead in between your hands.

“ Fuck me, husband ,” you manage in Harkonnen.

Feyd huffs a laugh and settles down behind you.  The sound of him unfastening the front of his pants is shockingly loud within the cavernous expanse of the room, and even as you’d wanted to hold back on your noises he punctures them out of you with each thrust.

You’ll forgive yourself this indignity.  You’re doing it for a greater purpose , you tell yourself.

And then Feyd thrusts at just the right angle that has you letting out a strangled moan, shaking around him, barely able to hold onto the wall in front of you before he brings a hand between your legs.

“That’s it, pet,” he murmurs in your ear.  “Don’t hold back.  Make all the pretty noises you can,” he says and brings his fingers back to your bud.  You cry out, tears pricking up at the corners of your eyes and you’re not entirely sure from what, clenching hard as he uses the pressure around him to power through, pulling you onto him as he growls and snarls and fills you to the brim.

You tremble through it all, shutting your eyes.  A few months ago you would never have pictured yourself doing this, letting a man fuck you from behind while over a dozen people in a hallway mere meters away could hear, and certainly would never have pictured coming from it.  A few months ago you would never have pictured marrying a Harkonnen.

Afterwards, he holds himself to your back, giving one last soft thrust before pulling out.  You yank your smallclothes and pants up as fast as possible to avoid any kind of spill, wincing at the mess of fluids smeared between you and the gusset.

“Is it always messy like this?” you ask as Feyd tucks himself back in and rises to stand.

“If you’re doing it right,” he says, offering a hand to guide you up.

Once he has you he cups your chin with his hand that had fondled you under your smallclothes.  You know immediately what he’s about to do and open your mouth, allowing him access as he slips his fingers inside.

“Clever thing, aren’t you?” Feyd says, watching his fingers go in, watching your eyes as he pushes them until they reach your soft palate and you just barely manage not to gag at the taste and scent of your own juices on his fingertips, the brush of his fingertips pressed too far in for comfort.  He withdraws them as he says, “Quick to learn, eager to please.”

You shut your eyes, exhaling shakily as you lower your head.  You can’t name the twisted combination of shame and pride at his condescending praise.

He cradles your face again.  “None of that, now.  Look at me, pet,” he says.  And when you do, swallowing around nothing, jaw clenched, he looks at your face, studying the look in your eyes as if he can understand what you’re feeling better than you can.

He kisses you again, bruising, searing, burying his other hand in your hair.  He gives you a moment to catch your breath when he releases you, and then looks at the door.  His eyes flicker between you and it for a moment before he strides towards it to let everyone back inside.

“I would never have done what we just did for anyone other than you,” you call after him before he can get there, before you can stop yourself.  “ Never .”

He stops and looks at you.  “I believe you believe that, Y/N,” he says.  “You were the first virgin I think I’ve ever been with.”

You furrow your brow.  “Really?” you ask, his response briefly taking you out of the embarrassed pit you’d started digging for yourself.  You’d sort of assumed that he’d had a history of deflowering frightened young women.  Sort of assumed that it was one of his Na-Baronly duties.

He gives a mono-syllabic grunt in the affirmative before opening the door.

You don’t envy everyone shuffling in, avoiding looking at either of you directly as they offer quick honorifics and resume their training.

You’re too shaken to be of much use for the rest of your session, not to Feyd’s surprise.  

“Let’s call it a morning, Y/N.  Go to your quarters, take a shower.  I’ll see you at breakfast,” he says, and you’re biting down on a sarcastic, why thank you, Na-Baron. The squelch of your come leaking out of me is a bit distracting.  I appreciate you noticing , when he leans in and gives you a brief kiss on the mouth.

You blink in surprise.  He seldom kisses you when there are other people around, and certainly not in front of his soldiers while he’s training.  You hesitate before returning it.  

“ Thank you, husband ,” you tell him in Harkonnen as you pull away.  The curve of his mouth twitches in what you hope is a smile.

You’re certain after that you’ve gotten a good amount of leverage, as much as you’re probably going to get until you become a mother, but what then?  

You can learn to live with Feyd as the father of your children, with him being the formative authority figure in their lives.  You’ll never try to convince yourself that deep down he’s a kind and decent man, but you’ve noticed that he has his own, albeit twisted, set of moral standards.  It’s the idea of the Baron being in their lives at all that worries you.  You can’t imagine any way in which his presence could be a good thing, especially for any sons you’ll have–and surely Feyd must know this?

A thought forms and grows even as you try to shut it out.  It’s impossible, you tell yourself, and still you can’t help but wonder.

At dinnertime the following evening your grip tightens on your fork as at the head of the table the Baron eats roasted bird down to the bone and you wonder how fragile his own must be after what must be years now of not being able to move on his own.  

There’s not a chance that you’d be able to get rid of him personally.  You’d be killed long before such an attempt could come to fruition.  But you’ve read a bit about Harkonnen history, and Barons have been usurped before, ones in declining health replaced by those who’d go on to prove more capable and more ruthless than their predecessors.  Feyd knows his own history far better than you do, he’s read about this.

He tried to kill his uncle once.  What’s stopping him now that he’s entering the very prime of his life?  When he has a wife and, soon, children to think about?  When the Baron’s over seventy and hasn’t been able to walk on his own in years?

Can he be convinced?

You keep your head down, glad that no one here can read your mind, glad that the Baron only seems to pay attention to you if he seems to be wondering if it’s too early for you to start showing.  

I’ll spare you the suspense: it is, you’d tell him if you had the nerve. 

That night Feyd comes to your room and takes you and there’s a moment between when he finishes and when he decides to sleep in his own quarters that you think about suggesting it to him.

The people respect and fear you .  It’s your time.  You’re ready.

You have a duty to Geidi Prime and the Bene Gesserit and me to keep our children safe and there’s no guarantee of that unless you get rid of the Baron.

In the end you can’t bring yourself to say it.  Not yet.

You wake up to the feeling of a body behind you and cold steel against your throat, and it takes you less than a second to realize that you’re not dreaming, and the person shifting in behind you and bringing both arms around you is very much real.

You let out one scream, to alert any guards nearby, but nothing else to waste your precious breath as you reach for the forearm leading to the hand that’s holding the knife and jerk one shoulder up as hard as you can, trying to dislodge him.

This is so much easier standing up than laying on your side, you realize with immediate clarity, having never felt more awake in your life as you try to duck your head in the scant gap that you’ve made, grabbing his wrist and struggling as he refuses to give you enough space to properly move.

You still manage to keep your hand on his forearm, ducking just enough to squirm out of his arms and plunge his knife into his ribs and then…

The knife hums but doesn’t pierce his skin.  

He has his shield activated , you realize, panic setting in, eyes trying to adjust to the dark.  If I can evade him just long enough to get his shield off then maybe–

You bite down on the man’s other arm, hard, breaking the skin and drawing a moan out of the man behind you that you don’t have time to recognize sounds familiar– you just need to get on top of him, get the upper hand –and duck under his arm long enough to turn and swing one leg over the man’s waist and pin him on his back to your bed, finally wrenching the knife out of his hand as you point it as his chest and…

You stare, panting and stunned.  It hadn’t occurred to you to question how someone could get into your chambers, hadn’t registered that your assailant was wearing pants but no shirt.  All you could think about was the knife at your throat.

Pinned underneath you is your husband.  He fixes you with a smile, looking utterly pleased with himself.

“You’re improving; that’s good,” he says.

You nearly drop your knife, barely having the mind to set it on the bed next to Feyd’s shoulder, realizing that you’re sitting directly on top of his stiffening groin.  Feyd turns off his shield device before propping himself up on his forearms.

“I had to make sure that you were prepared.  If you’re ever ambushed it won’t be in a training room with a warning,” he says.  He ignores your ragged breaths and stunned expression quickly turning to anger.

You slap him as hard as you can.  The cracking sound could deafen you; pain shoots down your wrist from the impact.

What the fuck?!  I was terrified! you almost say before he sits all the way up and pulls you into a ferocious kiss.  You give back as good as you receive, almost snarling into it, gripping the back of his neck, before pulling away for breath.

“I’m fucking furious with you,” you tell him.

“Good,” he says, and pulls you into another kiss.  He gives a quiet moan at the taste of his blood in your mouth, staining your teeth, and licks it off of you.  He draws an arm across your naked back and buries his other hand in your hair.  Anger turns to adrenaline turns to arousal that has you panting against his mouth before something occurs to you.

“Wait, what happened to–” there are always a couple of armed guards at each end of the expansive hallway.  They would’ve been able to hear your screaming.

“I told the guards that I was conducting a drill and that if they interfered that I’d feed them alive and screaming to my Darlings,” he says.

You’re deranged , you think, and reach for his pants with only one goal in mind, and for a moment you picture him flipping the two of you over, fucking you into the mattress like he does every night and sometimes in the mornings, reducing you to mewls and whimpers.

No.

This time he can be the one who gets fucked, that follows the rhythm of your hips.  You’ve only come close to that kind of leverage once before but if he wants to be inside of you tonight this is what he’s going to get.

You grab the dagger left on the sheets and press it to his collarbone.

“You nearly killed me,” you tell him.  “I’ll take what I want from you.” 

He grins at you with his black teeth and gums.  “I was only trying to make you think I would kill you, but you did well, so you can take whatever you want.”

You exhale through your nostrils.  Think I’m bluffing? you want to ask as the tip of the blade just barely pierces his alabaster skin.  An image flashes like lightning in your mind and grows like the clap of thunder–him prone underneath you, laying back and taking everything you give him.  Your mouth falls open at the idea and shuts again as you push at his chest, watching as he goes down.

Something flashes in those blue eyes of his as he has just enough reach to turn on the light and you relax the blade just enough to let him do it, let him give you a good look at him.

“Go on,” he says.  “Take your reward.”

You huff an-almost laugh, stunned, delighted.  You think of him collared but quickly dismiss the notion.  Next time.  You’re too impatient to leave the room.  You look down at Feyd, pliant and waiting beneath you, and press the tip of the knife just barely against his skin.  “Help me get your pants off,” you tell him as you raise your hips enough to give him access.

His eyes blaze as he does as he’s told, raising his hips to push them down his legs, kicking a little to get them further down.  Do they come all the way off?  Probably not.  You don’t care.  His cock stands at attention, and you relinquish the knife in order to brace a hand on his stomach, your other hand positioning him at your entrance.  Feyd’s hands in turn cup your hips.  It takes some finessing, moving on top of him; it’s not a position you’ve explored much before but you’re slick enough that it’s effortless to line him up against you and slide down onto him.

“You wanna ride me?” he says as you rock your hips for the first time and a moan spills from your lips.  He feels so good, you think, almost dazed, mouth falling open.

“Is that what this is called?” you ask, resting your hands on his chest, taking the opportunity to squeeze and grope whatever you can find.

Feyd lets out a breathless laugh, sliding his own hands over your hips, bringing one up further to squeeze one of your breasts in turn.  “Among other things,” he says.

You almost laugh as well; this way it’s almost like his body’s a fun toy you can use to amuse and please yourself.  You have better access to the rest of him this way, and he you.  He’s never really let you touch him like this, and you wonder–he doesn’t have breasts, but would he still like it if you touched his nipples?  You rock your hips, still getting a feel for the rise and fall, the drag of it, as you circle your thumb around one of them before pinching the bud between it and your forefinger.  For a moment you expect him to snap at you, grab your wrist and growl a warning at you, but he twitches and gasps and you repeat the gesture.

Your breath hitches and you can’t help but smile for a moment, delighted at the new information you have on this man, the vulnerability of him under you.  Would he, under the right circumstances, allow the clamps he’s used only once on you?  You bring one hand to his bare thigh as you try out different movements and speeds, oscillating between a rolling grind, bouncing up and down, a combination of both as the friction from this position is a unique thrill that builds the heat within you just as fast as the drag of him inside of you.

He brings one hand to your neck, thumb to your pulse point, and gives a light squeeze.  You just bear down and ride him harder as if to say, You think that scares me?  I know you, husband.  You’ve hurt a lot of people and you’re going to hurt more, but not me.  Not in a way that I can’t handle and come back from.

The clarity of it is almost shocking, but you know in your heart that it’s true; even tonight is his own perverse kind of fondness.

What a strange fucking husband, what a strange fucking marriage you have, that minutes after you thought you were about to be killed you feel safer than you have with him so far.

Your orgasm rips through you faster than you’ve ever managed with him inside of you, has you crying out as you shut your eyes and throw your head back, stomach and thighs clenching and every nerve on fire.  For a moment everything’s red and everything’s hot and you feel like you’ve just incinerated yourself, and then you come to, mouth open and hips still jerking in short thrusts on top of him and all you can see are Feyd’s pupils blown wide as he stares up at you.

There’s a moment you realize that you could deprive him of an orgasm.  One of the first nights you were together, the moment it seemed like you were about to come, he’d smugly withheld it from you.  Now that you’ve gotten yours, you could stop, climb off of him, and tell him he can finish himself off.  Right now he seems dazed, mouth open, his grip on your throat more of a loose hold.  For a moment you picture the lost look on his face if you do it.

That moment breezes by, and you start rocking onto him again, panting and moaning as you scratch down his chest, your nails catching onto his nipples, making him buck his hips and moan, the movements jostling your insides.  He’s close–and somehow, you’re building again with your frayed nerves, but you’re going to need his help to bring you over with him.

Well, maybe not need.   But you’re going to tell him anyway.

It takes you a few tries, mouth open, trying to form the words, before you say, “Touch me,” and you’re pretty proud of how it comes across as an instruction rather than a plea.

In turn it takes him a moment to register your orders before sliding his hand to your neck down to one of your breasts, squeezing and fondling one and then the other, and finally, mercifully sliding his other hand from your hip and resting it high up on your thigh, rubbing his thumb along your apex.

“That’s it,” you manage, closing your eyes, gritting your teeth at how frustratingly close you are while still so sensitive, so determined to make it over the edge before he does.  He’s panting underneath you, his heart pounding, sweat dampening his chest and his thigh and he shifts his legs and–oh.  Oh .  That’s it.  You don’t register your own moans and cries as you shut your eyes against it, feeling him coming inside of you, hearing a guttural moan ripped out of his chest as he arches his hips up into you and for a moment you feel like everything’s shattering, everything bursting into air.  After a moment you still your hips, taking in shuddering breaths, waiting to come back to yourself.

You open your eyes again and look down at Feyd, who looks at you like he’s never looked at you before and you realize this is what it’s like for someone to be in awe of you.  It’s a powerful feeling, especially from him.

You kept this away from me for nearly a month? you want to ask.  You let out a laugh.  You’re soaring.  You’re delirious.  You want to go again even as you tremble.

Feyd ends up talking first.  “Now what, pet?” he says, running his hands over your shaking thighs.  “Anything you want.”

You catch your breath.  He’s still under you, still subdued and tamed–for now.  You lean forward, bracing your forearms on either side of him, enjoying the shift of the angle of him inside of you even when softened.  He gives a slight hiss as you roll your hips once for good measure.

“I want to keep you inside of me until you get hard again, and then I want to ride you again until I can’t anymore,” you tell him.

You haven’t seen him drunk but you can imagine that it looks a little like this, the way his head rolls to the side and he grins, still looking dazed and bedazzled.  You can hardly blame him; you feel almost out of your own body as well.

I have you.  I have you.  I have you.