#viscose dresses

[sheliesshattered]

Quick PSA to remind you to always check your iron temperature on a scrap piece of fabric before you press a sewing project for the first time. I would have ruined the front of the dress I'm sewing if I hadn't taken a second to test my iron.

[suziwest-dresscollection]

Acquired: Clothes Mentor, Asheville, NC, February 2024

[blackvanillababe]

<< See our world is slowly dying

I'm no wasting no more time

Don't think I could believe you

You, our hands will get more wrinkle

And I hear It will be grey

Don't think I could forgive you

And see the children are starving

and the houses were destroy

Don't think they could forgive you>>

[valboneindia]

Buy Co-ords set for women online in India. Introducing our stylish pants and top co-ords set, perfect for women who want to make a fashion statement. Made with high-quality materials, this set offers a comfortable and trendy fit. Whether you're heading to a casual outing or a special occasion, these co-ords will elevate your style effortlessly. Buy this fashionable co-ords set for women online in India and step up your fashion game. Shop now your favorite Co-ords set from Valbon.in

[illusionsofinsight]

Manchester Closet Large trendy women's carpeted, gray floor and coffered ceiling dressing room photo with flat-panel cabinets and gray cabinets

[melancholicstation]

Like An American 𓍼 𓇢𓆸

pairing: jack schlossberg x reader

summary: after a treacherous weekend of paddle boarding along the scenic shores of manhattan and viscose shorts that rid up far too high due to the water, you drag your husband to a Hamptons pilates class, and get far more of a workout than you bargained for.

taglist: @remotewatch @bloxholden35 @kennediva @h-l-vlovesvintage @absurdlyvintage @chemicalw0rld @fortheloveofjos @kimcrystal123 @astro-vibes-bro @tsloverr-13

warnings: (tasteful, classy, anaïs nin pilled) smut, 18+ only, implied age gap, soft petting, words of affirmation, soft aftercare, slapping, unprotected intimacy, biting, back rubs

'drive fast, i can almost taste it now,

You apathetically scroll your manicured, chanel hand-creamed ( a gift from jack himself ) hand through instagram reals and shortly abandon that effort as soon as you feel your brain being numbed by the drivel common on instagram at the current impasse. Your attention abandons that activity for a much more fulfilling escape: that of observing your husband of 2 months, jack, setting up a joint pilates appointment for the two of you with the women upfront, dressed in chic linens only truly observed in all their glory on a women summering in amagansett.

L.A., i don't even have to fake it now,

You gather yourself and sway over to the counter and offer to pay, in the effort of lifting your wallet your steel robot keychain sways slightly before resuming its residence resting by your small leather card holder. Jack looks at you, in a passive yet horrified glance and delicately waves your cards away and places a hand by the nape of your neck. Murmuring to "never worry about that sort of thing around him" in his instantly recognisable accent and cadence.

As he resumes his conversation with the girl organising your shared class, jack continually and gently circles the baby hairs at the base of your neck. Some he would perform a zig-zag motion along the base of your scalp, and other's he would gently caress the baby hairs, not failing to continue his trail to the middle of your neck.

You're like so sick, everybody said it,

It may be because of this delightful pseudo scalp-massage that you nearly don't pick up on the blatant flirting coming from the girl across from you, directed at jack. Even in an effort to catch her eyes, hers are completely fixated on that of your husband's, the gall of some people! You see her taking quick clipped glances at his 6.0 frame, dressed in hand-me-downs gifted to him by his great aunt back in the fall of 2019 (is it really classified as "hand-me-downs" if the pieces of old clothing are Loro Piana and Brunello Cucinelli?)

You're way ahead of the trend, ge-get it,

Due to Jack's parentage and familial connections you had always, to ebbing extents, had been a public figure whenever you stepped outside with Jack. Some crazed paparazzi had even papped you guys entering a jazz bar reconstructed from a prohibition speakeasy in the west village in 2019. This caused slight public fan-fare over niche twitter and instagram communities, many likening it to the glossy nineteen-nighties candids of John F. Kennedy Jr and his wife Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy. But as of 2024 being an election year, and an important decade-defining one at that, the interest around Jack had reached an almost fever pitch. Not only did you wake up to a phone-breaking amount of follower requests on instagram since jack's appearance during the democratic national convention, but your once small, curated following on TikTok had blossomed from a petite fig tree, to a unruly and domineering monstera. Despite this you attempted to take this change in your stride and continued business as usual.

Elvis is the best, hell yes,

As the girl confirms your appointment she asks you to wait a few moments in the lounge to allow the instructors time to adequately prepare the room. You both saunter over to a particularly comfortable-looking linen settee in the back of the room, a hand securely placed along your back by jack.

"You know I can't believe you made me sign up for this, i'll be as graceful as a hippo on a ballet barré and you know so!" Jack chuckles out sarcastically, in such a tone that gives away his true ill-advised confidence at mastering the art of pilates. An activity that since your water paddle-boarding escapes around manhattan's greatest shores, you had been dying to have him try his hand at it at least once.

"You shouldn't knock it until you try it, jack. I promise you'll adore it--or you won't and you'll completely resent it until the day you die. It's just a game of chance really." This instigates you into preparing jack for what he's about to walk into, you start with showing him so low-impact pilates videos you'd saved to your camera roll. He replies with boastful comments sliced in with moments of disbelief at how people could contort their own bodies into such positions.

A pilates instructor by the name of Anya, politely tells us that the room is ready and that instructor Zoe is ready to begin the session whenever they are.

The room, being that the property was in the east Hamptons, had gorgeous, sprawling views of the main beach shore line. The studio was surround by white wooden shiplap, adorned with antique yet charming looking prints of deers and lambs frolicking in a garden so beautiful it had to be painted from the depths of an artist's imagination. Before the couple could even take in the beautiful studio, a very upbeat Zoe bounded into the room not unlike to the excitement of a labrador puppy, and before either person knew it the class had commenced.

The duration of the session plays out like a comedy show that not even the great minds of a 2010s snl dream-team cast could think up. Not only did jack multiple times fall of the reformer, but his grunts were reminiscent of a much more intimate activity not commonly done in the presence of a stranger.

The class ended with you feeling refreshed, and jack feeling mildly humiliated--okay considerably humiliated at his lack of an ability to pick up pilates form on command.

As soon as Zoe departed through the double doors to leave you guys to re-coop, you throw yourself onto Jack's reformer and devolve into a fit of laughter. "Yeah--Yeah laugh it up while your husband is severely embarrassed and wounded" Jack says in a tone that betrays the bitter exterior he's putting up. "Oh please Jack the only thing wounded is your ego, your just jealous I was great at paddle-boarding"

"Depends on how you define great" Jack comments laughing, but quickly dies down once you pull his the hair at the base of his neck to halt his teasing of your mediocre, at best, paddle boarding.

You make me crazy, you make me wild,

As a result this causes him to retaliate my gracefully lifting your alo yoga clad body into his arms and onto his lap. From this point of view you observed the way the tank clung to his form, and the scent of his musk inflamed your desires in an almost animalistic, feral fashion. Both of your hips begin to languidly meet his, as his mouth meets yours. Saliva covers the both of your chins, which in any other situation would disturb you both greatly, but in a moment like this it's supremely erotic. Clothing meeting clothing, friction creating more, and more friction. Your knees start to dig into the plush mat of the reformer as jack settles you gently on the seat of the reformer and undresses the lower half of his and carefully slides your pointelle underwear to one side. In any other situation you, as a couple, would be horrified at your shared lack of social decorum: I mean, seriously, you guys are in a pilates studio for christ sake! But at this interim you cannot find it in yourself to quite care, and you've got a sneaking suspicion that neither does Jack.

Just like a baby, spin me 'round like a child,

As Jack leans over to line himself, you crane your tennis necklace clad neck to delicately kiss his cheek. To which he, in return, blushes (and giggles) like a schoolgirl. As he plunges, the shared couple lets out a breath of relief. Breaths of relief that mirror ships docking into a much-loved harbour, marking a safe return. And that's what they were to each other a safe place to return. Apart from small words of encouragement that you were "doing so well for him" and that he gets amazed by how "well you take him every time" Jack eventually stops talking. On your part he may have continued to talk but by then your mind had soon become the consistency of day-old porridge. With your body only seemingly responding to the stimulus brought on by Jack. The pounding, and the sense of completeness and fullness infuriates your head and decimates any other thoughts not relating to the man in front of you.

Be young, be dope, be proud,

Sometimes, you felt perverse when you slept with Jack in this manner, rough and unrelenting, for you imagined that to know yearning for one person as much as you had, that something had to be wrong with you. Something that had to have been corrupted to form such a need for one person's existence. That was only given brief air-time in your mind as you were brought back by the feeling of callous hands grasping your face with the gentleness of a bear that doesn't know the power of it's strength yet---"Are you still with my me my girl?" Jack asks, and slightly slaps the flesh of the side of your behind.

"Yes-yes-Oh God yes" you slur through breathless gasps, like a fish rising to the surface, you feel the unmistakable roll of thunderous pressure and hear Jack encouraging you to "let it all out sweetheart" while caressing your back. And eventually you convulse in his capable, and protective arms. Due to this you quietly lay your head on his chest cocooning yourself in his musk, and watch you favourite expression befall his face. As you feel encompassed by the most delightful warmness, milking him for all he had. In the interim period, waiting for Jack to come down from his high you play with the littered brown hair covering his public bone curling the corse hair. You observe the space where you both meet, and liken it to an image of the sand meeting the ocean. As a result, you don't notice Jack gazing down at you like you're the only other breathing, sentient being on the planet. Your eyes meet and smile bashfully at each other. To break the sexual tension Jack jokes "This has got to cross at least one box of that weird places to have sex bingo we bought, I-I mean surely it has to right?"

"One can dream" you giggle and receive a drawn out kiss from jack as he slides back out.

Jack, being the gentleman that he was raised to be, doesn't let you do anything after such an act, so he cleans you first, then himself in the ensuite attached for those who indented to shower after a lesson, and dresses you back up.

Like an American Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-oh,

As you both walk out, thanking Zoe for her time who was now conversing with the woman at the counter, you finally make eye-contact with the girl flirting with jack earlier. You sense that she may have connected the dots that it wasn't just the pilates class that got you two so worked up after seeing your messily put on clothing, and birds nests of what once was a slick-back bun combined with the sweat pooling around jack's collarbones.

Or maybe, just maybe the walls of the east hampton pilates studio are not as soundproofed as they had brazenly assumed.

Like an American Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-oh.'

the end.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

ac·cou·tre·ment

down bad joe, who's such a good boy. wears his suit proper but can't wait to undress you.

sub!joe. 18+ content (smut heavily described). fem!reader.

saw this bracelet and this shirt and decided to do a line and write some sub!joe. throw in the fact that i saw sinners last night and i was like, yeah, we're so back.

8.8K words. read part 2, 'room service'

talk--hozier

bloodbath for birds--squalloscope

sub!joe masterlist | joe burrow masterlist | main masterlist

_________________________

The Honors come every year. 

And every year, Joe’s always looking for something comfortable and easy to wear. It’s not that Joe’s not a fashion guy; it’s that he likes comfort more. However, comfort must strike the delicate balance with your outfit as well. It’s a team effort now—coordination of accessories, and color palettes, ensuring silhouettes are cohesive. Which leaves him here, in the bloom of December, fretting over this year’s color palette. Last year was a simple royal blue and black affair to match the space themed pant chain he wanted. 

This year must be different. It has to bring something new to the table. Joe’s looking for something fun and maybe even a little shocking. But he doesn’t have much mind left. Even if this is a job he’s happy to take on because he also gets a hand and first viewing of the dresses, gets to watch you twirl in the a-line skirts, shimmy into the bodycons, knowing that no matter what you wear, he gets to peel you out of it at the end of the night, Joe is utterly lost. He doesn’t have the foggiest idea of what to do or where to go for inspiration though you’ve supplied more than enough with your Pinterest boards. All the colors are starting to bleed together. Every suit’s starting to look the same. The names of each board are getting blurry in his vision. All stemming most notable from the fact that he didn’t sleep great the night before--a sniffle tickling in the back of his throat that he needs to get a handle on. A sniffle that’s been lingering since Wednesday. It’s not getting worse, but not necessarily getting better either. 

Joe is supposed to be napping. He’s not even supposed to be looking at your Pinterest right now, or worrying about the NFL Honors. Your order came firm, but sweet as you tucked him into the sofa up to his chin in the fluffiest blanket in the house after filling up his water bottle, Rest, baby. A command that came after you brought him a can of ginger ale, a bag of throat lozenges with a cup of tea as well. The cup of elderberry tea with manuka honey has long since been consumed. Joe made sure of it, because the warmth and the viscosity of the honey did help his throat. Now, though, the sofa’s too big and a little cold without you there at his feet. 

Joe’s not sure how long you’ve been in the kitchen. You were sitting with him on the couch, arm resting on his ankles, flipping through channels. But now you’re lost to his vision, only in his ears can he hear the symphony of sizzling, cabinets, and jars. Joe was somewhere between falling asleep and deeply asleep--just enough awareness to know that he wasn’t fully awake and just enough asleep to know that he’d lost some amount of time without any exact measure on it. When he cracked his eyes, he was stretched out completely, TV still softly playing but his toes only dug into couch cushions instead of your thighs. 

And that’s all it took. The moment Joe realized you weren’t there on the couch, that you’d disappeared into the kitchen, he woke up fully. Sleep is persistent though. His eyes blink close every minute or so even with his laptop on his stomach. Yet, Joe's a stubborn man and he refuses to go back to sleep until you’re there again, at his feet or next to him. 

The blue hue of the screen is just bright enough to keep Joe’s attention for small bursts of time. But not enough for him to sink into his thoughts and really focus on the task at hand. He had just enough energy to make it through practice. Now that he’s home, his brain has gone fuzzy. Everything feels like it’s moving slower than normal. Not quite a fog. This is more akin to the feeling of coming up from anesthesia. Joe is aware though it all feels and sounds so distant from him. Like he could be watching himself from the outside. 

The buzz of his phone drags his attention from the laptop. He groans as he stretches out for the device before he stares down at the text from his personal assistant. Dior’s reaching out if you want to work with them for a custom look for you and your partner for the NFL Honors. Interested?

Yeah, sounds cool. 

Perfect. I’ll get them in contact with you directly here shortly. 

“Baby?” your voice carries from the kitchen. 

Joe freezes. He should pretend to be asleep, but if you’re calling him then he’s already been caught. You already know he’s not sleeping. It doesn’t sound urgent. Whatever it is. Joe untangles himself from the cocoon, getting his laptop and phone down onto the coffee table before he stands. He rounds the corner to see you stretching up, but not quite getting to whatever it is you’re reaching for, given the huff that pushes over your lips. “What’s up?”

“Can you help me and get those mixing bowls down from that fourth shelf? I can’t reach.”

The cabinets reach to the ceilings and though there’s never really much that you or Joe put beyond the first three or four rows in the cabinet, reaching up to the fourth can be challenging even for Joe. “Of course, sweetheart.”

You hover just behind him. Joe slides into the place you were standing and though he much more confident in his stretching to be capable of reaching the bowls, the heat of your hands inches and only inches from his back seeps through the thin cotton t-shirt. A steadying presence though he doesn’t need it. A reminder that Joe knows you better than he probably knows himself. You are always right there, right within reach. 

Joe secures the cranberry colored Pyrex bowls into his grasps and brings the all lot of them--three total as they nest one inside of the other--down. Just as the bowls click against the counter, your hands slip up and under his t-shirt. You move into the space of Joe’s side, chest pressed into his ribs. The trail of your fingers is rather soft, like you might not even know you’re doing it. Joe’s trying to keep himself composed, torn between a laugh at how it starts to tickle and the satisfied sigh from the feeling of your body flush against him. That is until he coughs, catching it into the crook of his elbow. Now all he has left in his chest is a slight wheeze from whatever is slipping down the back of his throat. 

“Thanks, love,” you hum, “I appreciate it. Now, go actually sleep. You’re not fooling me.”

“How’d you know?” He’s not ashamed of being caught. There’s a sixth sense the two of you share about each other, but still Joe thought he was being pretty sneaky. 

“Sound of you tapping on the keyboard earlier and the click of the trackpad.”

“I was—” Joe starts and then his voice cuts out, the pitch rising before all sound leaves him. He clears his throat and tries again. “I was trying to sleep, but it’s not the same when you’re not there.”

Your ever watchful gaze cuts to him, even as you start pulling the chicken from the dutch oven. The steam billows from the opened mouth. “Did you finish the tea?” 

“Yes.”

“Have you had a lozenge?”

“No.”

Your brow arches. The onions, celery, garlic, and carrots smell heavenly as the steam remnants make their way over to his nostrils. The fact that he can still mostly smell is a reassuring sign. Joe knows what that looks mean the moment it dawns on your face. Pursed lips, a high cut eye. There will be no amount of reasoning that will win against you now. 

Joe raises his hands up in surrender. “Okay, nurse. I’ll go pop a lozenge.”

“Soup will be done in like twenty minutes. But after you eat, I want a nap out of you.”

“You promise to cuddle with me?” It’s a Friday and Joe’s hoping you’ve handled all errands while he was at practice. 

“Yes, I promise to cuddle with you.”

“By the way, Dior will be reaching out to me soon about a custom look for the both of us for the awards. So even though I wasn’t sleeping, I wasn’t bullshitting around.”

“I don’t really care if Jesus called you. You need rest since I know you won’t be convinced to not start Sunday.”

Joe snorts, pushing off the counter’s edge to slip in behind you. The loud care, the persistent eye over him—Joe wouldn’t trade it all for a thing, not even to get rid of whatever was pestering him at the moment. His arms slip around your neck, loosely, and he presses just a fraction of his weight into you. Part of Joe is relieved you hadn’t pushed him about the game Sunday. He knows it’s probably irking you not to say something. The demands for naps, and the tea, and the lozenges are a replacement in the wake of such silenced objections. The actions replacing the words. 

“Are we just ignoring the part about custom Dior or?” Joe’s whispered question wisps down the side of your neck.

“We can worry about custom Dior once you’re feeling better. But get a date and I’ll get the time off.”

The crook of your neck is so warm, so inviting. Joe can’t resist settling in closer to your throat, nose pressed into the thumping flesh. Your perfume is soft and sweet—a vanilla base with something earthy underneath. Joe can’t place it—sandalwood or musk. All he knows is that you smell like home, like warm sheets and home cooked meals. A scent Joe chases in his dreams when he’s away from you. 

“My poor baby,” you coo. Your voice rumbles, refracted in a way that makes it deeper than normal through your bones back into his ears. But Joe can only hum when your nails scratch over his scalp. “You still need to grab a lozenge before you get to snuggle up on me.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Just,” Joe inhales again and it cuts off the thought for a moment. “Just need a minute here.” 

He’s met with silence, only broken by the click and soft taps of your work. Your palm slides up and down his forearm, making his spine melt. Joe could cease to exist in a moment but as long as that moment is with you that’s all that matters. 

“Ten second warning.” Your voice is a whisper. Sounds like it could get swept up in a strong enough wind. 

“Hmmkay.” Joe takes his remaining seconds, presses another to deep inhale of your perfume and natural musk into his lungs, and then pulls away, slowly bringing his awareness back to the kitchen. The chicken that’s resting in the bowl, pulled away from the bones now. The slightly charred vegetables sitting in the small personal serving blender, like you’d been intending to start it up but waited on like you had another thought. Maybe as to not startle him? But Joe’s not sure. Just feels like whatever was supposed to happen was paused.

“Lozenge. And then soup. And then a cuddle and nap,” he recounts to himself, reorienting to the new objectives. 

“In that exact order.” The command is paired with a tap, a gentle pat to his ass. 

Joe laughs, a blush creeping up his cheeks as he covers his behind with his hands. “Wine and dine me first. Jesus,” he calls out, departing the kitchen.

“What do you think I’m doing right now?” you holler back.

Loving me, Joe wants to say, but can’t get it over his lips before another cough creeps up his chest. He takes a swig of water first before unwrapping the lozenge and then slips back down into the cushions, under the blanket and stares at the TV--seeing but unseeing as he waits for you.

________________

Joe’s seen the dress before. The blush pink velvet over your curves, the sweetheart necklace and cinched waist that Joe swears was painted on you. And Joe’s seen it before, but each time you’re in it, it’s like seeing it for the first time. Over, and over again. Up and down he tracks the lines of your body. 

The dress leaves your shoulders bare, begging to be marked, to be bitten, the longer Joe looks at you. While there’s no sleeves to the dress, there is a bit of a bow effect that starts at the neckline, fabric that circles out before it reconnects back to the bust, creating loops for your arms to slip through. Not quite capped sleeves--you distinctly asked not to have those--but a dramatic middle ground that creates a nice line of movement for the eye to take on the otherwise simple ensemble. The skirt of the dress drapes to the floor and is form fitting around your hips and thighs. And to think this all started with a singular picture--a gold bracelet dazzling that spells out, I love you, replicated now on your wrist. 

This all started with one singular click. 

When the Zoom meeting to start the process loomed just days away before you both, Joe began pestering you--he could admit that and would admit it if pressed--about your input. Though Joe was the one to take the reins when it came to getting the ball rolling on styling for events, he felt uninspired. He wanted out of his comfort zone, but wasn’t sure what that looked like. Your boards were nice, but they felt common. He’d seen those dresses and those suits a million times over. He needed something that would set you both apart, bold, but still classy. So Joe pestered, and he pestered until you sent him a brand new board to look through. 

Right there at the top was a 1960’s bracelet--gold with only a few small cut diamonds and letters written in all caps in a not quite cursive but not fully printed font that spelt out, I Love You, photographed on burgundy velvet and that’s all Joe needed. It’s a subtle piece, understated, and still charming. The Dior team hadn’t been able to secure the original bracelet itself. It’d been auctioned off on a UK based jeweller’s site and then resold from that owner to someone else, down to a blackhole it appeared. But the website still had decent shots and measurements that the team had been able to work with to replicate the bracelet. 

And Joe only really had a few sentences for them, to describe what he wanted. You had a few more words to describe your desires, but the core of it was simple: The ‘It Couple’ in Old Hollywood Glamour. And by God, did Dior deliver. Especially with you in that fucking blush colored dress. You look good enough to eat, for Joe to unravel you on his tongue until his mind has left his body and made him just a shell of himself—yours for the taking, a sacrifice, body laid bare and weathered.

“I’m going to need a fire extinguisher because I swear you’re going to set that room on fire,” Joe groans. 

Your laughter bubbles from your chest; it makes the lines of your collarbones dance. Joe tracks the movement with his eyes, but wishes he could trace the dips and valleys with his tongue. He doesn’t stare long, can’t afford too given the rather tighter fit of the dress pants. You look up from the stylist helping you into your shoes over to Joe--he’s finishing up the last few buttons on his black dress shirt, his cream velvet tuxedo jacket still hanging on the rack for him. 

Your voice carries over the room to him, a taunting and haunting laugh behind it. “I still can’t believe I’m getting you into a properly tailored suit.”

Joe can’t believe it either, but it fits the theme. It is out of his comfort zone and still comfortable.  He ensured that there was still an extra inch in the cut so it wouldn’t feel like it was suffocating. But it’s not as slouchy as the custom Alo suit, not even by a long shoot. “When standing next to you, I have to come correct. You’d bury me alive if not.”

“I’d unbury you though afterwards.”

“You always do,” Joe hums, turning to get a look at himself in the mirror. But your gaze is hot on him. If a look could carve him open, yours would--the pouty lip, the look up at him from beneath your lashes--coy, but the tiny curl to your lips tells him everything. You would and will crack him. Leave the window of his chest open and heart beating for full display. You always unbury him, always bring him to the brink--and sometimes over--but never leave him down alone. A fact Joe knows backwards and forwards. 

And this hotel room really isn’t the place, not with his stylist and assistant around. 

“And you’re sure these aren’t too tight in the toe?”

“No, it’s fine. There’s enough room.”

Joe takes the opportunity to regroup. The black dress shirt is decorated around the collar in kiss shaped lipstick stains. They range in various shades of pinks and reds to match your dress. And a couple of the stains fall down to his chest—one placed oh so delicately over his heart. All your markings, half a day spent with body paints and a tester shirt. Though it seemed ridiculous that you kissed a dress shirt over and over and over again, applying, taking off, and reapplying different paints, the end result is more than worth it. 

Your heels click with your approach, a steady sound, a confident echo. Before Joe can reach for the cuff links, your fingers are tugging at the collar of the dress shirt that Joe just finished tucking into his pants. You undo the top button. The second one follows suit. “There,” you muse, fingers now trailing down to his wrists. Thankfully his pants are securely zipped now but the delicious points of your new nails make his stomach swirl. Fucking hell if he shouldn’t wish that he could take you now, but he does watching now at every prick of the pointed nail tips.

The gold and red accents are tiny on your nails. Joe watched in fascination as the nail tech attached each nail in the mini lamp, and hand painted on each detail. Her sponge and fingers were covered in gold chrome, red, and blush pink by the end. And your nails sparkled in the glossy finishing coat. Joe watches those same nails now as you work the cuff links into place, mesmerized by how confident you move and how well you manage given the extra fractions of nail that’s not usually there.

“Trying to slut me out?” he teases.

“Not unless you want me to.” The grin is devilish as your eyes cut upwards, a warmth and glitter to them that Joe never wants to see leave them. 

Joe’s not sure if he really wants that, but he loves the lingering gaze, how your eyes rack over his chest just barely peeking out from the undone buttons, like you want to devour him. He’d let you. Joe would let you suck every ounce of himself off his bones and let the marrow of them become broth. It’s insatiable really--a hunger that’s just never fucking satisfied never quieted.  Only locked away. Only tampered down momentarily.

The tug at his sleeves lets Joe know that you’re done, that the cufflinks are assembled and he takes hold of your waist, fingers brushing over the soft material. “And if I ever wanted to?” he whispers. 

“It’s a good thing I only require explicit permission.”

You don’t linger in his hold. You turn instead to grab the suit jacket and Joe lets you go, half aware that the two of you aren’t actually alone. With you, Joe has a habit of forgetting that he’s not always alone. With you, everything else can melt away, fade into the background. He can worry less. It’s addicting. A high that Joe only gets when he’s with you. A high that he only wants with you. 

Joe finds the opening of sleeves and you help drape the jacket over his shoulders. The deep cut of the lapels paired with the now billowed opening of he dress shirt makes Joe feel even taller, the lines echoing each other and elongating his torso. Not that he needs it, but he has to admit it does look good. 

“Buttoned?” Joe starts securing the jacket closed. “Or unbuttoned?” He pops the button and lets the jacket fall open at his side, slipping his hand into the pants pocket. The action gives just a tiny glimmer to the gold watch on his wrist, to match your bracelet. 

“I’m always going to vote unbuttoned if you’re asking me,” you laugh, carefully as you lean into the back of him, as to not get the makeup decorating your face onto the light colored coat. 

Joe wants to ruin that too--make the mascara run, smudge the soft painted lipstick across his cheeks and yours. But not right now. He shouldn’t do it right now. You can see it though, in the way your hands slide across his stomach, dancing dangerously close to the third button. “The way you’re acting I think I’m going to have to go buttoned,” he laughs. 

“I like a challenge.”

In the end, after only a half second decision, Joe leaves the jacket unbutton, knowing he’s never going to put up that much of a fight with you. The car ride is smooth, his hand slipped into yours, your fingers intertwined around his. A comforting weight as the two of you review the game plan--who Joe needs to make sure he talks with, where to go after the awards should the food suck, which side his speech is tucked behind the peaked lapels of his suit jacket. 

“There’s an after party, right?” you ask. 

There’s usually one every year. Joe nods. “I’m sure you’re going to want to get out of those heels first so we can make a pitstop to the hotel first.”

“My hero,” you laugh, easing a kiss to his cheek before you double check for a stain left behind. “No transfer.”

“Damn, and here I was hoping there’d be one.”

“You’ve got me draped around your neck, bubs.”

“One more never hurts.” He shrugs once, and then presses a soft kiss to your temple.

It’s bashing at the back of his teeth, how much Joe really don’t give a fuck about this awards anymore. Not with your perfume dancing in his nose and how you’re pressed into his side. How you look carved by the gods, placed earthside for the kind of myths and legends that will come years from now about your beauty. 

Or at least the stories he’ll tell your kids, and the grandkids and that’ll be just the same.

Joe’s out of the car first, but reaches back inside to take your hand and help you down onto the carpet. The camera’s are bright flashes, only the halos of their bulbs echoing in the red and fading dots of Joe’s vision. He takes a second once you’re stable on the ground to place a few pieces of your hair back into place, straightens out the faux sleeves around your biceps and does a quick swipe at the skirt to keep it behind you, out of your way as you walk. 

“Perfect,” he grins. 

“Thank you, baby.”

The earrings are long to accent the hair style and the bareness of your shoulders. A perfect addition to the bracelet, as they echo the same kind of chain weaving. It’s understated but bold--proclamations draped over both of you of the other. Not possessive as is needing to be claimed, but voracious--a way to boldly announce who the two of you belong to. Freeing and greedy as it is. Your lips on his collar, the bracelet dazzling around your wrists, him on your arm. You belong to each other out of choice, out of desire, out of that insatiable fucking desire.

Joe wouldn’t have it any other way. 

The two of you pose on the markers, inching your way down the red carpet. Joe keeps his hand wrapped yours. “Oop,” you laugh and Joe flashes a glance your way to see you fighting with the skirt. 

“Here, let me,” he whispers and then releases your hand to stand in front. He shimmies the skirt out of the way for you and you fix the top, using his body to hide the moment. 

“Stepped on it when we shuffled sideways.”

“Got it. I’ll lead then. So we have no more mishaps.” Joe waits for you to finish the shifting of the top before taking your hand again and crossing up the carpet to the first interview. 

“God, you two look stunning.” Joe tries to read the name of the mic, to see which platform or outlet this is but catch the name before you express your gratitude. He slides in next to you, ensuring he doesn’t step on the skirt of your dress. 

“And such a gentleman,” the blond haired woman laughs. “I saw that little step mishap and Joe, you just swooped in, like Superman--shielding them from the camera. Very sweet of you.”

“Thanks. Was just the right thing to do,” he returns, his laughter a little stilted. What else was he supposed to do? Leave you hanging? Never that. Not even for a single second. The squeeze of your hand relaxes him though and he lets the comment go--for now. 

“Okay, I have to ask, I know there’s big nominations and categories you’re in, but out of the two of you who came up with this look? I mean it truly, you both look ah-mazing.”

“We have customs from Dior,” Joe answers. “Uh, had to switch it up, bring out the classics. She inspired the vibes. The bracelet,” Joe raises your combined hands to show off the piece of jewelry, “started it all. One of her Pinterest--am I saying that right?”

You nod with a small tuft of laughter escaping you. “Yes, you are.”

“Okay, one of her Pinterest boards and I don’t know, it spoke to me. So, we’re here now. Replicated after a 1960’s piece, right?”

“Yes, the original bracelet is from the 1960’s. But you don’t need me to say all that. You got it.” It’s soft encouragement. Joe knows he knows it, but it’s nice to have your reassurance, that you’re right there for him in the sea of the crowd. 

“Oh, that is gorgeous.” The woman leans in a hair closer to get a look at the details before standing back to her full height. “And so we’ve got a bit of a vintage vibe from the bracelet that’s brought us here, I love that. Talk to me about this kiss print collar though. What is going on there? I know you’re bold with prints--some florals, and vibrant colors with some of those tunnel fits. But this feels like a totally new direction for you.”

Joe shrugs. Knows it’s your lips on his shirt. “Her,” is all he says with a smile. 

“Oh, her idea or her lip print? Which is it?”

“Just her.” 

And that’s all there really is too. It’s all Joe wants to say, because the two of you know what it means. That’s all that matters. You bump into his arm, a gentle brush paired with a teasing grin on your lips. One Joe is sure his smile matches. That part is just for the two of you-a secret that can dance in the words not said.  

The interviewer laughs. “Okay, I get it, I get it. You are stunning. I mean it, so stunning. I can see why Joe is so inspired by you.”

“Thank you,” you return softly to her before the rest of the interview turns to Joe and his nomination. 

And in every interview, Joe is sure to praise you, credit you for the inspiration behind the look and each time there’s a small shared grin, the unstated but clear truth. That Joe is carrying you in all senses of the phrase, proud to show you off. Thrilled and blessed to call you his. The first step inside of the building is an exhale for Joe. Done with the carpet, Joe feels that the breaths come a little bit easier as you cart him around, half a step in front of him as you greet some of the other players and their dates for the evening. 

Here, now, is your time to shine, for you to scan the crowd before depositing the both of you in front of the people Joe said he wanted to talk with before his social battery totally tanked in the evening. And where Joe’s doing most of the talking, your eye is focused, head on a swivel as you greet and chat to a couple people on the side, but always watching him. All Joe has to do is cut his eyes for just a second and there, still next to him is you in those long dangly earrings, your hand still safely tucked into his. 

He’d only need to give your hand two squeezes if he needed an out and you’d swoop in, find something in the room---the refreshment, or the drinks--to get him away from the conversation. Always within arms reach. Resting in his palm and on his shirt, a weight that feels nearly weightless on and next to him, a presence so right that Joe notices when you’re gone. Every step, every conversation, steadier with you next to him. 

You are there, next to him, painted into that gorgeous fucking dress that he keeps looking at, keeps watching the way you move in it. Even just sitting, the material looks like a second skin. He knows it was made for you, sewn to accentuate your figure, but it really does make you look like a goddess, someone to be adored. He’s so distracted that nearly every conversation gets into into falters because he can’t keep his eyes off you. Joe ought to be more ashamed of himself. Yet, he can’t find himself to care. 

You snort as you lean into him. “Your category is next. Should I get a tissue for your drool?” you whisper. 

Joe laughs. “What I need is to talk to you.”

Your shoulders drop, where you’d be sitting with your back arched perfectly, you recline back. “Then talk to me,” you urge, flicking your gaze up at him. “Tell me all the things you’d do.”

Caught--like he knew he would be. “I’ve got quite a few things in mind.” The announcer starts to call out the new category and Joe exhales, knowing he needs to stay focused for the camera that's going to pan over to him. “But first, the show must go on.”

“Won’t be too much longer,” you promise, your voice low, dripping with authority and sticky with the timbre of your desire. An octave that makes Joe’s stomach jump. 

He shifts, sits up a little bit in his seat, catching the pan of the camera. Joe peers into the lens for a moment and smiles but can feel that carving gaze--the look you give where you’re smiling, looking through your lashes like you’ve got a fucking secret. And you do. Joe does too, even if it’s stitched onto his chest for all the world to see. 

He hears his name, catches the way your hand slips out of his to clap. But the thing that rattles in Joe’s ears, well after he’s climbed the steps, and slipped the speech out of his left breast pocket is the simple sentence you whispered to him in the tight and brief hug the two of you shared on his way to the stage, “You make me so proud, baby.”

Joe can barely read his speech. Even if he was the one trying to start it, asking for it, it never ceases to rattle him how quickly, how easily you can make him crumble. How all it takes is just one look, one phrase and Joe’s no more than a collection of atoms and cells, liquified. But Joe’s well practiced, has played a dangerous game like this before. He takes an inhale, gets through the speech, takes his award and walks backstage, watching you the entire way. 

Because you’ll find him. Like you always do. You know how to sneak out from the crowd, weave your way through to the back. You’ll roll your shoulders back. No one can really say no to you; it’s not just Joe who's weak to the magnetic pull, the charm, the confidence. You could charm a snail out of its shell. Joe poses for a few pictures, blinks back the flash of the bulb in his vision. He is proud of himself too, but likes knowing he makes you proud too.  

“So handsome.”

Joe looks up to see you, like you blossomed out of the flash of light--one moment not there and then the next spontaneously you appear. Like he blinked you into existence. 

“I couldn’t compare to you.” It’s soft and falls without Joe really thinking when he takes in your visage again. 

“Good thing there’s no competition here.”

Joe doesn’t care about an after party anymore. The second he’s alone with you again, the award safely tucked away to be shipped to him later and the two of you climb back into the SUV, Joe doesn’t give a single fuck about the after party. Not with the soft graze of your nails over his calloused palms, not with the soft murmur of your voice against the shell of his ear, the drag of your lips making his spine shiver. “You said you had a few things in mind earlier, still need to talk to me?”

It’s a fleeting thought, that Joe should be more careful, more mindful of the driver. But there’s a hot wisp of your breath, the sharp delicious points of your nails. There’s no thoughts, just Joe turning and laying claim to your mouth with his. His hands cupping your jaw. The kiss is tainted with the bitter edge of your lipstick, but fuck does Joe love it. 

Loves the rumble of your laughter from your chest as you slip your fingers into the hair at the  nape of his neck. Joe loves the way you scratch at the peak of his chest exposed by the undone top two buttons. He fucking loves that you recline back into the seat, body turned sideways. The move pulls him up in his seat. 

“That’s not an answer,” you laugh as you push him back down, tracing along the prints on his collar. 

What Joe needs is you, legs draped over or against his shoulders, the heels, and the earrings, and the bracelet still resting against your body and the heat of nothing but sinful desire. An elixir of both your arousals seeping onto the sheets that Joe would be nearly tempted to eat up himself. 

But his lips won’t cooperate. Not until you grab his chin, forcing his eyes onto yours. “Tell me.”

It all comes up in hushed whispers against your cheek. “Want your makeup ruined,” Joe starts, voice rough and ragged. “Want to make sure your body can never forget me.” Because your mind won’t--Joe knows that. Know you couldn’t forget him. He inhales, hand sliding to your waist. But he wants to ruin you, run you into and through the mattress, make you writhe beneath him, chant his name over and over again. Decorate your shoulders in the bites that he’s wearing.  

You arch up into the touch, the softest of sighs leaving your throat as he teases over your stomach. He continues, a raspy whisper against your cheek, “Want it to be fair. Because if I’m pretty when you make me cry, then Jesus fucking Christ, you’re going to be gorgeous when I make you cry, leave streaks across your cheeks because it feels that good. And it should be fair, right?”

Your fingers dig into his jaw, pulls his face back from the press of your cheek. “We’re not making a damn after party. Tell me we’re not going.”

Explicit permission. “We’re not going to a fucking after party.”

The second the lock latches beneath him, the dam breaks. The fissures leaked in the car ride. The concrete crumbled in the elevator, teasing nips and soft long kisses. But the moment the door clicks behind Joe, there’s no more reason for self control. No more reason to pretend that he’s something more than just a man. 

Only a man. But he’s your man and by God, he is going to tear you asunder. Leave both of you bare and empty, breathless and relieved. You drop a few inches and Joe shakes his head. “No, the heels stay on.”

“Oh, is that so?”

Joe kneels, helps you back into the shoe as you use his shoulders to stay steady. His hands are full of you, his face pressed into your lower abdomen, hands full of your hips, Joe inhales, catches just the faintest whisper of your arousal--and he moans. Such a pitiful sound before it cracks his chest. He kisses at the dips in your pelvic over the fabric, pulls you in closer and closer and closer to him. 

The skirt is long but Joe’s not deterred as he pushes it up and up drapes what he can over his head before he sinks his teeth into the meat of your inner thighs. Your step goes wobbly above him, his name falling from your lips in a shaky exhale. He soothes the ache with the swipe of his tongue and pushes up on his knees, nose brushing over the crotch of your panties as he goes. 

It’s damp, and there with another deep pulled inhale is the smell of you. Sings out to him, makes all the noise in his head go quiet. Just you, the heat of your body against the cold hotel air. And him.

You and him like it’s always meant to be. 

Joe grabs the band of your panties with his teeth and pulls them down until they hit your knees and then he rolls them down with his fingers, eases the material over your heeled feet. Tongue licking over the whole over you, not between the slit, but over you, a mess waiting to be consumed. 

“Joe, fucking hell.” It’s heaved over your chest, a little muffled, but the grip tightens on his shoulders. 

That’s what he wanted to hear. That’s what he needed. Just you, the whine over your chest, the way his name falls in two parts instead of one. He teases the sensitive skin with the tips of his fingers, up and up, and up until he’s peeling open the center of you, tongue darting up and in before he pushes up to circle your clit. 

“Oh, shit,” you heave again. “Oh, fuck.”

Over and over and over, he laps from you, darts at a time, teases. Not enough to make you sink into pleasure, but just enough to rattle your edges. Just enough to make you sweat. Your knees shake on either side of his head and Joe’s laughing, he’s fucking laughing at how much he loves making you weak in the knees, loves letting himself be used like this. Of volition and with honor. 

But he doesn’t take you over. Not yet, can tell by the way your thighs clench and how your arousal drips down onto his chin that your pussy is aching for more, but not yet. It takes a solid minute for Joe to fish himself out of the fabric but when he’s free, and he sees the shattered look on your face, not upset, just wrecked, he knows the night’s just begun. 

The zipper on the dress is thankfully accessible from his kneeled position as he has you turn, your back to him now. Joe is slow to take it down, inch by inch exposing your skin to the frigid air of the hotel room. Goose bumps litter your spine and Joe kisses them down, over each of your vertebrae. 

He unearths you. Slips your arms free. Peels the dress off you inch by inch. Takes your flesh between his teeth as he reveals more and more of you to him. Until the dress is a puddle and there’s only you—bare except for the earrings, bracelet, and heels. 

Joe can’t help himself. Your breathing hard and shaky, the anticipation making you relax into his palms rather than tensing when he runs his hands up your outer thighs. 

“I need you to lay back on the bed for me. Don’t do anything else. Okay?” He breathes the words into the arch of your spine, hands still roaming over your stomach. 

“You can sound more confident than that.” 

Joe exhales, mouth opening to take another graze at the dip in your lower back. Knows he can be more domineering. But god, the grovel in your voice makes his mind blue screen. And all he can do is groan at the command—knows that’s what is is that you want him to do. Joe pushes up, resting his weight on his knees again, chest pressing into your back. His fingers dance between your folds, circling your clit as he goes. Watches more and more of your body melting into him. And he finally, after hearing the sweet shuddered moan that erupts from you, finds his voice and mind again. 

“Lay back on the bed and do not do a single thing else.” His voice is thick but firm.

You step out of his hold wordlessly and take the four or five steps to the bed gracefully, kneeling into the mattress. An arch in your back that fills his vision with the globes of your ass, the back of your thighs, the tensing muscles of your shoulders and triceps and calves. All dancing in the haloed moonlight through the still opened blinds. 

The suit jacket is easy to peel out off, thanks to the earlier decision to leave it unbuttoned. Joe pulls himself up off the floor and watches you. You lay against the pillows, hips tilted so that your legs lay in an a jagged angles—like you’d been sleeping in your side, and turned but only your shoulders. One leg lays further down on the bed than the other. 

The cuff links hitting the dresser the TV is on brings your attention from the window back to Joe. He rolls the sleeves up, taking another button out of the loop. “You’re beautiful, you know that right?” He asks, working the button of his pants open and the zipper down. 

“I know.”

“And you know that when I’m done with you you’ll still be beautiful right?” 

You grin, turning your hips in alignment with your spine again. It’s slow, never an inch hurried or rushed as you ease open your legs to Joe. Your arousal shines in the dark. He can follow the trail of it over your inner thighs, what slips down behind you and below to the sheets. “Let’s find out shall we?”

Joe slips himself out of the shoes, eases the pants down and that’s all he has the time for. All he has the mind for because that soft challenge in your voice itches the scratch. Drives him absolutely wild. It’s only inches but they feel like miles before he lays his mouth on you, drags from bottom to top with the tip of his tongue and Joe doesn’t need another thought to devour you. 

All he needs is him. And the sweet sounds you make. The dig of your nails into his shoulders. The click of your heels when your ankles meet at his back. You’ve locked him in and Joe has nowhere to go or to want go. 

Your first orgasm rips through you, a long and low sound. He keeps his fingers at a steady push, in and out, not faster than before and not slower, knows even as your pussy clenched around him and you hiss that you can’t handle it that you can. 

“No, no, don’t take me out,” Joe urges, watching you take hold of his wrist. “You’ll miss me if you do.”

“Fucking hell,” you heave, easing up on the grip. “Swear I’ll cum again if you keep up.”

Joe grins, drags his nose back down the seam of your pelvis before sucking at your clit again. Because that’s what he wants. Just wants orgasm after orgasm from you. 

Your hips rut up to meet his tongue. Joe ruts his hips into the sheets, his cock aching but knows he can’t give you that just yet. He will, but the delicious taste of you, the tug of his hair by your palm, keep him hypnotized. 

The second orgasm quakes through you. A hiss pressed through your teeth. His name lost between the “shit I’m—,” and the dragged out “Goddamn”. 

“Such a beautiful pussy. God, just look at it,” Joe heaves, pulling you open with both his hands. It’s only a small reprieve, just enough of a break to bring you back to your body, let you reconnect with yourself before he goes back for more. That and it is a rather divine sight, how could he not take a moment to savor this? 

He teases his fingers along the edges, not inside just at the puffy rim. Feels your pussy clench at his touch. Your back arching off the bed with a sharp gasp from your lips. Joe ruts again into the mattress. God, you’d feel so fucking good on his cock. But how can he deny himself such an exquisite sight of you open, clenching, and dripping wet for him. 

The glob of spit surprises even Joe—doesn’t know where the thought started and when the action took over but he spits all the same, swirling it around in your sensitive nub. “Oh God. Joe, I can’t. Shit I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.” A broken sound. You chant it over and over. “I can’t,” you whine. 

“You can. I know you can. Please.” He needs it. Another orgasm from you, the shuttered and broken sound of you begging. 

“Baby, please,” you huff, the ending of the word swallowed up by the cracking sob. “Joe, please. I can’t. I can’t.”

“Please. One more. Just one more,” he begs into your crotch, nipping at the seam of your pelvis, dragging his lips towards your inner thighs. “For me. I know you can. Please.” There’s just the center of you, ripe, puffy, and open for him. He teases another lick over you, just barely touching and you hiss, though your center quakes, clenching on the flat of his tongue. “She’s begging for it. I know I am.”

It’s a laugh, but it’s swallowed up by a sob too. The utterly broken and choked sound. It goes straight to Joe’s cock, makes his own chest rumble with the satisfied moan at the sound. “Fuck, God.”

Joe eases himself up, heart thundering in his chest as he goes, kisses over your thighs, over your stomach and there in the soft hue of the moon, he spots something glistening on your cheeks. “God,” he groans, dropping his head into your throat for just a brief moment. Joe continues on to kiss over your cheeks. “That’s it.” His stomach swirls, hips still covered in his boxer briefs rutting into yours. 

“Please, baby, I can give you one more. Just need you close. You can do that, right? Stay closer to me.”

Your fingers are already dancing though at his buttons, popping that third one completely. Then the fourth. The tips are still sharp and Joe loves that you dig them into his muscle. His mouth falls open against yours, harsh exhales feeding each other. “Yeah,” Joe agrees. “I can stay close to you.”

The shirt falls open but neither you or Joe make moves behind that to rid him of the item. Instead, Joe seals your mouth into a kiss--salty thanks to the tears that have streaked down your cheeks. His hips, clothed and his cock still tucked away, still rock against your core. Each minute movement makes you whimper. A soft and throaty sound. Joe can’t get enough of it, wants to hear it over and over, until he’s fucking you without actually being in you, just the material and his hips pressing into your overly sensitive clit. 

Your nails dig into his ribs, pricks of fire, like spurs in his skin. All that to make him rut into you harder. The sound of your orgasm choked in your throat, body spasming beneath him. Joe doesn’t stop, not even with the bite of your teeth into his shoulder, through the shirt. It might bruise. The action does hurt, but Joe doesn’t care. Can only focus on you, and the way you sob beneath him. The way you sob for him. 

“Baby, shit, so good,” you cry. “So good to me.”

“Can I get even closer?” Joe whispers into your ear. 

“You can have it all,” you laugh. “But tell me first, can I give you a matching set?” Your lips drag along his throat. He knows what you’re asking. “You looked so pretty today with my kisses all over your shirt.”

“Somewhere I can hide it please.”

That’s all you need, you push up, lips latching to his left pec, rip in the dip of his breastbone, over his heart. And it’s messy, teeth, and tongue, and it feels so good. Feels so fucking good. It feels even better when Joe bottoms out into you. He won’t last. God, he couldn’t. But that fix--Joe needed that fix of you, the warmth of you wrapped around his cock. The way you take him like he’s built for you, like he was carved and left on this earth just for fucking you. 

Billowed shirt and all, Joe drives his hips into yours, chases down the feeling of you, the sound of your choked moans, wonders what the pillow looks like, if it’s streaked like he wanted. He hadn’t ruined your shoulders like he wanted, too focused on your pussy, but there’s always next time. There’s always time. His orgasm hits him fast with little prompting, didn’t need much help given all his dry humping earlier. Joe drops his head into shoulder and grazes his teeth over the bone, a raggedy and long moan punching over his chest. 

Your skin is warm and the room is cool. 

There’s two distinct clunks to the floor and then your toes are brushing over his hips and he knows it was your heels. Your nails run along his scalp. The smell of you is glued to his nostrils--your arousal, the humidity of your sweat, the prickings of your perfume still attempting to put up a fight. 

No words are needed immediately as the two of you stay wrapped up in each other. Until you sniffle and then Joe drags his head up from your neck. He’s slow, careful as he pulls himself out of you, knows there’s definitely an ache settling in for you. Just like there is for him, the spots at his ribs and chest are still throbbing from your work. Joe eases over and flicks on the bedside lamp. 

Your cheeks are a mess of mascara and streaked foundation. If it didn’t hurt bad, Joe’s sure he could get hard again. You laugh though. “Proud of yourself?”

“Very,” Joe whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

It’s all slow and sluggish afterwards. Joe peels off the bed first, helps you up next. The shower is wide and the water gets hot fast thankfully. You kiss his skin under the hot shower, working the washcloth over his back. Joe’s careful as he helps remove the makeup, gentle around your eyes with the spare white cloth.

Under the sheets, cozy in his pj pants and you in an old t-shirt, baggy and boxy over your body, you two face each other. Joe’s arm over your waist, your leg threaded through his. “How bad is the mark?” Joe asks, lips brushing over your forehead. 

“My best work,” you laugh. “You need anything? I’d have it room serviced because I think my legs will need 12 hours to re-solidify.”

Joe’s laughter is breathy and spacey. He wants to kiss you again, say thank you, like he always does and likes to do, so that you know he’s never taking you for granted. But he’s not sure he gets it out. There’s a whisper, but he doesn’t catch the words. Wouldn’t know if it was your voice or if it was is at this point. Joe’s not even sure he gets an answer out to your question either. Just sinks and lets the steady brush of your knuckles over his chest lull him under.

[suziwest-dresscollection]

[sweetlyfez]

As I promised @elodieunderglass (ty for the reminder), pictures of my finished (ish) crazy quilted notebook covers.

If you haven't previously heard of crazy quilting, it was a HUGE craze among housewives in the late 19th century, which revolved around patchworking and appliqueing together irregularly shaped fabric scraps and then embellishing the shit out of them.

I embarked on this project because after filing away the idea of crazy quilts from a coffee table book my spouse picked up in a charity shop a year or so ago, I saw a couple of people on youtube sharing their work; and because I needed covers for my next junk journal.

I cleaved pretty close to the base principles of the style - using precious scraps, making as much of them as possible, and creating a canvas for lots of embroidered embellishment. These two 5x7ish pieces barely used up any volume of my accumulated scraps so there will be more crazy quilting in my future, once I think of ways to make use of it.

I'm very pleased with how the compositions came together, and it was lots of fun picking the embroidery thread colours to speak to all the different patches. Actually the whole things was stupid fun and I worked on barely any other projects or, in fact, chores while Iw as working on it. Next time I will probably match the weight of my fabrics more closely (mostly bc the velvets have made things lumpier than I'd have liked), and I'll prewash the old bits retrieved from my nan's sewing box bc when I rinsed the embroidery pen out from the wild rose piece the pink bled and I was quite lucky it was mostly synthetic patches around it.

Under the cut for an inventory of scraps used (all out of stash)

"love" embroidery, from a magazine kit released ca 2018/19

orange & pink flower print, velvets, floral corduroy, ribbon, and pink twill all from my Nan's sewing box

Pink silk leftover from my wedding dress, flower print and the translucent silk the spider is mounted on from a scrap bag - all from Beckford silks (they don't carry the scrap bags on their website but they're well worth a visit in person if you're in the neighbourhood)

The other printed silk was a tunic of mine which stood up poorly to wear

Blotchy yellow and rust silk from a natural printing demo

Green corduroy and black flower print viscose from Will's sewing projects

Blue and fuchsia check from my old pjs

planets print quilting cotton bought for a hat band from the remnants bin of the friendly local fabric shop

green leaf ribbon leftover from an Audrey ii costume

[blackvanillababe]

<< Through the pain, gotta show 'em, give 'em light

Still family if you're wrong or you're right

No matter, we together

It's not somethin' that you wanna do, it's just somethin' you goin' through>>

[bmbidoll]

𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫

soloist!baekhyun x f!reader

synopsis: baekhyun had his four year girlfriend break up with him, which left him without a true sense of direction. he'd only find it when another woman led the way, he just didn't know it was straight to hell.

content: 4,8k words, smut with a sprinkle of fluff, angst, and a little horror. but basically pwp. based on this moodboard.

author's notes: helloooo! this is my first fanfic posted on tumblr, I do hope you enjoy it!! the only thing I'll request is patience since I'm a fairly new writer ♡

041724 update: thank you so much for your love on this fic and on SPORTSCAR !! i have posted another one based on military!baekhyun, check it out! thinkin bout you ♡

most if not all of my content will be gravitated towards mature audiences, so minors are a no no! please have an age indicator when you interact!! thank you, and enjoy your reading!!!

warnings: dom and sub undertones leaning (barely) towards femdom, hooking up, marking, power play, mutual pining, oral sex m!receiving, cumplay, hair pulling, choking, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, pet names, slight degradation, creampie, oral fixation, brief mention of violence.

baekhyun, at thirty years old, was used to being in control — except for when he wasn't.

his 4 year girlfriend and future bride left him and his sense of control momentarily shattered, breaking up with him after weeks of continuous misunderstandings, lashing out in a final ultimatum of separation, destroying his engagement plans. still, he was above feelings when his career was at play, and although being in events on his own made him feel out of place, he needed to distract himself.

at least he thought he could.

the party in itself was a blur, and baekhyun couldn't even bother to decipher what sizzling drink was in his hand when he traded pleasantries with random people. meaningless exchanges in his view. it did mostly nothing to sooth his emotional numbness, making him stand in a corner with an anxious frown, not even his new hairstyle did much to make him feel better. he'd much rather mope at home or in a presence of a friend who actually gave a shit about him. that's when baekhyun felt your gaze.

it was like thermal shock, an extreme shiver that made his whole body alert and his hair stand. a gnawing feeling that caught to his heart like a deer in headlights, which made him look around in discreet fright, looking for what, or more so who, was watching him. it felt supernatural, like he could feel an invisible target being put on his back. his pulse rose and his stomach felt bothered in a grip of anxiousness, yet it was even more unexplainable when he found the source.

it couldn't be you, his mind didn't accept it. how could someone with such soft features and bright eyes be the owner of a gaze akin to danger? when you smiled, talking to someone next to you, he thought it was just his mind tricking him, that such feeling couldn't come from you.

but when your eyes found his again, his pupils dilated at the force of your dark dominance. you finally stood, drink in hand, as you looked away in a playful, almost mocking grin when baekhyun took your frame in. you were tall, ever more so in your louboutins. your draped, off the shoulder dress did much too little to cover your long legs, almost like a bodysuit. your arms were surrounded by viscose panels that went as long as over your thighs, and baekhyun almost couldn't quite catch you leaving the main area, too focused on your curves before you crossed a pillar.

he meakly cleared his throat, standing straight from the corner he was leaning, in order to shy away from attention, to go after you. baekhyun didn't know the reason, but for all he cared, he didn't need one. too sick of this party from the moment he arrived. he wanted something — anything, really, to take his bothered mind away from her. away from his mistakes, from what he mistook his ex partener to be. yet it was obvious you weren't anything like her, and maybe it was just what he needed.

he followed you discreetly, going through the endless hallways and stairways of the luxurious venue with his eyes focused on your shadow in the red lights. it made the darkness feel almost demonic, in a way, like you were taking him to hell. something that baekhyun, at this point, wouldn't even mind.

until you weren't ahead of him anymore, disappearing from his sight. he cursed for his lack of awareness, before a dark, womanly voice appeared from behind him.

"are you looking for something, baekhyun?" the voice spoke, laced with wickedness.

his jaw clenched and his eyes widened as he turned around to face you with shocked irritation.

"what the fuck... where did you—" you didn't let him finish, "you were following me." you said, smirking knowingly, tilting your head in an almost condescending look.

one could already see a glint of defensiveness displayed on baekhyun's dark eyes. "you were staring at me." he spoke lowly, feigning angerness to mask his rapid heart that was much too frightened over your presence for his liking. "what do you want...?" he added, fighting for composure.

even the mere sound of your voice could make his hands get clammy in anticipation. it scared him.

you could only hold your grin. "I don't think it's me who wants anything..." your eyes darting in assessment of his black suit. "at least, not that much to follow you around like a stalker."

the singer only bristled, not entirely buying your excuse, wary as much as he was attracted to your womanliness. and, to his irritation, you didn't stand on the same spot for too long, walking away slowly around the halls.  he picked up his steps to walk beside you with a dry swallow, his eyes shooting daggers as much as they felt intrigued.

"who are you and what do you want with me?" he bristled, demanding in something one could sense as eagerness, even if he didn't want to admit it.

"I'm not looking for trouble, byun baekhyun." you said, almost making him lose his composure again at the usage of his full name. he gulped, trying not to stare at her as they crossed past the venue's hotel rooms, vacant in expense of the important events. "but you must be looking for something, I saw the way you stared at me." his voice was accusing, almost cocky in a way that served as bait.

"and how did I stare at you, stalker?" you finally faced him beside you, quite sick of his questions.

"I'm not a stalk—" he huffed as you interrupted him to push him to a wall.

baekhyun widened his eyes at realization of your position, and he had to admit, it was a first. not only because of your roughness, but also because of the power play, where he usually had the upper hand. he had to swallow in order to not appear fazed, although your supernatural attractiveness made it difficult to not subdue.

"what do you want, baekhyun?" you said, highlighting the 'you' with the raise of your chin as you crossed his personal space slowly, your gaze fervently acknowledging his, whom didn't know where to stare back, jumping between your eyes and your red lips. one of your hands stayed on his firm chest as the other stayed beside his hip, your wrist in close contact to his side.

"fuck— I..." he stuttered, clearly not used to being in this spot, making you smile again.

"you're so cute when you stutter." you said lowly. "let's change the question, shall we? Is there anything I can do for you?"

baekhyun clenched his jaw as he shut his eyes, the image that you painted on the impulsive side of his mind quite clear on his lids, while his rational side thought of his recent heartache. "I don't know... I don't really know anything about you." he said, worrying about where he got himself into. he wasn't one for impulsive decisions, and he was quite proud of it. it's just that with the tugging feeling on his chest, he felt even more torn.

"you don't have to. it's clear you don't really want to get to know anyone right now."  you replied, as if reading his mind.

and you were right. there wasn't anything clear on his mind about his life after his failed relationship. his only certainties laid on his work, and his eyebags showed he could use something different. someone different.

"I-I don't think I should—" baekhyun was shushed before he could finish, feeling his guard completely mush while you cooed and whispered 'its okay's, leaning closer to his face. his eyes finally opened again, turning droopy and his eyebrows raised gently, like a puppy.

you grabbed his hand and slowly motioned it to your face, his mole trembling with his lips that quivered in an obvious encantation. "see? I'm real..." you whispered knowingly as his unfocused dark eyes rushed through your supernatural face, pleading. "and I could give you something to sooth your body." your cheek was incredibly warm against his usually cold hands, making him flutter his lids with darker pupils. as his resolve was completely crumpled like humid paper.

"can I have you...?" baekhyun whispered, almost unsure of his wish and of how much power he actually had in this quiet altercation of control.

"the question, baekhyun," you started, your voice smooth and clear as his appearance made you curl your lips slightly. "is whether or not I want to have you."

"and do you?" he asked instantly, almost blushing in his eagerness as he frowned in confusion, pouting. one could almost fall for his innocent face, but something in you knew better, already expecting his switch as he cleared his throat. his eyes turned into a more controlled version of his drive as he darkened his tone with ease.

capturing your waist with a firm grip, he whispered in your ear with his known velvet voice, "I will make you want me, angel."  but you were no angel. not at all. and baekhyun probably knew that when he smelled your perfume, sending shivers through your body as he breathed onto your neck. "fuck, you smell like dessert."

you could only exhale, biting your own lip to contain the curl of your smirk as you felt his lust emanating from him. just from his presence alone. with calculated composure, you removed his hand from your waist to sway back into the crimson darkness, opening one of the unused bedrooms of the expensive hotel that was used as a venue, sneaking under his gaze.

baekhyun had to gulp to not simply barge in and press you against the door, knowing it wouldn't work quite like that with a woman like you. his expensive saint laurent dress shoes clicked as he walked into your planned out trap, one he was glad to be caught.

you pushed your hand through his curly, black strands from his perm as he stood in front of you. "i want you..." he whispered, closing his eyes again in goosebumps of your long nails grazing his scalp. gently walking him backward to the bed, you made him sit, his legs spreading to receive your presence between them with ease. your hands controlling his head as it tilted against your control.

"strip for me." you commanded, making him open his darkened eyes in surprise.

"what...?" baekhyun smiled nervously, sensing no kidding from you when he looked up to your unamused expression. "that's not how this... usually works, angel..."

you could only scoff at the nickname, almost rolling your eyes in amusement before resuming your imposing stare. "and am I your usual?"

that seemed to shut him up for a second, his eyes turning shy as he gulped, already expressing his answer.

"here's how this is going to work, byun baekhyun." your voice said as your hand traversed through his hair, lowering to his cheek. "if you want me, you're going to have to play by my rules. otherwise, I can simply walk out of this room and pretend I haven't even met you. and trust me," you leaned to his ear, "I can do a damn good job at finding someone who will play by my rules and be grateful to do it." punctuating your whispered with a lick behind the cartilage.

baekhyun only sighed, able to catch a glimpse of the roundness of your ass as you were leaning forward, which made his urge to assert control dim, too desperate in his lust to refuse such deal. in all honesty, he hasn't gotten any action for a whole month since his relationship soured.

"so I'll only say this one more time, baekhyun. strip for me." you commanded, standing straight once again to see him display a silent nod, removing his expensive suit jacket to reveal his panelled tank top that followed suit, his slim abdomen clenching at the cold air.

you didn't give him much time to think about his pants, kissing him for the first time that night in a mix of patience and softness. it made him push his head upward in demand, flicking his tongue against your closed, plush lips. baekhyun was briefly shushed, whining beautifully as you pulled his hair from his nape. "be patient, I want you to remember everything I give you tonight." your voice said as you lowered your body between his legs, meeting his needy looks with a small grin.

he breathed ragged, quiet gasps in a disheveled manner, as if trying not to assert his way too soon. "you're taking your sweet ass time... I don't have that."

"make time. you already look desperate for this, when I haven't even kissed you properly, dog." you said, imposing again, making him widen his eyes when you tugged his matching black pants with roughness and didn't even bother to glance at the small damp spot on his briefs, immediately using your palm to coax grunts and curses from him. "what is it, hm? you like being called a dog?" your smooth voice teased with a hint of a grin, as your fingers enclosed on his clothed, girthy, angry length that was close to peek around the waistband of his boxers, that aren't able to cover its size in its full hardness.

you want to stare and admire all the veins that coursed through it, feeling your own heat act up from how much you could get enamored to such a perfect manhood, but you wouldn't give him the pleasure of knowing these thoughts. he whined again when you squeezed the tip, coaxing more precome to stain the fabric of his boxers.

"is this for me, baekhyunie?" you teased, biting off your grin as you looked up to his face to see him huffing, his hips thrusting onto your hand for even the slightest friction. due to not getting a response, you squeezed harder, making him tremble in a grunt. "I'm talking to you, dog. I expect responses."

baekhyun whined, "fuck— yes! that's all for you, angel! god— please! just touch me more!" he panted, making you sizzle in satisfaction as you pressed your thighs together.

standing up to lean forward, you kept your hand on his already throbbing bulge. "you're such a good boy for me. can you raise your hips for me? let's free your cock, shall we?" you smiled devilishly as you stared at his unfocused expression of lip bites and moans.

baekhyun promptly obliged, gasping as his aching need sprung and hit his stomach. you could feel saliva pooling under your tongue from just how sinful his everything was. the tip was red and slightly darker than the rest of his length, covered in precome that oozed easily at each of its pulse, dripping with a slight curve to the left.

your hand was quick to work him with awe, your thumb meeting your middle finger in its base before moving up and finding its slit, smearing it slowly all over your palm. he couldn't really keep quiet, thrusting upwards, making a mess of both himself and your hand. so your left one found his throat and slightly choked him to stop his erratic movements, earning another set of his wide eyes, as he stuck his tongue out to breathe properly around your grip on both his neck, and cock. "what the fuck— angel, please!" baekhyun murmured, strained.

you only extended your smeared palm to his face with calm eyes, even if your aching center was anything but calm. he seemed to catch on your wish, and although he wanted to argue and retain dignity, he already had his tongue lapping onto your right hand, attempting to clean the mess he did. it was something unusual for him. everything about this was, actually. he swallowed his own precome, feeling exhilarated from how much he actually enjoyed it. so you rewarded him with your weight on his lap, therefore he could watch you suck your own thumb to taste him, and then crash both your lips together in a messy, arguably desperate, tongue kiss.

your clothed center found his bare one as you kissed, making him tug the sides of your dress up. he wanted you naked and around him as soon as humanly possible, but you couldn't just give him what you both wanted, even if you also wanted it badly.

you pushed him to the bed, making his back hit the mattress with an audible puff from his lungs, attacking him with wet kisses that started on his neck. he didn't know where to put his hands, and his putty brain didn't even have the composure to reject your open marks around his adam's apple, moaning softly at your full-on bites.

he loved the roughness. the attention just enough to make him squirm as it trailed down towards his pale collarbone, his nipple, his soft abdomen, and finally, his inner thigh. you grabbed his wrists and held them together in one hand, forcefully holding him, so that you maintained control even when your mouth found the head of his cock, making him moan louder. "fuck! what the fuck!? angel?!" he panted, physically trembling when you sucked his seeping from the tip.

you took your time, looking up to his face before withdrawing your mouth to speak. "listen here. no hands on my head, no thrusting upwards, and eyes on me. do you understand, dog?"

"yes, yes ma'am— holy—" baekhyun gasped in interruption as your flattened tongue enveloped the underside of him, making him sputter gibberish as you slowly took his cock, inch by inch. you'd comment on the name he used, but chose to allow it.

you had to close your eyes for a brief moment, even if you didn't want to, to just feel how much baekhyun filled your mouth and how much you actually enjoyed it. it almost hit the back of your throat, slightly straining your jaw. your closed eyes opened to his, almost pained, lustful, fucked out expression. his lips were red and swollen from his biting. his whole face was flushed, his temples had droplets of sweat and his perm hair was all over the place.

if you didn't already want to suck him off just for your own pleasure, you certainly wanted it for his, already starting in a somewhat quick pace to ease both of your flaming desperateness with quick bobs, fighting the reflex to gag as you relished in the feeling and breathed through your nose.

baekhyun, on the other end, fought the urge to roll his eyes, finally receiving too much stimulation that was already denied. frying his thoughts that could only sputter 'angel', like a prayer. but the battle was lost when your nails scratched his abs, making him ready to coum. "fuck! I'll c-come! I'll come in your—" you withdrew suddenly, essentially denying his high, making him almost cry. you could only smile breathlessly as you stood up, your hands working on the zipper of your dress.

"I'm sorry, puppy... I'm so sorry. you were so good... I'll make it better, hm?" you said after dropping both your dress and panties, straddling his messed up self.

"I really—" baekhyun panted soft whines, "wanna... cuss the shit out of you... right now." making you chuckle in adoration.

"i'll reward you, okay?" you put his hands on your rear, where he squeezed roughly. "have it your way, hm?" you murmured, making him essentially grunt.

"are you sure...?" baekhyun breathlessly asked, reeling from the edge. you smiled, wanting to take care of him.

"yes, touch me," you said, guiding his hand to your already slick folds, his eyes unfocused as he started feeling the warmth you radiated. it took mere milliseconds for baekhyun to find your clit, his thumb feeling the way it swelled in anticipation, making you moan.

"fuck... you're drenched..." he murmured, rubbing your center in a tantalizing manner. "do you enjoy treating me like your plaything? did it make you this wet for me?"

"shut up and touch me already!" you whined, slightly flush, receiving two digits all at once as he chuckled. "so feisty, angel..."

it was hard not to clench all over his long fingers that searched desperately for your spot, your body already moving along his wrist, moaning as he curled them inside of you. baekhyun grunted at the tight grip you held on him, biting his lower lip to contain his wish to just mess you up. "so damn tight... I can't wait to feel you..."

it was like that for a few minutes before you decided you had enough, not wanting to come before you felt his full length inside of you. you positioned on top of him, making him shudder as you sucked on his fingers diligently, making him moan.

"fuck, angel..." baekhyun breathed when you grabbed him, finally sinking onto his thick, large cock, biting your lip to conceal your moans as both of you saw stars. him, from the orgasm denial. and you, from your own self torture.

"oh god— I won't last even a minute with your tightness, holy shit!" he hissed as each last bit of him settled within your walls, knocking down your composure as you hummed deliciously.

"you can move now... please..." you murmured, your eyes closed at the mere feeling of him completely inside.

"ah, so now it's 'please'?" baekhyun glared at your face being close to his before snapping his hips in a manner that hit you deeply, making you both groan.

"don't fucking... push it." you grunted, opening your eyes to match his lust. your body enveloped with his as you straddled him, already meeting his forceful thrusts.

"you're the one—" he plunged upwards, "who said... I earned it... so I'll fucking take it." baekhyun bristled, moving in a deep, slow manner.

you could almost smile blissfully at the overwhelmingly full manner he filled you, almost as if you should be the one to beg for it, the one who's lucky to have it. your hips swayed along his pace, somewhat circling his long, pulsating length. "do you like this, angel? fuck— you take it so well, princess." baekhyun breathes through grunts as his blunt nails graze your hips. "like you were made to take my cock."

"god, shut the fuck up." you growled, choking him, which somehow made him throb even more, his eyes rolling to the back at each movement, his breathing cut as he muttered.

"g-gonna—" baekhyun strained breathlessly, "come—" completely within your mercy as you moved towards his ear. "come for me, puppy."

it was in an instant, his seed shooting deep inside you, which made you release his neck in pure pleasure, moaning. you could swear you'd come just from being filled up by him, as if his own ecstasy filled you with elation.

baekhyun panted, still thrusting "ah, fuck... you're so good... too good... I usually last longer." it made you giggle slightly.

"are you tired? do you need a break?" you whispered close to his face, staring at the way he recomposed with you, but yelped as he suddenly rolled you both, still inside.

"are you fucking kidding? no way." baekhyun snapped his hips once, making his come drip on your thighs from the abbrasiveness of his still hard length within, stealing a whimper from you. "you're gonna take me till you pass out, angel."

you could barely take in on his words when you felt a subtle touch on your pussy, focusing your eyes to find his index between your faces, coated in a filthy mix of both of your milky juices. your vision turned dizzy when he licked it without hesitation, letting it sit on his tongue that was right above your mouth.

the message was clear, and you opened it to let it drip onto your tongue before you lip locked again, baekhyun resuming sharp thrusts on your loud cunt.

it felt utterly animalistic, and you could tell from his behavior that it'd been a while for him, not that baekhyun did anything to hide it when he murmured praises that swindled your ego. "feels so fucking good, angel...!" he snapped his hips in an erratic pace, "how the fuck... are you so... fucking tight and warm...?" and you could only reply with "yeah...?" to which he'd always respond readily along with a nod. you'd gently cradle his chin, but he didn't care if you marked it with your nails to keep your anchor as he'd push your right thigh to your chest, holding your leg on his shoulder with quick developed ownership.

it took another orgasm from the both of you to make him more gentle, even if it didn't truly exhaust him. both sat up to meet each other in an intimate embrace. the stickiness barely made you uncomfortable when he fit so nicely against you, his hands kneading your soft breasts with patience, now that the fire settled into a more tranquil warmth of your presence on his broken heart.

"I don't usually do this..." baekhyun murmurs amidst his gentle pace, his eyes focused on your pleased ones that blinked slowly.

"do what...?" you whispered back, trying to stay grounded from the bliss of your connection.

"hook ups... I don't really hook up with strangers... not at this age, at least..." he chuckled shyly, and it struck you harder than you'd expect.

"I don't, either." you said, surprisingly shy from your own admission, which ceased his soft thrusts for a second.

"can I take you out...? get to know you, angel?" baekhyun cradled your cheek, his thumb on your lip in a manner that didn't feel just erotic.

"baekhyun..." you'd start, only to be interrupted by a soft peck that resumed deliciously slow movements. you were someone that baekhyun could see himself growing fond of. and if you didn't know better, you could say he was growing on you, too. the kiss grew in intensity soon enough, getting to an already familiar manner in such quick velocity, both now aware of what the other liked.

your rationality would be ruined soon enough before your own fire took hold, pushing him to his back as you started to ride him slowly, his hands settling on each of your curves, the right pinching your perked nipple as the other ramped your supple rear up and down with sweet praises. "you're so fucking perfect... I've never had anyone quite like you..."

you could only moan as baekhyun flicked his skilled fingers onto your swollen bundle. "wanna make you come again... can you do this for me, angel? before I come inside of you again?" it's as if his words could take control of you, just like you did earlier to him, the coiling of your lower stomach tightening by each bounce on his girth that throbbed viciously.

baekhyun would thrust his hips upwards, but not as fiercely as before to not sore you much more, his delicateness sure to overcome all the sting of overexertion. you'd feel yourself melting when the pinch of his digits on your clit made you snap, your silent scream echoing in shallow breathing as he pumped his come within your walls for the third time that night, kissing your lips with a care you certainly didn't expect from a hook up.

you both chuckled at the way you fell on top of him, finally feeling him soften inside you amongst the large amount of release that dripped, probably staining the sheets. baekhyun pulled you to your side as he pecked your face, pushed his come back inside with his index, then shared the mess on both of your mouths.

he'd soon step out of the bed to find the suite's bathroom, stealing a towel to dampen it with warm water, returning with a shy grin.

"can you walk?" he asked after he finished cleaning your center and your thighs. you giggled softly, "you wanted me to be unable to walk?"

"not really... I mean—" baekhyun blurted nervously as you stood slowly.

"maybe if we spent a weekend together, hm? then yeah, I definitely would be unable to even stand" you teased, dressing yourself as you both prepared to leave the room you were sure you weren't supposed to be in. the thought of spending a weekend with you made his hair stand at the same time his heartbeat skipped a beat with anticipation.

"would you want to?" he murmured, blushing slightly at the rapidness of his attachment.

"wait, what? spend the weekend?" you widened your eyes as you combed your hair through your hands.

"I mean— yeah... my schedule is clear, and my penthouse is large enough for a crowd... I could try to get you in my van secretly, my driver wouldn't notice..." baekhyun was extremely cute, blabbering like that.

"okay, I'll go." you smiled softly to him, making him giddy as you both walked to the main exit stealthily, baekhyun striding ahead to get the van to a secluded spot as you watched from the shadows. it was almost like you could portray getting to know him, building a solid connection with him, and maybe fixing whatever it is that the other woman did to his poor heart.

if you hadn't picked him out to eat in the first place.

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[hangesdarling]

Can I ask for hate sex with hange?

(Hope this fits within your rules!)

commitment — h. zoë

PAIRING. Hange Zoë x female reader SYNOPSIS. Commander Hange find it difficult to commit into a relationship with you. CONTENT. 18+, MDNI, biting, leaving bite marks, vaginal fingering, oral sex (hange receiving), overstimulation, panty stuffing, scissoring, angst, alcoholism, teasing, dirty talk (lmk what else) WORD COUNT. 4.1k (i got carried away 😭) A/N. School may be killing me but at least I get to write this angsty smut for Hange (sorry for taking so long anon, and yesss, this fits with my rules 💕)

Your privilege from birth remained an indelible mark and only strengthened when your father rose to rank in the military police brigade. Those itchy elegant clothes at private parties, or of wearing a proper pin-up dress when you want to cross the road without a word of judgment became a pervasive familiarity.

Maybe even freedom contorted itself to your comfort and safety for you only saw Titans in those publications. Hange thought of you as an entitled woman untouched even by the dust from Shiganshina as expected from someone who lived in the inner walls from birth. 

But you love playing with fire. You love Hange's esoteric yet strangely fascinating eye bored through you across that expansive room. It was full of people in the usual fancy setting you were used to. Empty words were exchanged through them as if a common meeting could create another layer of peace to prevent such bonds from breaking. 

However, tonight was not so tasteless when you're exchanging wordless conversations and suggestive glances with the Commander of the Survey Corps. 

The party was not fascinating but the eventual meetings that followed were. For some time, your father almost believed you were interested in a position in the military from how you frequented the headquarters. Your surreptitious meetings with Hange came once a week, turning twice or thrice later on. Eventually, their vision of you as an entitled woman shattered under one kiss followed by sloppy lovemaking in their office. 

"So you weren't so stuck up after all," Hange mused, their lips stained with the gloss from your lips. 

"And you weren't so sophisticated, Commander." A teasing smirk rose on your lips, fingers circling the angry kiss marks trailing up from their chest to their neck. Your hips mounted to reposition yourself in their lap, earning an appreciative smile from them just for your boldness. "Taking me right here in the office? Really?" 

Your banters flowed like fluid robbed of viscosity, a free-flowing connection to the soul. Hange has this charming, relaxed smile, a glimpse of their youth smothered by the weight of responsibility on their shoulders. Your presence became a prying tool, each loving word uttered lifting the heaviness within them. 

You relished on those weekdays you had to pretend that you were not fucking the Commander. A sensational thrill shot through your body, even to the tips of your toes just from writing each lipstick-stained letter, each lewd word placed upon paper to be mailed directly at their office disguised as a formal letter. 

Lately, your meetings have thinned to twice or thrice a month, putting intense yearning upon waiting for a familiar letter in your mailbox. It wasn't frequent but Hange had a way with words, and it was enough to make you read their letter the way a devotee reads their bible. 

However, upon another chance of meeting after such intense longing, you found Hange in haste, bounding your conversation into half an hour based on how the clock on their wrist ticked. 

So you hugged them, you nestled your head on their chest like you always used to as if doing so would merit their stay. 

"Sweetheart, I really have no time for this," their tone sounded apologetic, as if in repentance for your yearning bounded by their time. "Say what you want to say, Y/N."

"Tell me, Hange. What are we?" It was soft yet so pointed that Hange stirred from your touch. They can't find a way to scoot around the topic with your tone of adamance. Their lips pursed into a thin line before sighing. 

"Y/N, we've talked about this." 

Your fists clenched at their olive uniform, your face remained buried on their chest. 

"But Hange... We've been seeing each other for such a long time now. And I..."

Hange knows you cannot finish your sentence, each word snatched from your mouth for fear of sounding pathetic. 

"Y/N, look, I wasn't carved out for such a commitment," they pulled away gently, lifting your chin to look at them and letting go eventually when you shook their hand off. "I care for you, Y/N. But we can't do this now." 

That's what you always say, you wanted to scream out. That this wasn't the right time, that it would be best to keep things this way not to hurt each other. You always do this as if there was always a better time than now.

Your hand clenched around their coat once more then let go all at once. Hange's watch ticked twice.

"I hate you," your lips moved in scorn, in an angry desperation to not burst into tears. It took all Hange's strength to not argue back, to resist your statement and pull you back in their arms so this parting wouldn't hurt as much. Their watch ticked again and like any other meetings, they didn't have time. 

Hange sighed, squeezing your hand and letting it go as they stepped back. "I'm sorry, Y/N. We'll talk about this when I get back."

Your eyes welled with tears as their footsteps grew fainter from where you stood frozen. You tried to walk away silently but the sound of their train leaving clutched you in an urge to scream. 

-

Maybe Hange was right that being in an official relationship wasn't any better.  I have to grow up, you told yourself. Hange has this mature view of things that smothers their imaginative side. Their decisions felt like the safest yet most terrible ones you couldn't wrap your heart around. You grew up knowing that things you want would materialize the moment you wished for them. It contrasts all the harsh experiences Hange had outside the walls all those years ago, not only fighting titans but the corrupt humans themselves. This isn't a fairy tale, Y/N, your mind spoke in Hange's voice. 

But you want to stop longing, to await for a love that does not dither, for a piece of commitment you could hold onto each time you wait for Hange to come back. Just the slightest verbal evidence that you're the person they come to as a lover. But your attempt to get their heart in your care failed once again. 

Maybe you were never their lover. You're just another one of those women they invited over for a fortnight of pleasure. You just happen to last long enough because they weren't tired of you just yet. You scoffed to yourself, pouring yourself another drink later that night day when Hange left. They should be getting on the ship as of this time based on your estimate. Another few weeks of not seeing each other, but this time parting with such bitter words. 

I hate you. 

Did you truly mean it? Maybe you hate their choice, but not them. Or perhaps it was irritating how much you cannot fully place hate on their name even if you tried.

You drank the bottle of wine to the last droplet, mind considering a visit to your father's headquarters early that morning. 

-

Not long ago, you earned a temporary job in the headquarters as an excuse to see Hange. It was rather tedious but you're not aversed about reading lengthy reports and sorting them when you could always meet the Commander afterwards. But with Hange's absence, the papers were getting more difficult to bear that you had to avert your eyes from the pile for at least an hour. 

However, you left the room later on, remembering you shouldn't have to bear with such things when you have a privilege placed on your name. You could always pay that kind soldier trying to help you out. But later that noon, he won't accept monetary payment, but rather a chance to take you out on a drink until night. 

Perhaps it wasn't such a bad offer since you needed a drink yourself. A splash of alcohol might hopefully erase Hange's face from your mind. You haven't even written a single letter since they left and planned to keep it that way. 

The bar where soldiers of low ranks weren't as sophisticated, and the cheap drinks tasted unique. Your first drink burned your throat but you were too thrilled by the new environment to even protest. You tried to imagine Hange in place of the guy next to you. Hange would have looked at you in amusement, maybe even tried to down a bottle to show you a glimpse of their previous life before they became Commander. 

But that daydream blurs and vanishes into a tasteless reality as you down a few drinks. This place only reminded you of Hange's absence, an environment far too cruel for you to bear. It was clear that you wanted to leave the bar and cut that night short. The man who brought you here has been a help in your tipsy state, and much to your distaste, he began a shaky confession of why he brought you here. 

His hands were cold when they met yours, you wanted to roll your eyes at how he was trying to meet your eyes. You're beautiful, you're friendly enough. I always see you frequent the headquarters. 

Shallow confessions, you thought to yourself, and yet it all sounds tempting especially now that the alcohol was kicking in. 

You tried to kiss him mid-sentence, tasting the cheap beer on both of your lips. His lips felt strange, unfamiliar, and almost cold from the air outside. You retracted almost immediately, the tempting whispers of the alcohol in your system diminished all at once. It was a terrible kiss and it will never feel good when your lips keep searching for Hange's sweet and loving ones. 

You're not one to toy with other people's feelings but the kiss stirred and hazed your mind back to soberness that you ran away into the frigid night. You tried to wash away the taste with another glass of wine when you got home but the feeling of betrayal lingered.

But then again, it wouldn't be a betrayal to Hange because you were never theirs. They've made it clear a few more times than enough. 

We can't do this now. There wasn't an ‘us’ to begin with. 

Later that midnight, you tried writing several letters addressed to Hange but none felt right. All ended up in a discarded pile beside your bed, your inked hands unwashed as the alcohol inched you closer to slumber. 

-

Returning to Paradis without you in sight made the morning all the more bitter for Hange. Not a letter from you, nor an answer for all the letters they sent while they were away. They remember the hatred laced with your words the last time you saw one another. 

Against all the bitterness nestled within them, they remained wishing that you never meant your words. 

Later that afternoon in the headquarters, they wanted to come to you but decided against it at the last minute. They need a few hours to themselves. Maybe for sleep or other things. However, Hange cannot sleep now that their mind is occupied not just by the pressing issues in the military, but also by you. 

They thought of your sweet, blushing face in their hands whenever they kiss you, or how you make a seat for yourself in their lap whenever you're in the mood to be playful, but above all that, they longed to feel you after such a tedious time away. Their mind was plagued with questions of where you were and what had happened while they were gone. Do you still resent them? 

However, their questions were beginning to be answered in such an unlikely manner when they overheard a conversation among soldiers drinking at work. The Commander wanted to burst in and admonish them for misbehavior when they heard your name being spoken along degrading words. A slut. A woman easily persuaded by an invitation to drink. Hange proceeded to listen, fists clenched as the soldier you kissed not even a week ago decided to warp his story of rejection to your disadvantage.

Hange glanced at these soldiers, remembering the names and faces they would subject to grueling military work later that day. They forgot their tiredness and went out of the headquarters to look for you.

-

Hange didn't want to believe that man's words. They placed their trust in you to that extent. However, their reasoning shattered when they heard it from your mouth. 

You resent them because seeing them makes your heart ache. You wished to hurt them the way they did when they broke your heart. 

 "I was never yours, Hange. You've made that clear several times so why bother to snoop around to what I'm up to?" you glared at them when they stood blocking the way out of your room. 

"Are you telling me these things because you're bored of me and wish to have a new plaything, or is this your petty attempt to make me mad?" Hange gave you a tired glare, arms crossed over their chest. They were too exhausted to deal with your temper at that moment and wished for a more civilized conversation. 

Your brows rose from their claim and said, "I'm not one to find playthings, and toy with them until I'm satisfied. Maybe you should look at yourself, Hange."

Your attempt to storm out of the room was interrupted when Hange caught your arm and brought you back to face them. "You think I'm toying with you?" Their tone only indicated that you managed to anger them with that statement. 

"What am I supposed to think when we only met several times just to fuck each other and yet you seem revolted by the idea of even calling me your lover?" you jabbed a finger on their chest, your tears more unbridled than that of your last meeting. "Was it easier to dedicate your life protecting a hopeless, godforsaken land than loving me?" 

Your claims were making Hange snap but they couldn't let themself lose control now. 

"You misunderstood me entirely," they muttered as if speaking any louder would prompt them to break. "And don't you dare call Paradis hopeless. You know nothing about it."

"You think so low of me, don't you? You think I'm too stupid to know what's happening here?" you argued, hastily wiping your tears so they wouldn't blur your vision. "It's obvious we don't understand each other. Maybe it's better if we stop all of this entirely."

Their grip on your arm tightened unconsciously. "You don't mean that," they scoffed. 

"Don't challenge me, Hange. You must be a fool if you think I can't replace you," you said coldly, earning a glare from them. Hange couldn't hold themself any longer, the frustration from work coupled with your behavior towards them irritates them further. 

They swiftly locked the door and pulled you towards them, arms circled tightly on your waist. Their face was centimeters away from you, their warm breath brushing against your lips, "This is not what I'm expecting when I come back here, Y/N. You're such a clever girl so you must know what I'm feeling right now."

Their hand went to the back of your head, lips touching yours as they whispered, "I'm so damn fed up and not just that..."

Hange dragged you back to your bed, forcing you to sit down. Their silent aggressiveness scared you when they slowly pressed their body against yours, their frame caging you firmly like one would do to a prey. Your legs dangled over the edge as their knees pressed on your sides. The bruising kisses they gave dug into your skin, almost like Hange was trying to tear the soft surface apart until you bled. 

"Hange, not here," you hissed, pushing on their shoulders. They groaned on your neck and gathered your wrists over your head.

"Don't act like this is the first time I fucked you here," they retorted, completing the cruel necklace of love bites surrounding your neck. Hange rolled up your skirt to your waist, their other hand pushing at the back of your thigh so you would lay open for them. 

"My father's at home, you asshole."

"I don't care," they replied almost immediately. "Let your father hear us. Let him know I'm already defiling you so he'd force me to marry you. After all, that's what you want, right?" 

"You twist my words," you argued. 

"I'm just learning from you," Hange muttered, their desperate lips now kissing on your chest. Hange could feel that your wrists were starting to relax on their grip. "Do you know how much irritates me when you think I don't love you?" 

"Maybe you should ask yourself why I think that way," you shot back. 

"If I'm so terrible in your mind then let me prove you otherwise," Hange told you like a firm promise, letting go of your hand to undo your clothes to the last button. Their hand kneaded on your waist, finding their way to settle on your breasts. 

You hated how much your body leaned into their warmth, of how you let yourself become so vulnerable and bare in their eyes. Your resentment felt so shallow when you fall apart every time their hands touched you.

Hange breathed onto your neck, their hand passionately locked around yours while the other glided over your folds. You gave their neck the same treatment from earlier as you left bruising kisses on their skin, making sure that their subordinates will see through the marks even with their uniform. 

Hange kept your moans muffled with their mouth, their usual loving whispers gone and replaced by a desperateness to have you, to make you come all over their hands once more. Your fingers gripped and dug into their uniform, the coil on your stomach tightening with each thrust. 

"Hange..." you whispered their name and repeated it like a fervent prayer as their lips never left your body. You clamped a hand over your mouth as your hips rocked against their fingers.

"Louder, sweetheart. You want people downstairs to hear you, right?" Hange smirked, their lips and thrusts both deepening as if in punishment for the moans you were trying to muffle. They tore your hand from your mouth and bit on your skin, earning a whimper from you.

You desperately closed your legs in between their hands but Hange only pulled them farther apart.

Come again for me, sweetheart, they would whisper, and you would collapse onto them over and over again the way rocks gently wear away against the crashing of waves.

Hange pulled their calloused fingers from your dripping cunt, groaning when they felt your teeth biting them again once more.

You wrapped a leg around them, shifting your body weight so you could straddle them. Hange felt your hands ripping at the zipper of their pants, the button securing the band disconnecting from the fabric.

 "Ease down, Y/N, damnit," they grunted as you strip off their button in haste. You bite on their lip as you kiss, letting them know you're in no mood to be gentle nor loving like you always used to. Your passion was coarse and carnal, grating through their flesh. Your hands found their underwear, slipping it off their legs without letting them say a thing.

You balled the fabric into a loose gag before stuffing it on their mouth. Your lips curled into a smirk before kissing their forehead, saying,  "You talk too much, Commander, it’s irritating. So you better keep that on until I'm done with you."

Hange groaned softly, patiently watching you settle in between their thighs. Your eyes bored onto theirs as the soft pad of your thumb circled their clit. Their hands found your hair, gripping onto them the moment your tongue glided along their slit. Hange whined at how torturously slow you used your tongue, getting them to the edge and pulling away when they needed it most.

Hange kept their mouth stuffed as you wished but proceeded to brutally use your mouth later on in accord with their liking.

"That's right, put your mouth to good use," they grunted, spitting out the gag later on, their inner thighs pressing on your head as their cum smeared your lips and chin. They delivered a wet, warm kiss on your lips, fingers resting on your chin as they said, "That's a lot better than arguing with me, don't you think?"

You groaned at that remark, yet your stamina was too depleted to protest when they're shifting you into another position. 

"I'm tired, Hange," you mumbled. 

"And I'm not, Y/N," they answered back, lifting your leg so they could settle in between. "I'll stop once you cease this bullshit with me, and handle your temper so we could talk."

"You wish," you rolled your eyes. 

Their hand circled around your throat as they inch closer to your face and spoke, "Then shut your mouth and take it."

Hange pushed your legs further, your soaked entrances meeting. Hange groaned as they felt the friction building up close to their pelvic region. They gave your throat a light squeeze as their hips moved against yours. You pulled onto their collar for a kiss, distracting both of you from how the bed creaks just by your movements escalating to roughness. 

Your intimacy was full of marks, of bites that drew blood. Your bodies moved in such a way where a stronger emotion could be felt other than desire. Perhaps it was longing, or an immense unresolved yearning of two hearts who could only find understanding through the flesh. 

Hange's lips trembled against yours as they came, their grip loosening so their hands could trail along your back. They placed a band of love bites that turned to purplish bruises, their tongue licking along the ones that managed to bleed. It took a while before your breathing stabilized enough.

Hange untangled their body from you and dressed up silently a few minutes later, mumbling about how it was getting too late, that it would be suspicious for them to stay. You're too tired to sulk as you shift your body to turn against them, finding comfort from the warm sheet encasing your body. Fine, just go, you wanted to mutter in defeat. 

However, Hange walked over to you, kneeling down so they could meet your eyes once more. They tucked the stray hair from your face as they spoke, "I'll talk to your father first thing in the morning."

You were alerted, brows creasing as your eyes tried to scan their intentions. "For what?" 

"Well," Hange sighed softly, playing on the loose strands on your face. "You have quite a traditional family so I'll formally talk to your father about us. I hope to merit a positive response."

"But I thought you don't want a committed relationship with me..."

"I know I told you that several times before," Hange traced a thumb over your cheek. "Truly it scares me because I know what I'm like. I can't give you all my attention, Y/N, and I don't want that to hurt you. But I've hurt you several times already because of my refusal. My fear is not worth breaking your heart over."

Their solemn gaze met yours, and you could feel another layer wearing away from them. Another vulnerability they're willing to hand over to you. You couldn't have guessed that they would bare their heart this way.

"Hange..."  There are things you wanted to say but couldn't find one where you could subdue your intense, profound appreciation. Your hand went to their cheek, gathering their warm skin onto your hand. 

"Y/N, you deserve more than I could give you. I can't promise to be everything you wished for. And perhaps it scares me terribly that you'll end up hating me for it," Hange continued, their gaze softening. "But I'll try, alright?" 

"Alright," you smiled, absentmindedly fixing their collar and tugging on it as a subtle plea. "Could you... stay for a bit longer?" 

Hange's responsibilities await like an undesirable visitor at their desk, waiting for them to get through their office door and pounce upon them. It thins their energy and will, a fuse burned into blackness within their heart. Staying with you would only create another opportunity for work to pile up higher, and yet, they couldn't find the heart to refuse. They felt like a charred, pitiful wick that once burned brightly. Your loving embrace, and intoxicating touch, your insistent love they cannot shut down for much longer— all made them forget their inanition and diminished vigor within.

"Of course I can stay," Hange smiled before letting themself sink back into your embrace, drowning themself into your depth until they couldn't breathe. 

likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated, sweethearts <3

[mayakern]

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[councilofcastamere]

DRAGONS AND THE CITY | MODERN!AEMOND TARGARYEN X READER

a b r i d g e m e n t : you’re an assistant to a Baratheon magazine editor in the lonely city of New York. but why, whenever she makes you run errands, do you bump into the second son of King Viserys Targaryen of England?

TW: not as far as I know

A/N: based on sex and the city!

You stalked along the streets of New York, your J’adior slingback pumps clacking across the stony pavement. Your curly hair was thrown back in your face as you hurriedly reached into your pocket.

In all seriousness, your boss, Cassandra Baratheon, had instructed you to be at her office at 8 am and had told you to fetch her a latte macchiato from the new Brazilian coffee shop opening up around the corner of the apartment you lived in.

Well, as luck could have it, it was 7:50 and you weren’t inside the damn doors of the conglomerate doors, which is why you were trotting for your life, every step you take a risk of spilling the coffee on your silk-viscose Armani jumper.

You’d been running for 2 minutes, not paying any attention to the angry passer-by’s you managed to bump into. You thought a simple “sorry!” or “contact me, I’ll pay you back” would suffice as you ignored the angry mutters behind you.

You panted as you finally made it to the bold doors of the largest building you had ever worked at, the door man being courteous as ever.

“As jolly as always.” you chuckled, playfully hurrying into the building. as soon as you stepped inside you hurried into the elevator.

Inside were three other woman. Other assistants with the same agenda and the same troubles, you assume. You flashed a quick smile but of course only one of the women bothered to return the smile.

God, you almost wanted to die of embarrassment. Your feet instinctively tapped against the carpet as you prayed the elevator wouldn’t get stuck.

You almost did trip over the white elevator carpet as you hurried out of the lift, frantically scanning the names on the bold golden doors until you finally read “C. BARATHEON, EDITOR OF WESTEROS GLAMOUR.”

The clock on your wrist compelled you to check, seeing if you had absolutely screwed your heels and stamina for nothing.

Andddd… great. It’s 8:04.

You sighed, pushing the doors forward as you came face to face with the light of the big windows.

“Mrs. Baratheon?” you asked in a polite tone, trying to keep your nervousness from prevailing into your tone. “I apolog-"

“Put the coffee on my desk, dear." the Baratheon replied bluntly, slowly swinging her chair from left to right whilst tapping her nails against the desk. “I do not the time to listen to your excuses, nor do I care, to be frank.”

Rude much? But obviously, you couldn’t tell her that. You’d be out of here quicker than that one time you went on a date with that man that suggested you’d be a knock-out if you just got a little botox.

“Is there anything else you require of me, Mrs?” you asked, hurriedly settling the coffee down on the marble furniture.

“Yes.” she replied, eyeing you up and down with a mean streak on her face. “As you know, the prince is visiting this weekend.”

“May I ask which one?” you ask, quickly taking out your lighter as she took out her cigarette. “There are 6 of them, you know?”

“What’s the name again?” Cassandra asked, although not to you. Her fingers flicked as she tried to come up with a name. “His name escapes me at the moment, but it’s the eye-less one.”

“He still has one eye. Not exactly eyeless.” you chuckle.

“Watch it.” she warns, rolling an eye. “Anyhow, you’re in charge of driving him to the Baratheon manor. Said he had urgent business with my family. I can swear the fucker is there for an arranged marriage. Probably to Floris. It’s always Floris.”

“When might that be?” you ask, raising a brow. “Gotta have a good dress for it. Not everyday I meet a prince of the oh-so-holy Targaryen dynasty.”

“Glad you asked, cause it’s right about fucking now.” Cassandra cocked a smile, blowing the smoke out into open air.

That bitch? The audacity? You weren’t even dressed for the occasion? She’s a fucking menace?

“Alright.” you sigh. you didn’t wanna get fired, you just wanted to keep your job! “Where do I meet him?”

“He’s waiting in the limousine right now, so you’d better hurry your little Dior heels down the stairs.” the Baratheon dismisses you, waving her hand.

“Shit!” you sigh, quickly tucking your stuff into your Khaite the Remi hobo bag. you quickly ran down the hallway, using the stairs this time. you did not even register there was a silhouette in-front of you, until you inevitably bumped into it.

“Sorry!” you instinctively blurt out, as the stranger held you tight, his fingers digging into your arms.

You looked up at the stranger, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t surprised to see His Majesty on the regular stairs of a New York building.

“Your Highness,” you address him, quickly composing yourself. “My apologies, I just…”

“Ran a marathon, perhaps?” The silver-haired prince mused, cocking a brow as you could only let out an unexpected chuckle.

“Uh, yeah.” You smiled, composing your body to stand straight. “Yeah. I’m Y/N.”

-

part 2 coming soon, I wanna see where this goes in terms of popularity which happens to affect my motivation 📸

[perfctvelvet]

hi!! saw ur post abt ur request being dry so im chiming in..

ok so, how abt one with kendall jenner which on a very boring day in, she asks her girlfriend to take pics of her bc she needs to update her feed on ig. after many pics taken kendall asks her girlfriend to now start filming and when she does she starts undressing for the camera.

this is just a base ideia you can definitely work your way around it and have fun with it!!

Taking Pictures of You; Kendall/Reader

Content: 2nd POV. Established relationship, recording/sex tape, oral sex, fingering.

The floor of your bedroom was littered with boxes. PR boxes from luxury companies, and some you never even heard of, were everywhere. Usually Kendall's team was responsible for getting her her packages (in a more neat manner too), but it was a Saturday afternoon with just the two of you in the house.

"I told you not to wait until the last minute to do this," you poke at her.

You were in the living room, minding your business with a book you'd given up on resting on your chest while you searched for something for something to watch. Kendall came into the living room and she had that look on her face. She looked stressed to the point she seemed pained. You knew something was wrong, but you thought something was really wrong until she uttered the words, "I'm behind on posting."

Sometimes you found everything about her life a little ridiculous. You couldn't help but let out a little laugh before composing yourself. This has happened time and time before in relationship. She has an obligation, but because it isn't one a large contractual obligation, she puts it off until the last minute. At this point you considered yourself a pro at helping her figure out these situations. So instead of watching something on Netflix, you were in your bedroom trying to help her out.

"Okay, I've separated everything into two piles; instagram posts and instagram stories."

"You know you didn't have to unbox everything at once right?"

"Well, I wanted to see what was sent!"

She was like a kid on Christmas with all of her presents. You rummaged through the 'instagram stories' pile and it was just a hodgepodge of things. She was sent things from brand collaborations of celebrities she hasn't even said more than three words to. Some of the brands were familiar and from friends, but everything else seemed so random.

"Don't worry about that stuff babe. I wanna try this on."

You turn around to see her holding up a sheer Alaia dress. Kendall looks at it with pure adoration in her eyes, and you yourself were no longer interested in the other stuff that was sent to her. You needed to see her in that.

"Should I try it on first?"

"Yes," you say a little too quickly. She laughs at how eager and interested you are now, but she knows that you like to see her all dressed up.

The loungewear comes off, and soon her body is adorned in body-hugging, black viscose. Underneath is just a lacy thong. She took her hair out of the ponytail, let it come down over her shoulders. She looks too good for just an instagram post.

"Make up or no make up?"

"I think you look perfect, honey."

"Well, I should at least do blush."

She finishes making herself more "presentable" to be posted, but you love the juxtaposition of her in something so gorgeous with a bare face. She promises not to over do it, only dusting her cheeks with a light pink blush. Moments later and she's ready for you to resume your role as her unofficial photographer.

Kendall poses right in front of the big window in your bedroom; the light coming in and hitting her in the best way possible. The sun was still high in the sky and you could feel its rays warming your skin as you stand in front of her. Your appearance on her instagram page was always subtle, but you couldn't help the fact that your shadow was in the photos.

"Lets come by the window," she directed you. She knew what she was doing, but over the years you've gotten accustomed to what angles she liked the best.

You viewed her through the LED screen of your phone but glanced up a few times at her to see just how beautiful she is. You're sure some of your photos are duds because you're distracted by her instead of focusing on taking the pictures. Your camera roll is probably filled with nearly 50 photos of her before she asks you to start film.

"I want a close up of the dress. Let everyone see the details." The camera picks up on those little details she wants everyone to see. It captures the quality of the material and her skin underneath. "Okay, now back up a little."

Kendall turns around when you frame her just right. She knows what she's doing directing you behind the camera and herself in front. She unattached the clasp at the top of the neck and begins to peel the fabric off of her body to reveal her bare back and a peak of the thong sitting on her hips. You're in awe, but not shocked seeing as Kendall is no stranger in taking advantage of your "personal photographer" role as her girlfriend. She peaks over her shoulder and cups her breast before turning around to face the camera. You step back and you record her standing there in nothing but a lacy thong and the dress near her feet.

"This one going on instagram too?" You ask coyly behind the camera.

“Yeah right,” she jokes before stepping closer to you. Her whole account would be taken down if she were to post what you two were going to do.

The camera keeps recording while she kisses you. Your fingers ghost against her bare skin and she sighs into the kiss. You wanted to break the kiss, just to be able to set the camera down, but she couldn’t pull away from you. The phone nearly fell out of your hands as the kiss grew intensely. It wasn’t until you forced yourself away from her soft lips to put the camera down on the table where both of your bodies were in perfect view.

“I could kiss you forever,” you give a soft kiss to her cheek. “But, I really want to taste you,” you confess.

She smiles at you in excitement and the ache between her legs grow. Your confession gets her to crawl onto the bed and spread her legs for you. That little thong barely contains her pussy. You can see the beads of her arousal on her skin and seeping through the white material. She looked good enough to eat and you were determined to get a taste.

You crawl onto the bed and in between her legs. Kendall keeps them wide open for you while your finger tips graze against her inner thighs. Each time you drag them down her thighs, you move up and inch closer to her sex. She inhales deeply and holds her breath as she anticipates you giving her what she wants. She knows you like to tease her before your fully giving in and lapping at her pussy, and today is no different.

Kendall hooks her finger around her thong and pulls them to the side to expose herself to you. It was her way of saying c’mon baby, stop teasing already. You thought you were stronger to give into that, but seeing her bare and spread out for you had you seeing stars. You can’t help but rip the dainty thong off her of her just to have her fully naked for you. You grab her thighs and spread her wide open, her lips moving in the process and hole spreading. Hours and hours could be spent between these divine legs and it still wouldn’t be enough.

You tease Kendall’s opening, a single finger only pushing into almost two inches before you pull out. You look up at her and can see how annoyed she looks. You tilt your head at the phone recording everything to remind her of it’s presence.

“You don’t want everyone to see you being a brat, or do you?”

Usually the videos you film are on a more secure device so no one would be able to see. But, Kendall’s pussy clenches around your finger after warning her. She would never, ever want your private moments to be exposed, when she thinks about it in a fantasy world it makes her wet.

Her silence gives you the green light to keep teasing her. She’s soaking now having gotten herself all worked up trying on clothes for you. Her attempt to tease you ended up turning herself on.

“Should I have a little taste?”

“Yes, baby, please!” Kendall begs. She thinks about your tongue sliding against her clit and she shivers. Unfortunately for her you weren’t so willing to give it to her so easily. You felt like teasing her some more.

“Hmm. I don’t know if I’m ready yet. Maybe we should change positions?”

Kendall stops herself from complaining. Patiences it’s going to get her what she wants (and she knows you won’t be able to resist her for too long). You ask her to get on all fours and she listens. She’s facing the camera, staring into the lens as you bend over behind her and kiss her cheek. “Make sure you don’t hide your pretty face,” you warn. You don’t want to rewatch the video later and see her burying her face into the bed sheets no matter how good it feels. She nods affirmatively and you reward her with another kiss, this time on her back. Your kisses move lower and lower until you reach her ass. You palm the soft flesh before spreading them apart. This time you couldn’t resist how good her sweet pussy looked and you gave into the desire to taste her. Kendall almost shuts her eyes as she moans, but she reminds herself at the last second to keep them open.

Her clit is pulsing against your tongue and you can’t help but suck on it give it some relief. Poor Kendall must’ve been horny all day and only bothered you as a way to get you to play with her. You were more than happy to give her want she wants, sucking harder on her clit. Your mouth makes the nastiest, lewdest noises against her twat. Her arousal flows out of her and covers your tongue. She was so wet that it was easy to slide your thumb in her aching pussy while you sucked her clit. How she was able to keep herself up on all four was nothing short of a miracle. But, if you keep this up she’s going to collapse against the bed soon.

She’s very obedient, keeping her eyes locked with the camera as you eat her needy cunt.

“Fuck baby! Your mouth feels so good,” she whines loudly just for the camera. The mix of pussy eating and moans is so beautiful to you. Your body feels like it’s on fire from so much want. However you’re able to find relief as you hump the pillow while you eat her out.

It’s not long before your pretty girl is shaking and cumming against your mouth. You make sure to lick up each drop of arousal that seeps out of her. You hum against her pussy one last time before her legs start to give away. She grips the bedsheets, but never once does she dip her head down and hide away.