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angelcqre · 5 months

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It wasn’t supposed to happen.

The car accident least of all. His gaze is on you, intense and scathing, watching you as you struggle to not break down in tears. He knows you can’t afford the damage to your own car, much less his, and for a moment, he simply.. watches, lips twisted in wry amusement as he approaches you.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry, I didn’t see you, I’m so sorry I’m-;”

He cuts you off before you can blubber any further onto him, his voice soft and low and amused.

“Sweetheart, relax,” His lips quirk up, and it’s then that you realize that this is Bruce *fucking* Wayne, billionaire recluse who’s hand in philanthropy is beginning to show in the recovering ashes of the riddler’s attack on Gotham. “I’ll take care of it. Are you hurt?”

His hands are steady as they tilt your chin upwards, his eyes searching and intense and dark even now, but the smile that he offers you is comforting enough, thumb shifting to brush a stray tear off your cheek.

Your skin is soft.

It’s the first thing he notices - sure, it had looked soft enough from afar, but under his calloused fingertips, your hands are like silk, sheer heaven and for a moment, he considers keeping you, considers taking you home right here and now, but instead, he sets his gaze on the car behind you, already battered and the accident hasn’t helped. It was your fault, he knows this, and just as much, he knows you won’t be able to fix it.

“What’s your name?”

You babble out your name, trembling hands moving to cup his wrists, the stability that he exudes enough to be infectious, and when he hears it, it’s like music to his ears, his heart lurching in a sensation of simple

There you are.

“It’s nice to meet you, sweetheart. I’m Bruce,”

You know. Of course you know, however reclusive he is, his face is plastered over the news constantly, especially now that he’s got his finger in the pie that is Gotham’s premier charities, bankrolled almost entirely by the Wayne foundation.

He decides, then and there, that you’ll do nicely as a pet project. Still wiping at your tears, he leans in, tall frame curling in to meet yours, shifting his expression to be as reassuring as possible. He’s not.. socially adept, not as much as he should be, but he knows this one, awkward as it is.

“I’ll get this taken care of. Don’t worry. Why don’t you get lunch with me in the meantime?,”

Already, he’s got Alfred sending tow trucks, scheduling mechanics, ordering parts. It’s not difficult for him to recognize the make of your car, the model, the year, and that’s sent off too, a flick of his wrist and a murmur into his earpiece.

You nod - of course you do, it’s not like you have any choice in the matter, and you’re whisked off to The Ocelot, corner table, assured that the ratty jeans and top he’s sure was ordered off of Amazon or SHEIN or whatever the fuck else are fine for the restaurant, love, you’re with him and it’s not like The Ocelot serves lunch anyways.

They do. Any reservations have been rescheduled, so it’s just you and him in there anyways, and it’s hardly like you’d know the difference either way.

So he sits, and he listens, watches the way your lips part to form each lovely syllable, growing more animated and less despondent when you realize that no, this isn’t a trick, that he really is going to take care of it and not sue you.

All in all, he really seems like a nice guy. Quiet, but he’s got a good sense of humor, and you like the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. At least, you tell him so, a little tipsy on the most expensive bottle of wine you’ve ever had the privilege to drink, full of food that he insisted on ordering for you if only to let you try the best things on the menu.

So when he offers to drop you off at your apartment, you enthusiastically agree to it, not realizing that he’s taking note of the building, the door number, the sound your lock makes as the key slots into the mechanism.

From then, you.. begin to date Billionaire Philanthropist Bruce Wayne. He’s perfectly nice, respectful and polite and honestly more than a little old fashioned, and maybe you like that, the way he insists on opening car doors for you, the way that he sends you clothing and jewelry and purses to bring along any time he invites you out.

Every invitation to a gala or charity ball is extended to you, if only for the opportunity to dress you up like a little doll, put you in expensive clothing and jewelry and coo at you, murmuring praise against the curve of your neck every time he ducks from the view of the cameras that always seem to follow him.

Nothing is too expensive for him, and though you do attempt to protest, he seems gleeful in his gifts to you, the urge to shower you with presents to endear himself to you only hampered by Alfred’s firm guidance on ‘proper courting’.

He.. rarely calls you by your name.

Always pet names, with him, always terms of endearment and suggestions of possession that you end up finding yourself flushing at, the nigh reverence in his tone enough to leave you leaning into him and pressing sweet, loving kisses to his cheek and jawline.

You’re untouched by the corruption that seems to seep into every crevice that Gotham’s foundations. Pure, in a way, so sweet and kind and good that he can’t help but want to protect you, finds himself going out of his way as the bat to ensure you get home safely from work.

Fuck, and maybe he breaks into your apartment once or twice, purely investigative, nothing perverse, he tells himself, inspecting a pair of panties that he really has no business touching. The sense of growing discomfort in his nether regions are enough of an excuse that he strips then and there, pumps his cock on your bed surrounded by the scent of you, imagining you on top of him, under him, gasping his name and begging to be filled and looking at him with dewy, glazed over, lust filled eyes.

He swears it’s not perverse.

Swears to *god* as he cums into another pair of panties, a pair he knows for sure he’s bought for you, and tucks them neatly back into your underwear drawer, shoving the first pair into a pouch in his belt.

Absolutely justifiable losses.

You’re so oblivious to it.

That’s what gets him more than anything else - how oblivious you are, how clueless you are to how many robberies he stops in their tracks, each interception before you’re targeted enough that you genuinely think that the city is getting safer, better.

You tell him about it over lunch, pointing at him with your fork, mouth half full of salad, and your manners are atrocious but he can’t help the way it makes him chuckle, dark eyes crinkling with warmth.

“I’m serious! I don’t - okay, look, vigilantes are bad, but like..,” A pause, for you to actually swallow, outrage flashing in your eyes as he delves into straight up laughter. “I don’t know! Maybe this guy - Batman, or whatever - maybe he’s doing something good for the city,”

He can only shrug in response - keeping his fantasies of you private and locked down.

And, really, the stalking keeping an eye on you comes in handy, inevitably, especially with how you tend to prefer walking home to anything actually sensical. He’d offered you a car to borrow while yours is being repaired, but you’d seemed hesitant with the expensive make, had smiled and said that your job wasn’t that far away, really, and it’s not as if you aren’t familiar with gotham - you’ve lived here for years, and you’ve been just fine.

It’s just a joyboy - nobody especially powerful, but his heart still wrenches all the same when he sees the gun aimed at your head, and he can’t stop himself from dropping on top of the aggressor, beating him to a bloody pulp and then some, his vision white with with rage and a level of possessiveness that he can’t quite comprehend.

All that’s running through his head is a pervasive sense of drive, a need to keep himself from losing anybody else, so when the man under him finally collapses, and he leans back to look at you, it takes a moment for his senses to settle back in, for the blood rushing through his ears to lower from the roar.

He realizes you’re speaking, babbling in the same way you did when he first met you, and the memory is enough to bring a wry twist of his lips, amusement flashing in those dark, masked eyes.

“And I was just walking - I’m sorry, are you hurt? Did he hurt you? Oh my god, are you bleeding?,”

There isn’t any fear in your eyes, but your eyes are glued to the gun in the perp’s hand, the smoke rising off of it, and he idly realizes that he must have fired it in the fall.

The bat rises, that twist of his lips compelling and familiar, and strides towards you, assessing you with a familiar sort of scrutiny.

You’re bleeding.

“Relax, I’ll take care of it. Are you hurt?”

He sees the recognition in your eyes the second it lights up and knows he’s made a mistake. Sure, you’re not as smart as he is, very few people are, but you’re not stupid, and that mistake causes his breath to catch in his throat as your lips part, a strangled sort of bark of laughter coming from you.

“That’s funny - you sounded just like my boyfriend just then. Isn’t that.. funny..?,”

You look like you’re about to bolt. The bat sees the tensing of your muscles and takes a step forward before you can, his hand stabbing out to grasp at your arm. He’s erred, he’s erred *bad*, and the little gasp of pain that you make is just another tally in the ever increasing lineup.

“Bruce?,”

And now you’ve gone and done it, and the fear you’re experiencing is genuine, the wobble in your voice and the suddenly glassy eyes evidence enough that there’s no going back from this.

The strike to the side of your throat is an instinctual one, the edge of his hand snapping out quick enough that you don’t even flinch, falling unconscious and right into his awaiting arms. It’s reverent, how he carries you, though he doubts you’ll ever notice with how hard you’re out.

That deep, deep sleep is a gift for Bruce. He hasn’t - he won’t - take you, but that refusal doesn’t extend to certain other courtesies. You’re ignorant of the way his hands slide up the skin of your torso, ignorant of the cold sensation of his fingertips against your warm body, ignorant of how he pulls off the worn tee first.

It’s reverence, the way his tongue laves over the hollow of your throat, the way each kiss is pressed onto the edge of your jaw, his eyes half lidded and his gaze glued to you. Careful, so careful - you’re delicate, after all - but still, his fingers press into your hips, savoring the plush yield of your curves.

Already, he’s fantasizing it, breeding you and filling you with heirs,

You wake up slowly, at first, and then all at once, unaware of your surroundings and clearly more than a little out of it. Bruce has deigned to leave you alone, for this part, and he watches you through one of the cameras he’s embedded in the room you’re in, studies the way your eyes seem glued shut, the way you almost turn over and fall back asleep.

And then you realize that you’re not in your own bed, and you’re a bit more dedicate to getting up.

It’s a lot more luxurious than you’re used to, and it’s also definitely *not* your bedroom. The sheets aren’t yours, don’t smell familiar, the walls and the curtains are a different color, and the room in and of itself is too damn big - you could probably fit your entire apartment in the square footage, to say nothing of the en-suite that you’re already peering at.

No, focus.

You strip off the comforters, realizing with horror that you’re not even wearing your own clothing, some designer loungewear and nothing underneath. You fight the urge to scream, running your hand through your hair, and stride towards the closed door, heavy oak and thick.

Locked. Doesn’t budge no matter how you wiggle it, not even under the entirety of your weight. No matter what you do, pounding, shouting, slamming, it doesn’t open. You even try running at it, like they do on TV, and that mostly just gives you a sore shoulder and knocks the wind out of you.

So… you investigate the room. Maybe you should’ve done that first, but the panic rushing through your veins has subsided, led to a sort of clarity that has you checking the windows, realizing they’re reinforced - definitely not glass, you realize after you’ve attempted to shatter it. Not like it’d matter, there’s wrought iron bars over each of them, way too thinly placed for you to even think of slipping out.

The room is.. nice, even if there’s a genuine discomfort in being locked in them. Plush carpet under your bare feet, a television, an en-suite bathroom.. you can almost imagine that you’re in some swanky hotel with Bruce, almost fool yourself into the perception that you’re definitely not on the verge of, like, death or disembowelment or whatever the plans for you are. There’s even a bookshelf, stacked high with classics and.. quite a few raunchy romance novels, all almost thirty years old and scrawled with the name ‘Martha’.

You end up settling on a book of old myths, curling up in the bed, and by the time that you’ve read a good couple, you’ve suitably calmed down, and that’s when he makes his entrance.

“Sweetheart,”

The sound of your boyfriend’s voice isn’t quite comforting enough that you don’t throw the book in your hand at his head, and when he catches it, you wince, shrinking back into the pile of pillows as he carefully, carefully moves towards you.

“Bruce? I don’t - where *am* I? What’s going on?,”

He hushes you, draws you into those deceptively strong arms and holds you, pressing his lips to the top of your head, and instinctively, you relax into his grasp, muscle memory powerful enough to override the pounding of your own heartbeat in your ears. You huff, and lean into him, soothed for a moment. He speaks, then, always so patient, so tender, his hand reaching up to pet at your hair.

“It was always a risk, letting you run around gotham like I did, but I thought I could protect you.”

You stiffen.

He continues to pet you, his voice soft against the crown of your head, low and worn in the way it always is.

“This city is corrupt, sweetheart, and I need to know you’ll be safe,”

You try to draw back, but the cage of his arms is steel, and he holds you close to him, chest to chest, his hands cold.

“So I’ll keep you here. With me.”

#Bruce Wayne x reader #yandere bruce Wayne #yandere Batman #yandere Batman x reader

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tkaulitzlvr · 7 months

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i’ll be needing a part 2 of persistent pls🤭

PERSISTENT (2) - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: you realise that you have pushed your limits after your antics at the club earlier, tom not holding back on showing you this once you both arrive home.

content: smut

a/n: i have no idea why so many people wanted a part two to persistent, but its been asked for in both my inbox and comments so i decided to do it so u guys can leave me alone🙄🙄, but yea hope this lives up to ur expectations (they better be low bc this is terrible💯)

the house is silent, my heavy feet trudging up the stairs, a small smile on my face as i anticipate what tom has on his mind - though i know deep down that i shouldn’t be excited. he wouldn’t go easy on me, not after how i had acted. in fact, the way his jaw remained clenched, eyes dark and cold, hands gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles began to turn white, veins prominent through them, if i had any sense within me, i would be scared - knowing that whatever unspoken words he is holding back would not be gentle ones, his actions bound to be even less forgiving. though i am far too focused on the pleasure he will bring me to consider the fact that he probably doesn’t plan on showing me any remorse, not at all regretting my attitude, even though i probably should.

when tom would get like this, so utterly infuriated with me, he wouldn’t hold back, switching from the gentleness he usually showed me in bed, often leading to me uttering the safe word that he had put in place for instances like this. when he would often act on impulse, unable to judge when it became simply too much, his anger driving him to be a little too reckless, the short word acted as a safety net, tom knowing that he had to stop, no matter how much part of him wanted to keep going, this his way of teaching me a lesson. it never seemed to work though, the thought of him being rough only turning me on, leading me to act this way in order to get this side out of him.

however, the new presence of this word meant that no matter how much i begged him to stop, his pace wouldn’t falter until i uttered the four letter word - blue. it didn’t matter how many tears ran down my cheeks, knuckles clutching the sheets so hard that they turned white, mouth open in silent screams, muttering words of discomfort, he would only speed up his movements, knowing that unless i said the word, i enjoyed the pain in some twisted way, not wanting it to stop despite the way my voice would say otherwise.

the room is quiet as i enter it, bed neatly made, cushions laid out in a specific pattern, sheets tucked perfectly into the sides, not a single crease visible on the white silk. it is a shame - i know tom too well to recognise that it won’t look that way for much longer, the bed likely to become a complete mess before he has even entered me. somehow i don’t flinch when the sound of the front door roughly opening echoes throughout the peace, diminishing it instantly. the loud slam that follows instead sends a surge of excitement through me, a knowing smirk on my face, not ready to let tom win just yet.

so i act nonchalant, calmly walking over to my vanity, humming incoherently, my hands grabbing a makeup wipe from the side, making contact with my skin as i begin to wipe my makeup off, starting with my foundation. i had noticed his footsteps making their way up the stairs the second his foot had made contact with the carpet, yet i tuned the sound out, continuing my innocent humming, acting like tom isn’t minutes, maybe seconds, away from fucking me so hard my vocal chords wouldn’t have the strength to whisper anymore, let alone sing to myself.

my eyes close as the makeup wipe glides over the skin, leaving a baby pink residue on the material, my face now bare besides from the red tinge still present on my lips.

“the fuck are you doing?” his low voice sounds through the room, my eyes turning to the reflection of the mirror, met with his large frame stood in the frame of the door. he had been stern with me since finding me outside the club, clearly thinking that his threats would scare me, not expecting to find me doing the exact opposite of what he had instructed, his expression more angry than ever.

“taking off my make up. i’ve told you it’s bad for me to sleep with it on, i don’t want my skin to break out.” i ramble, shrugging nonchalantly as i begin to stand up. my face is neutral, yet inside, my nerves tinge with satisfaction at the sight of tom’s jaw clenching, a loud groan leaving his lips.

he says nothing, my back to him as i begin to reach for the zipper of my dress, though i don’t get far. his own hands roughly tug mine away from my back, placing them harshly by my side as he spins me around, pushing my body against his and smashing his lips onto mine. the kiss is nothing short of desperate, rough and sloppy, tongues fighting for dominance, this enough to distract me from his quick steps that walk me into the wall, my back colliding harshly with it.

“you just don’t know when to fucking stop, do you?” he grunts, tugging his large black jacket from his frame, discarding it somewhere on the floor. his hands firmly grab my face, pulling it towards his own and reconnecting our lips, his teeth biting mine harshly, marvelling at the small whine of discomfort that leaves my lips, eager to cause me small drabs of pain - not enough to hurt me, but just the right amount to make me lose my stubbornness.

“jump.” he mutters against my lips, his hands hooking underneath my thighs in anticipation for my movement, yet i shake my head, much to his disbelief, a small smile tugging on my lips.

he pulls away, eyes narrowing once he picks up on my amusement, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip.

“you think this is funny, hm? come on, laugh again, i dare you.” he begins, studying the way the smile on my face slowly fades, caving in as he towers over me, one arm resting against the wall behind me. he nods his head, signalling me to show the same sense of entertainment i gained from disobeying him, though he doesn’t receive it, my mouth closing, eyes looking upwards into his own innocently.

“that’s what i fucking thought. y’know, i think you’ve forgotten your place. you really need me to remind you? ‘cause you know i will schatz.” he threatens, a satisfied grin on his lips once he realises how submissive i have become. i stay silent, a small hum leaving his lips as his hands grab the flesh of my thighs, hoisting me upwards. my back is flush against the wall, hips directly against his as he holds me up, fingers digging into the skin, my dress riding upwards slowly.

“fucking pathetic.” he whispers, his lips ghosting over mine, immediately noticing the way my head moves forwards slowly, silently begging for him to kiss me once again. for a second, he puts me out of my misery, capturing my lips in a soft kiss, humming into it slightly, acknowledging the way i quickly kiss back, unapologetically desperate for him. though he pulls away once he has hooked me in to the point that my kisses become faster, tugging on my lips slightly as he moves backwards, smiling sadistically when i whine in frustration, taking one hand and smoothly caressing my cheek, taunting me more than he ever has before.

he stays teasingly close, torturing me at this point, dipping his head even closer momentarily, dragging his thumb across my lips, collecting my saliva. he adores my weakness, loving how he is already in control, continuing to tease me despite the fact that he has won - he had the second he came to find me at the bar. we both knew that, yet i kept up my guard for too long, it’s presence now so thin it is almost non-existent.

“i don’t know why you try to act like you’re in charge. you and i both know you’ll be screaming my name in five minutes. you don’t have to hide it, i can read you like a book. you know it, you’re just humiliating yourself.” he chuckles lowly at my silence, dipping his head downwards as his lips make contact with my neck, placing open mouthed kisses over the skin. i tilt it to the side, giving him easy access.

my eyes fluttering shut once his lips touch the sensitive spot below my ear, i know that he has me under his control. and when he tears me away from the wall, walking over to the bed with my thighs still hooked around his waist, i don’t try to fight it anymore. he is frustrated, much more than he was when we entered the car, me disobeying him just once was enough for him to lend me no sympathy, this communicated once my back makes contact with the bed, roughly colliding with the soft mattress.

he climbs on top of me, my legs spreading instinctively to allow him within them, and closer to the place where i needed him most. sure, he would’ve found his way between them regardless of if i had obliged or not, but i decide to make part of it easier for him. his hands pull them apart even further, my dress now bunched up at my hips, lace panties on show for him.

“where’s that fucking attitude of yours now, hm?” he questions, studying the way my chest heaves up and down, the wet patch on my panties inches away from his face as he bends downwards, placing a soft kiss over the material, my hips bucking upward at the unexpected act. he grabs the flesh, forcing them back downwards, his head emerging from between my legs.

“don’t think i’m going easy on you ‘cause you’ve stopped acting like such a brat.” he states, hands roughly tugging my panties down as he speaks. “we’re past that point now. you’re getting fucked until you can’t use that mouth of yours to act out anymore.”

his words aren’t a threat, no, they are nothing short of a promise. sure, he says a lot of things when he is angry, but right now, each syllable that pours from his beautiful lips is nothing but the truth. and, whilst i couldn’t hide from the slight fear that habituated within me, the aching between my thighs overpowered it, throbbing desperately, needy for some sort of stimulation.

my silence is music to his ears. even though my acts of rebellion fuel his desire to ruin me, he much prefers me at his mercy, begging for him, my entire body his possession, his name written all over it, marking me as his own.

once my panties are somewhere on the floor, he moves to my dress, motioning for me to sit up, his calloused fingers attaching themselves to the zipper, tugging it downwards with such force the soft material rips. i gasp in disappointment, a tinge of anger rising within my chest, prompting the misbehaved side of me to make another appearance.

“are you fucking kidding me? that dress cost-”

“fucking shut up. i’ll get you a new one.” he mutters, tugging the material off of my body, leaving me completely naked beneath him, tom still completely dressed.

normally, i love his style, his baggy jeans and layers of t-shirts suiting him perfectly in most circumstances. yet right now, when i want nothing more than to feel his body against my own, it proves to be more of an inconvenience. he tugs the oversized denim downwards and off of his frame, his t-shirt soon following once he manages to tear it off. his dick prints firmly through his boxers, the outline prominent through the material, the thickness of it making the heat in my thighs unbearable as i move to clench them together, desperate for some sort of friction.

he shakes his head, roughly prying them apart with one hand, the other raking his boxers downward, his dick hitting his lower abdomen, the tip red, his erection so prominent it looks almost painful.

“all fours.” he orders, stroking himself a few times, watching as i turn around, positioning myself as he asked. he groans breathily from behind me, pumping himself a few times before i feel his tip meet my entrance.

he is unforgiving, thrusting his hips forward in one fast motion, moving his dick completely inside of me, not giving me any time to adjust as he usually would. i cry out in pain, my walls stretched out to the point that it is uncomfortable, the feeling of his tip prodding deep inside of me, combined with his thickness continuing to stretch me out creating a sensation that causes tears to build in my eyes.

“fuck- it’s too much…hurts.” i manage to let out, voice shaky as the angle doesn’t at all help my case. in fact it worsens it, my back arched in the air, arms flat against the bed, shaking as they try to hold me up, close to letting out.

“take it.” he says, cursing underneath his breath as he begins a fast pace, almost pulling out completely, before slamming back into me. “you want to act like a brat, i’ll treat you like one. you wanted this, don’t back out now.”

he knows that he is being rough, he can tell from the way low whimpers leave my lips with each quick movement of his hips. words almost inaudible, small utterances of discomfort muffled into the sheets, soon fading into screams of pleasure, cries of pure ecstasy, proving just how much he was right. and though i cannot see his face, my own smushed into the pillows, through his small groans, i can sense the sadistic smirk on his lips as he continues to pound into me.

“look at you, so fucking needy.” he taunts, his hand slowly reaching to grab my hair as i silently thank myself for tying it in a ponytail earlier. though now it is wild, wispy hairs falling from the hair tie, the ends ruffled slightly. yet he is able to take it easily, using it to pull my body upwards, back flush against his chest. he doesn’t make any attempt to be gentle, a loud yelp sounding from my lips as he ensures our bodies are pressed together, his fingers continuing to run through my hair.

“try to talk back now, like you did earlier on. you can’t, can you?” he questions, already knowing the answer. my mouth is wide open in a silent scream, head resting back against his shoulder as breathing consistently even proves difficult, tuning out everything besides from the sharp movements of his dick in and out of me. even his words are muffled, not registering in my head, this providing him with even more satisfaction, any communication soon melting into loud gasps, unable to muster any sort of response.

“doesn’t matter how many times i tell you. you’ll never learn, will you?” he scolds, his own voice shaky, often cut off with small groans, faltering especially when my walls clench around him. “takes me fucking you like this for you to shut that mouth of yours. you and your damn attitude.”

each time i clench around him, drawing his dick deeper inside of me, i wonder how much more i can take. god, i swear i can feel him inside my stomach, so full it is hard to breathe, the air, thick with the smell of sex, not helping my state. he seems to become more relentless, running his hands down my back, only to forcefully push my head back into the sheets, my high pitched moans now muffled into the silk, back arching subconsciously, each stroke of his cock inside of me making me more weak, swearing that i will collapse if he continues, struggling to hold my lower half up despite tom’s harsh grip on it.

his hand finds it way to my stomach, snaking around my waist to press downwards harshly, my mouth falling open at the sensation, able to feel every inch of him inside me, unable to hold back the loud cries that pour from my lips.

“fuck- oh my god!” i whine, lifting my head upwards from the sheets momentarily, teeth sinking into my bottom lip. my entire body trembles, the knot in my stomach tightening with each harsh thrust, his hips snapping against me at an even faster pace, his momentum somehow increasing.

“you feel it, hm?” he groans, fingers digging into the flesh of my hips, nails leaving marks in place of the soft skin. “sometimes you don’t realise how lucky you are. that you’re the only girl- fuck! you’re the only girl who gets to feel me inside of you, yet you can’t help yourself, can you? always have to act out…shit!”

the soft curses that spill from his lips become more frequent, this along with the feeling of his dick twitching inside of me letting me know that he is close too.

“i can’t- gonna cum!” i moan, pushing myself backwards so that i am closer to him, forcing him that little bit deeper inside of me. i writhe my hips, squirming slightly as my release is within arms reach, silently praying that he will put me out of my misery and let me cum - knowing that i am stupid to think that he is going to be so lenient.

“fucking hold it. you’re not cumming yet, you don’t deserve to.” he states, thrusting a few more times before his dick twitches one final time, ropes of his hot cum shooting into me. his nails dig into my ass as he kneads it, his release continuing to wash over him, a chorus of loud grunts leaving his lips.

now he is moving so slowly, riding out his high, teasing me by doing so, the slow strokes of his cock inside of me more unforgiving than his fast movements before. his tip, milking out the last drops of cum, now hits my g-spot repeatedly, each deep thrust sending me literally insane as it becomes impossible to hold my release.

“please- i can’t…i need to cum, can’t hold it.” my begging is almost pitiful to him, a low chuckle leaving his lips as he keeps moving in and out of me, despite the fact that his climax has been and gone.

“you wanna cum, hm?” he teases, pushing me upwards by my stomach so that my back is pressed against him once again. this time, his lips make contact with my neck, nibbling at the skin, his tongue running over it soon after, the feeling only making it more difficult as i continue to beg.

“mhm…please tom, let me cum. i’m sorry, i’m so sorry.” i plead, my words coming out as a low whine, tears cascading helplessly down my cheeks. he hums against me, the bass within his voice sending a shiver throughout my body.

“hmmm, are you really sorry, baby?” he teases, knowing that i am willing to say anything to let go of the knot in my stomach, on the verge of screaming at the top of my lungs in pure rage.

“mhm, yeah…i’m so sorry…i’ll be good from now on…so good! please, let me cum- shit!” my voice is hoarse, throat sore from the loud moans that have escaped from the back of it, completely worn out, beyond desperate to feel my release.

“go on baby, cum for me, c’mon.” he says, kissing my shoulder slowly as i nod my head vigorously, letting go of the tight knot in my stomach.

my head falls backwards, eyes squeezing shut, swearing that i can see stars as my mouth falls open, a high-pitched moan escaping from it as i clench around him one last time, my release washing over me. i almost fall forwards at the feeling, so overwhelming that i lose the strength to hold myself upright. tom collapses with me, still thrusting in and out from above me, fucking his load deeper inside of me, his chest heaving up and down as he does so.

his movements slow down as i sigh in relief, completely spent. however he pulls out of me momentarily, only to flip me on my back in one swift movement, quickly bottoming out inside of me once again.

i cry out at the sensation, unable to handle the feeling of his sharp thrusts, overly sensitive from being teased for so long before.

“i can’t take it…it’s too much!” i whine, already a moaning mess, yet this time, the pain overtakes the pleasure, coursing within me no matter how much i attempt to drown it out, his rough strokes stretching me out so much that it soon becomes uncomfortable.

“yes, you can.” he states, holding my arms above my head, his hands keeping my wrists in place. he is adamant on ensuring that i learn my lesson, and, the discomfort that overtakes any other feeling silently confirms that i will never act out again, struggling to stay still as my entire body squirms.

“please…i can’t…”

“not stopping until you learn that you don’t get to act like a fucking brat and not get punished for it.” he says, circling his hips a little, moving in and out ever so slowly, reducing the speed of his thrusts, instead focusing on the small whines that he elicits from my lips at the change in pace, noticing the way my face contorts in pleasure.

the slight change in angle allows him to press directly against my spot, rather than brushing past it with each deep stroke, another release soon building up within me, the overstimulation meaning it doesn’t take much to take me there. and, i can tell that he is getting close too, his breathing becoming fast and heavy, hands squeezing the flesh of my thighs as he uses them to thrust in and out of me.

he fills me up once again, teeth sinking into his lip as he does so, a restricted whine emitting from the back of his throat, the sudden pressure triggering my own climax. my hands find their way to his biceps, maintaining a tight hold as i squeeze them harshly, chest heaving up and down, unable to handle the slow rocking of his hips. he rides out his high, before picking up his pace once again, clearly looking for a third round, seemingly unaffected by his two previous orgasms. he is pushing my limits and he knows it, watching the way my face twists, forehead lined with sweat.

his head falls backwards, eyes fully closed, mouth slightly open, and, if he wasn’t so lost in his own satisfaction, i am sure that he would be teasing me somehow, reminding me how pathetic i look underneath him, or scolding me for my antics earlier on. though he saves his energy, instead using it to build up his pace, tuning out the sound of my small whines.

“stop- i can’t anymore!” i beg, tears rolling down my cheeks, my voice small and shaky, legs trembling uncontrollably.

this time, he knows that i mean it, when i take my hand, taking it firmly, with as much strength as i can muster, against his chest, attempting to push him away. but, despite this realisation, he keeps going, not showing any intention of stopping, not until i say the word. yet it is on the tip of my tongue, holding back from saying it just yet, enjoying the pain in some messed up way. though i know that i am spent, unable to do anything but exhale rapidly, just able to shape together the word “blue.”

his eyes shoot open, movements coming to an immediate stop, face softening once he registers my state - eyes bloodshot, body shaking, lips wavering as they attempt to hold back the sobs dangerously close to sounding from them.

“shit- fuck baby, i’m sorry, are you okay?” he rambles, quickly climbing off of me, wrapping his arms around my small frame and pulling me into him, rubbing my back comfortingly.

“i’m fine it’s just- too much.” i whisper, my voice barely audible, throat raw. he notices this straight away, pulling me closer into his embrace, planting soft kisses into my hair, mumbling small apologies into it every few seconds, listening to my breathing as it eventually slows, my body relaxing into him, his hold on me making it easy to fall into a deep sleep, tom’s soft snores soon following.

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

#tom kaulitz #kaulitz #kaulitz twins #tokiohotel #tom kaulitz x reader #tomkaulitz #tom kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz fluff #bill kaulitz #tom kaulitz angst

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femmefatalevibe · 1 year

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Femme Fatale Guide: Small Ways To Look More Polished (Essential Style & Beauty Tips)

Some simple fashion & beauty tips to help you look more put together to turn heads and feel your best daily. Hope this helps xx

Style:

Always steam, lint roll, and snip any threads from your clothing before heading out the door

Ensure your top, pants/skirt, and outerwear proportions flatter your body shape. Choose cuts, hemlines, and strategically tuck or button (or unbutton) each garment to create lines that flatter your figure

Be mindful of how your pant/skirt/dress hemline aligns with the shaft of your footwear. You don't want any bunching or awkward gaps

Learn which colors are the most flattering on your skin tone (and which shades wash you out)

Study your body shape and the silhouettes that best streamline/elongate your frame

Find the right balance of textures/fabric weight (too many "heavy" fabrics like faux fur, quilting or puffer-style items when styled together can look bulky if not styled carefully)

Invest in a capsule wardrobe and neutral basics made in high-quality fabrics (Pima cotton, cashmere, silk, heavyweight denim, merino wool, etc.)

If an item does not look quite right on your body, tailor it or toss (donate) it out

Make sure all of the hardware matches with all of the jewelry, handbag, watch, cuff or button details, and footwear you choose for any given outfit

Maintain your accessories and footwear. Ensure they're no creases or scuff marks before heading out the door

Beauty:

Always keep your eyebrows well-shaped, brushed, filled in, and regularly tweezed

Tweeze and/or dermaplane your face as needed

Prioritize skincare/SPF for flawless skin

Ensure your foundation/concealer/brow products are all a perfect color match and fully blended into your skin

Use concealer to outline your brows and lip shape for greater definition

Strategically apply bronzer/contour, highlighter, and blush to your face to flatter your natural hollows, and prominent features (top of cheekbones, the tip of the nose, right under the brow), and use a light wash of color where your face would be naturally flushed

Find a flattering lip shade that suits your skin tone and doesn't make your teeth look yellow/dull

Embrace healthy hair habits (condition generously, use a wide-toothed comb and a specialty hair towel on wet hair, use a heat protectant and a round brush for blowouts/styling and satin or silk hair ties/pillowcases, get regular trims)

Use dryer sheets to minimize hair frizz and water or Vaseline to slick back fly-aways

Exfoliate and moisturize religiously (dry brush or sugar scrub with lotions including ingredients like hyaluronic acid or glycerin, depending on your skin type)

Use cuticle oil around your nails & apply hand cream/lip balm daily (or substitute with Vaseline for any of the three)

Maintain a diligent nail routine (consistent nail shape, classic pink, nude, red, or vampy polish color, and a high-quality top coat)

#femme fatale #dark feminine energy #dark femininity #fashion tips #beauty tips #fashion and beauty #fashion advice #beauty advice #life advice #beauty hacks #tips and tricks #it girl #queen energy #high value woman #high value mindset #elegance #classy life #high maintenance #femmefatalevibe

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alwaysmicado · 5 months

Text

Trouble

5.3k | 18+ MDNI | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 5

Warnings: no outbreak AU, implied age gap, D/s dynamic, rough oral (m receiving), spitting, cum eating, leg humping, degradation/praise, humiliation kink, pet names, aftercare, feelings Summary: After you’ve distracted Joel from work with your explicit texts all day, he decides to teach you a lesson. A/N: Consensual degradation & humiliation – my beloved. This one's for you if you're into unadulterated filth with feelings sprinkled on top hehe. Let me know what you think, I love hearing your thots! 🤍

pt. 1 ・ pt. 2 ・ pt. 3 ・ pt. 4 ・ series masterlist

“You sure you got nothing else to say to me?”

“I’m—sorry?”

“No,” he tilts his head and you see the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “But you will be when I’m done with you.”

---

“Sneaking out for a hot date?”

Busted.

You sigh and turn around to face Kristen’s triumphant grin. Beautiful Kristen. The only person at your job with a bearable personality.

If you only had Janice from accounting and her incessant yapping about her feral kids, or John from HR and his never-ending tirades against “modern women”, you probably would have burnt down the building already.

Kristen’s been your lifeline over the past two years at this job. She’s upbeat, fun, a gifted painter and the closest thing to a female friend you have.

Her only flaw: she’s so nosy it’s not even funny.

After your get-well-fuck with Joel three days ago where he left multiple marks on your neck, you not only plastered a bunch of foundation over the purple reminders of his fever-fueled nipping, you also wore a silk scarf which, in hindsight, was a dumb idea.

The first thing you were welcomed with when you came in that morning was an enthusiastic “You go, girl!” followed by giggling after Kristen saw your unimpressed face.

You shoot her a half-hearted smile and raise an eyebrow. “Who says it’s a date?”

Kristen’s grin widens. “Oh, come on! You think I don’t notice the way you giggle at your phone like a lovesick idiot?”

“Oh, shut up,” you protest in mock offense. What the hell is she talking about? You don’t do that. “I got a doctor’s appointment. Nothing hot about that,” you say nonchalantly.

Kristen leans in, lowering her voice dramatically. “A doctor, huh? Do you have an ache only he can cure with his special tool?”

“You’re a pervert, you know that?”

“Yeah, duh. That’s why you love me,” she chuckles, causing the corners of your own lips to twitch.

“Well,” she smirks, “I hope the doctor will take the best care of you.”

You roll your eyes at her teasing, grab your bag and blow her a kiss before heading out. You leave the office with a grin, reveling in the sunshine that greets you when you step out.

The warmth of the day feels refreshing against your skin as you stroll to the parking lot. Your dress, despite being a result of prolonged laundry procrastination, is surprisingly comfortable, allowing you to appreciate the light breeze that rustles its fabric.

The sun casts a golden hue on the cityscape and you can't help but smile at the small pleasures of life – the sun on your face, a staff meeting getting canceled earlier, finding twenty bucks in an old pair of jeans this morning.

Life is okay at the moment.

Despite work kicking your ass, your mother trying to guilt-trip you into coming “home” and the last hookup you had throwing you out in the middle of the goddamn night because his wife came home from her business trip early.

You’re feeling good.

One might even say you’re happy.

If only there wasn’t this nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You take a deep breath and straighten your shoulders when you see your Uber pull up. Get yourself together.

The car winds through the city streets, and as you give Joel's address to the driver, you can't help but feel a flutter of anticipation. The engine hums softly as you navigate the familiar turns, presenting the perfect background to lose yourself in a daydream.

As you settle into the comfort of your bed, the world outside fades away. In the gentle embrace of your imagination, you feel a figure appear behind you. Their warmth is a soothing balm, and as they pull you close, a profound sense of security envelops you. The weight of the world, of your being lifts, replaced by the tender reassurance of this ethereal embrace.

In this imagined sanctuary, sleep finds you easily, cradled in the arms of solace. The whispered promise of warmth and safety lingers, allowing dreams to unfold like petals, undisturbed and serene in the soft glow of moonlight.

The notification sound of your phone pulls you back to reality. Glancing at the screen, you see Joel's name. You open the message and involuntarily press your thighs together, your pulse quickening instantly.

Door’s open. Get naked, then come upstairs.You’re in real trouble, angel.

---

The familiar scent of Joel’s home greets you when you step inside. It smells more like home than your apartment or any other place you’ve lived in since you were a child. Safe, warm, comforting – like its owner. And it’s a surprisingly well-decorated and welcoming home for a bachelor.

So much so that you asked him flat out if he had a wife on your first night together.

You take your shoes off and put your bag on the couch in the living room before heading to the downstairs bathroom to wash your hands and quickly check if you look presentable. Your eyes are a bit swollen from lack of restful sleep, but other than that, you’re good to go.

As you take your dress, bra and panties off, you somewhat fondly remember the last time Joel ordered you to his home because you were sending him filthy texts and photos while you both were at work.

You spent thirty minutes sitting still on his lap while he worked on his computer, his throbbing cock buried deep inside you. Every time he would shift in his chair a little, you would whimper into the crook of his neck and he would whisper into your ear how well you were doing for him and draw soothing circles on your back with his palm.

You hated and loved every torturous second of it.

The office door is open when you come upstairs. Your eyes widen when you see Joel sitting at his desk. It’s incredible how handsome he looks. He’s wearing a black t-shirt, blue gym shorts and his glasses as he’s staring at the computer and typing something with his index fingers.

Your heart starts beating faster as you take him in, the domesticity of this scene giving you an unexpectedly warm feeling deep within you.

“You just gonna stand there and stare at me?” Joel asks with a swivel of his chair, his body now facing yours. He saw you out of the corner of his eye before but now that he’s getting a good look at you, his jaw almost hits the floor.

He will never get used to seeing you naked.

“God, you’re so much more beautiful in real life,” he murmurs, his pupils blown wide and the admiration in his voice unmistakable.

You give him a satisfied smile as you lean against the doorframe. “I sure hope so,” you tease.

“Do you know why you’re here, darlin’?” Joel asks with a tilt of his head, his brow slightly furrowed.

“I’m assuming it has something to do with the silly little texts and pics I sent you to brighten up your day,” you say, feigning innocence. “Did you like them?”

“You really think now’s the time to be a brat, huh?” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Alright, then.” His eyes sparkle dangerously as he sits back in his chair and spreads his legs wider.

“You sure you got nothing else to say to me?”

“I’m—sorry?”

“No,” he tilts his head and you see the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “But you will be when I’m done with you.”

You bite your lip as your eyes focus on the visible bulge in Joel’s shorts, and try to suppress the huge grin that’s threatening to spread across your face. This is exactly what you wanted and you both know it.

“Hands and knees, baby,” Joel orders calmly and puts his hands on his thighs. “C’mere.”

You lower yourself on all fours without hesitation and crawl towards him slowly, making sure to sway your hips and never break eye contact. Joel’s the only person you’d put yourself in such a submissive position for and you revel in the exhilarating feeling it gives you.

Joel keeps his eyes trained on you, subtly rubbing his thighs as you come closer to where he’s needed you all day. His eyes are dark and full of need as he licks his lips and follows the mesmerizing movement of your body. He likes how you, despite your brattiness, know perfectly well where your place is.

“Look at what you did,” he says, once you’re kneeling on all fours between his spread legs. He palms his throbbing cock over the fabric and your eyes widen a little, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“That's right, baby, you did this. And now you need to take responsibility for your actions.” He gently caresses your cheek, tracing your lips with his thumb.

When he presses on your lower lip, you instinctively open your mouth enough for his finger to slip inside. He presses on your tongue, admiring the feeling and your willingness to submit.

“Look at you,” he chuckles, gently rubbing his cock. “Such a little slut, always wants something in her mouth.”

He moves his thumb further along your tongue, causing you to furrow your brow and gag a little. “You couldn't help yourself, huh, just had to put on a show all day like the needy whore you are.”

He takes his thumb out of your mouth and pulls his shorts all the way down, letting them fall on the floor next to his chair. His heavy cock flops against his lower belly, causing you to swallow and part your lips instinctively. Joel smirks at your reaction, enjoying the raw need sparkling in your eyes as he strokes himself slowly.

You start squirming, pressing your thighs together to alleviate at least some of the uncomfortable ache between your legs, and let out an almost inaudible whine as Joel continuously strokes up and down his length while looking at you curiously.

He leans in and tilts your chin up, his dark eyes boring into you.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” He asks softly, feigning concern. He looks from you to his cock and back, raising an eyebrow. “All of this just because you’re a pathetic little cockslut with nothing else in her dumb little head than my cock. Isn’t that right, angel?”

You nod slowly, your lips slightly parted, hypnotized by Joel’s big eyes and filthy words.

“Use your words, slut,” he growls, gripping the back of your neck to tilt your head up even more.

“I just—wanted you so bad, I–”

“Aww, of course you did,” he teases you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Tell me your safeword, angel.”

He looks into your eyes intently as you say it out loud, then puts a soft kiss on your lips. You whimper when he withdraws, the feeling of his warm lips lingering.

“Open up,” he orders with a tap of his fingers to your bottom lip. “Stick your tongue out for me.”

You obey and do as he says, looking into his eyes expectantly. You watch in awe and pure need as the thick glob of saliva makes its way down from Joel’s mouth and lands on the back of your tongue. A shiver runs down your spine as you feel it run down your throat.

“Swallow.” He gently puts a strand of hair behind your ear as you show him your empty mouth. “Good girl.”

You moan softly at his praise and furrow your brow when your eyes find his cock again.

“You really want it, huh,” Joel purrs, trailing your neck and chest gently with his hands. When he brushes your nipples, you wince a little, eliciting a low chuckle from him. “Spread your legs, baby. Let me see your little pussy.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, his cock twitching impatiently when you sit back on your heels and present your glistening folds.

“Fuck me,” he murmurs, tracing your belly all the way down to your mound and stopping right before touching your clit. “Must’ve been uncomfortable to sit in that all day, hm?”

He gently pulls your lips apart with his thumbs and index fingers, inspecting you closely. “Your little clit is so swollen, baby, does it hurt?”

“Mhm,” you whine, his touch so close to your neglected bundle of nerves torturing you beyond belief. “It–it hurts so bad, Sir.”

“Hmm,” he searches your eyes, “and that’s why you thought it was a good idea to send me all those naughty messages?” He spreads your lips apart further, eliciting a long moan from you. “You thought I’d fuck you if you did?”

“Y–yes,” you stammer, your legs trembling, “I’m sor–”

You’re cut off when Joel lets go of your lips and swipes his fingers through your dripping wet folds agonizingly slowly, once, twice, three times, barely brushing your pulsating clit.

Listening to the noises you make and feeling your hot cunt on his hand is enough to make him almost come, despite his cock not having any contact at the moment. His eyes never leave yours as you whimper desperately, his barely there touch enough to build your long overdue orgasm.

“Go on, angel,” he withdraws his hand and holds his hand up to your lips, “clean up the mess you made.”

He pushes his wet fingers into your mouth, forcing you to suck your own juices off of him. You do so eagerly, sucking and licking his fingers, moaning around them.

“You would’ve sucked my cock in front of everyone if I had let you, huh.” You let out a desperate moan, feeling your pussy get wetter at the thought. “That’s right, baby,” Joel chuckles. “Show everyone you’re my little cockslut.”

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, satisfied with the job you did, then grabs your chin hard, his wet fingers pressing into your hot cheeks.

“You want it so bad, baby? Then beg for it.”

“Please,” you whine. “Please let me suck your cock, please, I–I want your cock so bad—”

“All yours, baby.”

He leans back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head, looking at you through lidded eyes.

“Fuuuck, that’s it,” Joel groans as you start licking and sucking at his balls, then lightly trace the veins of his cock with your warm tongue, swirling it around the tip, licking up the salty precum. You look at him expectantly as you lick up and down his length, fondling his balls with your hand.

He smiles at the needy look in your eyes, finding it unbelievably hot that you want to, need to hear his praise so badly even though it’s obvious that everything you do to him is and feels beyond perfect.

“Good girl,” he says softly, eliciting a little whimper from you. “Now stop teasing and take it.”

You immediately hold him up by the base and take the tip into your mouth, sucking on it eagerly. You take him further, inch by inch, bobbing your head up and down his shaft until he’s nudging the back of your throat. Your eyes well over with tears as you gag around his cock. Joel groans in response, his whole body tensing as he tangles his hands in your hair.

You make a surprised sound when he leans over you and pushes your head down until your nose is rubbing his pubic hair, giving you no chance to move your head. He keeps his length buried deep inside you for a few seconds before pulling you up, a thick string of saliva mixed with precum connecting you two, only to push you right back down.

“Fuck, I love the sounds you make,” Joel pants as you choke and whine loudly.

He pulls your head back up to let you catch your breath and make sure you’re enjoying yourself as much as he is. He knows from the look in your eyes that you are, but he wants to make sure before you continue.

“What’s your color, angel?”

You look at him with bleary eyes, but give him a dazed smile and whisper, “Green.”

Joel nods and caresses your wet cheeks, wiping away some of your tears with his thumbs.

He traces your swollen lips with the head of his cock, loving the way his precum sticks to them.

“Breathe through your nose, baby,” he pants. “Can’t have you passing out on me.”

You wrap your lips around his head, swirl your tongue around it, then bob your head again – messily, sloppily, just the way he likes it.

“Good girl,” he breathes, thrusting his hips to slide in and out of your mouth, smiling at you and petting your hair. “Such a perfect little fleshlight.”

You tremble and moan around him, not entirely sure if his filthy mouth, his groaning, or the fact that he’s using you for his pleasure is turning you on the most. You just know you love it when he holds your head steady and fucks your mouth roughly, taking what he wants from you, making you gag and choke, saliva and tears running down your cheeks, chin, neck, and body.

You look like a masterpiece.

“I’m close, baby,” Joel pants, your perfect, wet mouth and the admiration he sees in your big, wet eyes making him tremble every time he thrusts his hips into you. You push him right over the edge when you squeeze his balls hard.

He comes with a strangled groan, shooting rope after rope of warm cum down your throat and onto your tongue. You welcome it with eager moans, so far gone that you don’t realize what you’re doing until after it’s too late — you swallow it all without his permission.

Fatal mistake.

Joel grabs you by your hair, pulling you off his pulsating cock, still breathing heavily.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, huh?”

Your eyes widen in shock, your lip quivering. “I–I'm sorry, I–I forgot.”

“You forgot?” Joel sighs and raises his eyebrows. He loosens his grip in your hair and looks at your eyes welling up with tears. You stumble over your words as you keep apologizing over and over again. You’re so perfect like this.

“What’s your color, baby?”

“Green, Sir,” you sniffle. “It’s green.”

“Now what am I supposed to do with a fleshlight that doesn’t work right, hm?” He tilts your chin up and rubs it softly with his thumb. “Do you think you deserve to get fucked?”

“I’m—please, I'll be good, I promise,” you choke out through tears and hiccups. “Please, I’ll do anything you want, just please—”

Joel smirks and leans back in his chair. “No need to tell me that, angel. I know you’ll do anything.” He lifts his foot between your thighs, eliciting a small, needy noise from you when he presses it against your swollen cunt.

“You’re so fucking wet, baby. All from being used, hm?”

“Yes, Sir,” you whine, wiping your cheeks and trying your hardest to stay still. “Thank you.”

“Such a pathetic little slut.” He rubs his foot against your folds, and you moan, closing your eyes, your lips trembling, your face hot from embarrassment and arousal. Joel presses harder and you cry out, your hips jerking instinctively.

“Pathetic enough to hump my leg?”

He snorts when he sees the stunned look on your face. You are definitely startled, but you don't protest. Joel can see a mix of hesitation and need in your eyes, and he understands that he needs to push you.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” he says, gently petting your hair, “so you better thank me for letting you come at all.”

He sighs and pulls your head back by your hair when you don’t answer fast enough.

“Use your words, slut.”

“Th–thank you,” you whimper. “I–I just–” You trail off, too shocked and embarrassed to finish your sentence, your voice trembling as you babble unintelligibly.

You hear Joel say your name and feel him cup your cheeks. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

You sniffle and try to focus on his eyes. “Tell me your color,” he says gently, his deep voice soothing your nerves.

“Still green,” you breathe, swallowing hard.

He searches your eyes and nods before sitting back up and extending his leg a little.

“Go on, then.”

You look at the satisfied smirk on his face before taking a deep breath and scooting forward, adjusting yourself against Joel’s leg. Gripping Joel’s thigh for balance, you tilt your hips forward until your clit makes contact with his hairy leg. You shudder at the feeling, a needy little moan escaping your lips.

Joel’s pupils are so blown, his eyes are completely black now.

You slowly drag your hips upward and duck your head, embarrassed that you’re actually enjoying this – and that you’re this wet. After slowly rocking your hips up and down a few times, you can’t keep yourself from moaning anymore. It feels to fucking good.

You shift a little and allow yourself to set a pace that will make you come. You nuzzle your face against Joel’s thigh and don’t hold back anymore, rutting against his leg with abandon, chasing your release.

“That’s it, angel,” Joel purrs, gently brushing a wet strand of hair out of your face. “You’re doing so well for me.”

You rock your hips against his leg over and over again, your brows furrowed, whimpering desperately as you grind your wet folds against Joel’s leg, the friction causing your whole body to shudder.

Joel fucking loves seeing you like this; pliant, obedient, wanting to be good so badly that you’d do anything to please him. Most of all, though, he loves how much you trust him.

“You’re such a good girl,” he praises, tilting your chin up to look into your glazed over eyes. “My good girl.”

You moan at his words, your fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs, your hips jerking frantically, desperate for release. Joel smiles softly at your reaction, reveling in the fact that he's ruining you for anyone else.

He fucking delights in it.

“That’s right, angel. Keep looking at me with those beautiful eyes.”

You barely hear what he says as your breathing comes out in noisy, deep gasps, too far gone, too overwhelmed to feel embarrassed at fucking yourself on Joel’s leg. There are no thoughts left in your brain, your only focus now is chasing your climax.

“Feels good, huh? Such a spoiled brat, aren’t you,” he taunts, marveling at your blissed out expression and the sheen of sweat glistening on your naked body.

“You think you deserve to come, hm? Even though you’re just a dumb little whore, only good for taking my cock in all her holes?”

That’s almost enough right there to tip you over the edge.

“Tell me what you are.”

You let out a choked sob, fresh tears making their way down your cheeks. Joel wipes them away with his thumbs as you stutter, “I’m–I’m your dumb little whore, Sir. I’m all yours — please, please–”

He gives you a warm smile as his dark eyes bore into. “Come for me, angel.”

You press your throbbing clit hard against him, humping his leg feverishly until the tension finally snaps and shockwaves grip your whole body, your legs trembling as you moan uncontrollably. Your walls contract around nothing as you collapse onto Joel’s thigh and start sobbing.

It’s all too much right now.

He immediately draws you into his strong arms, lifting you up and cradling you. “Shh, sweetheart,” he purrs, holding you tight and stroking your hair, “you did so well. Are you alright, hm? You want me to go get you a towel?”

Your eyes widen at the suggestion of him leaving you, causing you to shake your head fervently, your tears flowing freely now as you gradually come down from your high.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby” he coos, putting soft kisses on the top of your head and rubbing soothing circles on your back. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You're still naked and Joel wants you to feel comfortable and warm, so he swivels you two towards the couch to snag the blanket and drape it over you. He holds you close, whispering into your hair how well you did and how good you are, intermittently pressing soft kisses on your wet face.

You feel the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath, a comforting rhythm that wraps around you like a protective cocoon. The warmth emanating from his body seeps into yours, making you feel calm and protected.

Joel’s not surprised that you need physical affection and closeness right now, knowing that humiliation is one of the most effective ways to make you fly – and crash.

Falling apart in front of somebody, allowing them to see you in such a raw, uninhibited state, is an incredibly vulnerable act.

Joel is not taking your trust lightly.

When he sees you wipe your nose with your arm, he swivels you back to his desk and opens the drawer to get you some tissues. Your heart skips a beat when you see what else is inside, but you keep quiet.

“Was I really good?” You mumble after listening to Joel’s calming heartbeat for a few minutes.

“You were perfect, baby,” he says softly, pressing a tender kiss on the crown of your head.

“So, can you fuck me now?”

The vibrations of Joel’s chuckles reverberate beneath you, making you laugh yourself.

“How about we make sure you drink enough and eat something first, hm?”

“Just say that your refractory period is getting longer, old man.”

“Why, hello,” he laughs and pinches your sides, making you squeal, “the princess is back.” You lift your head to look into his eyes. His beautiful, warm eyes. “You think I’ll fuck you if you keep being a brat, hm?”

“That’s exactly what I think. Because you always do. Because you love it.”

“Wow,” he chuckles and shakes his head. “All this just now and you’re still sassing me?”

“Just admit you fucking love it, so we can move on and decide what we wanna have for dinner,” you murmur.

Joel can’t hold back the beaming smile that’s spreading across his face.

Save for last time, you usually leave shortly after you’ve come down. He’ll sometimes ask if you want to stay a bit, but will never pressure you into doing so – even if it hurts him.

And it does, sometimes, if he’s being honest.

“Alright, alright,” he sighs deeply, his smile betraying his mocking tone. “I fucking love it when you’re a little brat and torture me all fucking day, making me sit in a fucking meeting for hours on end with a hard cock, listening to some rich fucks who want me to build some bullshit building for them.”

You giggle at the description of his day and kiss his dimple. “I really am sorry, you know.”

“No you’re not,” he shakes his head. “Now, what are you in the mood for?”

“Can we, um, can we go eat the fattiest, unhealthiest junk food ever and then wash it down with huge cups of pure sugar, so we’re both gonna have a stomach ache for the next three days?”

“Have I ever told you you’re perfect before?”

---

You step out of the shower, dry off, wash your face with Joel’s face wash and drink a glass of water. Joel put your bag outside the door when you were in the shower, giving you space to do your thing and going downstairs to take a shower there himself.

You’re kind of tired now, feeling a little burnt out.

You put on your panties and retrieve the comfy gym shorts you were smart enough to bring with you from your bag. They’re the only other clean piece of clothing besides the dress you could find in your drawer this morning.

“Joel?” You shout from the top of the stairs.

“Yeah?”

“Can I borrow a t-shirt?”

“Sure, darlin’. Just grab one you like.”

“Thank you.”

You smile and make your way to Joel’s bedroom. Opening the drawer, your eyes fall on a white shirt you’ve seen him wear many times. Don’t do it. You sigh defeatedly and lift the shirt up to your face, inhaling the unmistakable scent.

Then you suddenly remember it. Fuck. You need to make sure.

You put on the shirt and quickly walk to the office. Taking a deep breath and making sure Joel’s not watching you snoop through his things, you open the drawer.

The polaroid feels strange in your hand as you lift it to take a closer look.

It’s one of Tommy, you and Joel in it, from the night Tommy introduced you two. You don’t even remember taking this one, but now that you’re looking at it, you see something. It’s the way you’re smiling.

You turn the photo and read the handwritten note that catches your eye.

when I met her

You swallow hard and put it back. It doesn’t mean anything. You hung the other polaroid, the one of only you and Joel, up in your apartment and that doesn’t mean anything either—right?

“Babe?” Joel’s voice pulls you back.

You turn around and look at him, startled. “I, uh, was just looking for some batteries. Couldn’t find any though.”

“I got plenty downstairs,” he says with a tilt of his head. “Come on, let’s go.”

---

You’re sitting in a booth, munching on your burger, intermittently sipping your soda. You don’t even realize you haven’t answered Joel for the third time.

“Are you sure everything’s okay, sweetheart?” Joel touches your arm, his brow furrowed. You look at his concerned face, his cute little frown, before putting down your burger with a sigh.

“I, uh,” you start but can’t think of the right words. “I’m just feeling a little off these days, I guess. Work’s been stressful and, um, you–you’re gonna think I’m weird,” you murmur while picking at the fries on your plate.

“Darlin’,” Joel sighs, taking your hand into his, “you’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met.” He chuckles when he sees your offended face. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He rubs the back of your hand softly and searches your eyes. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“It’s, um,” you clear your throat. “Do you ever get this feeling that there’s something looming?”

He tilts his head and looks at you curiously. “I’m not sure I follow, darlin’?”

“Like if you’re happy, do you ever feel like it’s not real, it can’t be real, and there’s something looming? Like there’s something just waiting to fuck everything up?”

When he doesn’t answer, you avert your gaze and try to withdraw your hand. “I’m sorry, I’m killing the vi–”

“No, sweetheart. Hey, c’mere.” He extends both of his hands to you on the table and you give him yours to hold. “I’m sorry, darlin’,” he murmurs, “your question just caught me off guard a little.”

You softly rub his hand with your right thumb and study his features. He looks gorgeous with his tousled hair and his big cow eyes.

“Look, I know that happiness is hard to accept sometimes because we’re afraid of it not lasting. It may even seem easier to sabotage it preemptively, so we’re not disappointed or don’t get hurt when something bad does happen. And I also know that we sometimes don’t think we even deserve to be happy.”

Bingo.

“But sweetheart, I need you to understand something,” he squeezes your hands gently, his sincere eyes boring into you.

“If anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you.”

You try your best to blink away the tears that are forming in your eyes.

---

Thank you for reading! 🤍 part 4 || part 6 || series masterlist

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crappymixtape · 5 months

Text

gold & glitter

REQUEST → @superblysubpar, A VERY MERRY MIXTAPE ❝ i’m thinking a little rich!steve harrington, a little spicy somethin, somethin and a holiday play – spicy is right, steve takes you to see the nutcracker, but you don’t even make it to the first act • 18+ | ( 3.1k – smut with a dash of fluff, rich!steve x reader )

G O L D & G L I T T E R 🎶 the nutcracker suite, tchaikovsky

“Good evening, Mister Harrington. Miss. May I take your jackets?”

“Thank you, Charles. Did you order the MacCallan Anniversary malt?”

“Of course, sir. It is available neat here from your decanter or we can dress up however you like. Miss, your jacket?”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you opened them again expecting the finery before you to disappear into thin air like a dream, but it didn’t.

“Oh ye-yeah. I mean-yes. Yes, thank you,” you stumbled over your words as the waitstaff took your coat and disappeared behind the curtain. God, you were working overtime to maintain the same level of calm and collected sophistication that seemed to come so easily to your date.

Steve Harrington. Son of John Harrington and heir to the Harrington fortune. One with a foundation built by generations of brokers and wealth managers. Carried on throughout the years to be passed down to the eldest or, in Steve’s case, the only son.

You’d been together for over a year now, but you still weren’t used to it. This lifestyle.

Going anywhere with him meant multiple planned routes in and out of your destinations. Private cars with dark tinted, bullet-proof windows. Black American Express cards, Gucci loafers, and champagne flown direct from the Garonne Valley in Bordeaux, France.

And of course, at Christmastime, a viewing of George Balanchine's The Nutcracker from a private balcony, performed by only the finest troupe at the New York City Ballet.

You’d been to the theatre, the opera, but never like this. A suite all to yourselves, up and away from prying eyes, and upon each seat rested a pair of exquisitely golden opera binoculars for your viewing pleasure. It felt otherworldly. Lush and dark, gilded and polished. Long, red, crushed velvet curtains draped heavy to the floor and on a small table thick, crystalline tumblers sat next to a matching decanter full of only the finest single malt whiskey.

Lifting a hand, you ghosted an immaculately manicured finger around the rim of one of the glasses.

“Is it up to your standards, honey?”

The low, warmth of Steve’s voice broke your trance and pulled your gaze quick to look up at him.

“What?” you wondered aloud, still surprised at how he could ask such questions, “My standards? God. It’s beautiful.”

“Good. M’glad you like it.”

A smile tugged up at the corner of his mouth as he watched you walk to lean out over the balcony and look down at the sea of seats below. You were wearing the emerald green dress he’d bought you especially for the occasion. Made of the finest silk and fitted tight against every curve and dip of your body. Your hair swept long over one shoulder, soft skin exposed through the keyhole cut into the back. You were exquisite.

And you were all his.

Tucking a hand into the pocket of his slacks he reluctantly looked away from you and took up the decanter to pour a measure of whiskey for himself. MacCallan, single malt, from 1928 and around three-hundred thousand dollars a bottle. Lifting the tumbler he inhaled deeply and let his eyes drift shut. Worth every single penny.

“Charles,” his voice notched up in volume and the man from earlier appeared through the thick, velvet curtains.

“Sir?”

“A bottle of Dom and a chilled glass,” Steve took a drink from his whiskey and let it sit on a his tongue for a moment before swallowing it down. “Oh, and my cigar case.”

“Sir, you know smoking isn’t permitted–”

Steve hummed, a low thrum in his throat, and stepped forward toward the other man.

“How much do I pay for these seats, Charles? How much does my family pay for these seats? Since the theatre opened in 1964…I’ll let you do the math,” he took another sip of whiskey and lifted a hand to smooth down the other man’s cravat, “My cigar case.”

“Yes. Of course, Mister Harrington,” the man replied quietly, eyes glued to the cheap, shiny black plastic of his dress shoes.

Steve put on a smile, the one he gave to clients when he knew he’d closed an account, and gripped the man’s shoulder, “Good man.”

And without another word Charles was off again through the curtain.

There was no denying it, Steve’s presence always held weight. Held power. No one could tell him no. Stood in boardrooms dressed to the nines. Gold heirloom cufflinks, custom tailored jackets and Tucci de Lusso oxfords included, but this version of him was different. Somehow more and you didn’t know how it was possible.

Brunette locks perfectly coiffed. Custom black Armani suit fitted tight across his chest and shoulders. Gold signet ring with his initials engraved upon it shining up from his index finger, and damn if his ass didn’t look incredible in those slacks.

You clicked your tongue at him and fixed him with a look, closing the gap between the two of you.

“Babe, he’s just trying to enforce the house rules,” smoothing a hand up his chest, you pretended to adjust his tie as an excuse to touch him.

“Honey, you and I both know who makes the rules around here,” he drawled, his tone making you weak in the knees, and he set his glass down in favor of taking hold of your waist. His hand wide and warm on the small of your back as he ran it down the curve of your ass and squeezed, pulling a gasp from your lips.

“Steve,” you chided, no heat behind it, and he dipped down to press a kiss to your neck.

“This really is your color,” he whispered in your ear and your eyes fluttered at the sound. Pressed your thighs together as he traced a finger across your exposed collarbone. Warmth blooming in your core as he followed the hem that chased along the edge of your shoulder.

“You’ve got good taste,” you whispered back, swallowing the moan that had crept up your throat and he grinned.

“I do, don’t I.”

“Sir, your cigar cas–oh!”

Charles came back through the curtain to find the two of you pressed into each other, Steve’s nose buried in the crook of your neck. Your cheeks burned at being caught.

“My sincerest apologies, sir! I should’ve–”

“S’alright,” Steve chuckled, pulling away from you to casually take the case from the other man without missing a beat. He reached into his money clip and slipped a hundred dollar bill into Charles’ hand, “Now. That will be all. If I need anything, I’ll ring you.” The finality of his words hung in the air.

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Excuse me,” and with that Charles disappeared again for what you were certain, after all that, would be the last time.

“Shit,” you breathed, cheeks still bright red as you bit back a laugh.

Steve was laughing too, but no where near embarrassed, and he grabbed your hand to pull you close to his chest again as the theatre lights flickered and slowly dimmed.

“Mmm, damn. Showtime,” he murmured softly into your hair.

You felt your stomach drop at the thought of having to sit so still, and so far from Steve for three hours, but then another thought came to you. One that made your cheeks flush again and you pressed your face into his lapel, breathing in the citrusy, cedar scent of his cologne.

Pulling away just enough to meet his gaze the expression you maintained was innocent, but the look in your eye wasn’t. It was dark and needy. Warm and flickering at the feeling of his hands on your waist.

“We could freshen up first,” you suggested quietly and as Steve put your words together his pupils blew wide. Pools of black edged in gold and he squeezed at the plush of your hip.

“Uh-huh,” came out strangled and it was all he could manage. Unable to focus on anything other than rucking that silk dress up around your thighs, and without hesitation he grabbed your hand and pulled you through the thick, velvet curtains.

The corridor was empty, Charles hiding wherever he’d rushed off to, and everyone else was in their seats to catch the opening act as Steve led you the short distance down the hall.

Luckily for you, the neighboring balcony’s ticket holders had filed for bankruptcy earlier in the year and now the restrooms on this wing were exclusively Steve’s. Doors crafted from thick oak and etched with breathtaking carvings of Swan Lake and Slyphide, they were heavy enough to drown out anything happening on the other side.

Thank god.

Ignoring the men’s and women’s signs, Steve chose the closest door and shouldered into it, bicep straining against the tight fabric of his shirt as he held muscled it open. It was a hurried mess, both of you tripping into the room on the train of your dress in a fit of giggles as Steve huffed a laugh and cursed under his breath.

“Baby.”

Heels clicking on the white granite tile floor, you regained your footing and finally took in all the exquisite details of the ornate room. Wide marble slabs. Bottles of lotion and perfume that cost more than your mortage. Gold fixtures shining in the low light falling from crystal chandeliers that refracted bright shards of color against the walls.

You would have appreciated the incredible beauty of it all, but Steve. You couldn’t have cared less and neither could he.

He spun you around to face him and hooked his arms behind the backs of your legs. Scooped you up off the ground and pulled a squeal from you as you held on tight around his neck to steady yourself.

Squeezing his hold on you, he freed an arm and swept it across the counter. Knocked the soap dish clattering into the sink basin and paid absolutely no attention to the lush basket of designer hand towels that fell to the floor as he lifted you with ease onto the marble surface.

“Steve,” you protested weakly and when he notched himself between your legs you felt yourself melt under him.

His hands were everywhere. Your waist, the small of your back, fingers pressing into your cheek and pushing your hair over your shoulder to drag messy, open-mouthed kisses against the skin there. It pulled a moan from your lips and at the sound he groaned into you.

“Christ, babe. I’ve wanted to get my hands on you since you climbed into the limo. Pretty as a fuckin’ picture in this thing. So damn hot. All for me, huh?”

“S’always for you,” you half-laughed, but it caught in your throat as he slipped a hand between your thighs, “God, Steve.”

“This for me too, honey?”

He gathered a handful of emerald green silk in one hand and pooled it at your waist as the cool air of the room sent a shiver up your spine. Then he caught sight of the black lace panties hugging tight against you and sucked in a breath. Bit down on his bottom lip and looked like he might cry.

“You’re gonna kill me with these. Are you kiddin’ me? Baby. Look at this,” he babbled, just standing there not touching you and you grabbed hold of his wrist and tugged him back into you.

“Talk too much,” you murmured against his ear, running a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck and dragging your nails against his skin, “It’s all yours…Mister Harrington.”

And fuck if the dress and panties weren’t enough, the sound of your voice wrapped around his name did him in.

“Damn right it is.”

He growled as you tugged on his hair, slipped his hand back between your legs and tugged the thin fabric of your panties aside. The way he had been kissing and talking at you out on the balcony had been plenty to send you pressing your thighs together, but the way he was handling you in here had you soaked.

His fingers slipped in your slick as he felt just how wet you were and he smirked against your skin as he dragged his lips up to your jawline. Tutting softly he slowly circled your clit, his other hand moving to wrap gently around the column of your throat.

“Bet you want me to talk now, huh honey? You want that? Talk dirty to you?” his voice was barely above a whisper as his fingers slid down to press against your entrance.

You swallowed against the hand he had on your throat, your lips dropping open into a perfect little ‘o’ as you squirmed against the counter, impatient for him.

“Uh-huh,” you breathed and he smirked at how he had you wrapped around his finger, literally as he slid one into you.

“That’s my girl. I know what you like, don’t I? Give you everything you need. Take care of you, hm?” he babbled, kissing and sucking at the hollow behind your ear as he began to slide his finger in and out, in and out. A slow drag at first before adding a second finger and pulling a moan from your lips.

“Good care of me,” fell out mindlessly as he gently tightened the hand on your throat making your heartbeat thud in your ears.

“This isn’t enough though, is it? Not enough. Want me to fill you up, don’t you honey?” he whispered and you nodded, your throat too tight to speak, and god you wanted him to make you see stars.

He pulled his hand from between your legs to undo the button on his pants and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes at the loss of his touch.

“Shh, I got you, baby,” he coaxed, pulling down his zipper and reaching in to free his rock hard cock.

It sprang out of his pants without any encouragement and he wrapped a hand around it. Rubbed it against your slit as it practically cried in anticipation and as he slowly pushed himself into you it made you sucked in a rasp of a breath.

“Steve,” you begged and he moved his hand to grip your thigh.

“I know, baby.”

An inch more and he was into you up to the hilt. Filling you so much that you could feel the tip pressing against the spot only he could reach. Easing out he groaned as you clenched down on him before pushing back in and he set the pace there. A slow drag. In, out. In, out.

The wet sounds coming from you as he fucked you slowly were obscene. Made louder by the empty room, but you didn’t care. You wanted more.

“Harder,” you pleaded. He wanted it too and as he looked down at the sight of his cock sliding into your cunt he nearly lost it.

Letting go of your throat he grabbed onto your other thigh for purchase and pulled you to the very edge of the counter. Picked up the pace and started fucking you faster, the slap, slap, slap of his thighs against yours filling the air.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Feel so good. You like that? Huh? Want more?”

“More–shit. Yes, god. More, Steve.”

Your knuckles were white with how hard you were gripping the counter, moans falling freely from your lips now as Steve pushed you both closer and closer to climax. You could feel the coil tightening in your stomach as he squeezed into the plush of your thighs and your hand flew up to grab at the back of his neck.

“Gonna–ugh–come, baby. Come with me, baby,” he said through gritted teeth, jaw ticking when he clenched down, and as he rocked his hips back into you, you both came.

Your orgasm wrapped around you tight. White hot. Electric. Every inch of you buzzing and sparking like fireworks on the fourth of July and you cried out as his thrusts fell out of sync, jerky and messy as he came down.

A soft thud echoed against the tile as your head fell back against the mirror behind you, beads of sweat holding your hair messy across your forehead. Steve leaned into you, rested his head on your chest, and slowly your breaths evened out.

Your lips twitched with a smile, your hand lifting to cover your mouth as you held back a laugh, and Steve seemed to have the same thought as he chuckled against your dress.

“Someone heard us. For sure,” you finally said, voice crackly from breathing so hard.

“And? Who gives a shit. Maybe we just gave them a good idea,” Steve grinned, looking up at you from where he rested his chin on your belly.

You swatted at him, gasping as he pulled out of you to avoid getting hit.

Bending down, Steve grabbed a couple of the hand towels from where they’d landed on the tile and ran warm water on them. Quickly cleaned himself up and then took his time with you. Paid close attention to where he’d held onto your throat. Where his fingertips pressed into your thighs. Dabbed softly across your forehead and spent extra time on the mess between your legs.

You touched up your makeup and perfume, adjusted Steve's tie and hair, and when you both finally emerged from the bathroom the piece the orchestra was playing reached a crescendo and the theatre filled with applause.

It couldn’t be the end of the first act?

Steve walked you easy back to the balcony and held the heavy velvet curtain open for you. Your gilded opera binoculars were still sitting perfectly upon your seat where you’d left them and the bottle of chilled Dom Perignon was on ice along with a champagne flute – you hated whiskey.

You both sank into your seats as the orchestra began to play again and you recognized the piece and shot Steve a look.

“The party scene just started,” you whispered, “We’re not even out of the first part of act one.”

“Christ,” he groaned, grinning into his hands as he rubbed them across his face. Then, glancing over at you he grabbed his cigar box, “We can always make up for it next year. Right?”

Your eyes grew wide.

“Skip the Nutcracker?” you asked incredulously and he quirked a brow at you.

“Yeah. Skip it and we’ll go catch part two of the bathroom scene at mine,” he said giving you a wicked grin and you feigned shock, your own grin threatening to shatter your facade.

“Mister Harrington, what would your mother say?”

And the look he gave you then was the absolute definition of smug.

“My Stevie boy always gets what he wants.”

And damn if she wasn’t right about that.

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a-world-with0ut-dr34ms · 10 months

Text

Ghost x Wife!Reader

Ghost watches you put your makeup on in the morning.

SFW, Extreme Fluff, Light Angst, Light Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, Softness, Makeup, Pre-Established Relationship, Slight Self-Indulgent, Ghost and Reader are In Love, Drabble

WC: 1k~

Another drabble, just because I'm writing fluff for a different WIP and I'm trying to work out some kinks. Also, I think Ghost needs some more peaceful content every now and again from me, I be making him unhappy as hell in my other stuff.

Masterlist

"You're staring again."

Simon blinks, that familiar silk-soaked voice of yours pulling him back into the morning. He sits up from where he'd still been lying in bed, the covers sprawled across him as though he'd just woken up from a battle deep within his sleep. It's had him moving rather sluggishly since waking, though that had been no complaint by any means.

It only meant he had an excuse to spend some more time with you before work; and right now, you'd been doing a hobby of yours he's come to really enjoy watching.

You stand firmly in front of the dresser on your side of the bed, irises glued to your mirror, and a deadly grip on your liquid black eyeliner. Your eyes had been the last part of your look needing to be completed, and you'd be dammed if you fucked it up now.

You bring the pen to the corner of your eye, with the kind of precision Simon has only seen outdone by the steadiest hands belonging only to his well-trained comrades. And even then you gave them a run for their money.

With the spiritual guidance of a painter, you gently line the ink to your skin, curving it back and forth from below your brow to back towards your eyelid, until you've outlined a sharp winged look at the corners of your eyes, filling them in.

They look perfect once complete. Though, when you stare at yourself in the mirror a few seconds too long, you frown, dissatisfied.

You lift your hand up and start using your pinkie nail to scrap the parts of eyeliner you'd begun to hate. Your attention remains here primarily, though you've never had issues multitasking.

"Still staring, Si'," you comment, having felt his gaze on you since you first put your foundation on. It's hard not to notice his eyes on you, given the weight that often came with them. A weight you'd happily hold.

"Wha', I can't enjoy the view?" He jokes, no doubt feeling just a bit more awake when he sees it's made you smile.

You look down at Simon, finally setting all your makeup back down on the dresser, wide-eyed with genuine concern, "Do I look OK?"

A small, crooked smile forms on his tattered lips as he chuckles to himself. Yes, you already knew what he was going to say, or what he wanted to say: you don't need the makeup. You could have your face completely done up or covered in mud, he would still love you. He would always love you.

Though he knew now, that's not the answer you were looking for. It took a while for him to understand that; he'd yet to understand the craftsmanship that truly came with applying makeup. However, seeing how happy you looked at the end of every makeup session all but spelled out the answer you'd really been looking for.

It wasn't about looking pretty or hiding, or even due to some superficial beliefs about womanhood or whatnot. You just really liked to do your makeup. And Simon just really loves to see you happy.

If this was something that made you smile, then it would always be a welcome thing to have around.

Simon sits up on the bed, letting his sturdy legs swing over the edge and his feet touch the soft carpet below. He reaches out and takes your hand, pulling you in so he could take a closer look at your work, the man still trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Once comfortably boxed in by both his legs and arms, you let out a happy sigh, your gaze at eye level with him even as he still sat. Up close, with the dawn's light gently painting over his scarred skin, drawn by years of old stories he's only scarcely shared word of, he looked rather shy.

Every so often, when you traced over his skin while lying in bed, he'd oblige you with a story -- some heart-wrenching tale that only made you feel that much more endeared by him.

Sometimes he joked about wanting to wear makeup himself and cover all these ghastly sights on him. That way he didn't feel so vulnerable when your eyes would see them in all its miserable glory.

But you do what you have done since seeing them. You bring your touch to his skin, letting your fingers trace his scars' outlines and grooves, mending past traumas with your present-day love.

You look at Simon patiently, resting your hands against his broad shoulders. "Did the eyeliner fuck up the whole look?" You ask.

Simon's dark eyes bounce about your face, taking in the blush, the lipstick, the glitter and highlight, your brows, and then your eyes... His gaze sits still there, and any longer and you just might have started to feel yourself lean in.

"Hold on," his voice booms out suddenly, before he's brought his thumb to the corner of your cheek. A small bit of your mascara had dotted you, though he made sure to be as careful as possible with removing it for you. He hadn't wanted to mess up your hard work. "There you go."

He lowers his hand, taking another look at you. His expression softens, a smile forming. "Beautiful."

You smile, and it's everything and more he needed to start his day off with. Simon takes your hands, before pulling you even closer, until he's felt your lips take his sweetly.

It had been his favorite thing to start his mornings out like this, with just being able to hold you close to him, the sensation feeling as necessary as oxygen itself most days. When he'd kiss you, he only made up for that need by stealing your own breath away, his lips wrapped with yours like a sincere promise.

You cup your hands over his face, kissing him as you've felt his strong arms begin to wrap around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. It squeezes the air from you and makes you laugh in his arms, as you pull back from your kiss.

That's when your eyes go wide and you start to giggle. "Oops."

Your lipstick was now completely smeared over the man's mouth, rubbing off on his chin as though you'd just given him a newly colored five-o'clock shadow.

Immediately, Simon knows what's been done, as you're a repeat offender of this. He gives you a quizzical look and smirks. "How do I look?" He asks.

You lean back in, letting your lips feather over his.

"Beautiful."

#ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost simon riley #ghost mwii #ghost mw2 #call of duty #modern warfare ii #mwii #call of duty modern warfare ii #mw2022 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #Spotify

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treysimp · 2 years

Text

"I’m not sure how better to say this... do you want to make out on my couch?"

Part 4

GN!Reader x Pomefiore (Vil, Rook, Epel)

Smooching, implied mutual pining and suggestive themes, but nothing explicit. Reader is not physically described.

Other chapters:

Want more TWST? Here's my Masterlist!

I don't know how better to say this, but do you want to make out on my couch?

Vil bit his lip, shrugged, and then put his hand at the small of your back, dropping you into an elegant dip (or it would have been if you hadn’t yelped in fright). You clasped onto his neck for dear life, and to his credit, he did indeed grasp you firmer in response.

Like a movie, Vill traced from the top of your ear to your chin, gently tipping your face towards his before pulling you into a ravishing and intense kiss. Your eyes slid shut as you felt yourself being slowly raised back to standing while Vil generously lavished you with slow and romantic kisses.

You wondered if this could go on for hours, you would do anything for it to never stop. Vil’s kisses were unlike anything you had ever experienced before. You couldn’t help but think that all your dreams of this moment had underestimated him. Nothing could truly compare to his petal lips, his silk hair, and his perfect skin passing over yours softly as you exchanged sweet kisses.

Finally parting, you both stood in silence. Vil held your face between his palms, eyes boring into yours. You suddenly felt shy, but you couldn't look away either. It was like you were hypnotized. It made you wonder how he could ever think there was anyone fairer than he. You certainly had never seen one who was… not even…

“I refuse, by the way,” Vil says suddenly, cutting through your dreamy reverie. His voice perfectly even and serious. You sputtered in confusion at the statement.

“...you refuse?” You repeated. He literally just kissed you? What does he possibly mean by that?

“We are not going inside the hovel you call home.” He says snappily.

You frowned, he’d been in Ramshackle before for a week during the training camp, it’s not like he hasn’t been inside before.

“Well sorry for my ‘hovel’ but that's all I’ve got.” you snapped back, rolling your eyes. What in the world were you supposed to do about it?

Vil’s perfect face fell into a frown, finally releasing your cheeks from his grasp, brows knitting ever so slightly.

“It seems there must be a misunderstanding. Must I spell it out for you?” He says with a huff, crossing his arms and tossing his head to the side, blowing away the hair that had fallen out of his braid from his eyes.

“Yes your majesty, I would appreciate it,” you said, putting your hand on your hip and giving him a confused glare.

Really? What was his problem?

“As an actor, I am only worth as much as the stage I perform on,” he says, extending his hand in a smooth motion to follow each of his perfectly articulated syllables.

“Uh-huh.”

“Usually when I say that, the stage is a metaphor.” he continues, shaking one hand with a finger pointed to the sky while the other rests on his chin in a gesture to evoke thoughtfulness.

“Yep…” you had decided that he would probably be more upset if you didn’t respond to this weird interlude.

“But… in this case I… I…” he begins, eyes opening wide with intensity (perhaps a little too much, if you were honest).

“I will not have my first time intimately touching the love of my life anywhere that is less than gorgeous, Prefect! And that’s final!” Vil practically yelled, his perfect foundation no longer fully hiding the wild flush that had begun covering his complexion. His breathing was heavy, and his expression of frustration quickly turned to one of embarrassment.

Looking almost like he could burst into tears, Vil grabs your elbow and begins dragging you away from your hovel-adjacent mansion without explanation.

“We will go to MY room, we will make out on MY couch, and I will ravish you so perfectly that you will never so much as look at another man with fondness without tonight having been so perfect that it immediately ruins your attraction to him as it forcibly comes to the front of your mind!” he finishes, words tumbling out of his painted mouth at light speed. Vil was pulling you even more enthusiastically than before as his shoes clicked on the cobblestones that lead you to the mirrors.

You couldn’t help it, you burst into laughter. Vil stopped in his tracks, looking positively horrified.

“Look, I… I’m not… You're...” he mumbles your name softly, and the pure tenderness of his voice has you immediately pulling him into a hug even though your shoulders are still quivering with laughter.

“Vil… why didn’t you just say that in the first place? You can ravish me all you want.”

Ears turning red, Vil gives you a sharp nod as he tightens the embrace between the two of you.

“I’m not going to let you forget you said that. I’m not going to forgive you for ruining my beauty sleep so easily.”

"I wouldn't have it any other way, beautiful," you say, shoulders sagging in relief.

“Oh? Mon trésor, do repeat that request?”

You suddenly realized that you shouldn’t have turned your back to Rook when you felt one hand snake across your waist and the other brush behind your arm to grasp your chin. Startled but also more than a little excited at the close contact, you very much could hear each beat of your heart in your eardrums.

Hot breath fanned over your ear as you felt the skim of perfect teeth against your sensitive skin. Shivering excitedly, you stood perfectly still. Feeling as if you moved even slightly, took the smallest breath, or uttered the shortest syllable, the spell would be broken and he would disappear just as fast as he came into your life.

“You know, if you wanted to be caught by me, all you had to do was ask,” he murmured, each word tickling the baby hairs behind your ear.

The heat that crept up your neck was made of more than just embarrassment as you suddenly wondered if you did fall into a trap by asking this beautiful man inside of your house. The hand on your chin slowly turned your head to the side, and your eyes met with a sparkling crescent emerald green.

Feeling very much like every breath he took against your skin took away yours in turn, you closed your eyes for a moment. Feeling the thrill of him being so close and success being so close you could almost taste it. Building up your courage, you square your shoulders as you try to speak again.

“Is that a yes, Rook?” You ask. Your voice shook slightly more than you would have liked, but it certainly wasn’t from fear.

“Ah, ma belle amie, I think you already know the answer.” He said, a soft kiss descending to the cheek you had tilted nearest to him.

The beats of your heart go into overdrive at the simple and relatively innocent act of affection, and this forceful kickstart to your brain finally enticed you to turn your head to him.

Your eyes meet with one of the smuggest expressions you have ever seen in your life. You wanted to wipe it off of him.

“I suppose you’re right.” You say, taking the opportunity to surprise him for once by planting a passionate kiss onto the lips of the stupid, dumb, frustrating, incredibly hot, hunter.

With a soft hum, he reciprocates your kiss. A single strand falls loose from his ponytail and brushes past your cheek in a ticklish wave. The kisses are slow, soft, and so very tender. The romance that everyone wishes for when they dream of kissing the object of their affection for the first time.

Separating with a sigh, Rook’s cheeks are alight with a scarlet splash. “Oh! Mon amour! You do truly know how to stir the fondest fantasies of my heart.” He said, squeezing you ever closer. The embrace made you wonder if mice were this happy with the cheese they found before the trap clapped shut.

“… Rook.”

“Yes, my darling?”

“Can we go inside?”

Without a hint of embarrassment at being asked to let go, Rook loosens his arms to allow you to open the door you had been holding onto for the past couple of minutes.

Without skipping a beat, Rook places his hand at the small of your waist and ushers you inside, closing the door softly behind you both. You are escorted forward through the living room until you sit on the couch. However, rather than sit beside you, Rook kneels on the ground.

“Ma lune, mes étoiles-!” He begins, holding your hands in between one of his, the other elegantly removing his baseball cap with a flourish and holding it to his chest.

“Do you dare grant my fondest wish?”

You breathed in deeply, preparing yourself for what he may have cooked up in his french-speaking, romance-novel-infested brain.

“And what would that be, Rook?”

“For me to make a mess of you, my dear.”

You inhaled sharply, looking for any hint of a lie or facade in his glimmering emerald eyes.

Maybe you were just naive, but no matter how hard you searched each curve of his elegant face, you could never find anything that ever so much as hinted at deceit.

Well, you were down too bad to stop at this point anyway.

“I’m not convinced you’ve ever made a mess in your life, Rook.”

“Ohoho, well then ma cherie! Allow me the pleasure of surprising you.” throwing his hat into the air with an unnecessarily complex hand motion, Rook rises from his knees and uses his arms to box you in.

As he descends onto you with the promise of more, you can’t feel even a trace of regret at letting this hunter into your den. For better, or for worse.

(Link to the smutty conclusion of Rook's story: for both AFAB! and AMAB! readers)

“…this isn’t fair.”

You spun around sharply to make eye contact with Epel, his arms crossed and his face screwed into a frown.

“Am I really supposed to believe that? That all my dreams would just come true suddenly? Who do you take me for? Did someone put you up to this?” Epel’s lavender hair falls into his eyes and his foot taps incessantly to the same rhythm that his eyes are rapidly darting between your face and the wall. Your heart falls while you look at him.

“Epel..” you say with a sign, pinching your nose in agitation. Was he this stupid?

“What reason could I possibly be lying to you? What do I possibly have to gain?” you cross your arms haughtily, mirroring his body language.

Epel is still frowning, but his eyebrows seemed to soften just a bit.

“I don’t know! I just don’t… This isn’t…” he falters, seemingly deflating in front of you.

You decided that the best bet is just to start your question again, “...Epel, you are gorgeous and I am trying to come on to you. Will you make out with me?”

For once the little country boy was speechless. His huge soft eyes were wide and his hand drifted to his mouth to cover his gaping mouth.

It seems like at least some of Vil’s lessons in being demure had paid off, you supposed.

Finally pulling himself together enough to speak, he starts trying to argue again. “Y-you can’t tease me like..” he began in a sputter, but you immediately cut him off.

“Epel, if you want to say no do it! But just… look, I’m really…” your eyes were burning. How frustrating! What were you supposed to do? He wouldn’t believe you!

“No! I am-! I do!” Epel's face lit a bright ruby as he grabbed you by the shoulders, shining blue eyes boring into yours. After a pause that felt like a lifetime, he finally rushed himself towards you, teeth clattering against your own in his haste.

Your incisor felt like hell, but you quickly were convinced to forget. Epel’s kisses were hungry, aggressive, and wild. You were overwhelmed by the pure emotion of it all, of the desperate push and pull of his body as he did everything in his power to try and convey exactly how he was feeling. After a pregnant pause, Epel separates from you in a huff, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, clearly trying to hide his face from view.

“Ya can’t… ya can’t just…” Epel was panting, his hands trembled, and his face was painted with a beautiful flush.

“…this is so unfair.” He finished, hands grabbing at your clothing to grope at every piece of skin he could get his hands on.

You were immediately pushed up against the door from the surprising strength of his frail-appearing body, but you couldn’t stop your mouth curving into a grin as you watched Epel try and fail to unbutton your collar.

Looking up at you with a glare, Epel finally just pulled your shirt hard enough that the button just popped off.

“Hey! I don’t have that many shirts, you know!” you said, trying to sound offended. He was cute when he was being bratty, but you didn’t want to encourage him.

“Quit complainin’!” he huffed, successfully opening your shirt further without needing to pop more stitches. Looking up to your face with a mischievous grin, Epel chooses to kiss your neck sweetly. Making you almost forget that you were mad… almost.

“Epel…” you whine quietly, you were sure he was leaving marks. He was biting your skin hard, firmly laving his tongue against every blooming purple mark once completed. Looking very satisfied with himself, he started on the other side.

“Don’t worry…” a sigh, a bite, a snicker “I have good concealer, y’know?” he says with another hearty laugh, seeming to get a kick out of the idea that the no-doubt expensive makeup was being wasted on covering up the marks that he was making on you. The marks that proved it was him that you wanted. He almost felt high on the validation.

“...Epel… do you…” God, it was hard to talk when he kept playfully nipping at your windpipe.

“Do you want to actually get on the couch?” you finished, misty eyes staring at him as the moonlight made him look almost like an angel. If it weren’t for the devious look on his face, that is.

“No…” he said softly, pressing you further into the wood planks of your front door, ever more firm, ever more persistent.

“I want you right here.”

-----

Oh man I really enjoyed this chapter. I feel like the more I write for twst the ever harder it becomes to tell which boys are even my favorite anymore, I just love them all so much.

As always, let me know who you want to see next and tell me if there are any ideas you want to share. Survey said yes on the spicy continuations so I may do a new fic post for those that includes these introductions and picks up where they left off. (I'm coming for you Floyd)

Love you, reader! Thank you everyone that told me happy birthday yesterday!

#vil shoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #gender neutral reader #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #rook twst #vil twst #epel x reader #epel felmier #epel twisted wonderland #rook twisted wonderland #twst reader insert #reader insert #couch series

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infernalodie · 11 months

Text

𝐖𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰 || 𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐎𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐚

“𝘓𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯, 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵, 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘐 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘚𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵, 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘨𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘺𝘺 𝘓𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤“

Inspo: Bryson Tiller - We Both Know Ryan Beatty - Multiple Endings

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Black!Fem!reader

Summary: You two were stuck with one another...

Warnings: Smut, strap-on, soft as hell but still angsty.

Words: 1616

DNI IF YOU’RE YOUNGER THAN 18!

So much space.

So much time.

She wasn’t yours and you weren’t hers, but you were trying to make it something. Trying to build something on the monthly hookups the two of you shared. Or the meet-ups that were away from the public eye.

Even when she yelled at you over the phone, pushing you further away, you still wrote to her. Because although it may have been your ego still intact from the pretties girl on the planet braiding you for using her, she was stuck with you, much as you were with her. The nights spent together were some of the best you saw yourself having since you put everything into making her feel at home. You gave her a separate bed to sleep if she wasn’t there for sex. You made the best meals you could so she didn’t leave with an empty stomach. And you gave your ear for her to rant about work and whatever left her stressed out.

You allowed her to lean on you for space from agents, fans, and paparazzi. And even though she never explicitly said how she felt, the sex spoke enough. How her lips pressed to yours. How her hips rolled back on her favourite strap. How soft her voice was with you after the matter. It felt like she spelt how she felt about you with her tongue every heated kiss. Painting a picture that was the ideal ending to this chase.

So many meaningless fights of her tearing you piece by piece, trying to force an argument that had little to no importance than what was right in front of her. You knew you weren’t the ideal girl. You knew she wanted something with a strong foundation. And you wanted to be that collum she could cling to during hard times.

But it felt like there were multiple outcomes to this issue.

Too many factors in an equation that you don’t have the skill to solve.

Yet, with the rain pelting against your apartment windows, and thunder echoing out in the night sky, you could push it to the back of your mind. Fixating on the girl bent over in front of you. Body bare to display the beautiful curves of her figure and bruises of your lips sucking at her flesh.

Jenna’s makeup was smeared into the silk sheets. Drool spilled from her swollen lips and soaked the fabric. She was absent from any thoughts that could be logical. Only focused on the way your hands kneaded at her ass. You were grabbing at the fat and forcing her back on the strap, ripping a moan from the trembling girl. Her knees shaking at the initial intrusion.

It must’ve been the 3rd time she’d cummed. At this point, her mind became jumbled with too many things that could allow her to be coherent with anything. All that was coherent was your whispered praises and a strap that had a white creamy ring around the base. Something she would be embarrassed to see. She knew it would boost your ego because she knew you were the only one able to make her like this. You were the only one to have her broken as she was.

Tiredly, you leaned over her with your hands caging her head. But it pulled a whine from the girl's lips when the harness was pressed to her skin. Able to feel the radiating heat of your body mending with her own. You kissed softly to her temple, letting your hips thrust languidly. And daringly, hoping to help to guide her hand in crafting the painting, your hands slid over hers, fingers interlocking.

She didn’t make a noise besides the mewls rolling from her lips. Nothing that could tell you there was a clear line in the sand becoming obscured by your crossing. And if there was going to be a fight after this, you would enjoy her moment of vulnerability.

“So beautiful,” you murmured, words spoken into her cheek which you gently kissed. “Taking me so well.”

All that was returned was a moan at a particularly hard pound of your hips. Sharp and abrupt from the softness you were providing. Usually, you would as hard as possible. Give her a sense of relief from everything going on in her busy lifestyle. But tonight, after missing her for a few months, you wanted to take your time. Build her up on a podium of ecstasy before ripping it right out from underneath her.

As gently as you could, you lifted her trembling frame to be flush with yours. Sweat pressing against one another with warm breaths intertwining. Your hands moved in slow and calculated movements. Running over each curve and imperfection Jenna thought was unworthy to be shown to her partners. But you caressed each with a delicacy you could only give. Praising her body to be nothing less than divine creation.

Finding balance with one hand pressed to her stomach, you grounded your hips against her ass. Eyes flickering shut by Jenna’s arms reaching back and sliding through your hair, nails digging into your scalp. You leaned in close, lips pressing to her shoulder and all the way up to her neck.

With your other hand, you slipped down and found solace with your fingers pressing to her clit. Initially, it was sudden tight circles traced into the bud. But with each choked moan that escaped Jenna, the circles were vigorous and desperate. A completely different trajectory from what once as she thought you were wanting to go.

Jenna’s breaths were short and choked as she lifted her head with a hazy vision. Your defined tempo set her on the road to her release. And with one of your hands firmly pressing against her stomach and the other toying with her clit, she was reaching the end of the path quickly.

Firm pats were placed against her clit, sending her body into overdrive and snapping the knot that had been there since her last climax. Leaving her crying in your arms, body attempting to bend and writhe against your sheets. But you held her close, pressing soft and delicate kisses to her vibrating body. “There you go, sweetheart. Just let go. Good girl~” You praised, hips languidly thrusting to help her down from the high until she was panting in your hold.

When you let her go, she safely slipped off your pieces. Mewling in sensitivity before rolling onto her side, sweeping strands from her sweaty forehead. Leaving you to undo the harness and let it drop by your feet. Sitting on the edge of the bed right by her feet. A hand resting on her thigh and rubbing the limb gently, smiling faintly at its faint twitches.

These moments after all the sex or even when the two of you just sat in the room in silence, it was the most normal you got from Jenna. It’s where you allowed yourself to fantasize. But you knew that in a minute or two, she would already be telling you she was leaving and would give you a call the next time she came into the city. Leaving you to nod quietly and show her out before you were left alone for another long duration of months.

The cycle would continue for however long either of you saw it being ideal for your lives.

Jenna cleared her throat, exhaling heavily as she walked to her panties you had tossed dismissively 2 hours ago and slipped them on. “I’ll be back in 3 months. I have some reshoots for a movie, so I won’t be able to text or call much,” she explained. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Why don’t you stay for a bit longer?” You inquired, gaining the girl’s attention. “You could stay over or something.”

The proposition made Jenna smile. Not one of interest, but amusement. “This is “no strings attached” remember?” Jenna reminded, shakily slipping her jeans on with trembling legs. “I’m trying to make it so coming here doesn’t bring any media wondering what I do with my free time.”

“So, this can’t ever be anything?” You murmured, somewhat hoping that your voice was blocked out by the rain hitting your bedroom window. But from how Jenna tensed at the question, you knew your wish had been denied.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, continuing to dress herself. “As much as I would love to go over the specifics of our agreement, I don’t have time. I got work tomorrow.”

Biting your bottom lip, you nodded to yourself.

You must’ve been mistaken by your own clouded thoughts. Maybe it was all in your head. Although that was likely the truth, you hated the idea of it. After placing all your chips on red, you’d taken the risk of bringing her into your space and life. And you thought she would’ve understood that and maybe garnered some feelings.

Seeing her out, she didn’t bid you farewell or give you a glance in acknowledgment. Simply the cold shoulder. Enough for you to know that the mood had been disfigured by your wants and needs. And when you shut that front door, you turned to the living room with windows spanning across the room, you felt that familiar tingle at the tip of your nose.

No matter how far you tried to go, forgetting her. Or how much work she drowned herself in, the two of you would end up back here—pronouncing love in the twist of bodies and weightless moans until either of you worked up some courage to speak the truth.

You just hoped it would come sooner than later.

#jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega smut #jenna ortega fanfiction #jenna ortega angst #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x black!reader #jenna ortega x black!fem!reader #jenna ortega x black fem reader #jenna ortega x black reader #jenna ortega #x black!reader #x black reader #x black!fem!reader #x black fem reader #x reader #x poc reader #poc reader

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red-riding-wood · 4 months

Note

Hii! 💓 I saw your post about drabbles/one shot requests and I’d like to send in the following angsty/dark prompt for Tommy: ‘I'm here to end what I started.’

Bang Bang

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F!Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Warnings: a bit of spice but no smut, violence, angst

WC: 978

Took some loose inspiration from Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) by Nancy Sinatra.

I'm sorry this is so, so late, Daisy! I'm finally back from many hiatuses and am getting my act together with writing. Hope you enjoy because I quite like how this one turned out. <3

Your hand trembled around the revolver, bitterly cold in the winter air of Birmingham, next to the canals where snaking tendrils of mist wrapped around the foundations of the stone bridge. But it was not the cold that sent a shiver along your skin, that blurred the edges of your vision with unshed tears. It was the man who approached, your heart beating wilder with each step he took, your finger feeling less assured against the trigger.

“I’m here to end what I started,” you told him down the barrel of the revolver, a quiver betraying the biting determination of your tone. Were you saying it to convince him, or yourself?

A sliver of moonlight caught the bright of his eyes as they met yours, latching their icy talons round your soul. Like a ghost, he was silent yet slow with his stride, the only indication that he was indeed corporeal being the press of his chest to the barrel, in acceptance or challenge you could tell not.

“So am I,” a low, husky voice met your ears, and before his gaze could drop to your parted lips, you caught the eerie warmth of your own longing mirrored in the ice of his eyes.

As he pressed closer to you, your hand lowering the gun but still holding it loosely to his stomach, that warmth came to you in silk ribbons, in soft brushes against your skin that reminded you of long nights in the Garrison, of stolen dances in lavish clubs, of Arrow House’s hearth as Tommy wrapped a blanket round your shivering shoulders. You could still taste the whiskey he’d handed you on his lips, as if it were yesterday, as his nose tickled yours and the fire of his breath consumed you. His hands, worried not about the gun you held to his stomach, but aching to finally acquaint themselves with every part of you, ran up your thighs and squeezed your waist, pulled you closer to him and drew a soft yelp from your tongue.

He breathed heavy around the muzzle buried in his waistcoat, not letting it stop him from feeling your body against his, from demonstrating just how much he needed you with his teeth nipping at your bottom lip and calloused fingers – so rough in contrast to the softness of his mouth – dragging against the line of your jaw.

Tommy’s grip tightened as you pulled back, possessive and needy, yet he thumbed gently at your flushed cheek as he stared back at you. One of your hands had come up to his chest, nails sinking into the light fabric of his shirt and palm resting over the strong beating of his heart. You were scarcely aware now of the gun you held, your world becoming him and only him as a fracture formed in the ice of his eyes and a few messy strands of dark hair fell over his forehead, his cap forsaken and his entire soul and being bared to you in this moment that made your heart clench so cruelly against your ribs, for you ached for nothing more than to devour him, to let the scent of cologne and cigarettes carry you to a kinder memory, a better place.

A tear streaked across your lips as you tugged at his shirt; you were certain he could taste the bitterness and despair on you as you kissed him again, sadder and softer this time, as if to tell him,

I’m sorry.

And you flinched as the sound of the gunshot ripped through the still air, the sound of your fevered breaths muffled by the ringing in your ears, the ice-blue of his eyes shattering now into hundreds of pieces. Your souls, severed, cold washing over your body once more and your breath hitching in your chest. No longer did his warmth creep into your aching bones; no longer did his fingers send shivers along your flesh. Numbness seeped into every pore, and time seemed to cruelly slow, the thuds of your heart coming fewer against your ribs. Your lips, wet with tears and blood.

Tommy’s thumb swept across your dampened cheek one last time, as if to cast away your sadness, to reassure you that it was okay, and the only warmth you felt now was the stickiness of the fabric between you, pooling at your sternum. Your lips parted in a cry, but no sound came out, and your lungs burned. The revolver clattered to the stone ground.

The icy gaze of death never left you as your legs grew weak beneath you, blood freckling his beautiful face as you sputtered around the whelming surge in your throat, and on his lips formed the words,

“In the bleak midwinter…”

Clawing now at the blood that stained your dress a darker red, you turned, wild and blurry-eyed, to make out the shadow of a wide hat below the light of the streetlamp that undulated in your vision, the lumbering stride and broad shoulders that were all too familiar, the cane that clicked like the tick of a clock against the stone.

Solomons, the last threads of your thought provided. Wisps of smoke dispersed into the fog from the barrel of the man’s pistol, but you barely had the chance to regard your former business partner as gravity pulled you to the earth, as if the Devil were dragging you to Hell.

You never should have trusted him. You never should have trusted either of them.

But Tommy made your fall gentle, cradling you in his arms. A tortured breath fanned your cheeks as his forehead was brought to yours, and it swallowed the light of the streetlamps; it swallowed everything, darkness spilling from the corners of your vision until nothing existed in the world but him, as he personally delivered your soul to the gates of the underworld.

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

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Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @evita-shelby @minaethrym @shelbydelrey @zablife

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #cillian murphy #angst #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #fanfiction #writing #my writing #fanfic #oneshot #peaky blinders imagine #requests #x reader #drabbles #bang bang

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photoboothphotos · 2 years

Text

Strawberry Milkshakes

Paxton Hall-Yoshida x Reader - House parties turned into late night drives. [1.3KWords]

The house shook, its walls were trembling as music bounced off every surface. The dwelling was too small for all these teenagers to mingle in, but its foundation stayed strong as people continued to stomp all over its hardwood floors. The home never wavered as it weathered the storm of spilled drinks and drunken make out sessions. Everything was loud, and strangely dark with only small pockets of light creating pathways. You absent-mindedly drummed your fingers to the beat of music, the tips of your figures sticky from your beer.

This wasn’t your first rodeo. You’ve been to plenty of house parties before. You usually enjoyed these type of events, finding enjoyment in the lightshows and the friendly catchup sessions with old classmates, but this one was different. The overwhelming sense of crowd made you feel so small yet so big. It felt as if even a minor misstep into the wrong direction could create irreversible mayhem but it also felt like that you were just a spec of dust to these other high schoolers. It was an odd feeling. And you hated it.

Paxton had his arm wrapped around your waist, and another holding a red solo cup. The teen was trying his best to listen to Trent’s latest entrepreneurial scheme but it was hard to stay focused when his concern for you was coursing through his veins. He could feel your skin grow tackier and your muscles beginning to jitter. Paxton had decided then and there that enough was enough.

The call of your name snapped you out of your trance. You turn towards your boyfriend, confusion lacing your features. Had you missed something he said?

“You there, Bun?” Paxton asked again. “We can go home if you want.” He had abandoned his spiked drink and the rest of his best friends story entirely. His eyes pierced through your graze, making your heart skip a beat.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to ruin your fun. I’m fine.” You reassured, taking another sip of your drink. The brew did little to calm your nerves. Usually you’d be a blushing mess of a person hearing your boyfriend – the Paxton Hall-Yoshida – call you by that nickname. But the smog of the room was beginning to become suffocating and you had lost the ability to say much more than your words of half-hearted optimism.

“Nuh uh, c’mon we’re getting you out of here” Paxton declared. His arm swooped fully around your body, supporting your back as he guided your stiffened stance out the door.

The fall winds caused goosebumps on your skin when you met it outside. The distance between the house and Paxton’s Jeep was a short one, but your dizzy state left you incredibly slow. Paxton was patient though, continuing to guide you through your journey to the car despite the sloth-like pace, whispering soft words of ‘Don’t worry take your time’ and ‘It’s okay, I’ve got you’. Once you reached the safety of the Jeep you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You felt a hand on your forehead as the teen took in your current condition. You let Paxton tuck your sweat soaked hair behind your ear and dab your cheeks with some left over takeaway napkins that he kept handy.

Although Paxton was worried sick about your sudden panic at the party, he couldn’t help but muse at how beautiful you looked. The scrunched fabric of your top did wonders for you, especially as the white fabric clung to your skin. Not to mention the silk of your black skirt, and how it draped over your tired legs. Oh God.

“My eyes are up here, Yoshida.” You teased, gaining back some of your energy. “Although, I never get tired of how you look at me.”

Paxton's laugh was music to your ears, a spell that made you fall harder every time.

“I’m sorry. You’re just burning up and those long sleeves can’t be helping.” He replied while disregarding his growing blush. “I know what will help though.” Paxton looked at you suggestively with his eyebrow raised and an arm reaching towards you.

You gave him a questioning look back, unsure of what type of funny business he was about to perform next.

“A late night drive with all the windows down and singing to the Jonas Brothers songs all the way to Foster Freeze for milkshakes.” Paxton shot you a wide smile as he closed the gap between the two of you to roll down your passenger side window. The two of you were practically nose to nose now, his lips seconds away from yours. “Your favourite activity.” He stated knowing exactly what this proximity is doing to you.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed the unexpected lump that had appeared. Before you had a chance to act upon the situation, Paxton quickly pulled away.

Within moments the Jeep began to roll down the streets of San Fernando Valley. The tunes of your favourite childhood boyband filled the air as a hurricane of brisk evening winds and traffic lights filled your senses. Though even the cold gush of wind wasn’t enough to cool you down from that heightened moment, the mental image of your boyfriend’s lips permanently seared into your mind.

Foster Freeze had the best strawberry milkshakes. And though Paxton would typically argue for team chocolate, even he had to admit that the strawberry milkshakes from the dinner was something other-worldly. As he pulled the vehicle into park, he decided to push your buttons further. Just a little bit. “Okay, what would you like Bun?” He asked, giving you his signature dreamy eyes.

“Just a large strawberry milkshake.” You requested, giving him a doe-eyed look in return.

With a light nod, Paxton began to make his way out the car without another word. And just as he had predicted, the second his hand reached the handle, he heard a audible protest from your pretty mouth. It was quiet, but unmistakable and it made Paxton’s gut do summersaults.

You couldn’t see it, but the grin that grew on Paxton’s face was shit-eating. “Are you forgetting something?” You asked innocently, not wanting to admit the yearn you had for a kiss. Your boyfriend always kissed you before he left anywhere, no matter whether it was for five minutes or five hours. Paxton never left you empty handed.

“Oh right,” He replied. Turning back to fumble with the middle compartment before fishing out his wallet. “Almost forgot, thanks! You’re so thoughtful (Y/N).” He began his exit again before feeling the soft tug of his t-shirt.

“I think you’re forgetting something else.” Your advised, your voice so delicate that it almost made Paxton’s heart burst.

He couldn’t help it anymore. The teen turned around once more, his hands landing familiarly on the side of your face, placing your lips right into the crevice of his own. You tasted like left over booze and candy lip-gloss. Paxton felt you relax in his touch, your wandering hands finding the hem of his jeans. This made him smile into your kiss, making the touch breathy.

“So just a strawberry milkshake?” Paxton asked pulling away and returning your ability to breathe.

It was your turn to nod lightly now, your kiss-stained lips turning into a teethy smile. “And a large fries please.” You added, finally allowing him to run into the diner before it closed.

You admired Paxton’s figure as you watched him exit the car and walk towards the restaurant, his figure getting smaller as the distance between the two of you grew. He waved at you half-way, offering his patented teenage heartthrob grin. You smiled back, your mouth still burning from the kiss he left you with. Even from a distance you can see the mischief within his eyes as he continued walking backwards. It was if he was asking you, ‘Are sure you don’t want anything else?’

And you did want one more thing, Paxton knew that. But that’s a different dessert that you’re gonna save for another late night drive.

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expulence · 2 months

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💎💄Luxury Makeup 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒 for a Flawless Look💄💎

With the popularity of skincare these past few years came the desire to achieve a more natural 'your-skin-but-better' makeup look.

♡...Enter the 𝓒𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓷 𝓖𝓲𝓻𝓵 makeup look...♡

It was characterised by minimal use of makeup and an emphasis on enhancing your natural beauty. The foundation needs to look like skin, and the lipstick like natural healthy and plump lips. As simple as this all sounds, it is quite an art form.

So where do you start?

Well, when it comes to achieving a flawless makeup look, quality products can make all the difference. Investing in luxury makeup can elevate your beauty routine and give you a professional finish. Furthermore as high-end products are concerned, a little goes a long way.

Here's a curated list of essential luxury makeup products that you might need in your collection:

𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖝𝖎𝖔𝖓:

A high-quality foundation is the key to a flawless base. Look for a luxury foundation that matches your skin tone perfectly and provides a smooth, even coverage. Brands like Dior and Giorgio Armani offer a range of luxurious foundations that blend seamlessly into the skin, giving you a natural yet polished finish. A good quality concealer can make stubborn blemishes vanish without a thick and unnatural finish.

How to Use:

Apply the foundation using a beauty blender or a foundation brush, starting from the center of your face and blending outwards. Make sure to blend well into your jawline and neck for a seamless look. Start with a light layer and be sure to spot conceal any visible blemishes. This creates a flawless base without the cakey look of layered foundation.

High-end Foundatation/Base Recomendations:

Dior Face and Body Foundation

Giorgio Armani Luminous Silk Foundation

NARS Radiant Creamy Concealer

𝕷𝖆𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖘:

No makeup look is complete without mascara. A luxury mascara can add volume, length, and definition to your lashes, instantly opening up your eyes and making them pop. Choose a higher-end mascara from brands like Too Faced or Yves Saint Laurent for a smoother application, intense pigmentation and long-lasting wear.

How to Use:

Start by curling your lashes with an eyelash curler, then apply the mascara from the roots to the tips in a gentle zig-zag motion. Build up layers for added volume and intensity.

High-end Mascara Recomendations:

Too Face Better Than Sex Mascara

MAC Extended Play Lash

𝕷𝖎𝖕𝖘:

A swipe of luxury lipstick can instantly elevate your look and add a touch of glamour. Opt for a smooth that compliments your skintone from brands like Tom Ford or Charlotte Tilbury for a creamy, long-lasting formula that feels comfortable on the lips. Some sheer lipgloss further elevates the look and adds to the glowy final product.

How to Use:

Start by outlining your lips with a lip liner for precision, then fill in the lips with the subdued lipstick shade of your choice. Ad a layer of clear, light pink of peachy lip gloss for an extra glow.

High-end Lipstick/Lipgloss Recomendations:

Bobbi Brown Luxe Lip Color

LANEIGE Lip Glowy Balm

𝕰𝖞𝖊𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕭𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖘:

A versatile eyeshadow palette is a must-have for creating a variety of eye looks, from subtle daytime glam to sultry evening styles. Invest in a luxury palette from brands like Natasha Denona or Pat McGrath for a range of pigmented shades and buttery textures. A single decent brow pencil can last you ages and carry you through various looks too.

How to use:

Start by applying an eyeshadow primer and choosing neutral shades that complement your skin tone. Apply a transition shade in the crease, followed by a light shimmer shade on the eyelid. Blend the edges for a seamless gradient and define the lash line with a dark eyeshadow powde. For your brows, brush them in the direction of hair growth, fill in the soparc3 areas gently with a brow pencil or powder for a more natural look.

High-end Eyeshadow/Brow Recomendations:

LAURA GELLER NEW YORK The Delectables Earthy Essentials Baked Eyeshadow Palette

Anastasia Beverly Hills - Brow Wiz

By incorporating these luxury makeup must-haves into your beauty routine, you can achieve a flawless look that exudes sophistication and elegance. Experiment with different shades and techniques to discover what works best for you, and enjoy the transformative power of high-quality makeup products.

But never forget..

💰𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐲��

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femmefatalevibe · 2 years

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Femme Fatale Playbook: How To Look More Expensive & Elevate Your Aura

Looking expensive or 'rich' is all about investing in yourself, your appearance, how you carry yourself, and not shying away from signature details or indulgences. Here are some tips to level up your look and demeanor to feel high-class in your daily life – no matter how much money you want to spend in these life arenas.

Appearance:

Prioritize Proper Grooming: Always looking clean and put-together is the ultimate sign of class. Shower daily. Brush, and take care of your teeth. Wash your hair on a regular schedule. Never allow your hair to look greasy – brush and blow dry it regularly. Cleanse, exfoliate, and moisturize every inch of your face and body. Perform your skincare routine religiously. Apply sunscreen daily.

Tailor & Steam Your Clothes: Freshly-pressed and well-fitting clothes always look infinitely more expensive – no matter their price point. Looking rich and expensive is about high self-regard and paying attention to the little details. Ensure your garments look crisp and clean – no wrinkles, pet hairs, loose threads, lint pieces, or fabric bulges highlighting an improper fit.

Create A Classic & Streamlined Capsule Wardrobe: Simplicity radiates a chic sophistication. Go back to the basics with timeless pieces – like a button-down blouse, a classic crewneck sweater, black trousers or straight-leg jeans, leather pants, a leather jacket, a trench or wool coat, a well-fitting cami or tee shirt, a simple slip dress, or a knit set. Focus on a neutral color palette – black, champagne, dark grey, chocolate brown, camel, or crisp white shades. Seek out elevated fabrics – such as Pima cotton, cashmere, washable silk, and buttery vegan or recycled leather.

Invest In Signature Pieces: Spend on "outer shell' items – coats, jackets, heavyweight knits, handbags, and shoes – that directly interact with the outside world and can be worn repeatedly with almost every outfit. Save on items like tee shirts or more simple jewelry pieces that can be found for less while still being fairly high-quality. I recommend Everlane, Lilysilk, and Naadam for affordable basics (Frankie Shop, Skims, and Norma Kamali for moderately priced pieces) and Catbird and Oma The Label for well-priced accessories. Here are all the everyday essentials you need to build the ultimate Femme Fatale Wardrobe.

Simplify Your Beauty Routine: Fresh, clear, and glowy skin radiates rich girl energy. A well-curated skincare routine should do half the heavy lifting. However, you will probably want to include a shade-matched foundation, concealer, and powder into your makeup routine along with a bronze contour, a rosy blush, and a subtle highlighter. Shape and fill in your brows for a polished look. Apply a deep black mascara to your lashes and luscious black eyeliner to your top lid, waterline, and tight line – keep the strokes thin and crisp (create a subtle wing if desired). Finish your face with a deep pink nude, red, or deep wine lipstick/gloss/lip tint. Here's a guide to the ultimate Femme Fatale Beauty Routine for a completely elevated (and sensual) look.

Eat Healthfully & Workout: Health is wealth. Taking care of your body shows self-respect – your most priceless asset. So, incorporate whole, plant-based foods into your daily diet and make it a priority to find movement you love that you can incorporate into your routine multiple times a week.

Lifestyle:

Streamline The Details: The rich girl aesthetic is all about refinement and looking put together at all times. Always have a set of matching pens with coordinating notepads on your desk, a uniform set of coffee mugs on the counter, coasters, glassware, sheets, pillowcases, cold-weather accessories, etc. This attention to detail instant makes your environment look more expensive.

Have Personalized Stationery: A high-value woman isn't shy about leaving her signature touch. Have personalized stationery (thank you notes, greeting cards, business cards, etc.) monogrammed and on hand for anytime you need to send a note or gift to a friend, coworker, boss, client, etc. This addition shows your attention to detail, leaves the recipient something small to remember you by, and adds a human touch to any gift or gesture. Try gold lettering on cream cards for an elegant, expensive look.

Keep Prosecco & Sparkling Water On Hand: Bubbly on a budget feels just as expensive as champagne (and tastes great too). Sparkling water elevates your daily H20 – add some lemon, lime, orange wedges, or frozen berries for a fancy, fruity twist.

Have Proper Place Settings: Neat, thoughtful presentation exudes class and rich energy. Whenever hosting any type of sit-down event or cocktail party, have the plates stacked, glasses and cutlery arranged correctly. Have all of the appropriate utensils readily available. Again, it's all about the details.

Stay Informed & Well-Read: A thirst for knowledge, learning and having the ability to engage in thoughtful, informed, and intellectual imbues a high-class radiance into any room. Read books, learn about different cultures and current events, and invest in studying different industries, and interests. Explore your hobbies. A rich mindset translates and generates an overall elevated aura.

Demeanor:

Learn Proper Etiquette: Address people by name, and offer a firm handshake. Maintain eye contact. Say "please" and "thank you." RSVP promptly. Communicate clearly and compassionately.

Maintain Good Posture: Shoulders back and relaxed. Open your chest. Keep your back straight and your head held high. Take up space. Command presence.

Master The Art of Engaging Conversation: Prioritizing self-presentation, learning how to listen, holding your own, and encouraging others to feel relaxed are the secrets to becoming magnetic in any social situation. Read more of my tips HERE.

Embrace An Abundant Mindset: Free your mind of limiting beliefs and notions of scarcity. There are plenty of opportunities, experiences, and emotions to go around. Another person's success doesn't take away from your potential. Focus on expansion, not envy.

Remain Confident & Unbothered: Believe in yourself. Invest in your well-being. Prioritize your goals and block out the noise from anyone trying to tear you down or criticize you for your ambition, goals, or desires. Stay in your own lane. Allow others to do the same. This is how you level up to elevate into your queen energy to create a rich life and design your dream reality.

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