βΎ name: jinx!
βΎ age: 21
βΎ pronouns: any pronouns
βΎ timezone: CET
βΎ fun facts about me:
I am a mechanical engineer!
My favourite animals are gaboon vipers
I have two cats! (Miss Kitty & Mr Kat)
βΎ Minors DO NOT interact with this blog!
βΎ feel free to send asks / messages / interact if you'd like!
β¦ ββββ PAPER PLANES
dwight schrute x f!reader
masterlist β taglist
ββββββββββββββββ
ββββββββββββββββ
wc. 809
premise.
You just started working at Dunder Mifflin Scranton and your oh so bright future career to the sales team of the paper company begins! Much to the suspicion of Dwightβ¦.
warnings.
none
MINORS DNI!!
ββββββββββββββββ
part 1 β approved list or watch list
You are a new employee at Dunder Mifflin Scranton.
Hired by Michael Scott as a new addition to the sales team, thoughβ¦ βhiredβ was a generous way to describe what you had experienced that day.
An interview with a man you were sure was on some sort of drugs, a handshake that lasted too long, and a laminated motivational quote he insisted you keep.
A quote by a man with, surprisingly, the exact same name as your interviewer, but it dawned on you pretty quickly that it was just⦠his quote.
It had only been a few weeks since you were let go from a rival paper company. You wouldnβt call it βideal timingβ, but you also wouldnβt call it βnothingβ.
Now finally⦠it was your first day.
π₯ (...)
The conference room smelled faintly like stale coffee and long lost hopes and dreams.
A great thing to smell basically first thing in the morning of your new life.
Michael stood at the front, hands clasped together.
βAlright everyone,β he said brightly. βBig day. Huge day. Possibly one of the biggest days in the history of days. Today we are welcoming a new member of our family!β
You sat near the end of the conference room, already feeling the eyes on you. A young man and Pam, who you had chatted to earlier by the reception, gave you a polite smile.
Another man in an offputting mustard yellow shirt, however, was not subtle.
He was staring at you like you had been personally delivered to Scranton via a suspicious government program.
Michael continued, βCorporate has informed me that our female representation in sales wasβ¦ lacking.β
There was a pause from everyone.
A bigger man next to you muttered, βWe have female salespeople?β
A woman, older than you, with cute round glasses, glanced oveer at him with raised eyebrows.
Michael pressed on. βSo, in the spirit of equality, diversity, andβ¦ uhβ paper!... we have hired you.β
He gestured dramatically at you.
βAnd also because corporate said we had to,β he added quickly, like it was a footnote he almost forgot.
You offered a small smile to everyone around you, βHi.β
This was starting off great.. now you also were only hired because you were a woman.
Michael clapped. βSheβs a team player already!β
The mustard yellow shirt man raised his hand immediately.
Michael pointed at him, βYes, Dwight?β
βIs she certified in paper sales combat strategy?β Dwight asked seriously.
You blinked, βIβm sorryβ¦ what?β
Dwight leaned forward. βBecause if not, she will be at a tactical disadvantage during quarterly negotiations.β
The man next to Pam coughed into his fist, clearly trying not to laugh.
Michael nodded solemnly, β Mhmβ¦ mhmβ¦ excellent question. We will circle back to that.β
You had a feeling no one would circle back to that.
Michael continued, βAnyway! She comes to us from a rival companyββ
βFormer rival,β you corrected automatically.
Michael pointed at you with great enthusiasm βFormer rival! Love that energy!β
From the corner of your eye you caught, or well⦠saw, Dwight just outright staring at you, eyes narrowed.
π₯ (...)
The camera cut to you sitting in the interview room.
βI didnβt exactly choose to leave my last job,β you said carefully. βLetβs just sayβ¦ restructuring happened.β
You paused for a moment, βAnd by restructuring, I mean I was let go.β
βBut honestly? This place seemsβ¦ less stressful.β you tried to say with a soft smile.
π₯ (...)
Dwight sat perfectly upright, starring at the camera with unsettling intensity.
βShe is a plant,β he said immediately.
βCorporate has done this before. They introduce attractive, seemingly harmless individuals into the environment to destabilize internal productivity, and thenβ¦ bam! They switch out who doesnβt pass their testβ¦β
He leaned slightly closer.
βI will be observing her.β
π₯ (...)
Your desk had been assigned opposite of Dwight and next to Jim, which already felt like a social experiment you didnβt want to take part of.
Jim leaned over almost immediately as you finally settled into your spot, βFor the record, he thinks everyone is a spy at first.β he whispered.
You glanced toward Dwight, who was currently measuring your desk distance with what appeared to be a ruler he brought from home.
βThatβsβ¦ reassuring,β you whispered back.
Jim smiled, βGive it a week. Youβll either be on his βapproved listβ or his βwatch list.ββ
βWhatβs the difference?β
Jim looked at Dwight.
Then back at you.
βHonestly? Not much.β
Dwight suddenly looked up again.
Directly at you.
Like he could sense the conversation had involved him.
You held his gaze for a second longer than necessary.
He did not look away first.
π₯ (...)
βShe is adapting quickly,β Dwight said, pushing the blinds of the interview room open with two fingers as he stared out at you
βThat is either a sign of intelligenceβ¦or espionage training.β
βββ κ° ποΈ κ± βββ
a/n: hey guys here is the fic absolutely nobody asked for! can you tell I like weird men...
may i humbly request some hannibal hurt/comfort or fluff!! maybe him accidentally scaring you in a bicker/disagreement with his serious demeanour, and comforting you afterwards. orrr maybe some cuddles after some time apart, with him telling him he missed you.. your choice!!
- π§Έ
hello once again π§Έ
I am very happy to hear you are back making requests... please make many more!
I tried to cheekily write a thing for this, is it good... idk...
β¦ ββββ A LIFETIME
hannibal lecter x gn!reader
masterlist β taglist
ββββββββββββββββ
ββββββββββββββββ
wc. 2.5 k
premise.
based on this ask!
may i humbly request some hannibal hurt/comfort or fluff!! maybe him accidentally scaring you in a bicker/disagreement with his serious demeanour, and comforting you afterwards. orrr maybe some cuddles after some time apart, with him telling him he missed you.. your choice!!
warnings.
yearning hannibal (a man that yearns is a man that earns so good for him).
MINORS DNI!!
ββββββββββββββββ
The argument had started so inconsequentially that, by the next morning, neither of you would have been able to say with any certainty what it was about, or who even spoke the first sharp word.
It had been an exceptionally long day. And by the time you arrived at Hannibal's home, exhaustion had settled over you and your patience was worn incredibly thin.
Normally, the calm of his house was enough to soothe you and relax you. Butβ¦tonight,Β even that wasnβt enough to quiet the frustration that had been steadily building throughout the day.
The disagreement itself was almost laughably mundane. Hannibal had planned a dinner party that weekend, once again making a decision that affected both of you without asking for your opinion first.Β
Frankly, you didnβt even care that much, but it hurt you that he didnβt even consider you would just want some alone time, or some time together without another elaborate dinner party filled with cannibal jokes that nobody but the two of you truly understood.
The details of the argument blurred together until they hardly mattered anymore. What mattered was that this time, after weeks of swallowing your irritation for the sake of keeping the peace, you simply couldn't let it slide.
βNo,β you said firmly, shaking your head as you met his gaze across the kitchen. βYou don't get to decide everything just because you think you know better.β
Hannibal stood on the opposite side of the kitchen island, his sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms.Β
A knife rested comfortably in his hand, moving with surprising focus and precision as he cut up an assortment of vegetables. His face remained composed, betraying almost nothing, yet there was a noticeable chill behind his eyes that hadn't been there moments before.
βI made the decision because it was the correct one,β he replied evenly, his voice calm enough that anyone passing by might have mistaken this for an ordinary discussion.
βFor you,β you answered, folding your arms tightly across your chest.
βFor us.β Hannibal corrected.
You let out a tired breath, rubbing your temple before looking back at him. βYou don't know what I want all the time, Hannibal.β
The room fell silent.
It wasn't the comfortable silence you had come to associate with him.Β
This silence carried weight.Β
It settled over the kitchen like an invisible fog, pressing against your chest with a weight that felt crushing.
Without breaking eye contact, Hannibal lowered the knife onto the cutting board.
The polished steel met the wood with a soft, deliberate clack.Β
Under ordinary circumstances, the sound would have been insignificant.Β
Tonight, it felt⦠different. The simple sound seemed to echo endlessly through the house.
βI know you,β he said after a long pause, speaking with complete confidence.
You gave a humourless shake of your head.Β
βNo,β you replied quietly. βYou know the version of me you think I should be.β
That finally drew a reaction.
His eyes lifted fully to yours.
His expression remained controlled, but you noticed the subtle tightening of his jaw, a tiny fracture in the flawless composure he so carefully maintained.
βYou presume,β he said, his voice still calm despite the unmistakable edge beneath it, βthat I have spent years learning every nuance of your character only to misunderstand you now.β
βI think,β you replied, your own frustration beginning to outweigh your caution, βthat you forget I'm still allowed to disagree with you.β
A subtle shift passed through his posture.
It was barely noticeable to anyone else, but after spending so much time with Hannibal, you recognised the change immediately. He straightened almost imperceptibly before taking one slow, deliberate step around the kitchen island.
Then another.
He wasn't trying to corner you.
Not consciously.
βYou are allowing emotion to dictate your judgement,β he observed.
βAnd you're speaking to me like I'm one of your patients,β you replied, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping into your voice.
Something flickered across his face.
It lasted no more than a second before disappearing beneath his usual restraint, but you caught it all the same.Β
It was irritation.
βWhen you allow emoββ
βYou always say that.β you interrupted, throwing your hands up in exasperation.
βYou interrupt before understanding,β Hannibal replied, his tone becoming noticeably firmer.
βBecause you never actually listen.β
βI always listen.β
βYou hear me,β you corrected, βYou analyse me. You explain me. You decide what's best for me before I've even finished speaking.β
Another deliberate step brought him closer, βYou mistake restraint for indifference.β he said.
βI don't think that's what I'mββ
βNo.β
Hannibal hadn't raised his voice. He never needed to. But that single word seemed to silence everything else.
You fell silent.
Every muscle in your body seemed to stiffen at once.
His shoulders had squared ever so slightly, his gaze fixed entirely on you.Β
For the first time since you had known him, there was no softness left in his expression.
Only absolute control.
The kitchen, which had always felt warm and welcoming, suddenly seemed far too small, far too cold, far too bright.
Your pulse skipped painfully in your chest.
Without thinking, you took a small step backwards.
His eyes immediately dropped to the subtle step back before returning to your face. He saw the way your shoulders had instinctively drawn inward. He noticed how your breathing had become shallow, and how your gaze faltered beneath his own.
He saw the fear.
Real fear.
Immediately, every bit of tension vanished from his posture, his expression crumbling instantly.Β
Horror.
β...My dear,β he whispered as disbelief crossed his features.
Hannibal had never intended to frighten you. But for a brief moment, he had.Β
He looked devastated at the realisation, while you struggled to settle the storm of emotions churning inside your chest.Β
You knew he hadn't intended to frighten you. Rationally, you understood that. But your body had reacted before your mind ever had.
You swallowed thickly before looking anywhere but at him.
β...I think I just need some time alone,β you murmured, your voice tired more than anything else, βJust... for a little while.β
Hannibal didn't argue.
His lips parted as though he wanted to say something, but after a long moment, he simply inclined his head.
βOf course,β he replied quietly. His voice was softer now, stripped entirely of authority.
βTake all the time you require.β
You nodded once, unable to find anything else to say, and slipped past him.
For the briefest moment, it felt as though he almost reached for your hand.
Hannibal watched you disappear into the living room, remaining rooted to the spot until he could no longer hear your footsteps.
The house felt strangely unfamiliar after that.Β
It was always quiet, but never like this.
You curled into one corner of the living room sofa, drawing your knees loosely toward your chest as late evening gradually settled beyond the tall windows.
You replayed the argument over and over again.
His expression. His voice. The way your body had instinctively stepped away from him. Then the look on his face after. That haunted you even more.
You had never seen Hannibal look horrified before, not like you had seen it that dayβ¦
Hours passed almost unnoticed.
The untouched dinner remained cooling somewhere in the kitchen, and eventually the golden evening light faded into deep shades of blue before giving way to night. One by one, the lamps throughout the house cast warm pools of amber across the polished floors, leaving the living room wrapped in a comforting glow that did little to ease the heaviness in your chest.
You let out a quiet sigh.
Perhaps you should simply go to bed.
Sleep would make everything feel less overwhelming by morning.
You had just sat up on the sofa when soft footsteps approached from the hallway.
You didn't need to look.
You knew the cadence of them by heart.
Hannibal paused in the doorway, for several long seconds he said nothing.
You didnβt say anything either, your eyes fixed on the window, away from him.Β
β...May I join you?β he asked at last, his voice almost hesitant.
It was such an unfamiliar sound coming from him that it made something inside your chest ache.
You didn't answer, you simply didn't know what to say.
Taking your silence as neither permission nor rejection, Hannibal crossed the room with slow steps. Every movement was careful, leaving you more than enough room to ask him to stop if you wanted him to.
When he reached the sofa, he lowered himself beside you, then, very cautiously, you felt his hand come to rest against your hip.
As though he wished to reassure both of you that he was capable of touching you gently.
You remained still, even if it twisted something in your chest, you wanted to give into the familiarity, into his touch, you wanted to melt into him and just let him make it all go away.Β
But you remained still.Β
Hannibal leaned closer, his lips brushed the side of your neck in the faintest apology.
One featherlight kiss, then another.Β
Each one lingering only for a moment before he moved again, as though he were trying to express every unspoken regret through the smallest displays of affection.
You couldn't bring yourself to lean into him. Instead, you slowly turned your head away.
Hannibal noticed and it felt like he was being gutted by you, and not in a loving way.
The soft kisses ceased at once, and he simply closed the remaining distance until his forehead rested against the curve where your neck met your shoulder.
He buried his face there with an exhale, his breath warm against your skin.
β...I missed you.β he finally spoke, his voice quiet, to Hannibal, the distance between you since the argument had felt immeasurable.
You closed your eyes, a slow breath escaping you before you could stop it.
Without looking at him, you lifted your hand and carefully threaded your fingers through his soft hair, combing it back with slow, absent strokes.
βI know,β you whispered, your voice finally breaking the silence. βI missed you too.β
You felt him draw in a shaky breath against your neck.
βIβ¦β He stopped, searching for words he so rarely struggled to find. βI frightened you.β
His thumb traced an absent circle against your side, βI cannot bear the thought that I became someone from whom you felt the need to retreat.β
He lifted his head just enough to look at you, his dark eyes no longer carrying only remorse.
βMy dearβ¦β he said softly, his hand giving the smallest, almost shy squeeze against your waist. βPlease forgive me.β
The words sounded almost like a plea, βI shall spend as long as it takes earning back that sense of safety, if I must.β
You looked down at him then, it was simply Hannibal who sat there.
He swallowed once before speaking again, β...Please.β
βWill you let me hold you?β he asked, unusually vulnerable, and, perhaps for the first time inβ¦ fear that you might say no.
Hannibal held your gaze for only a moment longer, as though he hardly dared to hope for the answer he wanted.
When you finally gave a small nod, the corners of your mouth lifting into the faintest, weary smile, something in his expression softened so completely.
β...Come here,β you murmured quietly.
You barely had time to finish speaking before his arms slipped around you.
One arm settled securely beneath your knees while the other wrapped around your back, and with effortless grace, he lifted you from the sofa as though you weighed nothing at all.Β
A quiet laugh escaped you in surprise, your hands instinctively finding his shoulders to steady yourself, βHannibalββ
βI have you,β he interrupted gently, a small smile finally returning to his lips, βI've missed this privilege.β
βI much prefer carrying you anyway,β he noted, beginning the walk toward the bedroom.
Before you could think of a playful complaint about how you could perfectly walk on your own, his lips brushed beneath your jaw again.
They wandered lazily along the side of your neck and up toward your cheek, placing soft kiss after kiss.
Then, unexpectedly, a gentle nip.
βOwββ you made, turning your head just enough to fix him with a look, narrowing your eyes in mock accusation, βHannibalβ¦β
His expression remained perfectly innocent, β...Yes?β
βYou bit me.β you huffed with quiet amusement.
He looked at you for a second before nodding, βMy sincerest apologies.β
Without another word, he leaned down again and pressed a lingering kiss over the spot he'd nibbled only moments before, his lips lingering there just a fraction longer.
βThere,β he murmured against your skin. βBetter.β
You tried to keep glaring at him, unfortunately, the tiny smile tugging at your lips ruined it entirely.
βI suppose I'll allow it this once.β you sighed dramatically.
βHow mercifulβ¦ I am profoundly grateful.β Hannibal said, hiding the amusement in his voice behind a mockingly serious tone. Again, you couldn't help laughing.
The sound earned another unmistakably pleased smile from him.
By the time the two of you reached the bedroom, the heaviness that had clung to the evening seemed to have dissolved almost entirely.
Hannibal crossed to the bed without breaking his steady pace before carefully lowering you onto the mattress. His movements remained impossibly gentle, making sure you were comfortable before he let go.
Or rather⦠before he immediately decided against letting go.
The mattress dipped a second time as he climbed onto it, leaned forward and all but draped himself over you.
His weight settled warmly across your torso, his arms slipping comfortably around your waist while his head came to rest against your chest.
The sudden weight coaxed a slight gasp from you, βHannibalβ¦ youβre crushing meββ you chuckled.
He made absolutely no attempt to move. If anything, he settled more comfortably against you, one arm tightening lazily around your middle as though he'd finally found the only place he'd wanted to be all evening.
You huffed, poking lightly at his shoulder, βDoctor Lecter.β
βHm?β he hummed into the fabric of your shirt.Β
He tilted his head just enough to look up at you, his cheek still resting over your heartbeat. His eyes had closed halfway, the usual sharpness replaced by something deeply content, almost peaceful.
βIt occurs to me,β he said thoughtfully, βthat human beings have always searched for elaborate means of restoring themselves.β
You raised an eyebrow, βIs that so?β
βThey travel. They meditate. They seek solitude, music, fine foodβ¦β A small smile touched his lips. βSome even insist upon expensive holidays.β
βAnd you?β
βI appear to require only this.β
His hand spread gently against your side, his thumb tracing slow circles through the fabric of your shirt.
βI suspect you alone could sustain me for a lifetime.β
You smiled, your fingers slipping into his blonde strands once more, βOnly suspect?β
He hummed thoughtfully, βI intend to prove my theory for the remainder of my life.β
You smiled to yourself as your fingers continued to comb lazily through his hair. Despite his earlier promise to hold you, it seemed that somewhere along the way, Hannibal had become just as content being held in return.
β¦ ββββ PRIMA BALLERINA
arthur shelby x f!reader
masterlist β taglist
ββββββββββββββββ
ββββββββββββββββ
wc. 1.5k
premise.
After losing the job and career you have dedicated your life to, you are forced to look for work elsewhere. And you find yourself showing up to an establishment you never imagined yourself in, The Eden Club. Recently taken over by the feared Peaky Blinders, you show up for an 'audition'. There you encounter the oldest Shelby brother, Arthur. While he expects you to be just another dancer, he finds himself incredibly captivated by the art of dancing.
warnings.
age gap (Arthur is in his mid to late 30s and reader is in early 20s), power imbalance
ββββββββββββββββ
chapter 1 β pointe shoes
The Eden Club had not yet opened its doors to London's gentlemen, but it already smelled like the night before.
Cigarette smoke hung beneath the chandeliers in lazy grey ribbons. Empty champagne flutes littered velvet tables, lipstick stains still marking their rims.
At the centre of it all sat Arthur Shelby.
His jacket had long since been discarded over the back of a leather chair, his shirt sleeves rolled carelessly to his elbows.Β
A half-finished bottle of expensive Scotch sat open beside an equally neglected bottle of French wine. White lines of cocaine were scattered across the polished mahogany table, along with a silver razor and a rolled-up banknote.
Arthur leaned over the table once more, inhaling sharply before throwing his head back with a satisfied grunt.
βFuckingβ¦β he muttered to nobody in particular, rubbing hard at his nose. β...that's proper.β
His fingers searched blindly for his cigarette, he missed once, then found it.Β
He lit it with shaky hands, drawing deeply before exhaling towards the ceiling.
Across from him, one of the Eden girls draped herself across the edge of the table, her sequined dress glittering beneath the dim lights.Β
She laughed far louder than the joke she'd made deserved, trailing painted fingernails along Arthur's forearm.
βYou've barely looked at me all morning, Mr. Shelby.β she hummed sweetly.
Arthur barely acknowledged her, βHm?β
She shifted closer, smiling, βI could give you summat better to look at.β
Arthur stared at her for a long moment, eyes unfocused from the alcohol and cocaine.
β...Yeah.β he slurred, β...Go on then.β
She sighed through her smile, standing to perform a slow turn, letting the skirt of her dress sway around her legs. Another girl might have expected whistles or applause.
Arthur simply reached for his whiskey.
βTold you beforeβ¦β he drawled, taking another burning swallow. β...don't make no difference if you're half-dressed or fully dressed in this bloody place.β
The woman rolled her eyes with a muttered complaint under her breath.
Arthur scarcely noticed. His attention had already wandered elsewhere, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the smoke curling from his cigarette.
Then, the front door creaked open.
Arthur's head snapped around. His chair scraped violently backwards as he stood, revolver already in his hand and aimed squarely at the entrance.
βThe fuck are youββ
The words died halfway through.
Because standing in the doorway wasn't a rival gangster, or copper, or any man at all.
It was⦠you, a young lady.
You stood frozen beneath the entrance light, one gloved hand still resting on the brass handle.
A pale pink day dress fell neatly to your calves. White tights disappeared into worn little shoes, and clutched carefully against your chest was a pair of satin pointe shoes, the ribbons wrapped lovingly around them. In your other hand was a folded newspaper, creased so many times that the ink had begun rubbing onto your fingers.
Arthur frowned, β...Jesus, sweetheart.β he huffed, lowering the revolver, βWhat're you doin' here?β
The prostitute looked between the two of you with obvious confusion, you swallowed, feeling both panic and heat creep up your neck.Β
βI-I'm terribly sorry,β you said softly, your voice barely carrying across the room. βI didn't realiseβ¦β
Arthur waved a dismissive hand before you could finish, βDoll, you've got the wrong building.β he explained, holstering his gun again.Β
You blinked, β...I don't believe I do. This is the β¦ βEden Clubβ, right?β
You carefully unfolded the newspaper, smoothing out the wrinkles before holding it with both hands, βI came because of this.β
Arthur squinted through the haze of cigarette smoke.
βWanted. Exotic dancers at the Eden Club,β he read aloud with a snort.
He looked back up at you, then at the newspaper, his eyebrows slowly climbed, βYou?β
You nodded once, βYes.β
Arthur let out a short, disbelieving laugh, βNo, sweetheart. You've misunderstoodββ
βI don't think I have.β you cut him off with determination.Β
Arthur gestured broadly around the club with his cigarette, βYou know what sort o' dancing goes on in 'ere?β
Your fingers tightened around the ribbons of your shoes, βYesβ¦β
Arthur couldnβt help but stare at you.
You looked impossibly out of place amidst the velvet, liquor, smoke, and drugs. Like someone had accidentally wandered out of a theatre and into a den of vice.
Arthur shook his head, β...Christ, love.β
You lowered your eyes for a moment before speaking again, almost apologetically, βI dance.β
Arthur continued studying you, his cigarette balanced loosely between his fingers as thin ribbons of smoke drifted lazily toward the ceiling.Β
You remained where you stood near the entrance, your pointe shoes still held carefully against your chest.
Finally, Arthur let out a long sigh through his nose before glancing towards the woman still perched on his table.
"Right," he muttered, waving his hand dismissively. βOff you go.β
The prostitute frowned, clearly unimpressed with being sent away for this excuse of a dancer, βSeriously?β
βAye,β Arthur replied, βYou're done for now.β
She scoffed as she climbed off the table, smoothing down her glittering dress. With one final roll of her eyes, she sauntered out through the backstage curtains.
Arthur reached for his whisky, took another slow swallow, then dragged his heavy leather chair across the polished floor. The legs scraped loudly before he stopped it several feet back, angling himself so he was facing the empty stage rather than the table.
He leaned back with one boot resting over the opposite knee and motioned for you to step further inside.
βCome on then, doll,β he said, his voice softer now than it had been when he'd greeted you with a revolver. βLet's have a proper look at you.β
You approached cautiously, your footsteps almost inaudible, very aware of how Arthur was watching every single one of your movements.Β
βWhat d'you call yourself?β he asked, resting his elbow against the arm of the chair.
βMy name is Y/N,β you answered quietly.
Arthur repeated it under his breath, β...Y/N.β He nodded once, as though testing how it sounded.
βPretty name,β he murmured before looking back up at you. βHow old are you?β
βI'm twenty-three,β you replied politely.
Arthur raised his eyebrows ever so slightly, βTwenty-eightβ¦β he echoed before taking another drag from his cigarette.Β
βHm.β he hummed, considering that for a moment before gesturing lazily towards the phonograph.
βWellβ¦ go on.β Arthur said, flicking ash onto the floor.
You looked at him uncertainly, βSir, Iββ
βPut whatever you like on,β he said, βLong as it ain't that bloody jazz they keep playin'. Gives me a headache.β
You nodded gratefully, βThank you.β
Crossing the room, you carefully sorted through the records before finding one that made your expression brighten ever so slightly.
You placed the needle gently onto the record.
Instead of the lively brass and smoky vocals usually filling the Eden Club, soft orchestral strings slowly drifted through the room.
β...Bit posh,β he muttered beneath his breath.
You smiled to yourself.
Setting your worn everyday shoes neatly beside the stage, you sat carefully on its edge before slipping on your pointe shoes.
βThe hell are those things made of?β he asked.
βThey're called pointe shoes,β you answered while smoothing the ribbons flat against your ankles. βThey allow us to dance en pointe.β
Arthur blinked, he obviously had no idea what all that french dancing nonsense meant, so all he did was give a half agreeing grunt.
β...On our toes.β you clarified.
β...Bloody hell.β he mumbled, the thought of it sounded painful.
You stepped onto the stage.
For a brief moment, you simply stood there, your hands resting gently at your sides as your eyes closed.
Then, you let the music carry you.Β
Arthur had expected something... flirtatious.
Perhaps something sexy.
He had not expected this.
The first movement was almost impossibly light, your feet barely seeming to touch the wooden stage as you rose effortlessly onto the tips of your toes. Your arms floated through the air guided by the music and your movement, every turn impossibly precise, every leap weightless enough that, for a heartbeat, you seemed to float above the floor.
Arthur forgot his cigarette. It slowly burned between his fingers. He forgot his whisky. Forgot the cocaine still scattered across the table behind him.
The only sound in the room was the orchestra spilling from the phonograph and the faint whisper of satin brushing against polished wood.
You weren't dancing for anyone. You were simply dancing.
His mouth parted ever so slightly.
β...Jesus Christ,β he whispered almost to himself.
The front doors opened once again.
Arthurβs younger brother, Thomas, stepped inside, removing his coat, βArthur did youββ he began but was utterly cut off by the scene unfolding in front of him.Β
His sharp blue eyes immediately found Arthur sitting motionless before the stage.
Then they lifted to you, his brow furrowed. He knew his brother had strange taste at best, but he didnβt know he got into ballet now.Β
βWhat the hell is this?β Tommy asked as he approached, glancing between the two of you.
Arthur didn't answer.
Tommy looked towards the stage again before speaking more firmly, βArthur.β
Nothing.
βArthur.β
Arthur finally blinked, though his eyes never truly left you, βWhat?β
Tommy gestured towards the stage. βThis isn't a bloody theatre,β he said flatly.
Arthur's gaze remained fixed on your graceful silhouette as you completed another effortless turn beneath the warm stage lights.
A slow grin spread across his face.
βIt is now,β he replied quietly, unable to look away.
okay so..... if I write this fanfic would anyone read it or like... no
So, the Hail Mary is out there doing its thing and all that...
Ryland and you are already in the worst possible situation... but internally you are feeling much worse than you admit on must days
You, the only other human being on this suicide mission, are crashing the FUCK out having a full on mental break down
You are sure you can't handle it anymore, you don't want to live anymore, you feel so selfish for feeling that way, because obviously you are very much aware that would leave him all alone in this but you feel like you physically cannot anymore...
Ryland's out here begging, pleading, trying everything to keep you here and try to tell you it'll work out and you just need to hold on a bit longer.... but you tell him to please leave you and go be on your own in your bunk, shivering, crying, sobbing, all that...
And who swoops in with advice?
Rocky, bless his alien heart!!!
He is all like "Question!" because... he is trying very hard to understand the distress of you two humans...
And as he hears that you 'lack reasons to life' Rock and Grace start to ponder how to find something to give you as a reason, even if its just temporary...
Nerds as they are... Rocky tries explaining a biological reasoning, explaining the drive to procreate as a fundamental aspect of existence of... any living organism! So, from his perspective, thats presented as a logical solution
"The drive to procreate. Is the universe's oldest instruction manual. Statement!"
So... Rocky suggesting to engage in mating behaviour with you was not on Ryland's bucket list for like... ever lmao...
So now Ryland's got this insane... "okay, I have to literally fudge (fuck) some sense into them" dilemma, all because Rocky thinks it's the most logical biological solution π
On the floor lay about every pillow and blanket in the Hail Mary, forced together to a lumpy pile that Rocky had, lovingly, called a mating nest.
Something that was supposed to bring you comfort and make you feel safe. For survival, or what Ryland was hoping would be survival. It felt obscene, a grotesque parody of comfort in the middle of this endless, desolate void.
The warmth of the make-shift nest on the floor mirrored the sudden churning heat that had ignited between your legs. Desperate, hot tears trickled down your flushed cheeks. Every sob felt like it was tearing something vital from your chest, leaving you emptier than before.
"There's justβ¦ nothing, Ryβ" you gasped, the words barely escaping your lips.
They felt like lies, like a desperate plea for a reaction you didn't deserve.
"No reasonβ No pointβ Noβ Nothingβ" your voice broke, a pathetic series of whimpers, "I justβ¦ I just want to feel something. Anything. To know I'm still aliveβ"
He was so close, kneeling between your legs, forcing them apart. His glasses, as always, sat crooked on his nose.
One of his hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as your body arched and strained. His breaths were ragged, each one a gasp for air that seemed too thin to sustain him. And he was crying too. You could feel his tears, occasionally dripping down onto you as he hovered over you, hot and wet against your skin, a mirror to your own misery.
"I'll fix it," he choked out, his voice raw, thick with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher. Desperation. Hope. A terrible, urgent need.
"I promise, I will. I'll make you feel something. Anything you want."
His fingers, two of them, were already slick from pushing into you. Your body responded again with another small squirt of wetness, your hole fluttering around his two fingers as the overstimulation of your third orgasm crashed over you, making you dizzy.
The slickness that made his movements unnervingly smooth, let him slip in and out of you while his thumb flicked and brushed against your equally wet bundle of nerves.
A choked mewl escaped you, a sound that was both a sob and a gasp.
"Pleaseβ¦" the word escaped you like a tiny whimper, you sucked in another sharp breath, your hips wiggling against the firm hand keeping you down.
"Noβ pleaseβ let me fix itβ" Grace sobbed, his grip on your hip tightening, the rhythm of his fingers never faltering. "Iβ I'llβ make it better, I'll make you happyβ"
His words dissolved into small, broken pleas, begging you to help you with his desperate and misguided attempt to save you.
a/n: I cooked this up last night and I don't know what to think of it.. so lets see if I write it or not.... I kind of like it... so lmk
okay so..... if I write this fanfic would anyone read it or like... no
So, the Hail Mary is out there doing its thing and all that...
Ryland and you are already in the worst possible situation... but internally you are feeling much worse than you admit on must days
You, the only other human being on this suicide mission, are crashing the FUCK out having a full on mental break down
You are sure you can't handle it anymore, you don't want to live anymore, you feel so selfish for feeling that way, because obviously you are very much aware that would leave him all alone in this but you feel like you physically cannot anymore...
Ryland's out here begging, pleading, trying everything to keep you here and try to tell you it'll work out and you just need to hold on a bit longer.... but you tell him to please leave you and go be on your own in your bunk, shivering, crying, sobbing, all that...
And who swoops in with advice?
Rocky, bless his alien heart!!!
He is all like "Question!" because... he is trying very hard to understand the distress of you two humans...
And as he hears that you 'lack reasons to life' Rock and Grace start to ponder how to find something to give you as a reason, even if its just temporary...
Nerds as they are... Rocky tries explaining a biological reasoning, explaining the drive to procreate as a fundamental aspect of existence of... any living organism! So, from his perspective, thats presented as a logical solution
"The drive to procreate. Is the universe's oldest instruction manual. Statement!"
So... Rocky suggesting to engage in mating behaviour with you was not on Ryland's bucket list for like... ever lmao...
So now Ryland's got this insane... "okay, I have to literally fudge (fuck) some sense into them" dilemma, all because Rocky thinks it's the most logical biological solution π
edit: I added a cheeky writing sample/idea in reblogs :)
β¦ ββββ DONT WASTE THE CHANCE
owen grady x f!reader
masterlist β taglist
ββββββββββββββββ
ββββββββββββββββ
wc. 1 k
premise.
you are ovulating, and you really want a baby... after your last few tries were unsuccessful you decided that ... more surely is better.
warnings.
smut!, unprotected pinv, breeding, pet names, mating press, like a lot of cum..., porn no plot
MINORS DNI!!
ββββββββββββββββ
"Owen, come on!" you urged, your voice a desperate plea. Your head buzzed, completely dizzy alone from the thought that you were ovulating right now.
You whined "We can't waste the chanceβ"
You ovulating alone was usually reason enough to be all over Owen, but after you had finally discussed you would try and him looking so fucking delicious in his work pants and pleated boxers peaking out... you couldn't hold back anymore.
Owen looked down at you, eyes dark with that primal urge he always had. He was already slick with sweat, his short brown hair plastered to his forehead, clinging to the sweat that beaded on his temples.
His muscles strained under his skin as he shifted between your legs. Heβd been relentless, but this was different. You were crazy for him today.
"Jesus, baby, give me a bit..." Owen grunted, trying to catch his breath while you were already so impatiently wiggling in the messy sheets below him.
He glanced down, his cock still throbbing, slick with beads of cum sticking to his tip. He had filled you up barely a moment ago and you were asking for more.
He gave your puffy lips a few firm, almost playful slaps, a possessive gesture that sent shivers down your spine.
The sound of his hand slapping against the slick of fluids that covered you was almost obscene, it made heated thoughts rush through you, making you twist and moan under him.
"Atta girl," he rasped, his voice deeper than usual. Then, with a low growl, he dragged his tip through your fluid slick folds before slipping himself back inside.
You whined, the sensation of him filling you again so snugly almost overwhelming.
Owen could really take a lot, he was physically very fit and had a lot of stamina but the way you were behaving today had even him sensitive.
He pressed out a deep noise from his chest as he sunk fully into you again, slotted between your legs that wrapped around his hip.
He grunted, his body tensing as he settled into the position, pushed inside you to the absolute fullest.
Carefully he leaned over you, pushing one leg from his hip to rest your ankle on his shoulder and then he pressed down.
His chest pressed against yours, caging you in below him, the stretch go your leg stung pleasantly in your muscle and you let out a whiny sound.
His eyes, dark and intense, met yours. "Don't worry, sweetheart," he breathed, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "We're not wasting a damn second."
You bit your lip and nodded, feeling him fill your already cum slick pussy up again with the promise of more had you scratch your nails over his shoulder.
He started to move, slow at first, trying to use the tentative rhythm to regain some of his composure, making sure each thrust was slow and deep and claiming.
A bead of sweat dripped from his chin, tracing a path down his neck and chest, your eyes briefly followed him, over his slightly tanned and toned muscles. You suppressed the urge to lick the salty bead.
The way Owen fucked you like this, in a mating press, slow and deep, it drove you wild, made your head blank out any other thought and all that was left was the urge to fuck.
It made your head spin and your core clench hard around him, as if trying to suck him in as deep as possible.
"More, Owen," you whispered, the words catching in your throat. "Please..."
He responded with a guttural groan, his movements picking up speed. His muscles flexed with each thrust, one arm bracing beside your head, the other one gripping your hip so hard you were sure he would leave bruises.
He was a force of nature, and you were caught in his primal rut. And frankly, this was possibly the hottest he had ever been.
His hips bucked deeper into you, the unmistakable sign that he would keep his promise so so soon.
It was hard to last with the clenching wetness clamping down on him. Slick and cum making it oh so easy to just slide in and out of you.
His pounding had you see stars, each firm thrust knocking the air clean out of your lungs. But it wasn't until he pressed himself closer to you, your breasts sandwiched between your body and his clammy chest, when his happy trail, now equally damp with sweat, would brush against your clit.
It was a gentle, and relentless, caress, rough brunette hair rutting against the bundle of nerves, that sent a wave of pleasure through you, making you cry out and arch deeper into the mattress.
"Atta girl," he grunted again, his forehead pressing against the crook of your neck.
"You're doing great." he roughed, the praise sending another wave of heat through you.
Seeing you enjoying yourself so much on his cock made his orgasm build with alarming speed.
"Jesusβ babyβ fuckβ" Owen grunted, lifting his head gently to better view the way your eyebrows scrunched together and your mouth fell open into a soft 'o'.
It took every ounce of self control in him to not come then and there, that pleasurable expression on your face doing things other him he didn't consider possible.
His head dipped down, his lips finding your neck, pressing hot open mouthed kisses against your flushed skin, "Jesus... My babyβ fuckβ" he growled, the words rough.
Finally, he slammed his hips against yours one last time, coming again, a deep groan escaping him as he fulled you again with more of his sticky warm fluid. He was surprised he even had any left with how you drained him.
Your own orgasm crashed into you with his final thrust, your nails catching along his biceps at the pleasure and soreness.
After briefly catching his breath, Owen half lifts himself off you, only as you grip at his arm, your lips pulling into a sad pout does he halt.
"Don't pull outβ" you whined, and to Owen's surprise, that makes his softening cock twitch inside you again.
βββ κ° π κ± βββ
jurassic world taglist . . .β§Λκ°π¦κ±ΰΌβ§ @awkardnerd @bellarkeselection
a/n: can you guys tell im ovulating irl , idk what has gotten into me lately.......
β¦ ββββ THIGH HIGH
will graham x f!reader
masterlist β taglist
ββββββββββββββββ
ββββββββββββββββ
wc. 1.5 k
premise.
based on this ask!
s3 will and thigh riding. because heβs so cocky and dominant, he chooses when youβre allowed to keep going, holding you still when youβre close if he thinks you havenβt been good enough
warnings.
smut, thigh riding, orgasm denial, pet names, begging, spanking, reader being a bit of a cry baby, pure porn no plot, lmk if I missed anything....
MINORS DNI!!
ββββββββββββββββ
The worn leather of the chair creaked a low groan beneath you, a sound almost as primal as the one building in your own chest.
You were perched on Will's thigh, facing him, the delicate lace of your panties a stark contrast to the rugged texture of his trousers.
The dim light in the room did little to hide the flush that bloomed across your cheeks, nor the desperate little pant escaping your lips.
You tried, oh how you tried, to maintain a façade of composure, but your body betrayed you.
A soft, almost involuntary mewl escaped your throat, a tiny sound of pure, unadulterated need.
Even through the layers of fabric, Will could feel the warm dampness seeping through his trousers. Youβd soaked his thigh already, so easily even.
Your skimpy excuse of panties had already been wet and soaked before you had even sat yourself down on his thigh.
Your eyelids fluttered closed, a helpless little moan escaping your lips as the sensation intensified.
You couldn't help how good the rough texture of his bottoms felt of how it made you flutter around nothing, just sitting in his lap and grinding at his thigh like a dumb little bunny in heat.
You craved your release so bad, you wanted to make that wet spot in the fabric grow grow grow with the dampness of your orgasm.
You wanted to show him how good only his thigh made you feel, make him see how that already made you whimper and how good you were, cumming on his thigh.
How you were ready for more of him.
Another whiny moan escaped you, your own plush thighs squeezing around his as you teetered the edge, Will's hands tightened on your thighs.
The movement halted you in your place, jolting you back into the present after being lost in your perverted thoughts.
His low and rumbly voice was laced with a knowing amusement.
"So eager," he murmured, his thumb tracing the curve of your hip.
"And so desperate. Getting off on nothing but the thought of filling that fluttering hole of yours."
Your breath hitched, a fresh wave of heat washing over you.
You dared to whisper, your voice a fragile and breathy, "Willβ¦ please? Let meβ¦"
He cut you off with a gentle squeeze, "You'll get it when you earn it."
A pathetic whimper escaped your lips.
You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ignore the hot ache in between your thighs.
You waited, raggedly breathing through the following silence.
"Go on," Will said, his hands loosening their grip ever so slightly.
You didn't have to be told twice, desperately beginning to grind against him again.
Your half lidded eyes were focused on him, on his partially obscured face, on how his eyes were glued to your form.
The friction was exquisite, the textured fabric of his trousers seemed to ignite every single nerve in your swollen clit.
You felt the familiar, intoxicating build-up, the sweet delirium rushing back with terrifying speed.
"Please, Will," you gasped, your voice thick with need, "let meβ¦"
"Hold it," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.
You tried so hard, whimpering against his chest, uselessly palming at the soft fabric of his shirt, fighting the overwhelming rush of sensation.
"I want to be good for you," you choked out, your voice trembling.
But the effort was too much. Your rhythm faltered, and he knew.
"You're coming soon," he stated, his voice dangerously low.
And with that, his hands pressed down on your hips with crushing pressure, he stopped you again.
The lack of stimulation left you dizzy, wanting, your head spinning with raw and utter need.
Tears, hot and stinging, pricked at the corners of your eyes. You looked up at him, "But I was good! I did well for you!" you whined, voice broken.
It was unfair! You did so well!
He looked entirely unimpressed by you, but something possessive twitched there in the corner of his mouth.
"I decide," he said, his voice a silken threat, "when you are good."
He tightened his grip, pulling you closer, making you whimper as your puffy folds dragged over the damp patch on his thigh.
"And I say you're not there yet."
Scrambling, desperate to regain his favour, you pressed closer, hands reaching and grasping for his chest and shoulders, like you were begging him to not abandon you.
"Please," you begged, your voice cracking, "let me be good for you. I want to be good for you."
You wanted him to see your sincerity, your utter devotion, your overwhelming need to please him.
A soft, almost patronising coo escaped Willβs lips, a sound that prickled your skin.
"My little doll," he cooed, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek, his eyes doing a slow sweep down your flushed form, taking in the undeniable evidence of your arousal.
"You get so, so wet just for me. For my thigh." He tilted your chin up, his gaze steady. "You will be good for me, won't you?"
Your head was dizzy from the denial, making you swim in a foggy haze.
You could only nod shakily, "I will," you whispered.
"Good girl," he said, a hint of approval in his tone that sent a fresh wave of heat through you.
"Now, show me. Show me how much you want it."
You leaned into him, resting your head in the crook of his neck.
The familiar scent of his musk, mingled with the subtle undertones of his cologne, was intoxicating.
You began to grind against his thigh again, your legs already trembling, weak from the effort.
A soft whine escaped you, a pitiful sound of pure need.
The friction was delicious, but the heat rose rose rose .... but it didn't push you close to the edge like before anymore.
You were growing impatient, and the emptiness of your wet hole was becoming more and more evident to you.
You let out a sound as you clenched and fluttered uselessly around nothing, making you almost salivate at the thought alone of Will's cock.
"I need more," you breathed against his skin. "I want you."
"This is all you get," he stated, his voice firm.
Another whine, a tiny complaint, began to form on your lips, but it was cut short by a sharp, stinging smack against your ass.
The sudden impact jolted through you, sending a jolt of surprised heat through your already sensitive body.
It made you gasp, and paradoxically, it made you even wetter. You already felt the mark burn red on your skin, even if you couldn't see it.
You lifted your head, your eyes wide and searching, looking up at him. Will looked down at you, cupping your chin.
If you couldn't so evidently feel the straining tent in his pants, then you might as well think he didn't care one bit about this.
He looked indifferent, his blue eyes shrouded in darkness, only dimly illuminated but entirely focused on you.
His thumb gently brushed over your chin, before it came up to rest against your bottom lip. In a desperate attempt to please him, your tongue darted out immediately, licking over the digit like it was the best lollipop you've ever had.
He pushed it, slowly, deliberately, into the dampness of your mouth, past your lips.
He looked down at you, his face an almost perfect mask of indifference, his expression unreadable, almost as if he were studying an interesting specimen.
There was no overt passion in his eyes, no obvious delight, just a calm, detached assessment.
Another moan tumbled from your lips before they closed around his thumb, letting the pad of it press down on your tongue.
Your forming overwhelmed sobs were ragged, choked little sounds that tore from your throat as you begged his name.
"Willβ please... pleaseβ Willβ Willβ"
The words slurred around his thumb in your mouth.
The waves of pleasure then crashed over you with an intensity that stole your breath.
You ground into him, your wet heat a desperate friction against his thigh.
A squirt of dampness bloomed against his pants as you convulsed, a long, shuddering whine escaping you as your orgasm finally washed over you.
You continued rutting your hips into his thigh, your rhythm slowing as you began to really feel how weak and spent your limbs were.
Your hands clung to him, his arm and shoulder as you let the last few shudders of pleasure wreck through you. Then, you gently sagged against him, your breath coming in ragged gasps, leaving you dazed and vulnerable.
You whispered a quiet thank you as you nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck, tears still damp on your cheeks.
You thought you finally did good for him and had gotten your reward.
Will's hands gently squeezed your thighs, his voice now coming in a low and even tone, devoid of any real emotion, cutting through the fog of your release,
"I didn't tell you to stop moving."
ββββββββββββββββ
hannibal nbc taglist . . .β§Λκ°π¦κ±ΰΌβ§ @ilovehorror-18 @kashimeowr @afw5 @andyinthemiddleofsixx @robertthehoover @sebbymybaby21 @luanniidae
a/n: totally forgot to fucking post this #wtf so... do wtv with it!!!
