⤷ give benjamin poindexter an offputting weird girl, now!
⌖ When you first met, you collided. Literally. If it weren’t for the grocery bag in front of you, you would have ricocheted off his chest. You had been turning the corner in your apartment buialing’s hallways when you ran into him. “Oop sorry!” You apologized, and watched his mouth move. His words were only a muffled rumble, inaudible over the sound of your music. “Sorry, what?” You ask, struggling to shift the grip of your grocery bag to remove your headphones.
“Are those noise canceling?” He asks.
“Yeah?”
“I love wearing headphones too, but you shouldn’t wear noise canceling ones. It’s not safe.”
“Not safe…?” You trail off suspiciously.
“Someone could be following and you wouldn’t know. You can’t hear your surroundings. And a prett-“ he clears his throat “A young lady should be aware of her surroundings.”
⌖“This is for you” he holds out a bullet casing in an open palm
“That’s so sweet” you say in a small voice “thank you” you carefully place it in a ceramic trinket dish on your bedside table.
“It reminded me of you” he explains “Did you know every bullet casing is unique? Like a human fingerprint or a snowflake.”
“I did not know that” you admit. You prepare your area for bed. Essential oils, chapstick, crystals lined up just so, phone plugged in. Your routine might be considered neurotic to some, but to him it’s totally normal. Justified even.
⌖ You hyperfixate on things. When you like something, you really like something. You both have a tendency to latch on and never let go. This applies to books and hobbies you enjoy, foods you like, and of course, each other. Why would you be interested in anyone else when you have Dex? You like your person. And you know what you like. It’s comforting to know he feels the same way too. He centers you as his fixation. Instead of “good night, I love you” which most couples exchange before bed, his parting words are “mine, mine, mine”.
⌖ Neither of you like crowds, but going out together is still something you enjoy. A drive bar earlier than peak hours, or a quiet wine bar late at night. He’ll only drink a light beer, two if there’s cause for celebration. Never enough to actually get affected or slowed in the slightest. This time, you’re at the former, returning to where Dex sits at a secluded table after a quick pop to the bathroom.
As you cross the room a man nods at you "Hey, how are ya?"
You stare right past him, face blank and distant, ignoring his hand brushing your arm. You reach Dex at the other side of the space and beam up at him.
"That guy tried to talk to you" his jaw is tensed, halfway rising out of this chair, eyes flicking down to you and back at the row of men standing at the bar. The one brushed your arm, the others ogled your arse as passed.
"Who? I didn't even notice" you shrug.
⌖Your sense of humor is not well received by some. You laugh at things that others would ignore or cringe at. You two trade inside jokes back and forth but to an outside perspective, it would seem you were having two separate conversations. The exchange leaves you clutching your side in stitches and joy flickering behind his eyes.
⌖ You are so good. And particularly selective with who you spend your time with. Your resolute sense of right and wrong grounds him and makes him feel like he must be doing something right, to have you in his life.
topspin started as a small tennis club and eventually grew into one of new york's largest tennis communities . wilson fisk , the founder of topspin , had wanted this to happen a long time ago . featured in new york times , mens && women ' s health magazines , wilson fisk plans to expand topspin in the future , going global ... staff here love the experience notable staff such as; frank castle , benjamin poindexter , karen page , matthew murdock , and more ! at topspin we value those around us and our loyal members , we hope to see you soon !
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lawyer!valarr targaryen x fem!reader
wc: 2.5k
content warning: 18+ mdni | smut | established relationship | public teasing | sexual thoughts and fantasies | oral (f!receiving, m!receiving) | hair pulling | face fucking | exchanging cum through a kiss | fingering | overstimulation | slight manhandling if you squint
It was supposed to be drinks. That's what Valarr promised when you complained that you'd barely seen him all week: one evening without his laptop, his phone facedown on the table, and absolutely no discussion of the case currently consuming most of his waking hours. He keeps the first two promises. The third lasts precisely until you mention that you read something about the trial online, and suddenly your boyfriend is sitting opposite you in a dim little booth, expensive suit jacket discarded beside him, patiently explaining why everything you've read is wrong.
"So you're saying the article lied?"
"No, the article is superficial." He pushes his glasses up his nose, an unconscious gesture of his that always happens when he's preparing to lecture someone—you. "It took one piece of testimony out of context and built a narrative around it that misrepresents the entire defense strategy."
You nod as though he's making perfect sense, but really you're just watching the way his mouth forms the words, how his tongue moves behind his teeth when he enunciates, how he unknowingly licks his lips every time before continuing. It's been two weeks since you've had more than a passing kiss goodnight, and your mind is drifting to places that have nothing to do with legal strategy.
"The prosecution wants to frame it as a financial crime," he continues, "but the evidence suggests otherwise."
"Mm-hmm."
His eyes narrow slightly. "Are you actually listening?"
He sighs, recognizing the signs of your distraction. "You're not listening."
"I am," you insist, reaching for his hand across the table. "I just also happen to be thinking about how good you look when you're explaining complex legal concepts."
A flush creeps up his neck, but he recovers quickly. "You're ridiculous."
"And you're incredibly fuckable right now. Have I mentioned how much I love watching you in court?"
"You've mentioned it several times, yes."
"It bears repeating." You trace a finger lightly over his knuckles, watching how his breathing changes. How it gets stuck in his throat coming in. "But that tongue of yours is wasted on legal arguments."
His swallow is visible now. It'd be audible too, if the bar weren't playing some low indie rock. "We're in public, angel."
"Are we?" you ask innocently, glancing around the dimly lit bar. "Looks like everyone's minding their own business."
You're thinking about his mouth, about how it looks when he's delivering closing arguments, the confidence and precision that make you want to drag him into the nearest empty room. You're thinking about how that same mouth feels trailing down your body, how his glasses fog up when he goes down on you while wearing them, how his normally composed demeanor shatters when you tug his hair just right.
He pretends to look unbothered, but you can see the pulse jumping in his throat. You can see the slight dilation of his eyes, the way he unconsciously licks his lips again. He knows exactly what you were thinking about a minute ago. He knows exactly what you're thinking about right now.
"Finish your drink. We're going home."
The ride back is silent except for the soft sound of rain hitting the windows and your own breathing, which seems impossibly loud in the confined space of the backseat. Valarr sits beside you, close but not close enough to fully touch you, just his leg pressed against yours. Every time the car hits a bump, your thigh slides against his, and you can feel the tension coiling tighter in his body.
When the driver pulls up to his apartment building, he's out of the car before you've fully gathered your things, holding his umbrella by the door as he waits for you. The rain has picked up. Fat droplets are now splashing against the sidewalk, but he keeps most of the umbrella angled over you as you rush inside.
The elevator ride up is torture. The smell of his cologne fills the small space, and you can see his reflection in the polished metal doors. You catch the way his jaw clenches. You catch how his fingers flex at his sides. You're both pretending to watch the floor numbers climb, but you can feel his eyes on you in the reflection.
You've moved on from his mouth and are now contemplating the way his neck looks, how the pulse there matches the rhythm of your own racing heart. You want to press your lips to that spot, feel his heartbeat against your mouth, to slide your tongue along the tendon that stands out when he's tense. You're thinking about the sounds he makes when you bite him there. You're thinking about his very gorgeous cock with its pretty pink flush and the way it twitches when you drag your tongue against the underside of it. And you're thinking about his tongue again.
The ache between your thighs is nearly debilitating by the time you reach his floor.
The moment the door closes behind you, the pretense drops. Valarr doesn't bother with lights; the city glow filtering through the windows is enough to illuminate the space in soft blues and grays. He sets his keys on the table with more force than necessary, and you're on him before he can speak, pressing him back against the door, your hands sliding up his chest to tangle in his hair. The kiss is nothing like the ones you share in public—soft, appropriate. This is hungry, demanding, the kind of kiss that makes your toes curl in your shoes and your head swim.
His glasses are in the way, so you pull back just enough to remove them, setting them carefully on the nearest surface before returning to his mouth.
"Fuck," he breathes against your lips, and then his hands are on you, one gripping your waist, the other sliding into your hair to angle your head just how he wants you. He tastes like the whiskey he had at the bar; you want to kiss him forever.
You break away to trail kisses along his jaw, down his neck, feeling his pulse race beneath your lips. His breathing is ragged now, his composure slipping with each touch of your lips to his skin. When you bite down gently on the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, he groans, and his hips press forward instinctively.
"Bed," he rasps, the word clawing up from his throat.
You shake your head, already sinking to your knees. "Here."
"Angel—"
"Let me," you interrupt, your fingers working at his belt. "I've been thinking about you for weeks, Val."
He swallows hard, watching as you undo his pants and free him from the confines of his boxers. He's already hard, his cock curving up toward his stomach, the tip glistening with precum. The sight of it makes your mouth water. You don't waste time wrapping your hand around the base, stroking slowly. Once, twice.
His head thumps back against the door. "Oh God, that's—"
The first pass of your tongue from base to tip cuts off his words. You flatten it and press firmly, tasting the salt of his arousal, feeling the veins that run along the underside pulse against your tongue. You do it again, slower, watching his face as his hands fist at his sides.
"You taste so fucking good," you murmur, before taking the head into your mouth.
Valarr makes a sound you've never heard before, something between a groan and a whimper. His hips jerk forward before he can stop them, and you welcome it, taking him further into your mouth. The weight of him on your tongue is intoxicating; the musky, clean scent of him is filling your senses so much that you could drown in it. You might want to. You establish a rhythm, then, alternating between long, slow bobs and swirling your tongue around the head, paying special attention to the sensitive spot just beneath the tip. His eyes are fixed on you, watching every movement of your mouth like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.
You swirl your tongue around the head again, dipping into the slit to taste him properly, and his entire body shudders.
"Angel, if you keep—fuck—"
You hum in acknowledgment, and the vibration makes his knees tremble. One of his hands finally moves from where it's braced against the door and into your hair. He's gripping it with a restraint that you can feel against your scalp, but there's a desperation in his touch that makes you wetter than you already are.
When he grips your hair harder, you take him deeper, relaxing your throat until your nose is pressed against his pelvis. The moan that tears from him is absolutely beautiful. Uninhibited. It's the kind of sound he'd never make if he had even an ounce of his usual self-control left. You hold him there for a moment, breathing through your nose, then pull back slowly, hollowing your cheeks on the way up.
He's choking on words now, already having abandoned the idea of forming sentences. You glance up at him to find his head thrown back against the door. His throat is on full display, his mouth is open and each pant is coming out faster than the last, his chest heaving with each breath. You love seeing him like this—completely undone. Valarr Targaryen stripped down to pure sensation by your mouth and your mouth alone.
The power of it thrills you as much as the act itself.
"Stop looking away from me, Valarr," you demand, pulling off him just long enough to speak before going to tongue at his balls.
His eyes snap down to meet yours. They're glazed over with pleasure and entirely unfocused. "I can't... when you... fuck."
The moment the last word leaves his mouth, you take him into your throat again, swallowing around him as his eyes roll back in his head. The hand in your hair tightens, and this time he's the one pressing your face to him. You let him, let him fuck your mouth with short, shallow thrusts, let the drool run down your chin because it's worth it for the sounds he's making in response to the sight.
You feel him swell on your tongue, his cock pulsing with the signs of his approaching orgasm. He tries to pull back, to warn you. You just dig your fingers into his thighs to keep him where you want him. The first hot spurt of cum hits the flat of your tongue, and you moan around him. He cries out as he thrusts softly, his back arching off the door as he comes, his cock twitching with each pulse of release.
You don't let up until he's completely spent, milking every last drop from him before finally pulling back. You open your mouth, showing him the mess he's made, and then your tongue is meeting his before either of you can blink, and you're both swallowing the evidence of what just happened. The kiss is messy and tastes of him, and Valarr devours your mouth like he's trying to crawl inside you.
When you finally break apart, he's panting again, pulling at his tie; practically tearing his shirt open to get it off. "Bedroom," he says again, and this time he's not asking. "Right now."
He's scooping you up into his arms before you can respond, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you toward his room. He tosses you onto the bed and follows you down before you've even stopped bouncing.
He makes quick work of your clothes, his hands trembling slightly as he strips you bare. The look in his eyes when you're finally naked beneath him is pure hunger. His eyes are fixed on your glistening arousal once he shoves your thighs open.
"Look what you've done," he murmurs as he slides a finger through your folds. "So wet for me."
You moan as he brings his finger to his mouth to suck it clean. His eyes flutter closed at the taste, and when he opens them again, there's a determination there that genuinely makes your entire body shiver.
"Val, please," you whisper, reaching for him.
He leans down, but not to kiss you. Instead, he settles between your legs, and you can feel his breath hot against your cunt. "I've been thinking about this too, angel. All day in court. During the deposition. Even when that idiot prosecutor was droning on about financial records."
His tongue barely flicks against your clit, but the sensation is electric. Your back arches off the bed and your hands find purchase in his hair.
"More. I need more."
He chuckles against your skin, drawing yet another gasp from your throat. "Patience, darling. I plan to take my time."
True to his word, he doesn't rush. He explores you with his mouth like he has all night, which, you suppose he does. Long, slow licks, gentle suction, the occasional scrape of his teeth against your inner thigh. He's methodical in a way that makes you want to scream, building your pleasure layer by excruciating layer. When he finally slides two fingers inside you and curls them just right, you almost see pass out.
"Valarr, fuck," you pant, grinding against his face. "I'm close."
"Already?" He sounds impossibly smug. "I've barely started."
You're about to give him a piece of your mind when he sucks your clit into his mouth, and the words dissolve into a moan. His fingers pump inside you for a minute longer before he's pulling them out to grip your thighs, forcing them open when they try to close around his head. His tongue is everywhere, dipping inside you, circling your clit, and you're so close you can taste it.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you chant, the pleasure cresting higher and higher until it finally breaks over you in waves. Your vision whites out. Your body is tensing and then releasing in shuddering spasms. Valarr doesn't quit, continuing to lap at you through your orgasm, drawing out every last ounce of your pleasure until you're shoving at his shoulders with your feet.
"Enough," you gasp. "Christ, Val, I can't."
He finally relents, placing one last kiss on your inner thigh before crawling up your body. His face is glistening with your arousal, his hair is messy from your fingers, there's a stupidly wide grin on his face, and he's never looked more beautiful. You want to frame him just like this.
You pull him down into a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips now, and he hums contentedly against your mouth. When he pulls back, he's still smiling. "Good?"
You run your fingers through his disheveled hair, watching the way the silver streak catches the light coming in from the window. "Incredible," you admit. "But next time you tell me we're going out for drinks, you better keep your mouth shut about work when you promise you will."
He laughs, the sound vibrating against your chest where he's resting his head. "I will. I swear," he says, but you both know he's lying, and that somehow, it's perfect just like this. You'd listen to him talk about legal strategy for hours if it ends like this every time.
"Good. Now, are you going to fuck me or what, counselor?"
synopsis . you were lowborn and he was a prince. Aerion knew he ought to leave you, but he could not. a drabble.
contents. +16 (MDNI) ⋆ lowborn! reader ⋆ based on this ask ⋆ class diference ⋆ secret relationship ⋆ angst ⋆ dubious morality ⋆ obsession ⋆ masterlist ⋆ akotsk taglist⠀ಣ notes. i am addicted to aerion losing his head. 😩
Aerion buried his face in your neck, breathing in your scent as though he might die without it.
It enraged him because you were lowborn and that thought should suffice. Should make him feel shame, disgust at himself, anything that might bring him back to reason.
Instead, it only made that thing inside his chest tighten further.
"You should go."
His jaw tightened, he said that every night, because he should leave your bed. Should stop seeking you out. Should remember who he was and, above all, who you were.
But he never let you go.
A prince should not cross the castle hidden in the dead of night merely because he could not bear to sleep without a woman of lower birth than his.
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ lola was bitten by a spider when she was helping a farm dog and newly born puppies. the dog had given birth inside a hole underneath a small concrete structure, in the dirt, full of leaves and trash that wasn't supposed to be there.
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ lola grabbed the puppies one by one, placing them inside a cardboard box to keep them safe. as she grabbed each of them, the dog was calm, knowing she was being helped. the puppies and their mom were taken to safety, but the next day, something unexpected happened.
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ it was 5am when lola woke up, her right hand itching badly. looking at her palm, she noticed a small bump in the middle of it. grabbing her phone she frantically searched about insect bites and each type, trying to figure out what had happened...
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ she stumbled upon spider bites. worrying, very worrying. it wasn't a black widow, their bite stings right away... maybe it was some kind of brown spider? you don't feel them right away, and they bite for protection, usually when you touch them accidentally... and they live in dark places, with dirt... sounds familiar.
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ hours later, lola noticed a red line going up her arm. it was like a bruise, but it kept growing up and up until her shoulder.
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ the next week was insufferable, runny nose, sore throat, fever, headaches... it all got healed eventually, though, but the headache didn't stop
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ her vision started to blur and when she took off her glasses she realised she didn't need them anymore...
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ the first time a web came out of her wrist was the weirdest thing ever. she fainted after seeing it.
ᯓ SPIDERSUIT::
the suit consists of light blue and brown shades. mostly blue (she didn't want people calling her a "flying turd")
her suit is a skintight outfit, but she also wears lightblue sweatpants (she doesn't want people to stare at her ass), and some good quality running sneakers
ᯓ PERKS::
increased speed ; super fast healing ; full body heightened strenght ; boosted hearing ; augmented reflex velocity
