#Beyond the Wall Review | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gladiatorcunt · 5 months ago

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- MOLTEN LAVA CAKE / IV.

when i get to heaven, please let me bring my man

cw: kinktober prompt (creampie), unprotected sex & playing fast and loose with it’s possible consequences, yandere behavior, age gap (reader 20’s, capitano & zhongli 50s, baizhu 40s), power imabalance, non con somno (childe), dub con, innocence kink & lowkey medical malpractice (baizhu), reader has a pussy, implied kidnapping (capitano), if you squint childe & capitano’s sections are connected, frequent breeding kink type talk, manipulation & coercion, implied baby trapping, dead dove do not eat

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

CEO!Zhongli

“Do be quiet, darling.” Zhongli grits, cupping your head with both of his palms and tugging you upwards. “I have no intentions of being an exhibitionist today.”

You arch off his grand wooden desk and gasp at the spark of pain in your neck, but you’d take that over drowning yourself in paperwork any day. Your boss’s cock is ramming into your ass at a porn star’s speed, the wet smacks of flesh slapping against flesh bounce off the one way glass walls.

This situation is the most cliché porn plot in the book though, the distant slightly emotionally unavailable boss bending his secretary over his desk and zipping down their pants. You had been running late that day, you forgot to set your alarm for Mr. Zhongli’s breakfast tea run and you had less cat food than you thought so you had to make a break for the grocery store.

By the time you scrambled in with a steaming cup of your boss’s favorite tea and his stack of reports to review and meeting requests to schedule, the older man was tapping his foot and crossing his arms. He didn’t look disappointed, not quite, but the gentle warmth in his eyes was gone and his small smile was flat.

In your desperation not to lose your job, this was your first and you’re only in your junior year of college, you follow him into his office and set down your things. Your cherry Marc Jacobs tote bag (bought by him, his papers and tea (bought by you with his money), your SINOCULTURAL orchid leather handbag (also bought by him, for variety).

Zhongli wasn’t the kind of pervy boss who’s hit on you before, you guess now that he was just lying in wait. You were the one that draped yourself over his desk with tears in your eyes, desperate and naive and relying on the principle of ‘sex sells’.

He’ll draft up a different beginning to your love story at your wedding.

“You take cock so well, perhaps we’ll have to have a discussion about adding this to your list of duties, hm?”

The condom sliding in and out of your walls makes you want to pout, but you know he has to have one. How he was able to pull a pack from his desk drawer on the spot is beyond you, you’re not quite willing to admit that you’d be so willing to keep your job you’d risk a baby and/or STDs.

“A-ah! Y-yes, sir, whenever you’re available, i-i’ll do anything.” You whisper over your shoulder and push your ass up, wanting the sight of his long cock disappearing under the thick cheeks to be as enticing as possible.

You clutch onto the golden plague bearing his esteemed name for dear life, muffling your sounds into the furniture’s lacquer, and let your boss pour all his stress into your holes. You tried to goad him into taking your ass but he gave you an amused chuckle and a firm pat to each cheek, chiding at you that he’d do it properly another time. He’s a gentleman under his silvered tongue and all his golden scales.

Zhongli seems to get fed up with the condom the closer he gets to his roaring orgasm, and all you’re able to let out in a punched squeal as he sharply pulls out and rips the condom off.

“This damn thing,” He huffs, snarling as he tosses the shredded scraps of plastic to the side, sinking back into your pussy in one go. “There, much better.”

You’re discovering that Mr. Zhongli is not the kind of man who groans unabashedly in the heat of the moment, he's prone to contented sighs and easy laughs. The closest you get to anything animalistic is the guttural grunt he lets slip as you clench around him near the end of his deep thrusts, milking him for all the cum this HR nightmare of a quickie can get you.

“One more thing before you go, be a dear and clean that up for me.” He points a black nail down at the puddle of cum expectantly, somehow having pulled his cock free with a wet flopping noise when you were too dizzy to notice, sinking back into his swiveling chair.

Sugar Daddy!Capitano

Your back hits the hotel wall, softened by Capitano’s hands coming to slide in between you and the surface.

“Mmfh- I’ve never… I’ve never done this before.” You shyly admit as your sighs fade into whimpers, the man’s stubble rubbing on your neck during his rain of kisses.

He laughs and his hot breath hits your pulse point, your heart skips a beat. “So you’ve told me. Don’t worry, you’re nothing but safe with me. I’ve already wired the initial 50,000 for our first meeting to your account, we don’t have to do anything that you are not comfortable with.”

You nod and run your fingers through his black hair, offering up more of your unmarked neck. Of course you’re comfortable, you were so nervous you could die hours earlier, but your first sugar daddy experience has turned out to be the ideal. Capitano made sure you were happy and pliant, offering ten times the amount of what most other men would just for this one dinner. What wouldn’t you be down with doing now?

He nips at your bottom lip, wrapping his burly arms around your chubby thighs and hoisting you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and giggle as you fall onto the bed of the hotel’s presidential suite. You trade sloppy and clumsy kisses for less and less articles of clothing, he places your jewelry and your accessories neatly on the nightstand.

“So you don’t prick yourself or worry about losing them, bambi.” He explains and pulls you into another syrupy kiss.

You lose yourself to fit of giggles as he reverently kisses down your body. The next hour is spent with your new sugar daddy licking your pussy, eating you out like a man would gulp down an oasis after a lifetime of being stranded in the desert. You couldn’t say how many times you flood his awaiting mouth with your juices and seed, but you’ll always remember how his Adam's Apple bobs on every swallow. As if it nourishes him, replenishes his soul from inside and out, warms like a good hearty soup.

Capitano slithers up your body to stroke a finger down your face, “Are you ready for me, honey? You’re spewing like a fountain but we can always just cuddle.”

“No, I'm ready, I want this, want you. Please, Daddy, need your cock.” And your money, but mostly your cock right now.

You settle into your position on your back and spread your legs, you grab the back of your ankles and keep them that way. Bearing yourself for the hungry gaze of a man twice your age.

“Alright, needy love, aren’t you? Here you go.” He coos, lining up his fat dick with your slick entrance and sinking in.

You almost wish you had turned the lights off. The way his massive looks hovering above yours, muscles tense and waiting to be exercised. You don’t have to look down at where his cock feeds your pussy, it’s like you can feel what every nerve and vein is doing and touching in your guts. You’re so glad the conversation about being tested was had on the sugaring app, you’re both clean and on the pill so you thought why not indulge in another first.

“Gorgeous cunt. Worth so much fucking more than 50,000. You like France, bambi? I’ll get you a castle in the countryside, this pussy would look divine getting pounded in one of their foyer’s and over their balconies.” He groans, husky and scratchy, kissing you and grinding his cock deep in your quivering pussy like you just got married.

You have to show him how to take a video of his goopy cum dripping out of your puffy folds, spreading them with your fingers and pushing it back inside.

The next morning, you wake up to a bundle of fresh roses and a calligraphy note on the pillow next to your head. You smile and take it all in, but eventually you tug on last night’s clothes and grab your bag. You grin down at your phone, feeling the butterflies play war drums in your stomach, this going somewhere good. There are times when you can just tell.

The suite door is locked, a man’s voice outside asks if you’re ready to be taken back to the boss’s home. On the way there you look through your bag, a message from your intuition, and your birth control is gone. But there are listings for several foreign properties, with a sticky note attached to the first.

‘Tell me which ones you like when you get home. I have my broker on the phone.”

Stalker!Childe

It’s a routine for him, slip in under your window, sink onto your bed and straddle your sleeping body, and fill you up with his cum until your belly bloats. You’ve never noticed, he’s good at cleaning up. And if you have, you’re docile enough to let him keep at it. Let the rabid wolf keep pawing at your door with bloody paws, leaving a carcass at your feet and doing it all over again the next day.

You know it’s just your boyfriend loving on you in private until you’re ready to go public. He understands you’re shy, a lot of the partners he’s had in the past haven’t exactly been social butterflies, but baby it’s just little ol’ Ajax! He wouldn’t hurt a fly let alone his precious significant other, don’t be silly. He has these kinds of conversations with you through hushed whispers against your ear and trembling fingers slipping under the straps of your tank top.

Ajax always preps you, save for a couple of times in the beginning because he was too excited. He prefers doing it with his tongue, but he does love a good fingerbanging session. He’d never cause any pain that wasn’t fun for the both of you, cross his heart and hope to die. He even brings a back up inhaler that he stole from your pharmacist in case you lose your current one.

He grins as he shimmies you out of your sleepwear, you never much, another sign that you’re meant to be “Shh, lovebug, I hope you’re having the sweetest dreams right now. I’m just stopping by to say hi. I have to be quicker this time, I'm real sorry, bub.”

Some as-gentle-as-possible rough fingerbanging it is.

Ajax keeps his eyes peeled so wide they burn a little as he crooks and curls his fingers in your tight pussy, marveling at your groggy whimpers that sooner than later snowball into light moans.

“You looked stunning in your outfit today, I like looser tops on you. I can see your titties bounce, swear to god. The leggings were a nice touch too, wanted to jog over during your walk and smack the shit out of it. But that’s not the meet cute you deserve, is it cutie?” He grips your face in one hand, the free one that’s not knuckles deep in pussy juice, shaking your head for ‘no’ for you.

“I promise we’re gonna meet soon, it breaks my heart to see you look so lonely, bub.” He’s not fazed when you seem like you’re waking up, he just ‘aw’s and strokes his thumb on your clit until you’ve fallen back asleep. “I can’t wait. I’ve gone over everything a million times, what I’m gonna wear, what I’m gonna say, our first date, our “first” time, I'm so ready for it all with you.”

You’re adorable, your brow is pinching and you’re tossing and turning. Your soft moans become louder and since you’re a heavy sleeper that doesn’t live in an apartment (not that he’d stop anyway, he’s seen how your next door neighbors check you out when you’re not looking), he scissors his fingers and speeds up the thrusts of his hand.

After months of this and vigorous hours at the gym, his wrist has stopped cramping entirely. He slips his free hand under his jeans and clasps it around his leaking dick, jerking himself off as he finger fucks your perfect pussy.

“Oh, there it is, honey.” Ajax gasps, tightening his grip around his painfully hard cock just as your walls tighten around his fingers. “It’s okay, keep going for me, you can do it.”

He times his strokes to the thrusts of his fingers, his breathing in sync with every rise and fall of your chest. You’re so wet, you’re leaking around his digits, your pussy making a sick squelching sound

“Oh fuck! I’m gonna cum baby, just from fingering your pretty pussy.” He pants, circling his thumb over the head of his weep dick and smearing his precum all over his length.

He’s moving so fast his hand is a blur, and he really doesn’t even register the sensation of fucking himself with his fist. Instead what he feels is the way your thighs seize up and your breath hitches, you arch your back off the bed in your sleep and that’s when he knows it’s time.

“Fuck, okay. Lemme get a little closer, lovebug, don’t want any of it to go to waste, right?” He keeps stroking his throbbing cock and blasting his fingers into your pussy, awkwardly trying to find his footing so he can get a good position.

He takes his fingers out of you and his heart squeezes in his chest when your hips buck after them and you whine.

“Here it comes, baby.” Ajax laughs at his own joke, positioning the tip of his dick right against your hole. With a shaky breath and an even shakier smile, he breaches your hole with only that part of himself, loving the way your cunt welcomes it in.

He laughs again when he floods your insides, crossing his fingers behind his back for this one to take. Don’t worry, it’s only a fantasy for now, you should at least have your first date before he knocks you up.

OBGYN!Baizhu

“Just lie back on the exam chair for me and we can begin.” Dr. Baizhu smiles warmly at you as you nervously play with your hands in the clinical room.

You nod, wanting to speak at little as possible. The chair’s paper covering crinkles and creases as you climb onto it, shuffling around before settling into a somewhat comfortable positon lying on your back. You look to Dr. Baizhu on your right, he’s available on your insurance and he has stellar reviews on any site worth trusting you could find. You’re just anxious anyway, and this is something you have to do, it won’t do you any good to get paranoid about all the things that could go wrong in a doctor’s office.

Baizhu’s eyes crinkle in the corners and he takes a seat on one of those rolling black stools. “So I take it that this is your first pelvic exam? Well, then be assured that you’re in good hands. It’s nothing scary, but I need to make sure your vulva and reproductive organs are in perfect working order.”

You laugh awkwardly and mutter back a “I know, I'm fine. Just a little tired, traffic was a nightmare.”

Your nerves already feel like they’re fading away, Dr. Baizhu’s voice is so pleasant and he has such a kind demeanor, you understand why this clinic was so eager to have him. The woman who signed you in was raving that it was his first day after leaving a major hospital, that they were so lucky and you were too.

“Now I'll have you slide down to the end of the table and put your knees in these stirrups, it’s perfectly safe and if you need to take a breather, please let me know.” He croons, allowing you the freedom and comfort to act on your own. He’d never want to make you feel panicked, as if he were forcibly restraining you.

The exams aren’t really a big deal when you’ve gotten over that hump, but Baizhu knows that first times of any variety can be scary. Especially for skittish patients such as yourself, with as much prey drive as a barn bunny being chased by a sheepdog.

You lie there and endure every probe and thoughtful hum. Your vulva is fine and Dr. Baizhu ends that part of the inspection with a quick pat to your mound, his lips twitching as if trying to resist the urge to kiss.

“Okay, now I'm just going to check out your cervix, keep still.” The man hums, smoothing a hand down your right calf from the stirrup to your knee. “You’ll feel some pressure, but nothing painful.”

“Really?” You bite your lip and eye the instruments on the little table by the sink.

Dr. Baizhu chuckles, “Of course. Some patients do experience pain, but it’s not a definite thing, everybody’s different. At most, you’ll feel a tad uncomfortable and exposed.”

So you brace yourself and expect to feel the cold metal of what looks like some kind of forceps. Instead you look down to see your doctor unbuttoning his pants.

He catches your eye and waves off your concern, “Cold metal just seems so abrasive for your first time. You might do better with a more… human approach, something to test how well you can stretch. Don’t worry, I'll put protection on, I'd be a horrible doctor if I didn't.”

Sure enough he slides a latex condom on, covered in tiny holes but you brush it off as being a part of the design. Baizhu’s cock twitches, feeling a sick thrill at how easy you are, at how he can whip his dick out and you’ll believe it’s in your best interest.

He doesn’t release you from the stirrups, and they rattle as he plunges inside inch by inch. Slowly and mind numbingly, to properly gauge your cunt’s ability to expand around the intrusion. You gape up at him, feeling far more than just a tad uncomfortable and exposed. His lips twitch again, torn between maintaining the facade and stuffing your cervix with his cock or breaking character and dipping down to kiss your adorably parted lips.

“I’d give you a piece of candy if that wouldn’t embarrass you. You’re doing great, just relax and the pressure will ease up.”

“Ngh- hah- O-okay, doctor. Thank you for helping me.” You don’t know why you say it, who thanks their doctors for doing a basic exam? But he groans and his hips rush forward all the same.

Your cunt is impossibly tight, which is to be expected but it’s not any less delightful to experience.

The paper underneath you makes you want to claw your eyes out as his thrusts force your back to slide back and forth on it. That, the stirrup straps clacking, and your shared soft pants are the only sounds in the locked room. It’s not as anxiety inducing as you’d expect, the planets in the office orbit around the doctor and as long as they think he’s in an appointment (and isn’t he?) they won’t interrupt. His eyes crease, he promises to give you a home visit when you’re done here, just to be thorough and make good on that promise of candy.

Something sweet for the embodiment of the cavities is in his soul, cunny strangles him tighter than a noose.

Dr. Baizhu shudders as you reflexively clench around his pulsing cock and attempt to kick out your legs only to be held back by the stirrups, “Don��t mind the mess, ‘s all par for the c-course, my dear.”

You squirt on his next thrust, and your tangy juices drip down onto the cold gray floor. The gooey cum that escapes the holes in the condom follow suit and form a little pool. Dr. Baizhu takes several pictures of your seed heavy pussy with his flip phone for medical reference.

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slowburningechoes · 10 days ago

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on my mind

Ah!! Here it is, I hope you all love it. Pls keep in mind an exhausted doctoral student wrote this with little reviews/edits hehe

Summary: After months of secretly pining over Wilson, you find something suggesting he might feel the same way. Despite it all, curiosity gets the best of you and what you get is far beyond anything you ever fantasized about.

Pairing: James Wilson (House, MD) x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: very self-indulgent smut, 18+ content (NSFW/NSFM) / brief mention of past infidelity, mutual pining, sexual fantasization, slight age gap, fingering, oral (f receiving), cunnilingus, vaginal sex, office sex, desk sex, threat of exhibition, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up), body worship, breeding, soul connection, porn WITH plot and feelings

Word Count: 7.8k

here is the ao3 link if that’s your preferred site

Wilson didn’t have the best romantic track record when you reflected on it, standing outside his office, debating whether or not to knock.

That was what Cameron had told you on the first day consulting the team as a new psychologist at PPTH, when she caught you trying not to stare.

You had been so engaged in observing how the diagnostic team battled through a differential before he arrived. The quick exchange of wits and sly remarks was so enthralling, you couldn’t look away. Until something else distracted you…

The door swung open, and in walked a man who carried himself with an effortless kind of charm. His brown hair appeared perfectly tousled, but still neat enough to be professional, like he had absentmindedly run a hand through it just before coming in. His white coat, crisp and clean, hung open just enough to reveal a comfortably fitting dress shirt and a tie that was loosened ever-so-slightly.

As he stepped into the conference room, he seemed to be already three steps ahead in the conversation he was about to join — like this heated exchange was something he’d been witnessing for years. He paused, silently observing Foreman and House trade intellectually sarcastic banter. As the exchange died down, his eyes met yours. His sharp features softened as he looked at you with curiosity, the hint of a dimple appearing as his lips curved into a playful smirk.

“You know, House, I’m impressed,” he joked, tapping House’s cane with his foot. “It only took you this long to admit you need some serious psychological help.”

His warm brown eyes flicked back to you, winking, amusement lingering just beneath the surface.

A scoff escaped House, followed by a characteristic retort, “I’m not admitting anything, Wilson. Besides, I wouldn’t want you getting jealous watching someone else take the job you volunteered for all these years.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, despite knowing so little about their dynamic. Apparently, you were not alone in this reaction, as the rest of the team seemed to find House’s response amusing, likely because it was true.

“James Wilson, Head of Oncology,” he said, rolling his eyes at House’s comment. “You must be Dr. Y/L/N. I’ve heard good things from your new colleagues.”

His hand extended towards you welcomingly. Despite a flutter of nerves beneath the surface, you shook it, hoping your feigned confidence wasn’t too obvious.

“Y/N’s fine,” you responded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Dr. Y/L/N has always felt a bit too formal for me.” Your gaze held his for a brief moment, feeling the subtle weight of the connection. A soft gasp escaped your lips, despite trying so desperately to keep it in.

“Y/N,” Wilson repeated softly with a smug smile.

He held your hand just a moment longer than necessary. When he finally released it, the hold he had on you remained. There was something magnetic about him, making it impossible to draw your gaze away as he repositioned himself against the wall. You blinked a few times to ground yourself, quickly glancing down at the file in your hand before instinctively looking up at him again. His eyes caught yours and his smirk deepened ever so slightly, as if he’d caught you giving away exactly what you hadn’t meant to. He appeared to take quiet pleasure in the fact that, for just a moment, you were completely distracted by him… but you were certain that was just wishful thinking getting the best of you.

It was then that Cameron leaned towards you, voice in a low whisper, “Careful with that look — you don’t want to end up in the ex wives club.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, not only at the fact that he was divorced but that it seemed to be more than once.

Cameron nodded matter-of-factly, subtly mouthing the word “three” as she held up the same number of fingers under the table before gathering her things to head to the patient’s room.

While you felt the warning in her comment, it didn’t deter you much over the coming months. After all, it was highly unlikely that Wilson would even share your feelings. Despite this, there was something magnetic about his presence, and you often found yourself running into him, both accidentally and — more than you would like to admit — on purpose.

You had bought each other lunch in the cafeteria on a few occasions and took time to chat at least every couple of days. Even when you didn’t run into each other for a few days, both of you exchanged small reminders. One time, when you spent all day managing a patient in psychosis from the emergency department, he left a sticky note on your desk that read, "Missed you at lunch. Hope your patient is doing as well as possible. Also, House is being insufferable — rescue me soon?" A few days after that, after Wilson had an emotionally exhausting morning with some of his late stage patients, you had appeared at his office door with a cup of coffee exactly how he liked it (sickeningly sweet), offering no explanation other than a casual, "Figured you could use a pick-me-up." These exchanges became regular but still made your day every time.

There were quieter moments too, ones that lingered in your mind long after they happened. A late-night conversation in the breakroom when both of you had been too exhausted to keep up pretenses, speaking in hushed voices over lukewarm chamomile tea. A touch that lasted a fraction longer than necessary when he passed you a patient folder for a consultation he requested. Playful glances exchanged across the hallway after House made some inappropriate joke at his expense. Small pick-me-ups scratched onto sticky notes and left on desks or forgotten items.

But today, something a bit different occurred. By the time you finally got back to your office late in the day, you found a vanilla bean scone from the café waiting for you on your desk, a thoughtful surprise he had left earlier that morning. It was nothing out of the ordinary until you saw, across the brown paper, scribbled in pen, a note that read: Saw this and thought of you. Can’t seem to stop doing that lately. Come by my office soon?

At first, you thought he was just being normal Wilson — friendly, with the touch of flirtatious he has with everyone. That was until you read it a few more times and those moments over the past few weeks replayed in your mind over and over. You had been thinking of him incessantly from the moment you first saw him, but always tried to keep it professional. His note to come by sounded charged in your mind, more suggestive than any of your previous conversations. You contemplated his intentions for longer than you would like to admit, but figured you would never truly know unless you asked.

Which is exactly how you ended up here, in front of his office, two cups of coffee in hand, torn between knocking and shamefully walking back to your office. The hum of the hospital growing quiet as the typical business day came to a close.

There was no way he was serious… was he? It was probably just some stupid bet he had made with House. God, that would be embarrassing. Maybe you should just leave the coffee and accept that your relationship would only ever be a friendship. When all those inner arguments (and more) failed to motivate you to turn and head to your office, you thought back to that conversation with Cameron. Even if he was serious, it was unlikely to last. You didn’t want to end up hurt like so many times before… but you were interested to see where this went.

Curiosity is what did you in… so, you knocked. So, what if it’s what killed the cat? “Come in!” his voice called, slightly muffled from the other side.

You hesitantly step inside, jumping a bit as you hear the door click behind you. You had barely stepped into his office before Wilson glanced up from his desk, his expression shifting from slightly stressed to pleased when he saw it was you.

“And here I thought my afternoon was going to be boring,” he said, standing to meet you by the door.

You lift the coffee cup slightly, before handing it to him, “Just returning the favor.”

He raised his brow in curiosity, leaning back to rest against his desk. “Oh, is that all?”

His feigned disappointment was laced with more flirtation than you had noticed before.

You shook your head silently, glancing down at the floor as you felt an embarrassed blush spread across your cheeks.

“Your note,” you say, barely above a whisper, “...intrigued me.”

That got his attention, pausing from taking a sip of the beverage you brought.

“Oh?” His smirk turned curious as he scanned you up and down. “How so?”

You hesitated, but only for a second, “You’ve really been thinking about me?”

You brought your eyes to meet his as you finished your question, masking your nerves by tightening your fingers around your cup of coffee. When your eyes met him, the look on Wilson’s face was a mix of amusement and satisfaction.

“Well, that depends,” Wilson responds, sitting the cup down and crossing his arms across his chest. “Would saying yes make me seem endearing… or deeply concerning?”

You tilt your head, feigning consideration as you build your confidence. “Hmmm… that depends on just how much you’ve been thinking about me.”

A moment of silence passed as Wilson pondered his answer, breaking it with deep breath and a step towards you.

His grin deepened, and he leaned a little closer, admitting. “More than I should, really.”

Your stomach fluttered. You hadn’t expected him to admit it so easily, so effortlessly… or even at all. The part of you that wondered if the note had been some bet was fading, but you couldn’t help expressing your doubt even as your heart pounded into your throat.

“You’re not just… messing with me, right? This isn’t some House-ordained social experiment, is it?” Your voice was softer than you had desired, hesitation dominating your tone. You wanted to believe him more than anything, but you knew better than to take things at face value when House might be involved.

Wilson studied you for a long moment, his expression nearly unreadable, except for the flicker of something undeniably heated in his eyes.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is noticeably lower than before, still smooth and warm. “No, no… this isn’t some bet. If House was putting me up to this, don’t you think it would’ve been months ago?”

He did have a point.

Wilson tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he watched you consider his argument. Then, he slowly brushed his fingertips against the edge of the desk he rested upon, fingers tapping twice, as if considering his next words carefully. Or maybe he was just giving you time to process the shift in the air between you, which had become quickly thick and charged.

"Though if it was, I would’ve lost already," he stated matter-of-factly, bringing himself to stand up right, taking a step towards you. “Because this is painfully real for me.” His gaze flickered over your face, lingering for just a beat too long at your lips before returning to your eyes.

You swallowed, heat creeping up your neck. "What is, exactly?"

Wilson exhaled a quiet chuckle, the sound richer, deeper than his usual easy amusement, “You really have no idea, do you?”

You shook your head, any idea of what he meant absent from your mind.

"The way I catch myself looking for you even when I know you’re not there.” Wilson’s breath came slow and measured, but you could feel the tension humming beneath it, the weight of his restraint barely holding. “The way I think about you when I know I shouldn’t.”

Wilson stepped even closer, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up as he thought silently. Your breath caught as you shamelessly notice the veins in his arm becoming more pronounced, the subtle flex of his hand accentuating the tension coiling beneath his skin.

"I tell myself to stop," Wilson admitted, his tone almost confessional. "That it’s unprofessional, that I should focus on work... But then you walk into the room or I hear your voice, and suddenly, I don’t care about anything else."

“Wh-what do you think of?” You asked breathlessly, looking back into his eyes.

He didn’t respond at first, a conflicted look replaced his previous vulnerability. Wilson took the coffee from your grip, gently placing it on the desk next to his before stepping back towards you. He appeared deep in thought, the crease between his brows deepening as they furrowed and he brought his hand to briefly cover his mouth. His warm brown eyes flickered over your face, searching, as if debating how much he should give away.

Then after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, slowly and steadily, “It was small things at first. How the first day we met, your quiet laugh was so genuine and radiant.” Wilson cautiously raised his hand to barely brush fingers through the hair that hugs your cheeks. “Or how you sucked in a little breath when I said your name for the first time…”

You dart your eyes away from him, feeling simultaneous embarrassment and surprise. “I, oh — that wasn’t subtle was it?”

He shook his head with a quiet chuckle, a knowing smirk appearing across his lips.

“Not at all,” Wilson teased, bringing his fingertips to caress your neck. “Should I keep going?”

You nod quickly, likely a bit too enthusiastic. His arms came up by your ears to brace the door behind you, making your heart thud in your chest even harder.

A low hum came from his throat before continuing, “Then I started to notice how your perfume would linger after you left me.” He held still for a moment, stiff with restraint. “It’s so intoxicating… I swear it follows me all day.”

As Wilson finished his sentence, his face buried into your hair and one of his hands dropped to grip your hip. Your breath hitched at his touch as his breath warmed you, shifting from beside your ear to the curve of your neck.

“J-James,” you gasped, a near moan as his breath tickled against your skin, lips so close to touching flesh.

“I’ve tried not to think about all of it, Y/N,” he whispered deeply, barely audible. “I promise, I really have.”

The hold he had upon your hips moved to nest in the small of your back, pulling you closer to him.

“I’ve tried to distance myself, stay professional,” Wilson explained with a tone of desperation, bringing his eyes back to meet yours. “But then I’d always end up coming back… asking you to lunch or finding something, anything, that I could use to get a consultation from you.”

“So, what you're saying is... you’ve been using work to get closer to me?” You let a playful smile slip through, despite your nerves standing on end.

Wilson’s gaze softened, sincerity behind his eyes. “Is that so bad?” His voice was low, almost questioning. “Because, honestly… I couldn’t help myself. Every excuse I found — every consultation or referral or accidental cafeteria meet up — was just an excuse to see you. To be close to you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

The air around you seemed to thicken with the confession, and your breath hitched, feeling the weight of his words pressing against you. His honesty disarmed you, and you found yourself drawn in closer, despite the unspoken tension.

“And you know what?” Wilson asked, his hand in the small of your back spreading open to feel you even closer. “I’m pretty sure you’ve been thinking about me, too.”

“I —,” you breathe, a chill crawling up your spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Of course you did.

“Don’t play coy with me,” Wilson said with a bit of bite in his tone.

His thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along your jawline, tilting your chin just enough to where you could not avoid his gaze, a knowing look in his eyes.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” His voice was softer now, rich with quiet amusement. “The way you look at me when you think I won’t catch you?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Wilson only hummed, bringing his thumb to press against your bottom lip.

“Or how you always seem to find a reason to stay just a little longer when we talk,” he continued, his face looming closer to yours. “Like you don’t really want to leave.”

You never realized he had been paying attention to any of that, or really that you had acted on your internal feelings so obviously.

Wilson’s fingers pressed just a little firmer into your waist, bringing your body flush against you. His body was soft and warm against yours.

You swallowed hard, words unsaid stuck tied in your throat. There was no escape from the truth pressing against your ribs, demanding to be spoken. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt before you could stop yourself, gripping just enough to steady yourself.

“I do,” you admitted, voice hushed. “I - I think about you… all of the time.”

You looked up at him through your lashes. Relief washes over him, relaxing the tension in his shoulder and softening his facial expressions. however, the look of desire in his eyes did not fade.

“I thought so,” he murmured, voice lacking its usual teasing lilt. Instead, he sounded almost relieved. “And how do you think about me?”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his question settle between you. It was so very “Wilson” — turning your own question back to you.

Your fingers stroked against his tie as you thought, evading his gaze. “The same as you — I think about you when I shouldn’t be,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “When I’m supposed to be working. I think of you whenever something good happens… or something bad, and I need to tell someone. When I see something and I wish you were there to see it too.” You bite your bottom lip, pulse thrumming wildly beneath your skin. Then, you barely mumble, “And — I think about you when I’m alone at night...”

Though your voice trails off at the end, Wilson’s body language shows that he heard exactly what you said. He closed his eyes, inhaling sharply, his grip at your waist tightening for just a moment, relaxing again as he exhaled slowly. As he opened his eyes, they were darker, his pupils blown with an unspoken hunger, yearning that simmered just beneath the surface.

The weight of your quiet confession hung between you, making the whole room charged. For once, he didn’t have a quick-witted remark, no teasing quip to defuse the moment. Instead, he reached up, his knuckles brushing along your cheek, his touch achingly gentle.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he whispered. There was no real warning in his tone, but rather a slight hint of desperation.

You tilted your head into his touch. “Why not?”

His gaze flickered down to your mouth, lingering there for just a second too long before he looked back into your eyes. “Because,” he said, pausing momentarily, his face riddled with confliction, “...it makes it very, very hard to resist you.”

A rush of heat engulfs every inch of your body, making it nearly impossible to think. Before you can, your fingers dance across the fabric of his tie.

“Then don’t,” you respond quietly, the last bit of uncertainty melting away as the words escape your lips.

He didn’t move, which you had somewhat expected him to. You could feel the weight of his restraint, so tense it could snap at any moment. His jaw was clenched, as though he was just barely holding it together.

You didn’t want to wait anymore. You wanted him to crumble — you needed him to.

With a sharp breath, you curled your fingers tighter around his tie. You thought for only a split second before pulling him down to you with a sudden, desperate urgency that surprised both of you. Before could even think to hesitate, your lips, finally, crashed into his.

The moment your lips met, it was as if a dam had broken inside him. You felt the weight of everything Wilson had been holding back in that kiss — the hunger, the frustration, the overwhelming need. His hand that cupped your lower back pulled you in tighter, while the other cupped your cheek, ensuring you couldn’t break away from his kiss. Wilson’s lips were so soft yet demanding, the hint of sweet coffee on his tongue as he coaxed you open, exploring you with a raw intensity. His breath was hot against your mouth between kisses. A low, needy groan came from him as he deepened your embrace, motivating your entire body to react, heat pooling in familiar, secret places.

The rhythm of the kiss became frantic, desperate, each movement clumsy and raw, breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps. You could feel the loss of control in every touch, every trembling sigh that escaped your lips. Your hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer with need. He obliged, his fingers tracing feverishly from your back to your waist, skimming upward to your ribcage, then to the curve of your breast, each touch sending jolts of heat through your body.

Then, Wilson’s lips reluctantly left yours, only to trace the line of your jaw with messy kisses, his breath erratic. “Y/N,” he said between kisses, nearly begging. “I can’t… you have to tell me to stop.”

You shook your head, against his request. “Not a chance, James,” you breathed, your voice raw with need. The next words felt like they were ripped from your soul, a silent plea to let go, to fully give in to what had been brewing for months before. “Don't stop. Please – don’t stop.”

Wilson’s lips found yours again, rougher this time, his hands clutching you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. Wilson pushed you further against the wall, lifting you up just slightly so his hips aligned with yours.

There was an undeniable ache between your legs, where the heat had gathered earlier, beginning to throb and grow slick with need. Your desire for friction was so overwhelming, you hadn’t even noticed your hips rolling into his with desperation until Wilson groaned, low and guttural, separating your kiss once more.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stop?” he asked, his words soft and just centimeters away from your lips.

“I’m sure,” You nod with reassurance. “Because this,” you whisper against his cheek, the heat of your breath brushing against his ear, “is just the beginning of what I think about when I’m alone.” The words were more than a confession, but also a promise and a challenge all at once.

“Christ, are you trying to kill me?” Wilson muttered, words laden with shock.

He dipped his head lower, pressing open-mouth kisses from your lips down the nape of your neck and onto your collarbone. His hands began to explore further, tugging your blouse from its tucked position, slipping his finger beneath the fabric. The built up tension made his touch sting, sending a shiver down your spine and the heat beneath your legs becoming practically unbearable.

“Please, James,” you whimper, a handful of his hair and the other dipping down, applying friction in an attempt to relieve your need.

He drew back, studying the quiet plea upon your face and your hand trembling against your still-clothed center, attempting to find satisfaction as you rocked your hips. You could only imagine how pitiful you looked, but it was entirely overwhelming for Wilson. His breath caught in his throat and he fell to his knees, lips parted with desire and his brown doe eyes looking up, with an expression that was almost fawning.

Wilson reached behind you to find the handle of his office door, which he clicked into the lock position. Still on his knees, he watched you silently for a few more seconds, admiring the look upon your face. Your brows furrowed in desperation, soft grunts escaping your lips, as you unsuccessfully searched for your release. He stared up at you, soaking it all in.

Then, suddenly, both his hands gripped the fabric on the outer sides of your thighs, shifting your skirt upwards to your waist and revealing your shamelessly soaked panties. The sudden rush of air hitting your sex made you gasp, chills climbing up your stomach and hardening your nipples.

Before you could fully process the atmosphere overwhelming your senses, Wilson brought his pointer finger to slowly glide over the damp spot of your underwear, running perfectly between your covered folds. As he reached your clit, your breath hitched, prompting a teasing smirk to grow across his cheeks.

“Now,” he sighed, still basking in the sight. “I’m going to show you what I’ve thought about doing to you,” he paused, placing a gentle kiss against your mound, before continuing slowly, “…Every. Single. Time. You wear a skirt like this.”

A moan escapes you as his fingers hook on either side of your underwear, pulling them down to expose you entirely. Instinctively, you kick them off your ankles.

“God, you’re so…,” Wilson places careless kisses against your thighs, admiring your bare pussy before him, “so perfect.”

You look down at him, reveling at the sight of your pussy on full display. Just as you wrap your fingers in his hair, he lunges forward, pressing his lips against your clit, bracing your back with one hand, and spreading your thighs open with the other. Your legs go weak as his tongue darts out and begins lapping at you relentlessly. The mix of his soft lips intermittently sucking your clit and the deep pressure of his fingers digging into your flesh, is so consuming that you absentmindedly tighten your grip on Wilson’s hair. You begin pushing and pulling him while bucking your hips into his mouth, fighting desperately to reach your climax.

He can sense your need, which is reflected as his tongue begins to flick more methodically against your clit in addition to providing suction. His dominant hand joins his mouth, one finger massaging your entrance before slipping between your folds. Your body responds almost immediately, becoming even more aroused as he introduces a second finger, pumping you with a complementary rhythm to the one he is devouring you with.

The sensation is so overwhelming that there are tears in your eyes, and cry-like whimpers escape softly from your mouth. “P-please, I’m so close.”

He maintains his pace, but curls his fingers just enough to find the exact spot where you needed stimulation most. Looking down at him, seeing his mouth full of you and his pupils blown wide with desire is too much to handle. His lips provide deep suction against your swollen clit and the tension burning in your stomach releases. You are overcome with pleasure as you ride out your orgasm on Wilson’s face, his fingers and tongue still putting in work to ensure he can lap up every last drop.

When you were finally able to catch your breath, your legs were impossibly weak. You steadied yourself against Wilson’s body as he rose to his feet, a look of teasing satisfaction on his face.

“You taste so sweet," he hummed, his voice low and lustful. He pulled you flush against him, the heat between you both rising with every second. As his tongue flicked against yours, you could taste yourself mixed with him, the fire inside you burning brighter with every passing second. He groaned softly as you deepened the kiss as if he couldn’t help himself anymore.

You pulled back, barely able to catch your breath, lips swollen from the intensity of his kiss. "You know, I did expect you to be a giver," you teased, running your tongue over your lips. "But that… that was better than anything I ever imagined."

“That’s because I’ve been obsessed with the idea of what you’d taste like…,” he breathed, his words thick with need, “And the scent of you… God - I’ve been dreaming about it, craving it, for months now.” He couldn’t stop himself from groaning, the raw honesty in his admission pushing you to pull him down by his tie, lips crashing together again in a messy, heated kiss.

You broke away after a few moments, breathing heavily, a smile curling on your lips as you slowly pulled his tie loose. “Well, since one of your fantasies has been fulfilled," you sighed, tone heavy with teasing lust, “it’s only fair that one of mine gets to be, too. Don’t you think?”

You look up at him through half-lidded eyes. There were so many thoughts that had run through your mind — so many fantasies you’d envisioned over and over again, but there was one that had played over and over in your mind far more than the rest.

For a moment, he was mute with anticipation, admiring how your fingers began to undo the buttons of his dress shirt. By the time words finally break from his throat, one of your hands is caressing down his chest, the other grazing along the waistline of his pants.

“I’ll give you anything, whatever you want.” He assures, reaching to cup your cheek. Pressing his forehead to yours, he closes his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself, but his voice cracks as he pleads in a near whisper, “Just tell me — but don’t stop touching me, please.”

His plea is so raw, so desperate, it makes your heart race, your pulse quickening in response. You can feel the weight of his need, how much he’s willing to surrender, and it sends a wave of satisfaction through you. You can’t help but feel a deep sense of accomplishment hearing the vulnerability and desperation in his voice.

You let your fingers trail over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch. A slow, teasing smirk grows across your face as you lock eyes with him. “I’ve been thinking about this for months, you know.”

His breath catches, his pupils dilating as his gaze flickers to your lips. The heat between you both is undeniable, and the anticipation thickens.

“Tell me... tell me what you’ve been thinking,” he mutters with desperation.

You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you speak, your words a slow, tantalizing whisper, “I’ve been imagining you… having your way with me, right here on your office desk.”

The words hang in the air and you watch as his body reacts, muscles tightening and his throat bobbing with a heavy swallow.

"I’ve imagined you pushing me onto this desk, your hands all over me, taking control, claiming me,” you hum, bringing your hand to brush against the bulge in his pants. “No hesitation. Just you, making me lose myself in you."

A deep groan escapes his lips, your words and touch unraveling him. Wilson’s eyes squeeze shut as he tilts his head back as if he’s struggling to regain some sense of control. Then, without warning, his lips crash against yours. His kiss is frantic, starved for you. His hands grip you, sliding up your back, threading through your hair, pressing you so close it’s like he wants you under his skin.

"You have no idea," he moans between kisses, breath hot and uneven, "how many times I’ve wanted this, too. How many times I’ve thought about throwing everything off this desk and putting you right where you belong — right under me.”

The words send chills down your spine, desire coiling tight in your stomach. His hands are already moving, feverish and impatient, pushing under your clothes, dragging his fingertips over every sliver of bare skin he can reach. You gasp into his mouth as his grip tightens around your waist.

Then, in one swift motion, Wilson’s hands slide down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the desk. The sound of scattered papers and objects hitting the floor barely registers before he’s on you again, mouth crashing against yours, feverish and insatiable, his tongue sweeping in, tasting, teasing, like he’s trying to devour every gasp, every moan.

His hands roam with an urgency that borders on worship — gripping, kneading, learning every inch of you that he’s been deprived of for far too long. Then, with a low, needy groan, his fingers find the hem of your blouse, tugging it up, over your torso, leaving your top nearly bare before him. The fabric is barely gone before his lips descend, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down your neck, over your collarbone. A sharp gasp comes from your throat as chills scatter across the tops of your breasts, your skin prickling at the contrast of the cool air and the heat of his breath.

Wilson takes a slow, deliberate step back, his gaze raking over you like he’s trying to memorize every inch of the sight before him. His chest rises and falls, his lips still parted from your last kiss. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, his fingers move to his belt. The slow slide of leather through the loops is deliberate. His knuckles graze his waistband as he pulls the belt free, the flex of muscle beneath his sleeves hinting at the tension coiling just beneath his skin.

As Wilson tosses his belt to the ground, the air feels thicker, heavier, expectation crackling between you, leaving you breathless with want. You have truly never felt this aroused in your life, your heart rate quickening, muscles tense, and every sensitive part of you swollen with desire. You never expected that you would ever really be laying on top of Wilson’s desk, watching him undress and waiting for him to take advantage of your body — let alone that he had thought about it, too.

As he moves back towards you, slacks now undone, you can’t help but notice the outline of his prominent erection straining beneath his boxer briefs. You reach out to touch him, but he meets you first — his hands slipping under your skirt, fingers digging into your skin before drawing the fabric down your legs. As the garment falls to the ground, Wilson kisses up your legs and to your torso, caressing every part he does not touch with his lips with his fingertips. Eventually, he meets your breasts, still guarded by your bra, placing kisses along the valley between them. He then cups both of them with his hands before sliding behind you to unhook the final bit of clothing that was keeping you from being completely nude before him.

As Wilson pulled the thin barrier of fabric from your body, his warm hand replaced the supportive cups that protected your tender breasts. His eyes linger on your chest, admiring as it rises and falls, thumbs grazing over your hardened nipples. Your breath seizes in your throat as he takes one into his mouth, suction pulling between gentle flicks of his tongue.

As much pleasure as you feel in this moment, you can’t help but remember Wilson’s bulge, hard and twitching just underneath a layer of cloth. You sit forward, propping yourself up on your forearms, prompting a perplexed look from Wilson who was reluctantly releasing his mouth from your breast.

“Everything okay?” he inquires, catching his breath.

You do not answer him with words, instead you lean forward and bring your palm to press softly against his bulge. Wilson’s eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted in a struggle between ache and pleasure as a grunt escaped him. He was full and swollen as you gripped him firmly through his briefs, precum staining the fabric darker.

You kiss his chest softly as you sneak your hand beneath his waistband. His flesh was hot as your fingers danced across his erection, which jerked in response. You wrap your hand around him, savoring how strained and tense his thick cock feels, before bringing your thumb to glide down the slit.

“I need to feel you inside of me,” you insist with a begging tone, eyes fluttering up at him with need.

Before any words come from his lips, his dick is already out and Wilson is stroking it with painfully slow, drawn-out motions. The head of his cock is swollen and flushed and a prominent vein on the underside is near-throbbing with with every motion.

“God, yes,” he groaned in agreement with your request, before pulling you down closer to the edge of the desk. “Spread yourself open for me, beautiful.”

Without taking time to think, you separate your legs, bringing your fingers down to glide through your slickness. Wilson revels in the sight, but still moves towards you — his earlier restraint melted away entirely. Placing one hand on your thigh, he uses the other to guide his cock to massage between your labia, tip grazing against your clit, sending shock-like waves of pleasure through you. He stays there for a moment, gliding himself through your folds, properly preparing both of you before lining up with your entrance.

You lock eyes, both of your faces twisted with anticipation and desperation, as he begins to sink into you with a pace so slow and deliberate it is nearly excruciating. At the same time, you were grateful for this patient approach, as the thickness of his cock stretches you out, creating the perfect mix of pain and pleasure across every inch of your body.

“Y/N,” Wilson cries in a hushed whisper, nearly half-way inside of you. “Y-you’re so tight a-and warm… damn.”

You moan in satisfaction at his words, hands searching for something to hold onto as you unravel beneath him. Seeing your fingers wrap around the edge of the desk, Wilson reaches one hand down to intertwine with yours. There is something intimate and touching about how he holds your hand as he presses deeper into you, true care mixing into this moment of raw lust.

As he bottoms out, feeling the base of his dick against your pussy, your free hand clings to his back, fingernails digging into the skin beneath his shoulder blades. Wilson fills you perfectly, stretching you just enough to still surround him like a sheath. You have never felt this full before, which makes you even more aroused, bucking your hips to grind your clit against his groin. It must look utterly pitiful, but you can’t help but search for friction.

“Fuck, you’re stretching me out so good,” you whine, pitch higher than before and laced with pleasure.

Looking up for reassurance, you see Wilson’s face is blown with pleasure, slack-jawed and brows knit together, pupils blown. “You’re perfect,” he mumbles, slowly pushing the first full thrust into you.

It doesn’t take long for him to build up the pace, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease, despite your walls attempting to cling to him with every entrance and exit.

Despite the pace being steady and his strokes being deep enough you feel them in your stomach, there is something so soft in the way Wilson fucks you — more as if it wasn’t fucking at all, but more like making love. His eyes look over you with admiration, like he’s soaking in every motion of your body, and the hand not holding yours roams freely across your skin, frequently nestling fingers against your aching clit. When a cry escapes you as he begins rubbing it in figure eights, he presses a kiss to your lips — not only to muffle the sound but as an indication that he loves to make you feel this way.

He whispers against your lips as he breaks the kiss. “You feel amazing, better than anything I ever dreamed…” You feel him trembling with overwhelm as he continues breathlessly. “I-I’ve never felt — fuck — any pussy as perfect as yours.”

“James,” you gasp, feeling his dick hit against the most sensitive area inside you. “Please, keep going… r-right there.”

Wilson nods eagerly, in surrendering agreement, “Anything you want, my love. I’ll do anything for you.”

He keeps true to his promise, continuing the same pressure and angle of his thrusts until you’re completely undone beneath him — vision blurry and every inch of your body nearly numb with pleasure. The only thing keeping you grounded is your back against wood and his hand still holding yours.

You can barely form thoughts, let alone words when he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on them needily and grunting enough that low vibrations hum against your chest. Every inch of you was buzzing with pleasure, but you felt the familiar pressure grow deep within you.

“I - I’m going to cum,” you manage to say, looking down at him with pleading eyes.

Wilson releases his latch from your breast, barely taking time to catch his breath when he provides a pressured reply, “Please, please cum on my cock. Shit — I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.”

His permission is all you need to let go as he keeps up his pace, working your clit relentlessly with his free hand. Your eyes roll back into your head as the sensation of heat rushes across your trembling thighs, walls clenching around Wilson’s thick cock as you cum. The pressure slowly lessens and your clit is throbbing from overstimulation when you come back to reality, your mind still foggy in bliss.

“That was so fucking hot,” Wilson whines, face scrunched with the sweet agony of pleasure. You can tell he’s close, before he even tells you, through strained breaths. “Y/N — tell me where I can cum. I’m so close, please.”

“Cum in me,” you beg, consumed with feverish need. “I’m on the pill. Baby, please — fucking fill me with your cum.”

A guttural groan leaves Wilson’s lips as he hears your request, his dick twitching inside of you. “Christ — yes. I was hoping you’d say that.”

With a few more strokes, you feel him become rigid inside of you and his breath hitches in his throat as he releases inside of you. The warmth of his cum coating your walls sends a rush of bliss throughout your body, a soft yet satisfied smile growing across your face.

You both try to catch your breath as you come down from your shared high, soaking in the last seconds of being physically one. As Wilson’s tense body relaxes, he nearly collapses on top of you, bare chests still heaving and sweat-laden pressed against one another. You’re both exhausted, yet idyllically happy. You run your fingers through his now-damp hair as his breath slowly returns to a normal pattern.

The quiet hum of the room settles around you and the faint rustle of fabric begins to fill the air. You both begin to dress, but the heat between you lingers, tangible and unspoken. As you pull your skirt up over your hips, the soft fabric brushing against your skin, you instinctively glance at him. His eyes are fixed on you, intense, almost reverent, as if he wanted every moment, every movement, etched into his mind. The tenderness in his stare is enough to make your heart race like he's memorizing every inch of you, this closeness, this shared silence.

You gather your hair, pulling it into a ponytail, a vain attempt to fix the mess it’s become. As your fingers complete the final loop, Wilson steps towards you, cupping your face with his hands and bringing you in for a tender kiss. His thumb traces your cheek with a tenderness so light, it feels almost like a whisper. Your fingers weave through his hair, drawing him closer, as if you’re aching to be closer, wanting to melt into him, as if he hadn’t just been inside you. The moment is quiet and brief — but feels like an eternity. You both linger in it, savoring the silence that speaks volumes.

As the kiss ends, the absence of his lips on yours leaves a hollow ache, but it is almost immediately remedied when he speaks. “Come home with me?” Wilson asks, his voice wrapped in a quiet, inviting warmth.

His eyes search yours, steady and sincere, yet there’s something more behind it, something vulnerable like he’s offering you a piece of himself. “I’ve wanted this for so long... wanted you,” he says in a near-whisper, his tone thick with emotion. “Now that I’ve had you... I can’t stand the thought of letting you go.”

The sensitivity in his voice makes your heart race, his words carrying all the unspoken hopes you’ve both held onto these past few months. You let the moment stretch between you, just enough to collect yourself, but not long enough to let the fear of doubt slip into his mind.

“Of course, I’ll come with you,” you respond quietly, your voice filled with affection as you press a gentle kiss to his flushed cheek. “I don’t want to be anywhere but with you. We’ve both waited long enough for this, haven’t we?”

A soft, almost disbelieving smile appears on his face, as he threads his fingers gently around yours. “I’m so glad you said that,” he sighs in relief, his voice thick with sincerity.

“I’m yours, James,” you assure him, squeezing his hand in return. "I have been for a long time.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he murmurs in a pleased tone, a look of admiration beaming down at you.

“I think you’ve shown me that tonight,” you reply with a slight tease. The months of longing, of stolen glances and unspoken feelings, all seem to settle into this one moment—solid, certain, and undeniably real. “Take me home?”

His smile deepens, tender and unguarded as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get out of here,” he says softly, opening his office door.

The silence as you walk hand-in-hand down the hall is no longer heavy with anticipation but is instead filled with something quieter, more certain. Peaceful.

Outside, the cool night air hits your skin, stinging as it contrasts your flushed cheeks. Wilson pulls you close as you walk, his thumb tracing soft circles against the back of your hand. Neither of you speaks, but the silence is full of contentment and understanding. Every glance, every brush of his fingers against yours, a language all its own.

When you reach his car, he pauses, turning to face you as if needing to see you clearly beneath the dim glow of the streetlights. His gaze lingers on your face, soft and searching, before he leans in and presses a tender kiss to your lips, sealing some still-unspoken promise.

“Home,” he whispers breathlessly, the single word carrying more weight than it should. As you settle into the passenger seat beside him, heart thrumming in your chest, you know, deep within you, that you’re finally right where you’re meant to be.

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clarkevision · 2 months ago

Text

George Clarkey | Interruptions

Summary: You and George are on a date when you are interrupted

The restaurant was perfect, in that understated way George always seemed to find. Cozy booths lined the walls, each lit with the warm glow of hanging Edison bulbs, and soft jazz music hummed in the background. It wasn’t too fancy, but it wasn’t casual either—just the right amount of charm to make the night feel special.

George sat across from you, his elbow resting on the table, his chin propped in his hand as he gave you that familiar, mischievous smile. His hair was slightly messy, like he hadn’t quite managed to tame it before he left the house, and his shirt—simple but fitted—clung just enough to remind you why you couldn’t stop looking at him.

“So,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “did I manage to impress you with my choice of venue? Or are you going to roast me for not picking somewhere with a view of the Thames?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I think this place is perfect. Honestly, I’m more impressed you didn’t go for something over-the-top ridiculous. No themed restaurants, no 20-course tasting menus… Who are you, and what have you done with George Clarkey?”

He gasped in mock offense, placing a hand over his chest. “Wow. I invite you on a romantic evening, and this is how you repay me? Ruthless.”

“Romantic evening, huh?” you teased, arching an eyebrow. “That’s a big claim for someone who picked a place based on its five-star Yelp reviews.”

“Okay, first of all, Yelp doesn’t even exist here. And second, it’s not the restaurant that makes it romantic—it’s me,” he said, leaning back with a self-satisfied grin.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “Sure, George. Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

As the evening went on, the teasing and laughter gave way to softer, quieter moments. Between bites of food and sips of wine, you talked about everything and nothing—your favorite childhood memories, places you wanted to visit, the kind of future you dreamed of.

George had a way of making even the smallest things feel important. He listened like every word you said mattered, his eyes never leaving yours, his expression shifting with every twist and turn of the conversation. It was in those moments that you felt the depth of what you had with him—something that went beyond the jokes and banter, something real.

“You know,” he said, his voice lower now, “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

“What, dinner?” you asked, feigning nonchalance even as your heart started to race.

“No,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “You. Spending time with you. Just… being with you.”

You felt your cheeks warm under his gaze, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. He always had this way of catching you off guard, saying something so genuine and unexpected that it left you speechless.

“You’re such a sap,” you finally said, but your smile betrayed how much his words had meant to you.

“Only for you,” he said, grinning as he reached across the table to take your hand in his.

By the time the plates were cleared and the bill was paid, the restaurant had begun to empty out, leaving just a handful of tables occupied. The soft hum of the music and the dim lighting made the space feel even more intimate, like the rest of the world had melted away.

As you both stood to leave, George hesitated for a moment, glancing around before looking back at you. “Wait,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” you asked, confused.

“I just… I don’t want the night to end yet,” he admitted, stepping closer. “Can we stay a little longer?”

You nodded, unable to hide your smile. “Of course.”

He led you over to a quieter corner of the restaurant, where a small booth sat tucked away from the main floor. The atmosphere felt different now—more private, more charged. As you slid into the booth, George sat beside you instead of across, his leg brushing against yours.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, slowly, George reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he said softly.

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every second.

You kissed him back, your heart racing as you leaned into him, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to pull you closer. The world outside seemed to disappear entirely, leaving just the two of you in this perfect, stolen moment.

But then—

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

You froze, your lips still inches from George’s, as the unmistakable voice of Arthur Hill cut through the air like a knife.

Slowly, you turned your head to see him standing at the entrance of the restaurant, holding a pint in one hand and wearing a grin so wide it could rival the Cheshire Cat’s.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, your face burning with embarrassment as you pulled away from George.

Arthur, clearly enjoying himself, sauntered over, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Clarkey, mate, you didn’t tell me you were going on a date tonight. Thought we were mates, huh?”

George groaned, running a hand down his face. “Arthur, can you not?”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be shy now,” Arthur teased, plopping down on the seat across from you. “You two looked very cozy back there. Don’t let me interrupt—carry on.”

You buried your face in your hands, mortified. “I can’t believe this is happening,” you mumbled.

George laughed softly, clearly torn between annoyance and amusement. “Arthur, seriously, can you not ruin this for me?”

“Ruin it? I’m enhancing the moment,” Arthur said, gesturing broadly. “What’s more romantic than a third wheel with excellent commentary?”

You peeked out from behind your hands, shooting him a glare. “You’re the worst.”

“I’ve been told that,” he said, unfazed. “But honestly, I’m happy for you two. Clarkey’s been talking about you non-stop for weeks, so it’s nice to finally see him make a move.”

Your eyes widened, and you turned to George. “You’ve been talking about me?”

George’s face went red, and he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh… maybe a little.”

Arthur snorted. “A little? Mate, you’ve been practically writing poetry.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” George said, standing up and grabbing Arthur by the arm. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Arthur laughed but didn’t resist as George dragged him toward the door. “Fine, fine. I’ll let you two get back to your little love fest. But just so you know—I’m telling Chris all about this.”

“You do that,” George said, shoving him out the door.

As George returned to the table, his cheeks still faintly pink, you couldn’t help but laugh. “That was… something.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said, sitting down beside you again. “Arthur has a talent for showing up at the worst possible moments.”

“It’s fine,” you said, smiling. “Honestly, it’s kind of funny. In a horrifying, mortifying sort of way.”

George grinned, taking your hand in his again. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad we had this night. Even with the interruption.”

“Me too,” you said softly, leaning into him.

And as the night went on, you realized that no amount of interruptions could take away from what you had with George. Because even in the most awkward, unexpected moments, he still made you feel like the only person in the world.

#fanfic #fanfiction #george clarke fics #george clarke x reader #george clarke fluff #george clarkey #george clarkey fic #george clarkey x reader #arthur hill #george clarke #british youtubers

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months ago

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All In 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: Happy weekend.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The car comes to a stop. It takes you a minute to notice as you reel yourself back to reality. You blink through the tinted window as Merv turns the music down; a song about glory days or something.

“Here we are,” he announces and cranes to look back at you, “have fun, miss.”

“Have fun...” you whisper to yourself in confusion, “what? Where do I go?”

He laughs, not mockingly, and he points through the window, “well, you’ll want to go into that restaurant and give them Mr. Barnes’ name. They’ll sort you out, I’m sure.”

“Oh,” your brows draw together. A restaurant. What?

You undo your seatbelt hesitantly and peer out through the glass again. This is strange. You’ve only had a few interviews and most of them were in cramped backrooms or closets. You pull the handle and let yourself out, thanking Merv before you step up on the curb.

You shut the car door and hook your bag over your shoulder. You stare up at the restaurant’s marquee. It’s a bistro of some sort. Upscale by your measure, thought you have little experience beyond chain joints and fast food. The white facade with its tall windows is intimidating as you approach the entrance.

As you step inside, you’re all but assured that you don’t belong. A woman greets you with a pearly smile, her hair in a wispy bun, as she sports a flowery white dress. You look back and forth as she cradles a tablet in one arm.

“Do you have a reservation?” She asks.

You look down at yourself. That’s a generous assumption. You don’t know how she’s not telling you to leave.

“Erm, I... I think I’m looking for someone,” you say, “Mr. Barnes?”

“Barnes, yes, party for two,” she taps the screen, “he’s waiting. Won’t you follow me?”

She spins on her heels and strolls away. She’s tall and gorgeous, just like the woman at the casino. You peer around and find no less finery and beauty among the staff and diners. The table are all white and polished and the walls are hung with abstract paintings of heaping fruit and bright cocktails. You’ve never seen brunch done so extravagantly.

You nearly trip as you look ahead just before you reach the stairs. The hostess climbs ahead of you. You envy her modelesque figure. How is she stuck here? She’s breathtaking. She could be in magazines.

More importantly, where are you going?

Several flights and you emerge into the open air. You've never been on a rooftop. You’ve seen things like these in movies. There’s a bar center to the space and tables beneath umbrellas set all about. There is only one diner despite the sunshine. It is strangely desolate for such a warm scene.

You’re led to the only occupied table. Mr. Barnes stands as you near. He wears a pair of teal slacks and a patterned shirt with an open collar. Casual but just as refined as before. It hardly seems like job interview.

“Doll,” he greets you with a kiss on the cheek to your surprise. You don’t comment on it, it might just be his way. “You made it.”

“I...” you check your watch, “it was before noon when I got to the casino.”

“That’s on me,” he insists as he pulls out the chair for you, “I got restless. Changed my mind. Please.”

He gestures to the seat and you accept stiffly, moving your bag into your lap as he tucks the chair in under you. He resumes his seat and looks up at the woman patiently standing to the side, “Melody,” he says, “she’ll have a vodka cran, give me my usual. Thanks.”

“Yes, Mr. Barnes,” she replies eagerly.

“Oh, and the lunch menu,” he returns.

She clacks off in her heels as you squirm and clutch your purse. You peer around the rooftop and finally at Bucky. You give a sheepish smile.

“This is a nice place.”

“Sure is,” he sits back carelessly. There is no tension in him but your wound tight as a spring.

“Never been anywhere like this...” your eyes drift over and you stare at the city skyline.

“Made sure we weren’t near the edge, doll,” he assures, “I remember you’re not a fan.” He rests a hand on the table, rubbing his index and thumb. “And I wanted to have this time alone so my pal did me a favour and cleared the roof.”

“Oh, wow.”

“He owns this place,” he shrugs. “Never got into the restaurant business. It’s fickle.”

You nod, not knowing what to say. He knows about these things. Obviously, a lot. You’ve never even worked a full-time week of work.

“How’s your sister?” He asks, “I assume you got home safe.”

“Yes, er, thank you, again, for doing all that,” you bite your lip and his blue eyes catch the gesture as his eyebrow tweaks. “I’m really sorry she did that.”

“Doll, you’re real sweet apologising for her,” he inclines his head slightly, “but you gotta worry about yourself, don’t ya? That’s why you’re here.”

The hostess, Melody, reappears and sets down two glasses. Yours is bright red with a lime on the rim and his is dark, no ice. She lays down a menu in front of each of you and straightens her posture.

“I have to get back to the door but Hailee will be up to help you shortly. Our specials today are a goat cheese and beet salad or a brown sugar salmon with seasonal veggies.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says as he taps the menu.

Melody leaves you again and you bend your neck to read the menu. You look for a price beneath the dishes and find none. That can’t be good.

“I’m not very hungry,” you sit up straight.

“Doll, don’t worry about it. It’s on me,” he circles his hand around his glass, “why don’t you try your drink? Make sure it’s up to snuff.” He sits forward and lifts his own, “cheers.”

Your hand slips up the condensating glass before you get a grasp on it. You raise it and clink it against his. You bring it to your lips slowly as he does the same, mirroring you as he watches you intently. You gulp and set down the glass as your cheeks strain.

“You don’t like it?” He wonders.

“No, I... well, I don’t drink much,” you take the cloth napkin and dab your lips.

“Ah, if that’s too tart, you can have a look at the cocktails. Some of them are so sweet, you wouldn’t know the difference.”

“I’m okay,” you assure him, “so...” you swallow and force out your breath, “about the job--”

“Damn, doll, I’m so all over the place lately, I didn’t even tell you how good you look.”

“I...” your eyes widen but you quickly wipe away your shock, “that’s nice. I mean, thank you.” Your voice shakes as you struggle to comprehend the compliment. What do you say? “You too.”

He smirks, “yeah, you think so?”

“What?” Your voice cracks.

“You think I look good?” He combs his fingers through his long hair. Oh god.

“Yes,” you answer cautiously, “I like your shirt.”

“You’re adorable,” he snickers and shakes his head, leaning forward once more, bending his arms against the table.

“Uh...” you peek down at the table and back to him. You can’t even blame the sun that you’re about to melt. The umbrella blocks out the bright beacon though a glare comes over the edge. “Bucky, sir, Mr. Barnes,” you shuffle through his titles, “the job. What would that be?”

His brows rise and he brings a hand up to drag over his mouth and beard, his fingers brushing along the trim of his jaw.

“The job,” he repeats as he narrows his eyes, “ah,” he lowers his head and presses a fingertip to the menu, “let’s order before we get into all that.”

You look over the menu again then raise your chin, “I appreciate it, but it’s too much, Bucky. I wouldn’t want to... waste your money.”

“It’s my money,” he looks at you, “so I’ll decide how I waste it.”

“Oh,” your cheeks set alight, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he tilts his head again, “you’re just that type of girl. You don’t know what it is to be treated so allow me to show you.”

You’re confused. This is the oddest encounter you’ve ever had. You almost feel like it’s a joke. You’re this poor helpless girl and he’s flaunting how rich and powerful he is. Is there even a job?

“I’d feel worse if you didn’t eat, so doll, don’t step on my toes.”

You chew your cheek and look down again. That’s it. You’ll have the cucumber sandwich. That’s not too much. It can’t be.

The waitress arrives, a different woman but just as stunning. She introduces herself as Hailee. Bucky prompts you to order first before he gives his own. As she leaves, you rock slightly in your chair, stilling yourself before you can look weird.

“So... I could clean or... I could learn something--”

“Let me stop your there, doll,” he puts a large hand up, his palm rough and lined. “It’s my turn to apologise. I... haven’t been honest with you.”

Your heart drops and you can’t help the glimmer in your vision. No. You’re going to have to go home and tell your mother you failed again. That you wasted her time and gas. You close your eyes and frown.

“Doll, doll,” he says and you hear his chair scrape. You open your eyes as he pulls his chair around to sit closer to you, “hey, let me finish here.”

You look him in the eye. Big mistake. You could drown in the blueness. He smirks and rubs your arm.

“I’m not... it’s not a job I have to offer you,” he says deliberately, his other hand fluttering on your knee, “I would call it an arrangement. Mutually beneficial.”

You stare at him. You’re entire being is on fire. You don’t understand what he’s saying, more so, you can barely think with him touching you.

“But... I need a job,” you sniffle.

He scoffs, not unkindly, “you’ll have money. I know you got a family, your sister, maybe your parents? Economy’s tough, I know it.”

“Money? For what?”

He squeezes your knee and sits up, draping his arm over the back of your chair as he leans even closer, “for your company. For yourself.”

“What?” Your voice piques sharply. “I don’t...”

“Look, let’s take it slow here, alright? Today is the taster. We spend some time together, see how we vibe, and go from there. Now I know you went to a whole lot of trouble to get so nice and pretty for me today,” he coaxes, “and I’m not gonna waste your time so you won’t go home empty handed. One thousand.”

“Thousand?” You breathe.

“Just for lunch,” he says, “I’d pay a lot more so I’m open to bartering.”

“That’s... a lot...” you mutter.

“Nothing’s too much for a girl like you,” his fingers dance along your shoulder.

“I... I...” you heave each word.

“Now don’t you freak out,” he’s on the edge of laughing, “doll, I mean it. Just lunch. You and me. Nothing...” he pulls away from you and puts his hands up, “untoward.”

He stands and moves his chair back across from you. He sits and pushes his shoulders wide, “I mean it. Let’s get to know each other. I want to know all about you, doll.”

“Me?” You gulp.

“You,” he points over the table, “you must like music. You went to that concert, didn’t ya?”

You nod and curl your shoulders.

“What kinda music you like?”

“Oh, I... old stuff, I guess. Destiny’s Child?” You give a sheepish cringe.

“Old school,” he remarks, “I like it. Spice girls too?”

“Yeah,” you clamp your lips together.

“I’m not teasing ya. I can’t lie and say I never turned the radio up when I heard them,” he chuckles, “no judgment. That goes for you too, alright? When you find out how much I like ABBA, you can’t giggle.”

Your cheeks dimple as you try not to smile. It’s hard to imagine him listening to Dancing Queen. You push your shoulders higher and look away.

“Don’t laugh,” he chides.

“I didn’t,” you turn back to him.

“Yeah, you’re too nice, that’s why,” he purrs, “you gotta tell me your fave ABBA song.”

You shrug and he squints cynically, “everyone has one. Come on. Fernando?” You shake your head at his guess. “Waterloo?” Again, no. “Mamma Mia?” Nope. “Take a Chance on Me?” No. “Alright, I surrender, tell me.”

“Gimme, Gimme, Gimme,” you eke out.

“Hm, not what I would guess but interesting,” he muses as his eyes wander from your face and back up, “but I at least knew you had taste.”

He winks and you let out a giggle. Whether your nervous or something else, you can’t untangle all your emotions from one another. Yet you do feel a little better, a little lighter. It’s an unexpected situation but not as bad as you foresaw.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #mcu #marvel #casino au #winter soldier #avengers #captain america #all in

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aroaessidhe · 1 year ago

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oh oh oh oh

#those beyond the wall #laya talks #i haven’t really looked at any reviews no idea what to expect

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inkykeiji · 1 year ago

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character: valentino warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, possessiveness, toxic relationship, daddy kink, gun play, slight oral fixation, fem!reader who has unspecified piercings notes: for @sovya, who is val’s precious lil princesa ♡ and who always listens to my insane ramblings about ideas i had at exactly 6:20am hehe c: words: 687

Valentino has an interesting little quirk, you’ve come to learn; he always has to have something of his inside of you. It’s a simple fact, really. No matter what it is or where you are, a piece of him must always be within you in some way, shape, or form.

He, of course, prefers for it to be a part of his body—his fingers, his tongue, his cock—but unfortunately that isn’t always feasible.

And, of course, there are other objects that work well, too.

Sometimes it’s his gun, barrel rammed down your throat as far as it possibly can be, teeth scraping against the N of his bedazzled name as you desperately attempt to swallow more, knees sinking into the plush shag of the carpet beneath his work desk, your chin resting on his thigh as you sit at his feet. Your lips pucker tightly around the barrel as they suck, thick dribbles of saliva oozing from the corners of your mouth to drizzle off your jaw in shimmering cords, while a dutiful tongue curls around the heated metal in a protective, almost loving embrace, eager to siphon it further into your body.

Sometimes it’s one of his shiny gold rings, pressed flat under your tongue as you suck it into your flesh during your daily outings, the metal clacking daintily against your teeth while you mindlessly toy with it, the tip of your tongue hooking through the band then circling the halo in a lazy, messy outline, encrusted salt melting against your tastebuds, staining your tongue with the zest of his sweat.

Sometimes it’s his favourite bullet vibrator, soft pink silicon engraved with his full name and a smattering of cute little hearts buried deep in your cunt as you go about your day, never knowing when Val might turn it on, turn it up, but always knowing that he’s watching through the discreet cameras he had Vox plant all over your shared condo, always ready for that telltale video call that you better fucking answer right before you cum—and knowing that if you don’t, you’ll be suffering endless edging until Daddy gets home (and sometimes after that, too).

He gets off on it just as much as you do, chuckling darkly when your knees knock together and your thighs tense, a sharp gasp spilling from your throat and nails chipping as your fingers curl around the edge of the kitchen counter, tauntingly asking if something is wrong, amorcito? as his face swims into view, sadism stretched sharply across his face, eyes glowing with the knowledge that he holds all of your pleasure, all of that power, in the silky palm of his hand, controlling it with the single flick of a notch.

Sometimes it’s his custom-made heart-shaped studs and barbells, embellished with ostentatious V’s and filling all of your piercings, glinting in the late afternoon sun or heating under your clothes as he drags you from store to store, an arm tightly linked through your own—showing you off, his most cherished accessory, his prettiest prized possession, his best accomplishment.

If he has to pick a favourite, though, it’s his fingers, one of his four hands wedged between your soft thighs, two fingers stuffing your cunt full and idly stroking the silky walls as he works—writing scripts or reviewing footage—and you play—mashing buttons on your pretty pink handheld or colouring a picture for him, book folded at the spine and balancing against your bent knees, little tongue playing with the point of your fang as you concentrate.

And yet, despite the sensuality of it all, it isn’t even sexual half of the time, going far beyond the shallow pleasures of carnality. Because that secret, shared knowledge that there is a piece of him constantly inside of you—a private claim of ownership in the most intimate sense—provides a deep-seated comfort; a warm, dense calm that roots itself at the very core of your souls, that soothes anxieties and serves as a steadfast reminder: that you are owned, that he owns you, that you belong to one another, always.

#valentino x reader #valentino smut #val x reader #val smut #valentino x you #val x you #hazbin hotel smut #APOLOGIES FOR MY FUCKIN 19TH CENTURY RUN ON SENTENCES HA HA HA #inky.val #inky.hazbin

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jessamine-rose · 1 year ago

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⋆˚♱ଘ Requiem for the Damned ଓ♱˚⋆

*holds head in hands* Idk why Dottore keeps haunting me with writing inspo. And for this idea to manifest just before Holy Week….fuck it, I hope you all enjoy the blasphemous tale of Priest! Dottore x Demon! Darling _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):

Tw:: yandere, violence, death, religious abuse, dubcon, mention of nsfw, MINORS DNI

Note:: fictional depictions of religion

♡ 2.7k words under the cut ♡

♡ Despite your status as a wandering demon, you have no place in human cognizance. Rather, you conceal yourself from mortal eyes in favor of close observations and whispered temptations. Humans, from your perspective, are interesting creatures—they are ambitious, easily influenced by spiritual beings, capable of both good and evil.

♡ And what better example than the one who summoned you on a starry night? Such rituals are not uncommon amongst heretics, but most only succeed in invoking the contempt of their fellow humans. And few would invoke your name, much less commit sacrilege within the walls of the Church.

♡ You sense danger immediately upon your appearance. Within the summoning circle, you take note of your sigil perfectly illustrated in blood against marble. Beyond it, what alarms you is not your sacred surroundings nor the fresh corpse mixed with your offerings of books and fruit. It is the figure standing over you, cloaked in moonlight, gazing at you with eyes the color of hellfire.

“My ritual is a success. Welcome to my humble church, o noble demon…or would you rather be addressed by your epithet? ______, Fallen Seraph, the Seeker of Forbidden Knowledge.”

♡ A glimpse into his soul is all it takes to strike fear into your heart. Within Hell, there are rumors of a small village in Sumeru. Its people are nothing of note, a congregation of simpletons whose lives revolve around the beliefs of their Church. The lone exception is the main priest, Father Zandik, better known as Il Dottore.

♡ The stories, passed through human voices, speak of a child ostracized for his unconventional beliefs and his interest in the macabre. Branded a madman, he was placed in the care of the Church elders who corrected his ways of thinking. Once he became of age, Zandik was given the choice to move out of the rectory or to remain as a priest; he chose the latter of his own volition.

♡ Since his ordination, Zandik has proved himself to be an exceptional priest. He educates the masses, reviews theological texts, performs exorcisms, and provides religious counsel for the doubtful. He even serves as the town’s doctor, fully gaining the acceptance of his community.

♡ The rumors don’t stop there. For Il Dottore earned his title by performing miracles. It is he who guides the people into religious ecstasy, he who cures the sick from mysterious curses, he who blesses the weak into “enhanced humans.” There are already whispers that once Dottore’s mortality catches up with him, he will surely be canonized as the Patron Saint of Doctors and Miracles.

♡ But spiritual beings such as yourself know the truth. That Dottore is neither a kind priest nor a devout believer, that his days in the Church only magnified his heretical inclinations. Disillusioned with God, Zandik decided to turn His religious sanctuary into his own laboratory, one where he could fulfill his lust for knowledge through a mask of holiness.

♡ He manipulates the people with false teachings. He triggers religious ecstasy with drugged incense. He singles out devotees to “test their faith” during the quiet hours of the Church. And what the town perceives as curses and miracles are actually scientific experiments in which Dottore plays god.

♡ It’s too late to escape. No matter your divine powers, nothing prepares you for Dottore’s traps. The incantations, the barrier of the summoning circle, an aura so holy yet sinister that it couldn’t possibly come from ordinary religious objects—all you can do is fall to your knees and beg for his mercy, all the while he watches you with a confident smile.

♡ His intentions are like that of any human: He summoned you to form a contract. In exchange for his soul, he demands your knowledge, your resources, your full servitude for so long as he roams the mortal plane. Your hesitation only triggers another wave of scorching pain, followed by panic as Dottore grips your horn and forces you to face him.

“Make no mistake, ______. The mere fact of your divinity does not make you indestructible. In exchange for your cooperation, you will bear witness to experiments of the same magnitude as God’s creations. What say you?”

♡ You have no other choice. And that is how, in the sanctity of the Church, you make a deal with the human named Zandik. Once the pact has been forged, Dottore admires the bright sigil on his chest, plucks a few feathers from your wings, and disables the summoning circle so you can leave. Thus begins your personal hell.

♡ It is easy for you to answer Dottore’s questions about the divine. The horror lies in assisting him in experiments, responding to his summons no matter the inconvenience, allowing him to extract your blood, tears, and feathers. No, what’s most humiliating is when he uses your body for his “research,” bending you over the altar and bringing you to physical ecstasy against your will.

♡ At this point, you don’t know who to pray to. One night, Dottore shows you a secret room in his laboratory. As soon as he lights the lamps, your eyes take in numerous bodies and skeletons of a different classification from his usual victims. The extra bones jutting from the scapulas, the amputated wings, the halos pinned to the walls, the holy aura you’d felt from his religious objects…instantly, Dottore’s powers make sense.

“This is my first specimen. She was my guardian angel…no, I jest. She was a mere messenger who implored me to repent for my sins. From her words, I deduced it had been within Heaven’s capacity to save me during my youth—and yet God only sent an angel to me after my first act of blasphemy.”

The angels…how many has he killed? Not even during your fall from Heaven did you feel such primal fear for your life. But you cannot scream—you have long been trained to resist fight and flight. All you can do is listen to Dottore’s explanation, watch as he approaches a pure white skeleton and wraps his hands around its fractured hyoid bone.

He gives you a calm smile. “Luckily, her body provided me with indispensable resources for my experiments and my procurement of her brethren. I believe her name was Sohreh.”

♡ Just when you think it can’t get any worse, Dottore points at the far corner of the room to reveal a space dedicated to demons. Four dead bodies, their causes of death vividly described. Horns, wings, and other body parts amputated in exchange for lives spared after exorcisms. And when Dottore returns to your side, tracing the wound from where he broke off your horn, you can only tremble and acquiesce to a checkup. It grows back fully by the end of the year.

♡ He has his moments of vulnerability, however. Perhaps it is due to your nature as a demon, a creature which represents evil, that Dottore does not hide his heart from you. Once, after his usual confessions—he always makes up trivial sins—he remains in the confessional until his fellow priest has left. Then he goes to the altar and summons you.

♡ What catches you off-guard is not his lack of greetings. Rather, it’s the way he pulls you close to his body, lips ghosting the curve of your ear. There, in the heart of the Church, he whispers to you every sin he has ever committed. Despite his normal tone of voice, his words have never betrayed a language so guiltless, so sincere, so human.

♡ He asks how much of his madness is to blame on the influence of demons, or if he had been born wicked. He asks if humans were truly given the mental faculties to withstand temptation regardless of their circumstances. He asks if the same can be said for spiritual beings, questioning why former angels like you were also created with the capacity to sin. He even asks if praying for a demon can offer them any hope of salvation.

♡ It takes you a while to answer his questions. It’s just like him to put your emotions in disarray, to make you feel pity for the very cause of your current suffering. Against your nature, you wonder if there is still a chance for Zandik, if he can somehow repent or find a way to save himself from your contract and all of his sins. Even if it is too late, He has always been more forgiving to humans than angels.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

“Do you know why I became a demon, Zandik?”

Your question is what prompts Zandik to pull away from you, though his touch lingers. His gaze, as always, is unfathomable; you can never discern what hides within those pools of crimson.

“No, I do not. Few demonological texts allude to your existence, and only the Lesser Key of Deshret cites your previous status as an angel of the highest ranking. I have made theories in relation to your epithets but I respect all possibilities. Now what would you, as the primary source, reveal to me?”

Now it is your turn to confess.

“Seraphim are the closest to God but for that reason, we are the most distant from His creations. Everything we know of the world is derived only from what He tells us, not our own insights. And so I defied His Word and ate the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, committing the same sin which condemned all of humanity.”

The tip of your upper wing brushes against Zandik’s face, while your middle wings encircle his body in a loose hug. As for your lower wings…they are nothing but twin scars covered in short feathers. After your descent, it seemed like a rational decision to chop them off, broken as they were. It helped that your wings had just outgrown their original purpose.

For once, you barely flinch at the sensation of his touch against your scars. Many times, Zandik has inquired about the loss of your lower wings and even asked if he could have them. They still remain in Hell, tucked away in a corner of your home, eyes forever closed.

It takes a few seconds for him to respond. “Do you ever regret your decision?”

You shrug. “It was difficult at first, naturally. Many of my eyes were blinded—yes, that is why I rarely open the ones on my wings—but those which still function have seen so many wonderful sights up-close. Neither must I cover my face with my remaining wings. And despite being what your kind and my former brethren would dub a monster…I’m happier now.”

“I see, I see.” His curiosity appears far from sated, however, a sentiment you can empathize with. “As I thought, God is incomprehensible. For Him to deny even His greatest creation of salvation…it confirms that there are limits to the forgiveness of that which humans call a ‘loving god.’ Thank you for sharing this knowledge with me.”

And just as quickly as he initiated his confession, Zandik steps out of your grasp and dismisses you. But you make no haste, silently watching him after you “leave.”

His expression is thoughtful. A gloved hand touches his chest, right above your sigil.

Such an interesting creature.

Honestly, you don’t know what to make of your feelings for this human. Much as you despise his cruel treatment towards you, he never fails to capture your interest with his experiments and philosophies. Whenever he speaks of God, you wonder if a small part of him still desires to be saved. But that will never be.

Zandik preaches salvation with the knowledge that he will never receive it. For the Church never taught him how to love.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

♡ Il Dottore never became the Patron Saint of Doctors and Miracles. Neither did he have a funeral mass befitting of a priest, nor a peaceful death from natural causes. Instead, he died young, laicized, once again denounced as a heretic by his community.

♡ You don’t know how his crimes were exposed, and why now. Perhaps it is God’s punishment for him, a blessing for his victims, or both. Either way, Dottore paid for his sins on a sunny day, burned at the stake before a disdainful crowd. Not long after his heart stopped beating, his belongings were thrown into the fire—research, tools, anything which carried his memory.

♡ You never left his side. After his last rites, led by an elderly bishop who condemned Zandik as he did in the past, you sat next to him and offered a final conversation. He didn’t express any fear nor sadness in regards to his imminent death, merely stating it a pity that his achievements could never be appreciated in his town.

♡ …He did ask if there is any chance of meeting again in Hell, but you reminded him that the punishment of sinners is out of your jurisdiction. Plus, it’s better that way—you have no desire to avenge yourself, and you’d rather not witness Zandik’s suffering for all eternity. You can only imagine the severity of his punishment, what more if he is assigned to one of the demons he exorcized.

♡ During his execution, you stood at the front of the crowd. You kept your eyes trained on him, for so long as his scarlet orbs remained open, whispering the prayers for the dead on his behalf. While a part of you felt liberated, another was mournful. You hope your last words to Zandik gave him solace in his final moments.

“Rest now, Zandik. God may never forgive your sins, but I shall.”

♡ And thus ends the life of Il Dottore. In the following days, the Church is purged of its holy, sinister aura, mainly because they discarded the religious objects tainted with angel remains. You continue your usual obligations as a wandering demon, but the humans you observe pale in comparison to your companion of many years.

♡ Not long after, you return to Hell for your other divine duties. As soon as you appear in your abode, however, something feels off. The sinister aura, the offering of books and fruit, your lower wings gone from their original place… The answer comes in the form of a hand grabbing you by the horn, pulling you backwards, twisting your body to meet a familiar gaze the color of hearth-fire. Only, this time, those eyes are brimming with pure joy, paired with a genuine smile.

♡ Apparently, Dottore’s soul did end up in Hell but not in the way you expected. In a proud voice, he explains that the Devil gave him a special fate. Whether it was due to vacant positions or everyone’s fear of the infamous “Demon-Killer,” you’ll never know. What Dottore does confirm is that as the demon bound to him via contract, you have to take responsibility and act as his companion in Hell.

“Rather than subject me to eternal suffering, the Devil believed that my talents would prove useful for the punishments of my fellow sinners. How wonderful is it for my achievements to be recognized in Hell? …Oh? I didn’t predict such a physical reaction from you. All of your eyes are wide open, and you seem to be on the verge of fainting.”

♡ You don’t know if you want to laugh or cry. To think your personal hell has been extended to eternity—are your sins enough to warrant such a fate?! But after confirming your misfortune, all you can do is sigh and tend to Zandik. He looks exactly the same, with the exception of a few burn scars on his body. And judging by the familiar black feathers on his person, he seems eager to discard his former religious attire along with his mask of faith.

♡ And when Zandik unfastens his scorched cassock, he takes your hand and places it on his unburned chest, right above your sigil. It glows vibrantly, brighter than any light you laid eyes on in Heaven. And beneath the flesh, you can feel his heart beating in sync with yours.

“Tell me, ______, do I still appear human to you?”

“You already know my answer to that question. But fine, I’ll admit it: Yes, you always have.”

♡

More Church AU here!! Capitano ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pantalone ๑ Pierro ๑ Dainsleif

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving other characters or dynamics who are not listed in my masterlist.

At long last, I am free from Priesttore…thank you to everyone. To my readers, to my fellow Dottore simps, to my mutuals who indulged my tortured DMs after midnight, to the artist whose fan art inspired this idea to begin with. May you all have a lovely day╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

Tag a Dottore enjoyer!! @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @mochinon-yah @diodellet @lcveaesop @oofasleep @bye-bye-sunbird @yandere-romanticaa @boundinparchment @harmonysanreads @teabutmakeitazure @yandere-wishes @yanmaresu @nicebonescomrades @nimandu @lesanyanyas @moarar

#il dottore #dottore #dottore x reader #yandere dottore x reader #yandere dottore #yandere fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #tw: yandere #tw: dark #tw: blood #tw: death #tw: violence #tw: dubcon #spicy warning #mdni #g/n reader #jessamine-writing

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iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin · 15 days ago

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doctor! doctor! ♡ seok matthew, lpn ♡ the nurseـــــــــﮩ٨ـ

⋆˙⟡ zb1 doctor smut series masterlist! all parts also linked here: nurse!matthew, doctor!jiwoong/med student!gunwook, allergist!taerae, radiology tech!gyuvin/cardiologist!ricky, anesthesiologist!hao/surgeon!hanbin

⋆˙⟡ wc: 1.5k (gonna try to keep these short, but we know me...)

⋆˙⟡ reader: gn afab (no pronouns used to refer to reader)

⋆˙⟡ series summary: eight medical professionals. a sudden illness that gets progressively worse. can reader survive the l-o-v-emergency?

⋆˙⟡ the nurse summary: the male nurse at your new doctor's office is a total asshole. but he's really hot. and so are you, after what was supposed to be a routine physical takes a couple unexpected turns.

⋆˙⟡ warnings: explicit smut. 18+. minors do not interact. please read specific warnings under the cut! angst. lighttt dub-con. matt is a total meanie. little less by the end. explicit mean comments about reader's weight but it's only because he's literally an asshole. smut is fairly light-ish, but we're just getting started so let's let it simmer for now.

⋆˙⟡ l-o-v-emergency scale: ★☆☆☆☆ (1)

GUYS HEY! I'M ALIVE! who's glad? not me. anyway, i've been working in a medical setting for over 2 months now and this series was birthed bc i couldn't stop thinking about how matthew would look in a good set of athletic (specifically magenta) scrubs. okay, hopefully i don't abandon this project!! ily. always. don't forget. <3

⋆˙⟡ iwnfyshb full masterlist

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

EXPLICIT SMUT 18+ WARNINGS: fingering/heavy petting (reader receiving), dub-con kind of sort of idk better safe than sorry, matt is very mean, inappropriate use of medical equipment (?), yeah i think that's good for now.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

it’s a regular monday morning. nothing out of the ordinary at all. though it’s a bit chilly outside, the sun is shining on this lovely february day.

you’re at the doctor’s office, sitting in the waiting room for your annual physical. your primary care physician had retired at the end of last year, so you’d scheduled your first appointment with a doctor at a completely new practice. they were so new, in fact, that they didn’t really have any google reviews yet except for one that just said: went above and beyond.

and they also accept your insurance, so there’s that.

though it’s late in the year for it, you’re also hoping to get a flu shot after about eight different strains of influenza ravaged your workplace this week. but you feel very healthy. you actually feel great.

usually you’re called in a bit faster for an appointment, but today it takes about ten minutes before the door to the medical entrance finally bursts open. it slams against the wall, startling both you and the elderly woman sitting a few seats away from you.

“ah, shit, sorry,” a voice mumbles and your eyes follow to put a face to it. standing in front of you is an incredibly attractive male nurse who squints at his clipboard. “uh… (y/n)?”

you stand up quickly, putting your phone in your coat pocket and walking up to the nurse. up close, you can see his name tag says: matthew.

“sick,” matthew says quietly, pointing down the hall to a scale. “we’re gonna head over there.”

you walk with him to the scale, jumping again when the door to the waiting room slams loudly.

“ah, shit. sorry,” he says again. you step on the scale, only to hear snickering next to you a moment later.

“uh… is something funny?” you ask with a frown.

“maybe take the coat off,” matthew suggests with a smirk. “we’re wanting a weight good for humans, not for whales.”

your eyes widen in shock. not really sure how to respond, you simply take your coat off and place it on the chair next to you. matthew leans over your shoulder, encroaching a little too liberally on your personal space bubble, and huffs confusedly.

“huh. i really thought that’d help more,” he says, jotting your (extremely normal) weight down onto his clipboard and shrugging. “anyway, we’re gonna be in room 3, on your left here.”

was he being purposefully rude or was he just painfully oblivious? a little more irritated than you had expected to be during this visit, you follow your nurse into the exam room and take a seat on the exam table.

“whoah, there,” he says with a laugh as he sits down on a stool beside the medical counter. “careful not to break the table after that weigh-in.”

you’re about to ask him what his problem is when matthew suddenly rolls up the already short sleeves on his magenta scrub top, revealing big, toned biceps underneath. goddamn, he was gorgeous.

but it didn’t give him a right to make comments about your body.

“wh—… why do you keep—…” you nervously start to confront him before he interrupts.

“just gonna get a reading on the pulse oximeter,” matthew announces, grabbing your hand from your lap and sticking the device on the tip of your index finger. “cool nails.”

“thanks,” you find yourself replying quietly. you don’t think you’ve ever met a nurse who lacked bedside manner this badly.

“i’ve been giving you a hard time, but you’re sorta hot actually,” he says, matter-of-factly as he snatches your hand again suddenly to check the oximeter. his bluntness and close proximity causes your heart to involuntarily race, and he bites his lip in a conceited grin as he reads the numbers on the device. “100 bpm… something getting you excited?”

you should stand up and walk out the door right now. report him to the reception desk. you figured there had to be some setbacks to a completely new, unreviewed practice, but this was beyond acceptable. no one should be allowed to behave so unprofessionally in a medical setting.

you look him directly in the eyes. about to rip him a new one.

but holy fuck, this absolute dickhead is hot. your brain starts to feel a bit foggy just looking at him.

“are you sure you’re feeling okay today?” matthew asks, removing the oximeter and placing it on the counter. he takes a thermometer out of the pocket of his scrub top and walks over to you— casually situating himself in the gap you’d left between your legs. “i’m gonna take your temperature just in case.”

he holds the thermometer in front of your forehead for a moment, the device buzzing when it has a reading. ��hm. all good here. i’m just gonna check one more spot to make sure.”

before you can ask what that means, he moves the thermometer between your legs— pressing it over your clothed core. it buzzes against your clit and you’re unable to suppress a whimper in your shock.

matthew licks his top lip as he drinks in the sound, removing the thermometer and reading the temperature. he clicks his tongue sadly. “just what i thought. you’re burning up, baby.”

“this—… this is—….” you make one last (very weak) attempt to protest this nonsense. “i mean, you really shouldn’t be—…”

“shouldn’t be what?” he asks, fingers now taking the place of the thermometer on your clothed heat. as he massages you gently, you inhale sharply at how nice his touch feels. “doing my job? i’m just getting you ready for the doctor, baby. that’s all.”

you don’t have a clue as to what that’s supposed to mean. and you’re starting to forget why you care as he hooks his fingers around your waistband. reflexively, you lift your hips for him and he pulls down your pants— discarding them on the chair next to the exam table and leaving you in just your panties on the medical paper lining.

matthew pushes them aside with his thumb before prodding at your entrance with his middle finger. “just a small pinch,” he warns as he slips it inside.

you inhale sharply as the full length of his digit fills you. he smirks again, making use of his thumb against your clit as he starts to fuck you with his finger. you begin to whine as a steady pressure forms below your stomach.

“how’s that, hm? feel good?” you nod, growing more desperate for your release. matthew laughs as he pushes another finger inside of you. you can’t help but moan, hand finding its way to grip at the neck of his scrub top. “listen to that. doc’s gonna love you. you could still stand to lose a few pounds though, not gonna lie.”

you hate this guy. you must’ve had a psychotic break at some point between the waiting room and this exam table. but something’s come over you— something almost feverish— and the desire to complain just keeps getting smaller.

“please,” you beg emphatically, fingers of your free hand wrapping around the edge of the exam table as your climax threatens to spill over. “just shut the fuck up and make me cum.”

“fuck,” he breathes, the tips of his fingers curling up into the spongey spot in your upper wall with even more vigor. “okay. okay, yeah. just don’t tell the doctor i let you cum. got it?”

“y-yeah,” you agree half-heartedly— still unsure as to what the doctor has to do with this mean, hot nurse committing a crazy hr violation on you. but you just need release. so you humor him. “whatever.”

matthew presses his thumb hard against your clit and that’s all it takes— your orgasm washing over you as you feel your juices slip down your inner thighs. “fuck, that’s hot. makes me wish i got to finish ‘em off more often.”

more often? a post-climax clarity begins to set in as you wonder what on earth this guy is talking about. but that clarity only lasts a few moments before you start to shake with a chill you swear is bone-deep.

“get up, i’m gonna clean things up quick,” matthew orders casually, changing the paper liner on the table and throwing you some moist towelettes as you stagger off your perch. “clean yourself off good, ‘kay? i really don’t wanna get in trouble for—… hey, are you okay?”

your hands are shaking as you wipe your thighs and core clean of any traces, shivering beyond your control. matthew takes the towelettes from you, chucking them in the garbage. he tilts his head at you, concern suddenly palpable in his eyes.

"you—… you don’t look so good,” he says, placing the back of his hand against your forehead. when he pulls it away, you see the skin glisten. are you sweating? but it’s so cold. matthew pulls out his thermometer again, holding it between your eyes until it pulses. he pulls it back, eyes widening as he reads the temperature. “oh shit.”

"what?” you ask, rubbing your hands against your arms to try and generate some warmth. “what’s it say?”

"um. i—… i don’t know what’s going on,” he stammers, suddenly doe-eyed and nervous. it’s the most endearing he’s been thus far. something must be terribly wrong with you. “i think it’s probably just a fluke. maybe the thermometer’s broken. right? there’s no way it could be that high. you’d be dead. i’m—… i’m just gonna go get the doctor. he’ll know what to do! probably.”

“okay,” you reply. not much more you can say, especially with your teeth chattering.

"just, uh, sit back down and… um… rest, i guess. yeah, rest should help,” matthew says, quite clearly panicking. “and i’ll send the doctor in. and just, um, remember not to tell him what i let you do. please. i’d really appreciate that. if it comes up, ya know, just…”

“lie?” you suggest, plopping down onto the exam table as you continue to shiver furiously.

“yeah! exactly. you’ve got it,” he replies, rushing toward the door. “oh and the doctor has a med student interning with him today. is it okay to have him shadow your appointment?”

“sure,” you agree without hesitation. education is one of your core values, after all. even if you suddenly have a life-threatening fever to rival a volcano.

“awesome,” matthew says, throwing open the door. he glances back at you one last time, uneasiness written all over his pretty face. “hang in there.”

the door slams shut. really loudly.

“ah, shit. sorry.”

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mapoeggplant · 4 months ago

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skip to loafer chapter 65 analysis // spoilers

the girl who's chasing the sun and the boy who's finding a way to walk by her side: how much kindness is needed for one to forgive themselves and finally listen to their heart?

for this month's review, i wanted to do something a little different: i'm going to divide it into two parts. the first part will be about the chapter, of course, and address some points that i think are worth discussing. the second part, i'd like to focus much more on the message of kindness that skip to loafer brings to its readers. so, here we go.

finally, the long-awaited date is here. i confess that i always felt a little uncomfortable when people demanded so much for this date to happen faster, to sensei “get over with it”. i know, i was also looking forward to it, but the whole build-up that led us to this moment made it even more impactful and even stronger. to build a story, you need not only a beginning and an end, but a middle that supports both events. the story of shima and mitsumi had its beginning and now we're facing the middle. no, the breakup didn't bring the end, it was just a complement. an event as big as this one needs to be sustained with enough strength to have the necessary impact. so yes, the “delay” that many complained was extremely well used and made their night together even more special.

now, about the actual date. it’s beautiful to see how they managed to find a space in all this confusion to make their friendship prevail and the discomfort that they both felt before dissipate. of course, their relationship didn’t go back to what it was before, but i don’t think that would ever be possible: relationships change, no matter if good or bad things happen. the way we relate to people grows at the same speed as we grow. and, to keep it alive, it takes a lot of humility, kindness and, of course, love.

since the chapter is slightly more focused on shima, his insecurity and fear are much clearer and more palpable. shima is a character who still carries a lot of regret for everything he did, even for things that weren’t his fault, like his past and the mistakes he made along the way, guided by people with ill intentions. the breakup with mitsumi left a huge scar on him, since he still firmly believes that he is the one most to blame for their friendship almost falling apart. mitsumi is one of the few people who genuinely wants to be with shima and he knows it — but that doesn't change the fact that he is still very afraid that she will never really get to know his "real self" and to like him for who he is, specially because shima himself doesn’t really know what all of this mean. shima feels disappointed that mitsumi has "fallen" for his false kindness because he feels that he is not only deceiving other people, but also one of the most important people in his life. lying to mitsumi not only brings a pain to his heart, but also an enormous insecurity that he will never be able to convey his feelings for her, because he will never be able to overcome this wall that he himself created. when he himself admits that his feelings for her are much deeper, he finally get in touch with the desire to be completely exposed to her, to be accepted by her and that he could finally stop using the facade he hates so much against her.

what he doesn't know yet is that mitsumi can see beyond his mask — and much more than he even imagines: mitsumi sees the real kindness within shima. as much as he insists on saying that this is just a way of protecting himself, mitsumi can indeed find in shima's actions a kindness and affection that are far from being fabricated. it saved her so many times before so, if what she felt was real and valid, why wouldn't his intentions be truthful as well? mitsumi sees shima for who he is, and respects all the past that he is still afraid to show, that’s why she never pressured him to open up and respected every time he changed the subject. there was no need for her to dive deep into something that didn’t involved her, so all she could do was show that she would be there for him when he needed and when he find the right time to tell her all about the little shima she never met. mitsumi sees the kindness he holds in his heart and all the good intentions he had when he helped her before, something he lies to himself and say it was “only a facade”. he still can’t see how much he wanted to protect her and be by her side all guided by his own heart and good faith, not the lie he made up. the real shima was the one who wanted to do all that, not the “fake” he created. when mitsumi chooses to end their relationship, she’s truly thinking about his feelings and a way to save their friendship before both of them came out completely hurt by it (but i want to point out something very, very important: they are both teenagers. of course they will act impulsively and end up hurting each other without realizing it. shima doesn't know which of his actions hurt mitsumi, just as she doesn't know which of her words might end up hurting him. they are at the beginning of a long life and a long journey, so why not give them the kindness they so deserve?).

shima finally manages to take a step forward, getting closer and closer to walking side by side with mitsumi. as he becomes more in touch with his own feelings, shima sees a huge need to change and start being more sincere. in order for him to become a better person, in his own eyes, he now needs to start putting the mask aside and embrace who he truly is. no longer listening to others or fulfilling desires that are not his: now is the time for him to look inside himself and, above all, listen to his own heart. from now on, the path he will follow is his and his alone.

now, for the second part: i really want to talk a little about how skip to loafer has an extremely delicate writing style that focuses so much on kindness, whether it is the kind we export to the world or the kind we internalize.

those who usually follow my analysis must be tired of hearing how much i talk about the message of “i love you for who you are” that skip to loafer values and explores so much. but it’s no use: the more i talk about it, the more i admire the dedication that the sensei puts into writing completely real and human characters. it is always a great joy when people come to me and say how much they saw themselves in one character or two, and how that made them feel embraced. it warms my heart that people can see, thought these characters, the kindness they deserve. It’s very clear to me how sensei is always so worried with showing the reality of their journey of loving themselves in a way to bring the reader closer and learn from it.

of course, shima and mitsumi's friendship and relationship could end with the breakup. or, from another angle, it is clear that they could have started a relationship much earlier and maintained it despite all the challenges they still have to face with themselves. but... is that valid? is that fair to them? is that kind to both the characters and the readers?

by opting for a gentler writing style and a story more focused their lives rather than taking a romantic road trip (after all, it is a slice of life), skip to loafer delves into a great lesson about compassion and acceptance that no one is perfect. we will all make mistakes during the course of our lives, but it is up to us to get up and move on, building other stories and sharing beauty with whoever is by our side. we may not see how kind we are to others, but there is certainly someone by our side who admires us and is grateful for everything we have done for them.

and i'm grateful for you for reading my analysis 💛 thank you. don't forget to support sensei and send her lots of kindness!!!! skip to loafer will be on break next month, so see you in december :)

#skip to loafer #skip and loafer #skip and loafer spoilers #skip to loafer spoilers #stl spoiler #chapter 65 #sousuke shima #iwakura mitsumi #shima is literally one of the most important characters to me #idk if I'll ever be able to express it properly #want to be able to thank sensei in person one day #duckmetas

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lucyrose191 · 1 year ago

Note

Could you do Toto Wolff with wife reader? She was frustrated about work and couldn't stop herself from rambling and Toto just shuts her up with a kiss. They get caught by the team and they tease them about it. Just something fluff and comfort. Add something to it if you'd like. Thanks!! :))

CAUGHT IN THE ACT| T.WOLFF

Pairing; Toto Wolff x Wife!reader

Summary; The stresses of work have your mind running a million miles an hour but your husband knows how to slow it down.

Warnings; fluff, teasing.

Authors note; This is short but I hope this is okay!

F1 Master List

You’d never felt such a strong urge to throw your laptop across the room and tell everyone to go and fuck themselves.

Groaning, you pulled at your hair in frustration, why stupid men thought they were able to do your job better than you were able to was beyond you but clearly they had it in their abnormally large heads that they had the skill set for quite literally everything but if that was the case then they wouldn’t be paying you to take care of their finances.

Too many times have you been questioned today as though you hadn’t studied religiously for years to do this job.

"Can you double check your numbers? They don’t look correct."

"This can’t be right, there’s no possible way we’re losing money."

"I need you to review this again, I added it up myself and I got a much larger annual profit figure."

No you can’t double check his numbers because you had checked them a million times before you had sent it off.

He was losing money because he can’t get off his arse and actually run his company instead of forcing the responsibilities on his poor employees that have no idea how to run a company.

And of course he got a different number! He didn’t take the mathematical degree to work out these numbers and had no idea what he was meant to be multiplying and what he was meant to be dividing.

You slammed your laptop closed and pulled yourself up from Toto’s desk and left his office, coincidentally finding him walking towards his office the moment you stepped past the doorway.

He immediately took notice of the disgruntled look on your face and shot you a look that was a mixture between worry and confusion. "Are you okay?"

"Just work," you grunted.

His face contorted into a look of understanding. "Tell me about it," he told you and you moved to lean against the wall, prompting him to stand in front of you.

"I just don’t know why people feel the need to question my ability to do my job today-"

As you ranted off all of your issues to him, Toto simply stood there with a content smile on his face, listening to you venting your frustrations.

He thought you were adorable when you were angry.

He loved the way your forehead creased with the furrow of your brows and the way you moved your hands as you vented and how you’d aggressively force your hair behind your ear when it got in your face.

"-then this man thought that the smart thing for him to do was to include each thing he wanted me to do in like seventeen different emails, who even does that? So then I had to go through each individual one and make a list instead of-"

Toto leaned forward, cupped your cheek and smashed his lips against yours, muffling the sound of surprise you released. It took you a moment to register what was happening but once you did, you didn’t hesitate in kissing him back.

You reached up and grasped the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you, he hummed into the kiss and walked forward, pressing you into the wall before moving his hand from your cheek into your hair, holding you in place.

You channeled all of your frustrations into the kiss, his closeness making it easy for them to fade away and soon you found yourself only consumed by him and nothing else.

The pair of you were so wrapped up in each other in that moment that you didn’t hear the sound of footsteps approaching, only realising people heading your way until it was too late.

"Woah!" Lewis’ high pitched voice had you scrambling away from each other with flushed cheeks and messy hair.

You both turned towards him, only it wasn’t just him, he and George were with about five or six other people, all staring at the pair of you with smirks on their faces.

"Save it for the hotel room, guys." George teased causing the group to laugh as Toto cleared his throat uncomfortably and you looked to the floor in embarrassment at being caught.

"We apologise-" Toto started but was interrupted by a mechanic, Ross.

"Oh no, don’t apologise for the free show, boss. People normally have to pay good money for that, I’m not one to complain."

You cringed at his words as you looked up, taking note of how some people were glancing at the floor to try and hide their laughs whilst others didn’t even try.

"We don’t even blame you," James, one of the teams strategists continued. "YN is looking mighty fine today," he winked causing you to roll your eyes with a smile on your face, knowing it was all in good nature.

"James," Toto stated bluntly, causing James to turn to him. "Yes, boss?"

"Turn around," your husband told him, straight faced.

"Yes, boss," James nodded and turned around, walking back down the hallway.

"We can leave if you want to get back to-" Lewis offered, a cheeky smile on his face.

"That’s not necessary, Lewis, thank you." Toto cut him off.

He shrugged as if to say ‘your loss’.

"I mean- you could’ve at least took it inside the office." George wasn’t one to let the situation go.

"Yes we get it, George, ha ha," you shot him an unimpressed look which didn’t falter the shit eating grin on his face.

The teasing didn’t end there, it seemed that the group who found you and Toto were eager to tell the rest of the team, George even went as far as mentioning what he does when ‘Toto is busy eating his wife’s face off’ in an interview so the rest of the day was filled with subtle comments leaving you and Toto with permanent flushed cheeks.

You both took accepted the teams teasing with smiles on your faces though, happy that you both had managed to create a dynamic that left them comfortable to make jokes around you both.

#formula one x reader #f1 fanfiction #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #fluff #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff x oc #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff fluff #toto wolff imagine #toto wolff fanfiction

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aphoticarachne · 1 month ago

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What is this feeling?

Tom Riddle x reader

Chapter iii

Chapter ii

Warning: choking?? Whoops

a/n: I hate this chapter sm oh my god

September’s chill clung to the stone walls of the castle, sharp and unrelenting. The Great Hall, usually alive with chatter, had quieted to a murmur as a few determined students hunched over their books. You sat at the far edge of the Slytherin table, the last traces of daylight casting fleeting shadows over the polished wood.

Zelda had insisted you leave the library, claiming you needed a break from your relentless study habits, though her version of "reviewing" was little more than thinly veiled gossip.

When you mentioned being paired with Tom Riddle for your Potions project, she recoiled as if struck, her disdain for him as palpable as his contempt for you.

"How do you even breathe in the same room as him?" Zelda hissed, her lips curling into something between a sneer and a grimace. "If it were me, I’d have cursed him six ways to Sunday."

"I hate him as much as you do," you murmured, your eyes fixed on the dense text before you, though the words blurred into meaningless lines.

"Hate isn’t enough," she snapped. "Everyone knows he’s been gunning for you since first year, and for what? You’re brighter than him, that’s what it is. Can’t handle the competition." She leaned closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. "If I were you, I’d tell Slughorn to shove his cauldron—"

"Ladies."

His voice cut through the air like a knife, low and deliberate. You stiffened, the pages of your spellbook forgotten as you glanced up to meet his gaze.

Tom stood just beyond the table, perfectly composed as always, the golden light from the stained-glass windows spilling over his features, giving him an otherworldly, almost angelic quality. But you knew better—angels did not lurk in shadows, and they certainly didn’t wear that expression of quiet cruelty.

"Miss Zabini," he began, his tone sharp and dispassionate, "surely you’re aware students are expected to remain at their own House tables."

Zelda tilted her head, her lips curling into a slow, mocking smile. "Riddle, if you keep your tie any tighter, I imagine it’ll strangle what little humanity you’ve got left."

His expression didn’t waver, though something flickered behind his eyes. "Leave," he said, his voice calm but cold, "or I’ll be forced to inform your Head of House."

Mocking him under her breath, Zelda stood and shot you a grin before strolling off.

"You're insufferable, you know that?" you said, not bothering to look up as you turned another page in your book.

"Mayhaps if you didn't surround yourself with halfwits like that Gryffindor, you'd actually accomplish something worthwile." His words were as sharp as his gaze, which raked over you with a deliberate slowness that felt more invasive than curious.

"I’ve already finished my work. Why do you care? It’s the weekend, Riddle. Go find someone else to torment."

"Are you attending Slughorn's dinner tonight?" he asked, his voice carefully measured with seriousness.

The Slug Club—an infamous little cabal of Slughorn's favored students. Exclusive, elitist, and insufferably self-important. You and Tom had been inducted in your fourth year, both chosen for reasons that aligned with Slughorn's peculiar calculus of prestige and potential. The dinners were tedious at best, but you had never missed one. Not entirely out of obligation, though. You had quickly discovered that your presence, as unwelcome as it was to Tom, was an exquisite way to unsettle him. Watching his carefully constructed façade fracture, even for a moment, had become a quiet thrill.

You closed your spellbook deliberately, meeting his gaze with narrowed eyes. "I am," you replied, your lips curling into a smirk. "Why? You wish to escort me, Riddle?"

His expression hardened, that cool veneer slipping to reveal a glimmer of something darker, sharper. "I would sooner be scorched to ash by a Hungarian Horntail than be seen anywhere with you. Do not flatter yourself."

"Then why are you asking?" you countered, your tone cutting, the faintest edge of amusement lingering beneath your words.

For a moment, he seemed poised to answer, but the silence stretched, heavy and charged. Without another word, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the shadows of the hall, his cloak billowing behind him. You exhaled slowly, rolling your eyes at his endless need to cloak himself in that maddening, calculated mystery.

Slughorn's office was always transformed for these dinners—lavish, yet suffocating. The floating candles cast their warm glow over the room, illuminating the walls adorned with portraits of Slug Club alumni, all frozen in postures of smug accomplishment. The air carried a faint sweetness from the polished oak furniture and spiced wine, a reminder of Slughorn’s particular tastes.

The moment you stepped through the door, Slughorn himself greeted you with his usual joviality, his round face crinkling with delight as he clasped your hand. After enduring a few moments of pleasantries, you excused yourself, weaving through the small crowd to find Archibald Fawley. Archie, the Minister’s nephew and a fellow Slytherin, greeted you warmly, his smile earnest and open.

He was the sort of boy your father would have approved of—well-bred, intelligent, polite. But to you, he was only Archie. A loyal friend and nothing more. No matter how hard he tried to veil his feelings behind jokes or light conversation, you couldn’t return them. The gentle affection in his gaze was matched only by the regret you knew it caused him.

As you laughed softly at something Archie had said, a prickling sensation spread across the back of your neck. You felt the weight of a gaze before you saw it. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Abraxas Malfoy watching you, his expression unreadable, his goblet poised at his lips. His focus was unwavering, and though you were used to the unwanted attention of certain members of the Slug Club, his stare sent an uneasy chill down your spine. There was something about Abraxas—something not quite right.

On the other side of the room, Tom stood beside him, his dark eyes sharp and calculating as he observed the interaction. His expression betrayed nothing, but the faintest flicker of something—disdain? Irritation?—danced beneath the surface. He noticed everything. How Abraxas' attention drifted from their conversation to you, how his gaze lingered too long.

"Malfoy," Tom said, his voice cutting through the haze of Abraxas' thoughts.

Abraxas blinked, startled. "What?"

"You stare at her as if she's some unattainable prize," Tom murmured, his tone even but laced with quiet malice. "If you're so fascinated, go. Dance with her."

Abraxas furrowed his brow, unsure if he had misheard. "Excuse me?"

Tom stepped closer, his presence suddenly suffocating. "I don't repeat myself, Malfoy. You disgrace yourself gawking like a child. I expected better." His words were a low, venomous whisper, the faintest smirk curling at the corners of his mouth as his eyes flicked toward you.

Abraxas hesitated, his fingers tightening around his goblet. "I don’t want to—"

"Do you take me for a fool?" Tom interrupted, his voice colder now, more dangerous. "You, of all people, should know what I am capable of. Do not insult me with lies."

Abraxas faltered, the blood draining from his face. He set his goblet down with trembling hands and nodded, walking stiffly toward you. Tom watched, his expression unreadable, but his knuckles whitened against his own goblet as his eyes lingered on you—laughing, carefree, with Archie Fawley.

Why did Tom compel his closest companion—if such a term could truly be applied to anyone in his orbit—to dance with her? He didn’t know.

He didn’t know why his chest constricted as he watched her laugh at Fawley’s idiotic remarks. Or why the sight of her tilting her head toward Fawley with the kind of interest she never spared him made his jaw tighten and his nails dig crescents into his palm.

What he did know was that he wanted to tear Archibald Fawley apart, piece by agonizing piece. Those pathetic, worshipful eyes Fawley always turned on her—did she notice them? Did she care?

Tom noticed. He always did.

Abraxas approached with a practiced elegance, his every movement steeped in decorum. His polite greeting preceded the inevitable request for a dance. It was expected—ingrained in him like second nature. Across the room, Archie’s jaw tightened as he glanced at you, his silence brimming with quiet disapproval before he turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.

You sighed, resigning yourself to the Slytherin aristocrat's poised invitation. His hand in yours felt formal, detached, as though the act of spinning you around the dance floor was simply another choreographed performance.

But the weight of another gaze bore down on you—a darker, heavier presence. Tom Riddle. His stare cut through the golden glow of the room, sharp and oppressive. It wasn’t admiration or longing. No, it was something far more venomous, far more consuming. His watchful eyes burned through your composure, making your stomach churn and your skin crawl.

Abraxas' murmured praises were lost to you, his polished charm a dull hum against the tightening in your chest. The music softened into its interlude, and as the room swayed to the rhythm, so did you, trapped in a moment that felt suffocating.

Leaning closer, Abraxas whispered, his breath brushing your ear, "Are you alright?"

You nodded too quickly, your voice strained yet polite. "I just need to step out for a moment, if that's alright."

His brow furrowed in concern. "Do you need an escort? I would be more than—"

With that, you slipped away, leaving him standing alone as you made your escape, the weight of Tom’s relentless gaze still burning into your back.

The sharp clatter of your heels echoed through the silent, shadowy halls of Hogwarts. The suffocating air of the Great Hall still lingered in your chest, and you strode purposefully toward the nearest refuge you could find—the Prefects’ bathroom.

The grand, echoing space greeted you with silence as you gripped the edge of the porcelain sink, your knuckles white from the pressure. Your reflection stared back at you, disheveled and trembling.

What the hell was that?

The memory of Tom’s piercing gaze burned in your mind. It had felt suffocating, as though his eyes alone had stolen the air from your lungs. Could he have cursed you? Cast some silent hex when no one was watching? The idea gnawed at you, feeding the simmering rage that now bubbled to the surface.

No matter how petty your rivalry with Tom had been, you had always drawn the line at real harm. But now? Now, he’d crossed a line you couldn’t forgive. Your hands shook as the anger boiled over, spilling into a furious scream that ripped through the air, piercing the stillness of the bathroom.

"Fucking bastard," you hissed through gritted teeth, trembling with rage. Dead. You wanted him dead. The thought was intoxicating, your fury curling around the image of his blood-streaked face.

His blood on your hands would feel like a baptism.

"How dramatic," a voice drawled from the shadows, smooth and cutting. "You’ll wake the Hufflepuffs, and we can’t have that, can we?"

Your head snapped up. His voice. Low, familiar, mocking. For a moment, you thought you were imagining things until he stepped forward from the darkness, his pale face illuminated by the faint glow of the enchanted candles.

Tom Riddle.

The sight of him made your blood run cold and seethe all at once. He was too calm, too collected, as though he’d planned this confrontation down to the last syllable.

Had he been following you?

He tilted his head, the corner of his lips curling into a smirk that sent a chill down your spine. "And here I thought I’d stumbled upon a banshee mid-wail."

Your glare could have burned through steel. "Did you hex me?"

Tom stepped closer, his presence suffocating, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Don’t be ridiculous. The Deterioration Hex? Child’s play. But I must admit, your dramatics are far more entertaining than any spell I could cast."

Your fury bubbled over. "What is wrong with you?" you hissed, your voice breaking. "You’re sick in the head, you know that? A twisted, pathetic, stupid—stupid orphan."

The insult barely left your lips before his hand shot out, his fingers curling around your throat. He didn’t squeeze, not yet, but the threat was there, his touch icy against your skin.

"Careful," he whispered, his voice dangerously soft. His face was close to yours now, his breath brushing against your cheek. "Filthy little witch. I wonder—did you enjoy it? The attention? The way Fawley and Malfoy fawned over you? You were begging for it, weren’t you?"

You clawed at his hand, your nails biting into his skin as you gasped for breath. "I—" your voice broke. "I hate you."

Tom’s grip loosened just slightly, though his piercing gaze remained locked on yours. Slowly, a cruel smirk curled his lips, his voice venomous and low.

"Hate me all you like," he murmured, his tone cutting and intimate. "But don’t lie to yourself. You hate me because I see you—every mask you wear, every filthy little thought you try to bury. You hate me because you can't hide from me."

And then, as if the rage in his eyes had dissipated into something darker, something more dangerous, he shoved you back against the sink.

He stepped back, adjusting his tie with that same maddening composure that made you want to scream. “Good night,” he said smoothly, his voice low and sharp, as if it were some final command. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t be late. We have a potion to brew.”

With that, he turned on his heel, his footsteps echoing through the grand, empty bathroom as he walked away.

"Raving lunatic!" you spat, the words dripping with disdain, your gaze seething with the anger he had so easily provoked.

Tom paused mid-stride, his shoulders stiffening, but he didn’t turn around. Instead, you caught the faintest twitch of his lips, though whether it was a smirk or a grimace, you couldn’t tell. Without another word, he continued on his way, leaving you fuming in his wake.

Deena speaks .ᐟ

Tom MIGHT just be bipolar.

Ohmygod I finally published this shitty chapter school has been crazy !! I only managed to finish this today because I'm absent. Anyway, hate this chapter omfg.

Chapter four will be posted soon hopefully^^

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vermilionsun · 8 months ago

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Thinking about Ais perched up against one of the wooden planks atop the columns of the Seaspring. Thinking how the salty breeze tousled his hair as he gazed out at the vast expanse of the wastelands beyond the temple, a cigarette's smoke curled up lazily from between his fingers, ashes falling gently to the sparkling crimson water below. Thinking about him taking a deep drag from his cigarette, letting his eyes flatter close as he exhales slowly into the crisp night air, the nicotine tingling his senses and the smoke filling his lungs, momentarily choking out Ocuedus' thunderous screaming in his head.

Thinking about Kuras in his clinic, studying patient applications in the dim candlelight, brow furrowed in concentration. Thinking about how the long shadows of his past constantly danced across the walls, mocking him as he meticulously reviewed each case, guilt and regret running their hands through his dark hair, whispering reminders of his past mistakes. Thinking about him momentarily freezing in fear of his conscience rearing its ugly head, pulling and pushing him closer and closer to the edge of his sanity. Thinking about him finally shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath, taking off his glasses briefly to relieve the strain of hours spent poring over medical records, leaning back against his chair, and letting fatigue overrun him, finally allowing himself a moment of respite.

Thinking about Vere lurking in an unfamiliar house, sitting alone on the balcony and staring out into the night. Thinking about the wind whispering through the trees and blowing his hair into his face, and him shoving it out of the way with a huff. Thinking about him sighning and leaning back against the rail, reaching up toying with the chain around his collar, running his fingers over its cold links. Thinking about how all was quiet at this hour, and he could feel the solitude beginning to get to him. Thinking about him closing his eyes, letting out a long breath and trying to push away the sudden hyperawareness that had settled over him, having to center himself and slow his heart rate that had begun to quicken, forcing his mind to focus on the task at hand, not allowing himself to seek any form of comfort in the moment; when the world seemed to slow down and allowed him to appreciate its beauty. Thinking about how he knew he couldn't stay there forever, after all.

Thinking about Leander sitting alone at the bar, Bloodhounds around him talking and laughing, making him feel more isolated than ever. Thinking about him taking a sip of his drink trying to drown out the sound of their jovial conversations, the bitter taste in his mouth only serving to mirror the ache in his heart. Thinking about him being unable to shake the feeling that he didn't belong—like an outsider in his own pack. Thinking about him staring into the bottom of his glass, wondering if he would ever truly feel like he belonged anywhere. Thinking about him running a hand through his hair, the other gripping the glass tighter, as he looks up and scans the room, hoping to find a distraction from his own thoughts. Thinking about how, even if he manages to find someone to spend the night with, it never fills the void he feels inside, and he always wakes up alone in the morning.

Thinking about Mhin stumbling from exhaustion after killing another Soulless, its blood spattered across their face and staining their once white shirt. Thinking about them collapsing to the ground, pain radiating through their body and ragged breaths escaping their lips, echoing through the clearing. Thinking about their silver dagger clutched tightly in their hand, the moonlight glinting off the blade, dripping with the blood of the enemy. Thinking about them fighting to keep their eyes from fluttering closed as darkness crept in at the edges of their vision. Thinking about them using their final burst of energy to force themselves to sit upright against a nearby wall before their mind can finally succumb to the overwhelming fatigue. Thinking about them humming softly to themselves—something akin to a lullaby, a calming and comforting melody in the dead of night, hauntingly beautiful and wafting through the darkness until the morning birds respond with their own song.

Thinking about how lonely they all are…

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zafirosreverie · 1 year ago

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Their reaction to you defending them (Bungo Stray Dogs)

a/n: First time writting for this fandom, let's go!

Doppo Kunikida:

He was used to Dazai and Ranpo's constant teasing, and although he usually ignored them in favor of his paperwork, he couldn't deny that today both geniuses had been especially cruel. He tried not to let it show, after all, there was no reason to make a scene over a simple joke.

Unfortunately, he forgot one small detail: you knew him better than anyone and you could notice the moment when a comment from Ranpo crossed the line of what was acceptable, so it was your duty to intervene in the most mature way possible: unleash hell.

Listen, Kunikida is no fool, he knew what he was getting into when he started dating you, he knew the strength of your ability and your wits, but until now you hadn't had any missions together and he didn't expect you to be so fierce in defending him. If Fukuzawa was wondering why there was a Dazai-shaped hole in the wall while Ranpo was having an existential crisis in his office, he certainly preferred not to ask.

H.P. Lovecraft:

"Human...human what are you doing? Human, put the gun down"

He was a god, a being beyond time and space, why should he care what anyone said about him or the human disguise he used? He never paid attention to that nonsense, he just wanted to finish his work and go back to sleep.

That's why he didn't care when a couple of people made fun of him, or rather, of his "human" appearance, he simply continued walking with a slow but firm step, until he felt a tug on his arm. Confused, he turned to see that you had stopped walking and your hand was tightly squeezing his as you looked at those people with murderous hatred.

You didn't even give him time to react before you pulled out your gun and pointed it at their heads, effectively stopping their laughter as they looked at you in fear.

"Don't try me, bitch" you growled.

Lovecraft only cared about four things: offerings, sleeping, finishing his work (so he could sleep), and his human. You were his human. He was supposed to take care of you and protect you, not the other way around, but it wouldn't be the first time you confused him by doing something you "shouldn't" or that at least didn't make sense to him. Like defending him. Are you sure you're a human and not a gremlin?

Edgar Allan Poe:

As a writer, Poe knew that not everyone would like his novels, it hurt him every time someone told him that, but he was used to it. Of course, there were people more educated than others and sometimes it took days for the pain in his chest to go away, but in the end he learned to live with it.

You were another story. To you, the man was the greatest writer in history, and while you respected other people's opinions (no matter how wrong they were), you drew the line when critics were rude to Edgar.

"I understand if the novel isn't your taste" you told the reviewer "But there's no need to be rude about it. If you don't have anything nice to say, shut the hell up"

"And who are you, beautiful? His babysitter?" he scoffed

Poe squirmed in his place and played with his hands as he lowered his head and let his bangs cover his eyes. He could feel people's eyes on the three of you and it made him more anxious. He was about to ask you to leave the matter alone, but you didn't give him time to react. Before anyone could stop you, you used your ability to send the other guy flying across the room, making him crash hard into the wall. A twist of your hand and a table flew as well, straight into his stomach, suffocating him.

"The only one who can call me beautiful is that cutie over there" you said, pointing at Edgar "say something about him again and you won't live to tell about it"

Poe swallowed hard as you turned and grabbed his hand, leading him out of the place. His mind raced as he tried to understand what had happened. You defended him, and you were terribly fierce, he really didn't know who he was most afraid of anymore, and- wait, you called him cute?!

Nathaniel Hawthorne:

Nathaniel knew he wasn't exactly people's favorite person, but it's not like he cared much, honestly. He would only focus on his own business and ignore any rude comments towards his person. With a skill like the Scarlet Letter, he was more than capable of defending himself when necessary, so why bother with meaningless words?

But you, you took it personal. It was a big surprise to him, because since you had joined the guild, neither of you had done much for the other beyond some friendly greetings and a couple of pleasant conversations, so seeing you so upset on his behalf took him with the guard down.

He watched as you continued to defend him, but he had to jump into action as soon as you showed signs of activating that dangerous ability of yours that always drained you past the point of collapse and left you in bed for at least a few days. He was able to stop you and honestly didn't even care about his attackers as he carried you back home.

"Don't do that again" he scolded you "I'm not worth your own safety."

"No" you agreed and smiled "you're worth more, Nathaniel"

He couldn't help but smile back at you and feel a soft warmth spreading across his chest.

Herman Melville:

When you have already lived as much and been through as many things as he has, it is inevitable that wisdom and resilience will seep into your bones. Herman was not a man who lost his temper easily, and a couple of brats making ill-intentioned comments was the least of his worries.

However, he couldn't help but smile softly as he silently watched your attempt to defend his name. It was cute, if he was honest with himself, not just because of how your cheeks were slightly tinted red with anger, but because of the simple fact that you were willing to go a step forward for him, something he couldn't exactly say about the rest of the guild.

"I'm sorry for that, Mr. Melville" you said once you managed to shoo away the people who had insulted him "I'm sorry that they interrupted our walk in such a rude way"

"Don't worry, little one" he laughed and ruffled your hair gently "why don't we go get a coffee? It's on me, it's the least I can do for my savior"

He winked at you and started walking, waiting for you to follow him. You just laughed and ran after him, not caring about people's stares.

Louisa May Alcott:

She knew that in a confrontation, she had the disadvantage, always. She was small, clumsy and shy, her voice left her easily and her brain slammed shut, leaving her paralyzed with fear. So when a pair of men cornered her in an alley at night, with sinister smiles, Louisa could only close her eyes and expect the worst.

It took her a while to notice the small commotion around her or the men's grunts and screams. It wasn't until she felt a pair of warm arms gently hugging her, that she was able to react and finally open her eyes, only to be met with your worried gaze.

"Are you ok, Lu?" you asked softly

Louisa could only nod and snuggle deeper into your arms. It took her the entire trip back to the Guild building to catch up with everything and realize that you had saved her life. Once safe, she wasted no time thanking you as many times as she could, not stopping even when you told her it was fine.

Expect her to be attached to you from that moment on, not wanting to go out on the town unless you accompanied her and offering to help you in any way she could until you tell her it's not necessary (she still will, tho).

Bram Stoker:

"Do not do that again"

You looked at the vampire with disbelief. You just defended him and that's how he thanked you? Damn insensitive being, you didn't even know why you bothered (you knew, but you weren't ready to admit it).

Bram wasn't really trying to be rude, he just didn't care about the situation at all. It wasn't unusual for Fukuchi to yell at him, for Gogol to make fun of him, or for some other member of the DOA to insult him, but he didn't care, all he wanted was to rest.

That's why he hadn't said anything when the clown had opened his coffin to mock him again, nor when you had jumped into action to defend him, he had simply watched indifferently as you tried to defend his honor.

But even he had to admit that you had guts, not everyone would stand up to a person like Gogol, who had no trouble hurting people no matter who they were, moreover, you had come out of it unscathed. And all in his name.

Bram had to admit that you had been passionate in your defense of his person and although he really couldn't care less about the incident, he supposed it would be only right to acknowledge your effort.

"Thank you" he said, stopping your steps.

"Uh?"

"You're brave" he admitted "…but don't do it again, I'm not worthy of you getting hurt."

His face showed no emotion, but his eyes told another story. You smiled softly at him and nodded. You both knew you weren't going to listen to that warning, but you didn't need to say it out loud.

Sigma:

"If I find out that any of you bothered Sigma again, the "Decay of angels" will become the "Graveyard of rats'" you growled.

Sigma barely had time to blink before you grabbed his hand and led him out of the room, ignoring the dumbfounded looks from Nikolai and Fyodor. The 3-year-old was used to Gogol's jokes that bordered on torture, or Dostoyevsky's cruel, manipulative and cold comments, he didn't like them, and he was always left with a feeling of fear running through his veins, but it was what it was and there was nothing he could do about it if he wanted to continue living.

But you, you were not afraid of either the clown or the devil. Damn, you weren't even afraid of Fukuchi, you were simply with the DOA because your ideals aligned with the organization's ultimate goal. You usually didn't pay much attention to the rest of the members, but you used to spend time with Sigma at the casino.

He thought that maybe you wanted something from him, just like everyone else, but in the time he knew you, you had only been nice to him, asking how he felt or how his day was, and now, you had defended him from Nikolai and Fyodor? He…really didn't know what to think.

"Don't let them bother you" you told him once you got to his office. "And if they do, just tell me, I'll take care of it" you promised.

Sigma nodded slowly and you gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek before walking out of there. The poor boy could only touch his cheek before tears began to form in his eyes. You hadn't asked him for anything in return, you hadn't blackmailed him, you had really defended him just because you cared about him and nothing else.

He'll probably need a couple of hugs and won't leave your side for the next month.

Nikolai Gogol:

“Have a nice day, sir” you smiled and walked away.

You didn't notice how the only visible eye carefully followed your every movement until you were lost in the sea of people. Only then did the man's mind seem to wake up and race to catch up with what had happened.

Nikolai had been away on errands for Fyodor. It hadn't really taken him long to finish the list, but it was one of those days where he didn't want to go back right away, so he calmly strolled around the city, trying to find the perfect victim to torment, just for fun.

It was at that moment that a couple of people pointed at him and started whispering. Nikolai didn't really care, but then one of the boys came up to him and started teasing him, making fun of his extravagant appearance. It was evident that the poor unfortunate soul didn't know who he was messing with, and the clown smiled evilly, having found his victim.

However, before he could do anything, you showed up, punched the other guy in the face, and started yelling at him for insulting someone just because of his appearances. Nikolai didn't really know how, but you even managed to get the guy to apologize to him before turning to ask him if he was okay. When he assured you that he was alright, you simply smiled and continued your way.

He was very confused. He was Nikolai Gogol, he didn't need to be defended. He knew it, the DOA knew it, everyone knew it! Except you, apparently. He assumed you didn't really know who he was or all the atrocities he had committed, which only confused him more. You had simply defended him because you believed that he was a normal boy who liked to dress extravagantly and that's it.

It was nothing special for you, but for Nikolai it was the beginning of an obsession. No one had defended him before, not even Fyodor (especially Fyodor, tbh). It felt strange, like something warm and soft was spreading across his chest. It was a nice feeling and he desperately needed to feel it one more time. So he started chasing you.

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