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pumpkinbxtch · 8 months ago

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-ˋˏ blame it (on the alcohol)

— percy jackson x daughter of ares!reader

☆ radiostar is playing: blame it by jamie foxx ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

warnings: alcohol consumption, intense makeout & language.

n/a: I was looking for someone who best suited this fic and Percy was my answer. this is a kind of mad makeout 'cause reader and percy don't get along. ready girls? go

Percy had been drinking too much, an argument with his father had him clutching the beer can with enough force to make his knuckles go white. Stupid oceanic rules, stupid gossiping gods, screw it all. He took another sip of the drink and tried to relax his jaw, which had been as tense as a bear trap. Barely enough light to maneuver through the crowd without bumping shoulders, not that he cared much at the moment anyway, so he made his way to the living room where everyone was dancing. He wondered if drowning himself in the music could make him forget his troubles, was almost willing to entertain the idea until he saw you. Shit, did he really have to run into you right now?

Almost simultaneously, you caught his eye from across the room and smirked, that way Percy couldn't stand. You raised your drink in the air in a greeting gesture, and he huffed, looking away. Your interactions as sweet as ever. Now his night was ruined, and he'd have to leave not even half as drunk as he wanted to be, but the sea of people he'd have to navigate through again kept him in place.

“Just finish this drink and I'm out,” he swore to himself, not very convincingly. That's how the son of Poseidon found himself postponing his departure for over an hour. Beer after beer and drink after drink, he found himself mixing various types of alcohol. The fact that he could still string coherent words together without slurring made him curse his semi-divine metabolism. His green eyes scanned the room, maybe he was looking for you, just out of curiosity, and that's when he spotted you not far from him, dancing. He deliberately sat on the arm of the sofa and leaned back against the wooden wall, watching you.

It angered him that you were there, he hated the children of Ares and their irreverent ways. The way you looked at him earlier told him you knew he'd had a shitty day, rumors spread fast. Now, even having left the camp to have a moment of peace, he couldn't shake it off.

He gripped his disposable cup tighter. He hated you and hated the way you treated him, but he detested even more the way your legs glistened with sweat or the way your dress lifted, giving him a glimpse of your thighs. He must have been crazy to be so focused on that, but knew he had definitely lost his mind when realized he was walking towards you.

You smiled as if you had been waiting for him for a long time, as if you knew he would end up walking towards you, and he felt another pang of anger.

He looked terribly hot, standing there holding the cup with one hand while the other gripped the pocket of his jeans, with a grumpy face and messy hair. Made you bite your lip, and you took his forearm, inviting him to dance.

He would have refused, if it weren't for the soothing contact he felt when your warm skin touched his. He downed the drink in one go and tossed the cup somewhere only the gods knew, couldn't wait to put his hands on your waist and pull you close to him.

— Running away from your problems, Jackson?— You murmured, standing on tiptoes to reach his ear, and he snorted. He gripped your hips, moving them to the rhythm of the music or to his own whim, just to feel control over you, and for the first time, you gave him that pleasure.

—None of your business —he snapped, eyes darkening from the alcohol's effect. He leaned challengingly towards you, you caught his typical sea and cologne scent that only he could wear so well. Your stomach twisted, and you eagerly grabbed the fabric of that plaid shirt he wore over his t-shirt. He smirked.

He was winning, you were losing, and for the first time, you didn't care.

Still, you had to do something, so you turned around, adjusting his heavy hands on you. You started swaying your hips, rubbing your ass against his jeans. Instead of being startled, he pressed himself against you, and nestled his chin on your shoulder, his hot breath on your neck made you tilt your head back, hitting his shoulder.

You knew you’d end up like this eventually, you hated each other, runnin' away from each other, but the tension that was growing up between you only someday win over you. You were a daughter of Ares, you knew hate wasn't far from of passion, in the end, it was a very thin, almost invisible line.

You felt his lips on your neck and how the tension break in an instant; becoming voracious and totally carnal. It didn't take long before he had you pinned against the wall in some corner of someone's house while he devoured your neck. You controlled small moans, although truth be told, in that hustle and bustle no one would notice, nor care. Two more people making out at a party full of drunks?

Your hands eagerly slipped under Percy's shirt, groping blindly as he left kisses on your collarbone until you hugged him under the fabric, impatient to have him closer. He groaned in your ear and made you tilt your head back to give him more space. Your hips rose to clash against his, and he pushed you to be totally plastered against the wall again.

—Behave — he demanded against your ear, and you let out a small whimper. He smiled arrogantly and gave a wet kiss on your cheek. He stroked you with his nose, inhaling your sweet scent mixed with sweat, just teasing you.

Desperation grew in your stomach, and impulsively you buried your hands in his hair, forcing him to look at you, noses colliding and the smell of alcohol mingling with yours. The sober part of your mind wanted to stop and think if it was a good idea, but you were too lazy to reflect when you were so hot, so you kissed him hungrily.

Percy smiled against your lips and let out some huffs when he lacked air, kissing you annoyed, frustrated even he was frowning. He hugged you by the waist to keep you even closer, he felt his lips intertwining and bit your lower lip, making you hiss, he could barely control himself. He growled when he felt you now biting his lip. His head spun with each kiss, with each touch and caress. In no time he couldn't shake the feeling of your body against his, and he squeezed your body even tighter, you just reacted the same way.

Percy felt the anger of finding it pleasurable, of wanting more and having to accept that it was the best makeout session he'd had in a while, and all with you. He didn't want to accept it, so he blame it on the alcohol.

—ffuck, yesterday i drank too much — he said the next day in the dining hall, he looked tired, and a scar was noticeable near the corner of his mouth. From a few meters, you smiled and approached.

—Me too!— you chirped teasingly, obviously poking your nose into other people's conversation. You did know better, you covered your scar with make up.

Percy rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to look at you while nibbling his blueberry pancakes. His friends didn't suspect anything, of all your little daily fights, nothing was new anymore. You held the tray tighter and walked away from them with a smile. So scandalous, so funny, hope gods wanted it to happen again.

#percy jackson #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson and the heroes of olympus #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #percy pjo #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x reader #the heroes of olympus

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whitedarkmoonflower · 1 month ago

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Where the Heart Returns

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: it's just my attempt to cope with the hole in my heart, so I'm sorry if it's not coherent and smooth read. I have no idea whether it any good at all, just wanted to put my sadness onto the paper.

Warnings: feelings of guilt, fear of losing someone dear to you, selfdoubt, SMUT 18+

Word Count: 5,3K

Summary: after Rumcova setting. Sihtric plagued by guilt of leaving his family unprotected hurries to Winchester to make sure they are safe

Please remember that comments and reblogs are two things that make writers smile and keep us motivated.

Sihtric is almost running, his long, hurried strides carrying him swiftly toward the house, his heart pounding in his chest. He doesn’t know if it’s fear, anticipation, worry, or longing that grips him—it’s all mixed together, both propelling him forward and making him dread what awaits beyond the threshold.

The streets of Winchester are dark, but the moon has risen high, casting enough light for him to navigate the narrow paths. And then he’s there. Just outside. But the last few steps feel impossibly heavy, as if his feet are weighed down by invisible burdens, sandbags tied to his ankles.

He rests his palm against the door, listening to the deep silence within, the house still and steeped in sleep. With a careful push, the old wood creaks softly, and he pauses, mindful not to wake you or the children. His breath catches, his heart steadying as he steps inside. The air feels thick with reverence, as though he were a pilgrim crossing into hallowed ground.

Sihtric's gaze drifts over the room, landing on the large fireplace and the pot hanging over the embers. The soft glow of dying coals paints the scene with a warm, flickering light, and his stomach stirs as the subtle aroma of stew lingers in the air.

A quiet warmth blossoms in his chest as he imagines you moving about the kitchen, preparing the meal. He can almost see the children underfoot, half helping, half hindering, their small hands lifting bowls and mugs, setting them with clumsy pride upon the table. In his mind's eye, you smile at them, that soft, soothing smile that melted his heart from the very first time he saw you.

Sihtric steps further into the room, his movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to disturb the peace that lingers in the quiet of the house. The scent of home wraps around him—comforting, familiar—filling the empty spaces within him that have long craved something more than battle and blood.

He crouches by the fireplace, feeling the faint heat still rising from the embers. His fingers brush over the worn hearthstone, and he can almost hear the echoes of laughter, the lively chatter of the children, and your soft voice guiding them, a steady presence that grounds everything.

His gaze shifts to the table, where the last remnants of the evening linger—a bowl left unattended, a wooden spoon half-submerged in stew. It feels as though the room is holding its breath, a place caught between your bustling warmth and the deep sleep that now cradles the house.

Sihtric stands again, his eyes drawn to the soft flicker of candlelight spilling from the doorway of the bedroom. He hesitates, his heart fluttering at the thought of seeing you, resting in the quiet glow of the night. The image of you wrapped in sleep, peaceful, stirs something deep inside him—a longing he cannot put into words, a yearning that only grows the closer he gets to you.

He pads quietly toward the bedroom, pausing just outside the door, his hand lightly resting on the frame. He can see you now, tucked under the blankets, your hair a gentle cascade over the pillow. You look so serene, so beautiful in the dim light, and he feels his chest tighten around his frantically beating heart.

For a moment, Sihtric simply stands there, watching you, his heart full in a way that leaves him speechless. He never imagined this—this life, this quiet, this warmth. A home. A family. Yet here he is, standing at the threshold of a dream he once thought was beyond his reach.

Carefully, as though afraid to break the spell, he steps into the room and kneels beside the bed. His fingers find the edge of the blanket, and he leans forward, brushing a soft kiss against your temple. You stir, your lips curling into a sleepy smile as you murmur his name, half-aware of his presence.

“I’m home,” he whispers, his voice low and full of tenderness.

Your hand reaches out, finding his, and your fingers intertwine, your grip soft but sure and Sihtric releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding. You are here and you are safe. That’s all that matters.

And yet, he had come so close to losing it all. The thought clings to him like a shadow, darkening the warmth of the room. Sihtric runs a hand down his face, startled by the wetness that meets his fingers. He closes his eyes, steadying himself as his chest tightens again. How many times had he imagined this slipping through his fingers?

He takes a shaky breath and glances back at you, your hand still resting in his. The soft rise and fall of your chest soothes the storm inside him. What did he do to deserve this? What would he do if this were taken from him?

A broken, shivering sigh tears through him. He should have protected you. He should have been there when Aethelhelms men came to destroy your safe haven, your home. He wasn’t. Again. He had broken his promise.

The image of you alone amongst the chaos, the screams, the blood, the children clinging to you in terror, the way you must have fought to keep them safe–it gnaws at him, a relentless beast that refuses to be silenced. It was supposed to be him standing between you and the danger. He had sworn it. And yet he had failed.

He closes his eyes, trying to will those daunting thoughts away, but they cling to him, a shadow of shame that won’t let go. You deserve more. You deserve someone stronger, someone who can be there, always. Not someone bound to a lord haunted by battles that seem to follow him wherever he goes.

Sihtric leans down once more, pressing his forehead against your hand, the smell of you grounding him, pulling him from the depths of his thoughts.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, his voice barely audible, hoarse with emotion.

The words hang heavy in the air, lingering between him and the stillness of the night. He’s never said it aloud before—not like this, not when you could hear it—but it’s a truth that has been buried inside him for so long.

“Sihtric,” your soft and sleepy whisper breaks the silence, drawing his gaze upward. He meets your eyes, and the tenderness he finds there shatters something deep within him.

“You’re back,” you murmur, your voice washing over him like cool water, soothing and bringing him back to the present. You reach out, your hand cupping his face with such gentle reverence that he feels unworthy of the touch. “Thank the gods you’re safe.”

He’s still on his knees beside the bed, frozen, unable to move, unable to speak. The words won’t come. He had expected everything: anger, reproaches, loathing, and scorn. He had braced himself for tears, fists pounding against his chest in rage. He would have accepted it—he deserved it. He had even prepared himself to be cast out, the door slamming shut in his face, sealing his fate.

The only thought that had kept him moving forward was the hope—just a glimmer—that he might be allowed to see the children. To see you. To be sure that you were alright, that you were safe.

But now, as he stares at you, his heart aching with disbelief, he’s overwhelmed by the simple truth that you’re here, that you want him here, even after everything. He doesn’t understand it. For a moment, he feels like he might break.

He’s searching your face for the anger he was so certain he would find. But it’s not there. Instead, your eyes hold nothing but quiet understanding, a tenderness that undoes him in ways no battle ever could.

“I… I don’t know how you can still look at me like that,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion, barely above a whisper. His hands shake as they rest on the edge of the bed, gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing anchoring him to this moment. “After everything…”

“Sihtric,” you say softly, your voice a balm to the raw edges of his soul. “I’m not angry with you.”

You reach out, your thumb brushes gently across his cheek, catching the lingering tears as they fall.

He closes his eyes at your touch, his body trembling with the force of his emotions. “But I failed you,” he chokes out, his head bowing under the weight of his guilt.

You gently lift his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You came back. That’s all that matters,” you say firmly, your voice low and filled with a quiet strength that makes his heart ache. "You always find your way home."

Sihtric shakes his head, barely able to believe the forgiveness in your words, the unwavering trust that you still offer him. "But I wasn’t here… when you needed me most." His voice cracks, and he closes his eyes, ashamed of how raw his fear has made him. "I promised to protect you, and I wasn’t there. I failed you."

"Look at me," you whisper, your fingers lifting his chin so that his eyes meet yours again. "You didn’t fail me, Sihtric. You fought for us. You always fight for us."

He swallows hard, your words sinking in, offering him a lifeline he so desperately wants to grasp. He wants to believe them, wants to let go of the guilt and hold on to the hope of what you’re offering him, but something inside him won’t let go. The shame still clings to him, a weight he can’t seem to shed.

He shakes his head, his breath unsteady. “I thought I’d lost you. I thought…” His voice falters, the rawness of that fear still too close, still too real. “I thought I’d never be able to fix what I’d broken.”

“I’m not the man you deserve,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with self-doubt. Slowly, he begins to withdraw, as though trying to retreat into himself, to shield you from the burden of his failures.

But before he can pull away, you reach for him, your hands firm as they grasp his shoulders. You don’t let him go. Not this time.

“Sihtric,” you say, shifting closer and wrapping your arms around him, refusing to let the distance grow between you. He can feel the warmth of your body pressing against his, grounding him in the present, in you.

He tries to pull back, his movements slow, tentative, but you hold him tighter, your grip unyielding. “No,” you whisper, your forehead pressed against his. “I won’t let you do this. You’re not running from me—not tonight.”

Your hands slide to his face, cradling it gently but firmly, forcing him to meet your gaze. There’s no anger in your eyes, no accusation—just love, deep and unwavering, and it makes him want to crumble under the weight of it. How can you still look at him like that? How can you still want him, after everything?

“I don’t deserve you,” he repeats, the words barely audible.

But you shake your head, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw, your touch soft but insistent. “That’s not for you to decide. You are the man I choose. I always have. I always will.”

His breath hitches, and he closes his eyes, trying to fight the flood of emotion welling up inside him. But you don’t let him retreat. You refuse to let him slip away into the dark corners of his mind where his doubts thrive.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he admits, his voice trembling. “I don’t know how to let go of the fear.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” you reply, your voice gentle but resolute. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

And with those words, something inside him finally cracks, the dam of guilt and fear he’s held onto for so long crumbling under the force of your unwavering love. A ragged breath slips from Sihtrics lips, the weight on his heart lifting just enough for him to breathe. He leans into you, his arms wrapping around you as though you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. And in a way, you are.

And you hold him, offering him the safety of your embrace, the quiet reassurance that no matter how many times he falls, you’ll always be there to catch him.

For a long moment, the two of you stay like that—his face buried against your shoulder, your fingers gently running through his hair, grounding him, reminding him that he’s here, that he’s home.

The warmth of your body is more reassuring than any words. In this quiet embrace, Sihtric can feel the unspoken promise—no matter how far he drifts, no matter how many battles he fights, you will always be his safe haven. The sanctuary he will always come back to.

“I love you, Sihtric,” you murmur softly, your breath brushing against his temple. “I will always do.”

He says nothing, just tightens his arms around you, holding you like you’re his anchor in a world that constantly tries to pull him away. You’re the only thing keeping him grounded, the only light in the endless dark that sometimes surrounds him. He’s not sure he can find the words to say how much that means, how much you mean. But maybe he doesn’t have to. Maybe the way he clings to you, the way he presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck, will say everything he can’t.

For now, it’s enough to just be here, in your arms, safe in the knowledge that he hasn’t lost this—that he hasn’t lost you.

“I’ll protect you,” he whispers, more to himself than to you, as though repeating the vow will make it stronger, make it true. “I’ll keep you safe. I swear it.”

“You already do,” you reply, your voice filled with quiet conviction. “Every day, Sihtric.”

He closes his eyes, resting his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling in the quiet stillness. “Come here,” you whisper softly, your fingers threading through his thick hair, a gentle invitation.

With a deep, reluctant sigh, he withdraws, slowly and hesitantly. The warmth of your touch lingers as he moves, pulling himself back into the reality of the room. Quietly, almost reverently, he removes his boots, loosens his breeches, and slips off his leather armour. The soft glow of the moon bathes his bare skin in silver, making him appear almost otherworldly as he finally slips beneath the covers beside you.

Sihtric curls an arm around your waist, pulling you gently into him, his body warm and solid against yours, and you melt into his embrace. He’s yours—your husband, the only man who truly saw you, who heard the unspoken plea to save you from the misery that had once consumed your life. He had been the one to notice the tears you had held back, to sense the sadness you could barely express.

For him, it was as if your former life in the alehouse didn’t even exist. He never brought it up, never held it against you. His love wasn’t conditional, it was unwavering. His care, his understanding, his love had put you back together, piece by piece, making you whole again.

When you spoke your vows, you knew exactly who he was, just as he had known you. The acceptance had been mutual, as natural as breathing. And yet, even now, he kept doubting himself, as though he wasn’t worthy of the happiness you shared, but as strange as it might sound it only made you love him more, if that was even possible.

“I love you,” he breathes against your skin, his voice thick and slightly trembling as he places soft, lingering kisses along the curve of your neck. Each kiss feels like a silent promise, as though he’s trying to speak the words he can’t find, to reassure you of the love that runs deeper than he can express.

His lips move slowly, tracing a tender path from your neck to your collarbone, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. Sihtric’s touch is unhurried, he’s savouring each moment, each breath between you. His fingers gently caress your waist, the warmth of his hand spreading across your skin like a comforting fire.

There’s a quiet reverence in the way he touches you, his movements deliberate, almost hesitant. He takes his time, his lips returning to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, pressing gentle kisses that send shivers down your spine.

Your hands find their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you pull him closer, encouraging him without words. You feel the way his breath hitches in response, the quiet tension that lingers in the air as he struggles to contain the depth of his need. But he doesn’t rush.

His lips graze your jawline, his breath warm against your skin as his hand continues its slow exploration, fingers tracing the curve of your waist and the softness of your belly. You can feel the gentleness in his touch, the way his fingertips linger, as if memorising the feel of you beneath his hands.

Sihtric pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, understanding, the silent affirmation that he’s enough for you, that you want him just as much. And in your gaze, he finds what he needs. The tension in his shoulders melts away, and a small, relieved smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

His hand moves up, brushing over your ribs and settling just below your chest, his thumb gently tracing the outline of your skin. His lips follow the path of his hand, each kiss slow and deliberate, worshipping every part of you. His love for you is palpable in the tenderness of his touch, in the way his fingers linger, as if you’re something sacred he’s afraid to lose.

“I’ll never stop loving you,” he whispers, his lips barely brushing against your skin. He presses a kiss to the centre of your chest, the warmth of his breath sending another shiver through you. Slowly, he makes his way back up, his lips grazing your shoulder, your collarbone, the curve of your neck, until finally, they find yours. The kiss is soft, unhurried, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that speaks of all the love he’s been holding inside.

There’s no urgency, no rush—only the slow, steady rhythm of his lips and hands as he caresses you, as if trying to remind you with each touch that he’s here, that he’s yours, and that you are his.

His weight presses you deeper into the mattress, his warmth enveloping you completely as he slowly moves on top of you.

A soft moan escapes your lips when his mouth closes around your nipple, his touch igniting a familiar fire within you. His lips continue their descent, trailing over your skin, each kiss leaving a path of heat in its wake.

His movements are slow, unhurried, as though he has all the time in the world to explore every inch of you. His hands move with a practised tenderness, tracing the lines of your body.

“Sihtric…” His name falls from your lips, a breathless plea as his mouth travels lower, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. His kisses are soft but purposeful, each one grounding you in this moment, in him. He’s your anchor, your safe harbour, the man who brought light into the darkest corners of your soul.

His hands grip your hips gently, holding you in place as his lips find the sensitive skin just below your navel, the sensation making you arch into him. You thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more of his touch, more of him.

Sihtric’s hot tongue finds your most sensitive spot, the sudden surge of pleasure forcing a loud moan from your lips. His large hands hold you down against the mattress, his grip firm but reverent, as if he’s claiming every part of you as his own. He growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your core as his tongue delves deeper, exploring, tasting, driving you to the edge.

Your head snaps back, pleasure surging through every nerve as his tongue continues its slow, torturous rhythm. You bury your fingers into the sheets, gripping them tightly as your body responds to him, every touch, every movement of his mouth sending you spiralling further into the pleasure he’s determined to push you through.

The sensation is overwhelming, his touch lighting a fire deep within you that grows with every passing second. The room fades away, the only thing that exists is the feel of his mouth on you, the raw intimacy of his devotion. His tongue moves with practised ease, teasing and tasting, alternating between slow, deliberate strokes and quick flicks that send shivers through your body.

“Sihtric…” His name tumbles from your lips again, this time more desperate, your voice thick with need. You tug at his hair, urging him on, wanting more of the pleasure that only he can give you. He growls in response, his grip tightening on your hips as he presses you harder against the bed, holding you in place as he devours you.

Your breathing becomes ragged, each gasp of air filled with his name, and you feel yourself beginning to lose control, teetering on the edge. Sihtric’s pace quickens, his tongue working you with relentless precision, driving you closer and closer to the breaking point.

And then, in one powerful surge of pleasure, everything shatters. Your body tenses, your back arches off the bed, and a cry escapes your lips as you fall over the edge, waves of ecstasy crashing over you. Sihtric doesn’t stop, his mouth coaxing every last tremor from you, his growl vibrating against your skin as he holds you through the intensity of your release.

Finally, as your body begins to relax, Sihtric lifts his head, his breath warm against your skin as he presses a gentle kiss to your thigh. His eyes meet yours, dark with desire but softened by something deeper—something unspoken but fully understood.

You want to move, to reach out for him, to pull him into your embrace, but he doesn’t let you. His hands still hold you firmly in place, and in the next moment, his mouth is on you again. You squirm beneath him, the pleasure from your previous high still coursing through your veins—it’s almost too much.

His lips close around your sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking gently, and the moan that escapes you is primal, raw. Sihtric chuckles against your skin, the sound low and filled with satisfaction. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He hums softly, his mouth vibrating against you as his tongue resumes its slow, deliberate movements. Every flick, every stroke sends another wave of pleasure rippling through your already overstimulated body, making your legs tremble. It’s a sweet torment—the line between pleasure and too much blurring with each passing second.

Sihtric's hands remain firm on your hips, pinning you down as his tongue moves in lazy, measured circles. The warmth of his breath, the soft hum of his voice—it’s all too much, yet not enough. Your fingers twist into the sheets, pulling them tightly as another moan escapes your lips. The tension inside you builds again, even though you thought you had already reached your limit.

“Oh gods, Sihtric…” you gasp, your voice breathless, a plea that you’re not even sure you can fully form. He growls in response, a low, rumbling sound of approval, and it vibrates through you, making your entire body shudder. His tongue doesn’t stop, pushing you higher and higher, teasing you, making you fall apart all over again.

His lips close around you with more pressure this time, the pace of his tongue quickening. The sensation sends sparks shooting through your veins, your body helpless against the onslaught of pleasure. You can’t control the way your hips buck beneath him, trying to escape the intensity or begging for more–you don’t even know, but his hands hold you firmly in place, refusing to let you go.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you teeter on the edge once more. He knows you’re close, and he doesn’t ease up—if anything, his tongue works you with even more precision, drawing out every ounce of pleasure from your trembling body.

When the release comes, it crashes over you in waves—stronger, deeper than before. Your entire body shakes with the force of it, your hands clutching the sheets so tightly your knuckles turn white. You cry out his name, unable to hold it back, your voice filled with raw, unfiltered ecstasy.

Sihtric groans in satisfaction, his mouth never leaving you as he rides out the storm with you, savouring every last tremor that pulses through you. It’s only when your body begins to relax again, completely spent, that he finally lifts his head, his lips and chin glistening with the evidence of your pleasure.

He kisses your inner thigh softly, tenderly, before slowly making his way up your body. His touch is gentle, savouring every inch of your skin beneath his lips. By the time he reaches your face, you’re already breathless, your body still tingling with the aftershocks.

His eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of desire and something deeper—love, devotion, the quiet understanding that only the two of you share. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his hand cradling your cheek as though you’re the most precious thing in the world to him.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers against your lips, his breath warm and filled with reverence. His hard length presses against your entrance, and you let out a soft whine of anticipation, your body burning with the need for him. You ache to feel him inside you, to be filled by him, claimed by him, loved by him in the way only he can.

Sihtric pauses, his forehead resting against yours, his breath shaky as he holds himself there for a moment longer, as though savouring the tension that lingers between you. His hand slides down to your waist, holding you firmly but tenderly, grounding both of you in the moment.

Slowly, he begins to push inside you, his movements deliberate, unhurried, as though he’s savouring the feeling of every inch. You gasp softly, your hands gripping his shoulders as he fills you, the sensation overwhelming in its intensity, but so achingly perfect. He groans low in his throat, the sound sending a fresh wave of heat through you as he sinks deeper, claiming you fully.

There’s no rush, no urgency—just the slow, deliberate rhythm of his body moving against yours, each thrust a quiet testament to the love he feels for you. His lips brush against your temple, your cheek, your lips, as though he can’t stop kissing you, can’t stop showing you just how much you mean to him.

“Is this what you want?” he whispers, his voice thick with need. His hips move in a steady rhythm, his hand sliding up to tangle in your hair as he looks into your eyes, searching for your answer.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper as you arch into him, your body trembling with the weight of your desire. “I need you, Sihtric. Always.”

He exhales shakily, his gaze darkening with something raw and unspoken as he picks up the pace. The connection between you grows stronger with each passing moment, the pleasure building as your bodies move in perfect harmony, two halves of the same whole.

His hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips as he pulls you closer, driving himself deeper with each thrust, his breath quickening with every move. There’s something almost desperate in the way he fucks you now, as if there will be no other time, as if the world is ending here and tonight. Each movement is filled with urgency, with a raw intensity that takes your breath away.

Your body responds instinctively, rising to meet him with every thrust, your need for him growing with each breathless moan, each whispered plea that falls from your lips. The heat between you is undeniable, electric, and you can feel the tension building, the edge drawing nearer with every second.

Sihtric’s grip on your hips tightens, his movements becoming more forceful, more deliberate as he chases the overwhelming pleasure building between you. His breath is ragged, his voice low and thick. “Gods, I need you,” he groans, his forehead pressing against yours as he drives into you, the intensity of his words mirroring the passion in his touch. “I need you so much.”

You gasp, the rawness of his voice sending shivers down your spine. “I’m yours,” you breathe, your voice trembling with the weight of your own desire. “Always.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, his pace faltering for a moment as he absorbs your words, as though they’ve given him the strength to keep going, to keep loving you with everything he has. “I can’t lose you,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse with desperation as his hips move against yours, the rhythm quickening once more.

“You won’t,” you reply, your voice barely a whisper as you cup his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I’m here, Sihtric. I’m not going anywhere.”

He swallows hard, his eyes locking with yours. His lips crash against yours, the kiss rough, unrestrained, filled with a hunger that matches the rhythm of his hips. Your bodies move against each other in perfect rhythm, every thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

“I love you,” he groans against your lips. “I love you more than anything.”

“I love you too,” you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as your back arches off the bed, your body trembling with the force of your impending release. “I love you so much.”

“You feel so perfect,” he groans, his voice low and thick with desire as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. His lips find your pulse, and he presses soft kisses there, his movements never faltering as he drives you both toward the edge.

The tension builds, the pleasure cresting with every thrust, and soon, the world outside disappears entirely. There’s only him—his body, his touch, his love—and the way he makes you feel so complete, so whole, as though nothing else in the world matters but this moment between you.

His pace quickens, his movements becoming more erratic as he feels you tightening around him, your release drawing nearer. “Come for me,” he whispers, his voice a rough plea as his lips trail down your neck. “I want to feel you.”

Sihtric’s hand moves between your bodies, his fingers finding that sensitive spot that has you crying out his name again, your body trembling with the intensity of your release. His movements become more erratic, more desperate, as he fucks you through your climax, chasing his own release now, and within moments, he’s following you over the edge, as he spills deep inside you, groaning your name.

His body trembles against yours as he collapses onto you, both of you spent and breathless.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is the quiet mingling of your breaths, your bodies still intertwined, holding onto each other as though letting go would mean losing everything.

Sihtric presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, his voice a low murmur against your skin. “I’m never letting you go,” he whispers, his words filled with quiet reverence. “Not now, not ever.”

You smile softly, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back. “I don’t want you to. Welcome home, my love.”

#sihtric #sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #the last kingdom #the last kingdom fic #sihtric fic #the last kingdom fanfiction #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric smut #sihtric kjartansson x reader

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xoxochb · 2 months ago

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daughter of athena reader x leo valdez ?

— one track mind, one track heart

warnings: friends to lovers, a bunch of architectural shit I can’t explain, ending is rushed pairing: leo valdez x daughter of athena a/n: I wasn’t sure if you wanted a fic or hcs but I thought of this fic idea so I wanted to execute it

“if we move the dressers to the right side the campers on the end won’t get one”

you point your finger to the blueprint where the bed sits against the wall. leo frowns and erases the sketch. “we could move them to the left?”

“yes, but then how would they open the drawers if it’s right beside the wall?”

“I’m… not sure”

you tap your nails against the table in thought. “I’m out of ideas. we should really just ask annabeth-”

“no!” leo cuts you off, then releasing the tone of his voice his cheeks flush pink “sorry. we can’t ask annabeth I told her I could do this”

“and I know you can. but don’t you think it would be helpful to have a third point of view on this?”

“not if that person is annabeth”

you roll your eyes and cross your arms, leaning your lower back against the table. in deep though, leo taps his fingers against the table similarly to how you had been, yet this was in code. a while back you had asked him to teach you, and happily he did so. you spent many long nights studying with him (you would be ‘pop-quizzed’ as leo called it, which basically consisted of him asking you stupid questions in code) until you mastered the wonderful arts of morse code. what he tapped know you chose to ignore, perhaps a mistake? or habit? you weren’t sure but the silence was eating you alive so you speak your next idea,

“what if we just leave the cabins as is? I know it defeats the whole purpose of remodeling but do we really need to remodel?”

leo stops his tapping. “no,” the tips of his curls ignite in tiny sparks. “but I think it would be cool to have something that we made. together”

you frown at his words. “oh leo. we have other things together! like when you taught me morse code? or in the winter when you let me sleep with you because it’s cold in my cabin? or even when we tried baking a cake for piper’s birthday but we forgot about it and it burnt”

you recall the last vividly. It was two years ago and you had been assigned to bake it, leo however, wanted to help out and who were you to say no? the beginning was fine, you successfully got all the ingredients together but when the mixing part came that was when disaster struck. leo accidental took the mixer out of the batter while it was still running and it flew all over the room including all over the both of you. after that fiasco you got the cake into the oven (finally), but after the cleaning you and leo were out cold on the kitchen floor, not found until an hour later when your sister entered to a smoke filled room with two idiots peacefully sleeping in each others arms. mr. d banned you both from going anywhere in the vicinity of the kitchen after this

“we could’ve made it onto the great british bake off with that masterpiece”

you don’t even attempt to suppress the growing smile on your lips. “right? but what I’m trying to say is that we have things, and they are far more exciting than remodeling cabins. besides,” you take his warm, tapping hand into yours, but surprised to find he averts his tapping to the back of your hand now. you suck in a breath and continue, “I’ll still love you all the same even if you can’t do this anymore”

that makes his hand stop tapping and he looks at you with wide eyes, realizing you had decoded his message. he stutters trying to form a coherent sentence, even his hands begin to spark making you yelp and pull your hand back

“oh gods! I’m sorry, I’m sorry”

leo scrambles to take your hands back into his as a silent apology. “don’t apologize, leo, it’s fine”

he pouts and inspects your hands. “are you sure? did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine, really” you confirm, but leo continues nonetheless

“if you’re hurt then I can take you to the infirmary. I’ll give you ice! does ice help with burns? it should…”

you speak his name but he doesn’t listen

“I won’t give you ice what if it makes it worse? maybe you should let will see this, he’s a great healer!”

“leo”

“do your hands hurt? they don’t look hurt but you never know…”

“leo”

“I’m really sorry, did I say that already? well I am-”

speaking doesn’t seem to be helping your case, so you close your eyes and slot your lips with his, ultimately shutting him up. when you pull away you see his hair and begun sparking again and that now he isn’t able to form a complete word. you begin to worry you read the signs wrong

“oh gods, I’m sorry. I should’ve asked, that was stupid of me I’m-”

“do it again”

your brows furrow. “what?”

“please”

In the midsts of your confusion, leo kisses you again, this time longer. but who said it ended with just two?”

#xoxochb #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #pjo fandom #percy jackson #pjo #percy series #pjo hoo toa #leo valdez pjo #leo valdez x y/n #leo valdez x you #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you

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annabelle--cane · 1 year ago

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I guess the thing that makes me not so fond of Jon's addiction allegory is that it's only coherent to a certain extent? Like I think people sometimes forget that he's actively violating these people

anon, through no fault of your own you have accidentally hit upon my sleeper agent trigger phrase. I have layers of answers to this.

so first off, yeah, it's not a 1:1 direct metaphor, it's a soupy dream logic fantasy plot device with flavors of a lot of different things. there's quite a lot of addiction in there, there's some abuse of power, there's some cyclical nature of trauma, there's a dash of disability, there's a few notes of gendered violence, there's a good bit of just. violence violence and being kind of a motherfucker because goddammit it feels good to be an active agent about something in your life, even if it's just choosing to be a worse version of yourself than you strictly need to be. a lot of tma's worldbuilding is very allegorical, but apart from aspects of individual statements nothing really matches up quite 1:1 with a real world counterpart, and if more things did then it probably wouldn't be a fantasy show anymore.

secondly. okay to contextualize this answer a little bit I have a kind of hypothetical video essay project about vampirism and addiction that I like to spend a few hours thinking about every so often but am almost certainly never going to make because the full research burden required is a lot higher than I actually have the time to properly do. but because of that I've spent a lot of time sorting through why framing vampires as addicts really works for me in a way that it doesn't seem to for everyone, and I think a lot of my thoughts on that also apply to jon. there's going to be a bit of a detour here before we get back to talking about tma, but we'll get there, I prommy.

I've seen a lot of people take issue with various paranormal addiction allegories because, a lot of the time, the act that is meant to metaphorically represent the act of use itself is something that is directly and inherently harmful to others, e.g. drinking human blood, handing over power to your hedonistic Evil alter ego, holding the cursed amulet and going crazy going stupid, slurping trauma out of the head of some guy you ran into on a boat to norway, etc., and yeah, I do get that. substance use is not inherently harmful like that to anyone except sometimes the user themself, and addicts are not inherently fucked up and destructive people; those are dangerous stereotypes that often lead to the demonizing of a whole group of sick people.

here's the thing for me, though: those are definitely truths I want explored and represented when it comes to portrayals of non-allegorical actual addicts, but fantasy fiction isn't for showing the world as it is, it's for showing a subjective fun house mirror version of reality where certain aspects are minimized and magnified depending on how it feels to live through it. and yes, absolutely in real life drug use is not an inherently evil act and it does not make you an inherently evil person, but... doesn't it kind of feel like that? sort of? absolutely no one is living their best life nor on their best behavior while experiencing any kind of major mental illness episode, and when it comes to addiction you've got a very clear tangible symbol of when The Episode is happening that it feels like you have much more control over than when it comes to other illnesses. it's also a thing where people are a lot more likely to be openly angry and distrustful of you if they find out it's happening. so you mix together the ideas of "I know I get worse as a result of doing this one specific thing" + "I act less like myself when I'm using, it rearranges my priorities and I care less about hurting people because that's what happens when you're experiencing The Horrors" + "society at large/people directly around me are pretty quick to say that doing this is evil," and you get the subjective emotional result of "I hurt people by using and it makes me monstrous." I tend to respond to those kinds of paranormal allegories like they're just cutting out the middle man of those subjective fears. "using makes me monstrous" -> "using is monstrous."

anyway. jon archivist.

don't get me wrong, I totally understand if this aspect of metaphor doesn't gel for some people and they only like taking it exactly as far as the text explicitly makes them, but I really get a lot out of reading jon's connection to the fears as addiction precisely because he does genuinely awful things to people as a result of it. he's a person in a very bad physical and mental place with little to no support who is constantly being told by both allies and enemies that he's already a monster just by being alive, and he copes with that by secretly falling further and further into an compulsive act of consumption that skews his priorities and makes him care less about hurting people because at least sometimes getting to be the cause of pain makes him feel a little bit less powerless when he has to be the subject of pain the rest of the time. then he's found out and is made to stop, and he has to grapple not just with the physical toll of withdrawal but with knowing there is a not insignificant part of him that will excuse any act of malice if he knows he'll feel better afterwards.

the end of tma is very explicit in the fact that the rules of its world are shaped by the subjective worst fears of those who live in it, it's "an exercise in unreliably reality" as jonny sims put it once, and I think that principle extends backwards in some ways to apply to the rest of the show. I don't think the fact that there are only entities of fear and not hope or love is meant to be a full commentary on the total nature of the real world, it's a reflection of what fear and suffering can make the world feel like. eric and melanie both go to really harsh extremes to extricate themselves from the fears and live peaceful lives, and in both cases something happens that foils their plans (getting murdered + the apocalypse, respectively), but I don't think the intended message is to say that is definitively how real life works, they are metaphors for the limits of individual agency in larger systems and represent two types of worst-case-scenarios. similarly, I don't think reading jon as an addict implies that addiction inherently involves violence or that the reactions of those around him were completely unjustified, it's just a subjective exploration of the kinds of fears that can come with addiction dialed up to 100.

#also to be clear after the first paragraph I'm using 'you' in a general sense not directly to You The Anon Who Sent This #I'm not trying to insinuate anything about whether You The Anon Who Sent This does or doesn't have any experience w substance use #tma #answered #anons

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passengerprincessblog · 16 days ago

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“Lewis, Next Door” ~ pt 2 Lewis Hamilton x reader

Warning: age gap (lowkey?), alcohol.

Summary: Y/N’s night out spirals into chaos, leading to a desperate late-night call to Lewis that she barely remembers making. But when he shows up to help-, slightly annoyed, and undeniably magnetic—she finds herself teetering between embarrassment and intrigue.

The bass thumps in my chest, so loud I feel it in my bones as we sway and stumble together under the neon lights. MK Club in Monaco is packed, bodies pressed together in a wave of glitter, laughter, and the haze of way too many drinks. Winter break has finally started, and my friends—Janelle, Isabella, and Séraphine—and I have decided that tonight is all about celebrating our freedom. Maybe we’re overdoing it, but who cares? We’re young, we’re back from school, and we deserve this.

I lean into the music, my head spinning in the best way. “We’re out of money,” I realize, looking down at my half-empty drink, frowning. Not a cent of parental allowance had dropped in any of our accounts yet. My own savings were being bled dry by all this fun, and, seriously, what’s the point of being a rich kid in Monaco if I can’t order bottles of Ace of Spades?

Séraphine slings an arm around me, her face flushed and eyes glassy as she shouts, “We should just try to flirt with some guys! Get ourselves a table!”

Janelle shakes her head, looking a little worse for wear, her lids drooping as she slurs, “No… Alain will kill me if he finds out I pulled something like that again…”

As they debate, an idea pops into my head, striking like a flash of drunken genius. I grin, barely able to focus, but sure of one thing: I have Lewis’s number. Lewis, my neighbor and friend of my dad, but also ridiculously rich, famous, and possibly my ticket to a few more rounds. So what if it’s 2 a.m., right?

“I’ve got it, guys. I know someone,” I announce proudly, though the words come out like a tangled mess.

Séraphine squints at me, laughing. “You’re drunk, Y/N. You don’t know anyone.”

“Oh, yeah?” I pull out my phone, holding it up triumphantly as I squint at the screen, fingers fumbling over the contacts. “There it is.” I hit the call button, holding the phone to my ear, my friends watching me with barely-contained curiosity.

The call rings a few times, and just as I’m about to give up, a low, groggy voice answers.

“Hello?”

The confidence I had fizzles, but I swallow my nerves. “Lewis?” I slur, hearing my voice in that weirdly bold way only a couple of drinks can make possible.

There’s a pause. “Y/N?” He sounds confused, and I hear him shift like he’s sitting up.

“Yeah. Are you out?” I ask, the music blaring through the phone. I feel the eyes of my friends glued to me as they wait, wondering who I’m talking to.

“What? Where are you?” he asks, voice sharper now, more alert.

“I’m at MK,” I say loudly over the noise, feeling smug.

There’s another pause, and then he says, almost to himself, “MK? You’re not even old enough to be there… And, wait… are you drunk? It’s 2 a.m.—”

I cut him off, a playful edge to my tone. “I was just calling to see if you wanted to come and get us more drinks,” I say, though the words tumble out in a barely coherent mix of slurs and giggles.

There’s a long, exasperated silence on the other end.

“Hello?” I ask, annoyed he’s taking so long to answer.

His sigh is audible over the phone. “Do you… need me to pick you up?” he asks, his voice lined with something that sounds like he’s already resigning himself to it.

“No! I don’t,” I reply with confusion. “You’re so boring,” I add before hanging up. My friends laugh, and we go back to dancing, somehow managing to snag a few more drinks from guys around us.

It’s 3:00 a.m. by the time I manage to stumble my way back to my parents’ penthouse, swaying down the hallway in my heels. My purse feels like a black hole as I dig through it, searching for my keys. They have to be in here somewhere, right?

But after minutes of searching, I realize they’re not. “Shit,” I mutter, slumping against the wall, the reality sinking in. I don’t want to wake up my parents like this—tipsy, disheveled, and very obviously not sober.

I slide down to the floor, feeling my frustration tip dangerously toward tears. I’m too drunk for this. I stare at my phone, desperate for some kind of solution, and in my daze, I remember… Lewis. Again, I don’t recall that I just called him an hour ago, and with no other option, I hit his number.

After a few rings, his tired voice picks up. “Yes?” he says, clearly woken up again.

“Lewis?” My voice breaks a little, the earlier playfulness gone.

He sounds a little more awake, sensing something’s off. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“I… I can’t get into my house.” My voice trembles with a mix of embarrassment and frustration.

“Wait… are you outside right now?” he asks, the tone of his voice shifting instantly, more alert.

“Yeah… I don’t have a key,” I mumble.

He sighs deeply, and I hear him rustling, like he’s getting up. “Okay… give me a minute.” He hangs up, and I wait in the dimly lit hallway, feeling stupid but relieved.

A few minutes later, the door down the hall opens, and there he is, looking tired, standing there in nothing but sweatpants. Even through my drunken haze, I can’t help but notice how he looks, the way his gaze meets mine across the hall, his face softening when he sees me.

“Come here,” he says, his voice a low, quiet command. The authority in his voice stirs something in me as I pull myself up, stumbling toward him, heels clicking with each unsteady step. His eyes drop to what I’m wearing—a short dress, tight enough to get the attention of every guy at MK tonight—and he looks away, maybe to save me from feeling self-conscious. Or maybe to save himself.

“Come in,” he murmurs, stepping back and letting me walk inside. His place feels dim, warm, quiet—a stark contrast to the loud, chaotic energy I’d just left. The moment I step in, I sway, and his hand catches my arm, steadying me.

“How much did you drink?” he asks, his voice edged with concern as he leads me toward the living room. “Why did you drink so much?”

I flop onto his couch, letting out a lazy laugh as I lean back. “I don’t know,” I reply, slurring, barely caring how much of a mess I must look to him right now.

He disappears for a second, returning with a glass of water, holding it out to me. “Drink that. You need it.”

I take a sip, and he watches, standing over me, his expression somewhere between annoyance and amusement. “Look… I don’t have a key to your parents’ place, so you’re kind of stuck for now. Do you have a friend nearby?”

I shake my head, setting the glass aside and sinking further back into the couch. “No… I don’t know.” My voice is soft, almost defeated.

He sighs, glancing at the clock. “It’s 3:17 in the morning…” he mutters, and I let out a giggle, finding it all absurdly funny.

He shakes his head, but there’s a small, reluctant smile on his face. “You’re a mess,” he says, voice teasing.

I sit up, pouting. “No…” I argue, slurring as I try to mimic his mock-scolding tone.

“Yes…” he says, meeting my gaze, and for a moment, his eyes linger on me, trailing down to my dress. His hand reaches up, almost instinctively, to brush a stray lock of hair from my face, his touch surprisingly gentle. I look at him, something bubbling up in me—a boldness from the alcohol, or maybe just the thrill of being near him like this. I reach out, letting my hand rest on his thigh, feeling the solid warmth of him.

He looks at my hand, then at me, his gaze suddenly intense. He reaches down, covering my hand with his, his grip firm as he lifts it off his leg. “No… no, Y/N. You need to sleep this off,” he murmurs, voice low but soft.

“Hm? No… I’m fine,” I insist, leaning closer, letting my eyes half-close as I give him what I hope is a sultry look.

He lets out a breath, amused but resolute. “Yeah… that’s definitely the alcohol talking.” He stands up, guiding me gently to follow him. “Come on. I’ve got a spare bedroom. You can sleep there, okay?”

I frown, feeling my hazy hopes sink, but I’m too tired and too out of it to argue. I stumble along behind him, my heels clicking down the hallway as he opens the door to a guest room. I step inside, feeling the plush carpet beneath my feet, a cozy contrast to the cold, hard floors of MK.

“Just get some sleep, alright?” he says, rubbing his eyes, clearly exhausted.

“Wait,” I call, almost whining, as he turns to leave. “Can you…” I pause, heart pounding, barely believing my own boldness as I turn around, showing him the back of my dress. “I can’t sleep in this…”

He sighs, and I can tell he’s fighting an internal battle. “Y/N…” he starts, his tone edged with caution, like he’s about to refuse. But then he relents, stepping forward. His hands come to rest on my hips, strong and steady, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin fabric. I feel my breath catch as he pulls me closer, his fingers brushing against the small of my back.

For a moment, his hands linger, almost as if he’s hesitating, feeling the weight of the moment as much as I am. Then, with deliberate slowness, he raises one hand to the top of my zipper. His fingertips graze the bare skin at the base of my neck, and I can’t suppress the shiver that runs down my spine.

He inches the zipper down slowly, each pull of the zipper loud in the quiet of the room, his touch leaving a tingling trail down my back. I can feel the soft brush of his knuckles against my skin as the dress loosens, exposing more of my back, inch by inch. His breathing is steady, but there’s a tension there—a restraint that feels almost tangible.

The zipper finally reaches the base of my spine, and his fingers linger there, as if reluctant to break the contact. My skin feels electric, every nerve heightened, and for a moment, he doesn’t move, his breath warm against the back of my neck. It’s like he wants to say something, to break the charged silence between us, but he holds back.

He clears his throat softly, his voice a quiet murmur in my ear, almost a command. “There. Now… get some sleep.” His words are gentle but firm, like he’s trying to steady both himself and me. And then, just as slowly as he approached, he pulls away, letting his hands fall from my back, the absence of his touch leaving my skin cool and craving the warmth of his hands.

As he steps back, he meets my eyes briefly, a flicker of something unreadable passing between us. For a second, I think he might close the space between us again, say something, or do something that will change everything. But he only gives me a small, careful nod, a final reminder of his restraint, and turns toward the door.

“Now… sleep,” he says once more, his voice soft but unwavering. With one last look, he leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

———————————————-

As always, thank you for reading and appreciating my works.

I hope my writings help you unwind and escape your life in a way that is exciting to you.

Please like and follow for more!

Хохо

Princess

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x you #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton fluff

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gaytamorfosi · 4 months ago

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What effect does this have on you?

🇬🇧 ("Che effetto ti fa?" Versione Inglese)

A frightening sense of dizziness won't let me be on this sultry August morning. A small taste of supernatural experience, it lasted a handful of minutes and it was enough. There's no turning back from something like this. That scene repeats itself incessantly before my eyes, my stomach churns and I feel like I'm lacking oxygen, like I'm on the verge of fainting. It is not a fleeting sensation, but a prolonged one, which has clouded my mind for hours while the room seems to slowly turn on itself.

I met Dario thanks to a mutual friend. I couldn't believe that a person with fantasies so similar to mine lived near me. For years I had considered my kinks as an absolutely private and intimate thing, not thinking that I would ever find someone with my same tastes who understood me fully. When I saw Dario, I was pleasantly surprised: he was very handsome, definitely out of my league. Gathering courage, I asked him out. I don't think a bald, overweight bear like me has much of a chance with a guy with a perfect body like Dario, but considering we had several things in common, I thought it was a great opportunity and stepped forward. I was surprised when he said yes; maybe I had a small chance with him.

Last night we went out together and had a wonderful evening. Time flew by and in an instant we found ourselves alone in my house. It was too good to be true. I asked myself if we would have sex, fearing I was rushing things too much: I didn't want to waste this precious opportunity; I really like him a lot.

“We ended up not talking about our fantasies,” he said. “What would you do if you were faced with a person who was actually capable of changing their appearance and becoming someone else?” I had never asked myself this question. "It's a hot fantasy, but I have no idea on how I would react in reality," I replied. At that point, Dario began to undress. I remained a few meters away, surprised and embarrassed. Left with only a pair of shorts on, Dario sank into the armchair and his massive, virile body began to shrink and rejuvenate. In a few seconds he had become a guy who was about twenty years old. I had dreamed of a scene like that many times, but living it was something else entirely. I was speechless in front of that impossible scene. "Don't you like Thomas?" he asked, reading the confusion in my eyes. "He's an English TikToker, as handsome as he is useless and arrogant."

That Thomas wasn't really my type, but I couldn't deny that he was a hot guy. In any case, all that came out of my mouth was an awkward, meaningless babble, and then silence fell. I hadn't yet wrapped my mind around the transformation when Dario's appearance changed again, this time replicating mine, in every way. The only difference was that Dario was standing there wearing only his shorts and with his legs wide open. "What effect does this have on you?" he asked. Once again I didn't know how to respond: it was a scenario I had never even imagined. A sense of excitement mixed with euphoria pervaded me. I had never found myself particularly attractive, but Dario's attitude in my body made it exciting, against all odds. Even before my head could make sense of all this, my body started sending me clear signals: seeing my self-confident copy made me hard. Like a mirror, Dario began to get excited in the same way, while smiling smugly.

I wonder what turned me on... The transformation itself? My reflection? The idea that someone could find me attractive enough to take my shape? I only know that when Dario got up from the chair and his lips touched mine, it was as if the world began to spin in reverse. From that moment on, nothing was the same as before; my heart remained in that room and Dario, by leaving, took with him every possibility of reasoning in a clear and coherent way, leaving me in this state. I never wanted to let him go again, but he promised he'd be back: "I just started rocking your world," he said before disappearing through the door.

#gay body swap #gay tf #gay transformation #gaytamorfosi #male tf #male transformation #male body swap #age swap #age progression #age regression #shrinking #gay male body swap #male muscle growth #gay body switch

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marsbutterfly · 5 months ago

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..cowboy hanji

that’s it

Headcanons: Cowboy! Hanji Zoe

a/n: BITCH. YOU UNLEASHED A MONSTER.

warnings: nonbinary! hanji zoe, fem! reader, fluff, they do throw up at the end so idk sjfaopfa be aware of that. also, this is lowkey inspired by stardew valley and i didn't beta read, we die like men

/ cowboy! hanji has always been the town's favorite. they are known for their little quirks, such as taking in every stray animal they find in the desert and nursing them back to health, or mixing drinks down at the saloon while no one was looking and daring their friends to drink it. It never ended too well.

/ cowboy! hanji is oblivious to the fact that every girl in town has a crush on them. like, it's pretty bad actually. they keep getting "not so secret" messages from girls they've just met, saying how they are "soooooo smart, and kind, and have the most beautiful smile." they think they are just being nice.

/ cowboy! hanji never believed in love at first sight until you moved into town. you were moving in to take over your grandfather's old farm after spending most of your life traveling around and collecting all the knowledge you needed to make things work.

/ cowboy! hanji didn't know someone new was moving in, so when the mayor introduced the two of you, they immediately turned into a blushing mess, unable to even form a single coherent sentence. but when you giggled at their antics, they knew they were fucked.

/ cowboy! hanji immediately offered to be your tour guide, they were so excited to have someone new to talk to about the different kinds of vegetations and you had more knowledge than anyone they had ever been around. oh, all the information they could learn from someone like you.

/ cowboy! hanji who always stops by your farm with new books regarding the town's history, dishes they learned to cook during their childhood and their designated recipes. they always do their best to come early in the day to help you care for your crops, or take care of your animals, even help you take stuff into town to set up your stall at the market. they don't mind the temperature and seeing how happy it makes you, just makes it all worth it for them.

/ cowboy! hanji has a thick, velvet laced southern accent. it's a little stronger than anyone else's and, at first, you do have some trouble understanding them. but the more time the two of you spend together, talking the night away over a bottle of aged whiskey, the more you understand them. not only the way they talk, but also the way they think.

/ cowboy! hanji who carries around two guns and three knives. if there is one thing about them is that they refuse to be underprepared for any kind of danger, even more so now that you have come into their life and they found something that they want so desperately to protect.

/ cowboy! hanji who never saw themselves falling in love with anyone, but can't seem to get you off their mind for a single second. the simple idea of seeing you later in the day makes their heart race and they clutch their hat every single time.

/ cowboy! hanji who sees you and tips their hat at you. a simple sign of respect that always earns an honest and gentle giggle out of you because the two of you have been close for a few months at this point.

/ cowboy! hanji who can tie any knots and lasso literally anything that moves. the first time one of your cows escaped, you tried your best to get it under control yourself, but your talents involved plants and crops and the mere idea of lassoing anything caused a small wave of panic to wash over you. luckily for you, hanji was right on time for their morning help with the chores and, as soon as they saw the runaway cow, they chased after the animal and lassoed it with such ease that you can feel your face burning with embarrassment. you repaid them with fresh lemonade and a pie.

/ cowboy! hanji who always considered themselves to be straight forward but can never get a single word about their feelings out when it comes to you. their entire face turns bright red and their brain stops functioning the minute they see you smile. it's their biggest weakness.

/ cowboy! hanji who invites you to the town's festival one day, explaining how it's a massive tradition and how everyone would be there. you ask if you should bring something or maybe set up a stall and they shake their head, saying they'll take care of everything and you should just save up the most delicious looking veggies and fruits you've harvested so far.

/ cowboy! hanji who pays a group of teenagers to take care of your stall at the festival so the two of you can have some fun. it's a thoughtful gesture and you insist on paying them back, but they deny it immediately. the two of you go back and forth for a while until they decide that the only way you can repay them is for you to be their arm candy for the night.

/ cowboy! hanji who refuses to let you pay for any food or any of the games around the festival. they get you to try their favorites and the two of you continuously have eating competitions or seeing who is going to win more prizes by the end of the night or who will be the ultimate hero.

/ cowboy! hanji whose eyes immediately glow when they notice the mechanical bull at the town's square. the mischievous glint never fading as they look at you, only to realize you share the same look in your eyes. no words are needed for the two of you to understand each other, running to place your prizes behind your stall and making your way towards the line.

/ cowboy! hanji who gives up so easily when you flash them those big, puppy dog eyes and they agree to go first. they're experienced, more so than most people, so it's not easy to knock them down. as you count, it takes nearly a minute to get them off the back of the fake animal and you set it off as a personal vendetta to beat their record.

/ cowboy! hanji whose lips can't seem to close the longer you stand on the back of the mechanical bull. a minute passes, then thirty more seconds, hell you are nearly at two minutes by the time your arms give up and you allow yourself to fall from the machine. all you can hear are the roars of the town's people celebrating around you.

/ cowboy! hanji whose screams are louder than anyone else's as they celebrate your victory. they scoop you up in their arm, placing your ass on their shoulder as they continue to pump their hand in the air while the other holds you in place. they don't even notice, but they've been chanting the words "that's MY girl!" over and over and over again.

/ cowboy! hanji who finally places you down as the two of you begin to make your way back home, all your items already packed. as you stand at the edge of the festival, a few people still dancing around and eating, you stand in front of them, your eyes glistening under the hanging lights and the moon. with their free hand, hanji brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, their breath trembling slightly as they finally find the courage to ask "can i kiss you?"

/ cowboy! hanji whose cheeks turn bright red and their breathing hitches in their throat as you nod. their lips gently brushing above yours as you melt into their touch. it's a gentle kiss, the roughness of their hands on your waist contrasting directly with the softness of their lips, the taste of the candy apple the two of you shared earlier in the evening still present in their tongue as it wraps around yours. you can't help but hum against their mouth, your hands gently cupping their cheeks as you carefully nibble at their lower lip.

/ cowboy! hanji whose heart has connected with yours the minute they saw you for the first time. their forehead touching yours as the two of you stand in a comfortable silence for a little while, it doesn't last long. the two of you stare at each other for a few seconds before running off towards the nearest trash cans. the combination between the excitement of the kiss, the mechanical bull ride and all the junk food finally catching up to the two of you.

/ cowboy! hanji who holds your hand as the two of you get sick together in the trash cans behind city hall.

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darlingmisa · 2 years ago

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Lazy Nights | Abby Anderson

Everyone thank Emi (@sevikasimp) for giving me this idea <33

Cw: nsfw, afab, aftercare

Wc: 734

Soft moans and whines were all that could be heard from your shared bedroom. Abby had brought you to your second orgasm of the night, but it was obvious she was nowhere near done with you.

It was rare to have nights like these. Nights where neither of you had any duties the next day. Nights where you could just be lazy together, bodies tangled in bed sharing soft kisses that eventually turn into something more. Something intimate and slow.

When these nights came by, Abby swore it was her duty to please you. It was her top priority of the night, and she never failed to put your pleasure before hers each time. And no matter how much you begged to be able to treat her too, she never let you. Always muttering softly how “it's all about you tonight”

And that's what brought you here. Both of your bodies shining with sweat, clothes are long forgotten and scattered across the room, Abby leaving soft kisses on your cunt, bringing you down from your most recent release.

Threading your hands through her hair, pulling slightly, you decided to ask again, Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “Abs…please, your turn now?” And you could only frown when you felt her shake her head gently, dipping back down between your legs.

“Nuh uh pretty girl, you know tonight is all about you” She resumed her movements, littering your thighs with marks and sealing them with kisses.

Most nights Abby was rough, primal, needing to release the stress she built up that day and wanting to mark you up in the process, reminding everyone who you belong to. But now and then she gets soft. She's gentle but eager, swearing she’s going to take care of you all night, and she does.

All you can feel is Abby, she's the only thing on your mind as she devours you like she's been starving for months, tongue lapping up your juices that never seem to stop flowing. Her grunts and groans into your core only add more fuel to the fire you sense in your stomach.

She's worked you past the point of forming any coherent sentences, now only able to mumble and whine her name over and over again as you reach your third high. Your fingers are still tangled in her hair tugging and pulling just the way she likes.

Abby knows your body better than anything else, and she knows you're near. The praises fall from her lips on instinct, “There ya go baby” “Just like that, so good for me” “Just one more, you got it, my good girl”

Her rough voice muffled by your cunt, mixed with all the praise and friction as she continued was all you needed to finally let go, squirming and shaking to where Abby had to hold you open just so you wouldn't suffocate her, not that she would mind if you did.

Your orgasm was strong, leaving you with barely any energy as you reached out for anything to hold onto while you came down from your high. Finally able to open your eyes to look down, seeing Abby, head resting on the inside of your thigh, a dopey smile on her face, eyes droopy, and face covered in your slick. You could only laugh, she looked absolutely pussy drunk.

“You okay? Was that too much?” Whether she was rough or soft, Abby was always quick to check in after, making sure you were okay, seeing what you needed and running to get it for you in a heartbeat.

“M good, great Abs… Clean me up?” It was always the same routine, Abby would clean you up, feed you if you needed it, and crawl back into bed and right up next to you. Today was no different, Abby quickly returned with a wet cloth and gently wiped the inside of your thighs, softly shushing your whines when she moved closer to your core. Leaving again to grab some clothes, her clothes, and slipping you into her boxers as well.

It wasn't long before you felt her warm body press up against yours, slipping under the covers and pulling you impossibly close. This was arguably your favorite part, relishing in the warmth of each other bodies and basking in the smell of sex that lingered in the room.

Oh, how you loved lazy days.

#abby anderson smut #tlou abby x reader smut #abby anderson x fem reader #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson x reader smut #abby x reader #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou #tlou abby x reader #tlou series #tlou abby anderson x reader #tlou smut

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rusquared · 1 year ago

Text

drabble idea so i can enjoy the act of sharing my thoughts without the time investment of writing shit down:

han sooyoung stopped writing. she couldn't hold a pen with the same careless ease anymore. not after everything that her own hands had caused. she can grade essays and she'll even bicker with dokja about the quality of the random books he picks up. but she won't write. she still flinches when joonghyuk brushes past her and is so real. she won't write.

joonghyuk pisses her off, as usual, about something or the other. in return she leaves a sticky note on top of an embarrassing gift for him. something petty and annoying. joonghyuk tries to ignore her. so she starts leaving them on his door. "yjh is a bastard" "supreme king, 33, unemployed" etc. they increase every week and yjh, for all his cleanliness, never removes them.

sometimes she gets risky. "yoo joonghyuk will do as i, han sooyoung, command". she pretends she didn't already do this to him in two separate worldlines. "today, the supreme king shall make tteokbokki for the black flames empress" "tonight, the supreme king shall not complain about the dishes being done" "this week, the supreme king will not say no to karaoke night"

something about referring to him in the 3rd person is funny, and she keeps it up. but she finds herself leaving sticky notes in her room, too. "what does it mean to be an actor?" "young girl. creates underground fight club" "what's a good magic system in a world based in space?"

han sooyoung never prided herself for creativity, or passion. she just knew how to write, and how to write well (ignoring the one time she wrote in the sloppiest, most verbose, and most passionate way possible). so these little notes don't mean anything to her. it's nothing of note. the view from the window just looked interesting this afternoon. "kim dokja still uses government name in online forums" "yoo sangah -> sadist? enjoys arguing with senators" notes. notes. notes. she's just making observations, is all.

without the avatar skill, and with the system barely there, her mind is quiet. no predictions being made. whatever plot comes to mind is no longer the most probable or best written.

one day, dokja bursts into her room to complain about something or the other. she's asleep at her desk. in front of her, the wall is a rainbow of colors. dokja can't peel his eyes away. what he had always reached for. what none of the other books, as good as they were, could give him. tls123's writing.

it's disjointed and mixed, multiple plot ideas picked up and dropped, no coherent order to it all. but he gathers as many as he can without her noticing, and tiptoes to his room. joonghyuk, watching from the doorway, says nothing. he places the tea he had prepared next to sooyoung's sleeping figure and covers her with a blanket.

when sooyoung slips into dokja's bedroom on another sleepless night permeated by what if he's not there?, she freezes. he has placed all the sticky notes he could gather on his own wall. lovingly arranged in order. some even having miniature sticky notes of their own with his thoughts and questions. the boy so hungry for her stories went ahead and pieced them together on his own. han sooyoung won't write again. but kim dokja will always be her #1 reader.

#DO U SEEEEEEEEEE #doksoo #its technically yoohankim but i dont have the energy to get into the yoohan bits #yoohankim #BUT DO YOU SEEEEEE #MY VISION #orv spoilers

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never4night · 6 months ago

Text

Mine

Part l 🌹 ⚠

Bonten!Sanzu X male reader

warnings: drug use and dependency, toxic relationship/circumstances, mental health(will update, I didn’t edit it yet)

ft. hades characters

————————————————————

Y/n sat quietly, near the head of the bed, staring blankly into the empty walls that seemed to loom in front of him. The room felt too quiet, almost stifling, despite the colorful neon lights that he’d come to learn to associate with Tokyo trickling into the room. The sound of the hustle of others still going about their lives down below despite the time, creeps up into the still apartment through the cracks of the hastily drawn curtains. The room glowed a faint neon red, outshining the slivers of light cascading from the moon that hung full, alone in the cloudy starless night. The shadows of the room felt just a tad bit darker, he would muse. His mind was empty, thoughts and desires disappearing just as quick as the ideas flickered by.

But his heart was restless.

Fast-paced and yearning for something he couldn’t quite place. Y/n felt alone as he sat awake on the king-size bed in the early dawn morning, aimlessly running his fingers over the seams of one of his favorite blankets rested partially over his torso, too hot to use it to fully cover himself but also too used to the comfort to completely forgo the object entirely. A quick strobe of light illuminated out of the corner of his eye catches Y/n’s attention, his phone resting on the nightstand closest to him on the right, one new notification.

Moderate rain will start in 7 mins. expected to last 42 mins. For more information click…

Y/n glanced at the shuttered windows, envisioning the neon color of the city diluted in a muted gray hidden behind the fabric. The sound of the cool autumn rain against his warm skin seemed like a good idea. The dreary weather never failed to remind him of his hometown, it was something he always revered as deeply calming, no matter where he found himself staying. He felt he was coherent enough to make the short drive home if that meant he could go and watch the rain, he reckoned to himself. Skin slid slowly against cool satin sheets as he pulled himself up, further out of the bed on the verge of getting up, having come to the quick decision.

A different shift of the bed immediately lulled his head left, towards the sound.

A sea of long pink waves lay spread across gray sheets, adorn brighter under the red light draped closely over the dark room. Pale, white skin wrapped in cool, dark sheets rested his boyfriend Sanzu, Haruchiyo. A ghost of a smile drifted onto Y/n’s blank face as he regarded his boyfriend’s sleeping form. He was glad to see the other man peacefully asleep, still for once in his life. While he did like being around his boyfriend, it took a lot out of the already low energy Y/n to have been forcefully dragged over to Sanzu’s apartment after a full day at the offices. From overseeing his own club and solidifying business ideas on better relations with the West with Koko, to then being coerced after work to entertain his boyfriend by joining in on whatever he considered fun at the moment. To spend a rare afternoon free together.

He’s pretty when he shuts up though. Y/n’s eyes linger fondly over the exposed skin for a moment before he shifts further onto his right, peering lazily over the hardwood floor for any signs of where his shirt and pants went. Discarded amongst other haphazardly dropped items left sometime earlier by the pair.

A pale hand appeared wordlessly, wrapped around Y/n’s darker skin, desolate brown eyes followed the connected arm latched onto his smaller left wrist. Roaming north as they came to clash against a sleepy mix of blue. One that Y/n could never seem to find anywhere else but was reminded of whenever he saw a different shade of blue eyes, pretty, he would acknowledge. A tired smile mirrored the weary eyes that Y/n found himself momentarily lost in, "Just stay here a bit little longer." Sanzu entreated, a deep rumble filled thick with sleep, a hopeful siren call for the other male to stay.

Y/n hummed softly in agreement as he reeled himself into the embrace of other, the grip on his wrist gliding around to connect his waist as he settled in closer to the taller man, lying chest to chest. Y/n promptly tucked himself into the comforting warmth of his boyfriend’s side. He had thought Sanzu was fully asleep, originally not wanting to wake the pink-haired male. Y/n almost buzzed at the romantic like feeling from the close contact. Wanting desperately to push Sanzu away, despite wanting to curl around his boyfriend, leaving Y/n stuck as his body practically pulsed wave after wave, as if a ship lost at sea.

Was he actually feeling this many conflicting emotions or was it just the Xanax, drinks and handful of other shit the two took earlier? Nearly a year into the same behavior and habits, and Y/n still couldn’t bring himself to be fully open and vulnerable like Sanzu had somehow managed. Or to come up with a better excuse to himself at this point. For now he allowed himself to just enjoy the moment.

Arms wrapped tighter around his frame pulling him closer, diminishing any air and wandering thoughts between the two. A content hum was reciprocated from Sanzu when all movement settled. His heart thrummed gently against Y/n’s chest, compelling his to match the slow steady beat, grounding the dissociated man. Soft kisses feathered down the column of Y/n’s neck, intelligible whispers murmured promises into the sepia brown skin. The spice of leftover whiskey on Sanzu’s breath, swirled with a hint of weed that still clung to their hair, cocooned the pair in a warm sheltered embrace. A tender hand wandered, caressing his lower back. The show of silent affection made Y/n almost want to preen, content under the light touch, cutting through his mindless fog.

Lazily hands trailed along a long-mapped routine down Y/n’s spine, fingers paused their tried and true course to rub circles on plush hips. “Y/n… stay here with me~.” Sanzu slurred, his words sounding like a pleading child asking for just a little more time. Despite sharp blue eyes pleading for something else entirely, as they took in Y/n’s near naked appearance, drinking in every last visible inch of skin. “You’re supposed to be mine for the night.” A right hand palmed up the valley of Y/n’s spine, long fingers curled around the base of his neck, drawing Y/n into a long slow kiss. Lips slotted together, trading hushed air, the two moved in tandem with no rush, enjoying the intimacy.

Y/n followed forward indulging in the kiss, seeking more much needed attention and touch in his inebriated mind. Giving into his touch-starved desires, he decided to take some initiative. Hiking a boxer clad thigh to rest over Sanzu’s hip, almost possessively, further tangling the two even closer. “ ‘m yours… and you’re all mine.” Y/n breathed out into the shorter series of docile kisses, fervent brown eyes gazed lidded, just slightly above him.

A sharp grin pulled the diamond-like scars on both sides of Sanzu’s lips. More alert than he had been mere moments before, blue eyes now containing a darker intent. “You’re all mine too, know that don’tcha, pretty little thing?” He said lowly, fingers curling taunt in the roots of dense multi-colored locks of curly hair at the nape of Y/n’s neck, pulling him all that closer into the kiss, growing more eager. The grip on his thigh tightened, squeezing and massaging the well placed fat. Sanzu’s tongue swiped Y/n’s bottom lip, meeting no resistance as he plunged forward, drawing a quiet but pleased breath from Y/n at the show of dominance.

Spurred on with each passing second, hands kneaded tighter, rougher against Y/n’s skin, pressing the two together tighter, needing the intimacy. Words emphasized between heavy breaths, tongue moving hungrily, taking possession of the kiss. “If it were up to me… I would keep you here… looking all pretty for me… Keep you where only I can see you since you're all mine… Mine to touch… Mine to taste… Mine to play with… My pretty boy.” The pure want in Sanzu’s voice was enough to have Y/n’s head spin. The deep quality of his voice alongside the dark possessive words stole Y/n’s breath, stuttering in his throat, panting as he tried to nod along to the others' selfish claim. He loved it when Sanzu was a dominating force, always taking whatever he wanted without any hesitation, whether at work or at home.

The hand left Y/n’s hair to join the other at his thighs, dragging him the rest of the way on top of Sanzu, making his straddle the taller. A low groan was pulled from Sanzu when Y/n brushed against his swelling cock. Fingers slipping under the waistband of Y/n’s boxers to grip, toy, and knead with the flesh there too. Shrunken pupils unbridled with the leftover ecstasy that Sanzu hadn’t fully slept off, their breathing turned scattered in mutual excitement.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x male reader #male reader #tokyo rev smut #sanzu haruchiyo

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silverofthunder · 8 months ago

Text

☆ no more pretending ☆

Papa Emeritus II (Secondo) x GN Reader

🔞 MDNI 🔞

summary: It was supposed to be just letting out some steam whenever you needed – just sex – but fate had another plans and things got a bit complicated.

content: 1.6k words, sex mentioned, hurt/comfort (kind of?), romance, just feelings, NSFW (kind of)

What can I say? Hmm, this is quite similar to my other fic called stay with me but I love this idea, setting, whatever this is, and I just had to write about this again.

It was supposed to be just letting out some steam whenever you needed. Just sex – a mutual understanding that this would lead nowhere on emotional part. It was as easy as breathing. You loved how you two could just meet and tell what you needed with one look and then the next moment you were tangled together, exploring each other's bodies, every coherent thought leaving from your minds.

But of course fate decided to intervene and eventually it got complicated.

You noticed it when you were with someone else. Your thoughts drifted off to Secondo and how everything felt with him and you couldn't shake those thoughts away no matter how hard you tried. And then you just couldn't let anyone else touch you the way Secondo had done.

You got confused and frustrated, scared even. Secondo noticed the change in you soon but he didn't say anything. And you tried to continue like you had before.

However it didn't feel the same anymore, your heart aching for something else – something deeper. You tried to deny it, telling yourself that it would pass but slowly, surely, the ache just grew and being around Secondo became hard.

The only thing you could do was take a step back and keep your distance. You just couldn't let Secondo know how things had changed. There was no way he shared those feelings that had blossomed within you.

Days went by, turned to weeks and you did your best at avoiding Secondo. Not every meeting could be avoided but you tried to keep everything as short and quick as possible, professional, using every will power you had to keep yourself from breaking.

And eventually Secondo had had enough. After one meeting he stopped you from leaving the room, pinning you against the wall, eyes boring into you hard. Your heart hammered in your chest as he asked for an explanation.

The words were completely stuck in your throat and you just stared at him, silently pleading him not to do this.

"Please."

That word sounded so strange coming from Secondo yet it had so much emotion that your heart missed a beat. The look in Secondo’s eyes was almost... hurt and your breath hitched as his hands gently cupped your face.

"I miss you."

It was getting too much, all the bottled up emotions mixing and the tears threatened to come. You blinked rapidly as Secondo caressed your cheeks with his thumbs, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for an answer. If you only had let yourself get lost in his eyes, you would have drowned immediately.

It was new, the way he was acting now. Your steamy couplings had always been so hurried that there hadn't been much talking or softness. It had been rough, bruises, nail scrapes and teeth marks on the skin as you had chased the highest pleasure. And when you had finished, you just had quickly put on some clothes and left to mind your own business.

You knew Secondo wasn't just collected, stoic or rough around the edges – you had seen his softer side whenever he was around children or his brothers. And he had always been kind to you. But this felt different.

You were so used to the less talking, more action thing that you were lost now that you had to use words to communicate. It was much easier to understand the language of bodies – it was simpler and the bodies knew how to respond to the other.

Secondo's fingers brushed close to your lips, making you gasp, and it would be so easy to just forget the words and just fall onto bed and become a tangled mess. Secondo was still waiting for you to say something, his latest words hanging in the air.

"I'm sorry," was all you got out eventually and then you broke free from Secondo’s hold. He didn't try to stop you and you left, hurrying to your quarters. As soon as you got inside, you leaned against the door, slid down to sit on the floor and finally let the tears fall free.

...

A week later there was a small festival held and you didn't feel like going there. You had barely slept as your mind had been racing due to all thoughts and your heart felt heavy in your chest. However, a conversation with Primo changed your mind and you attended the festival. It was nice for most part but it was hard seeing Secondo there, looking all handsome and fulfilling his duties like he was meant to do.

At some point Terzo had come to you, mumbling something about two idiots, and taken a hold of your hand and basically dragged you to one of Primo's greenhouses. You were left standing there completely dumbfounded until Secondo was also brought in.

Then there was a clicking sound of a lock and Copia's familiar voice heard from behind the door.

"It's about time you two speak and pull your head out of your asses."

Your and Secondo’s eyes met and you shifted, nervous. Secondo let out a sigh, stepping closer to you and you drew in a sharp breath. You couldn't help but notice how tired and tense he looked. Your heart ached and you almost reached out to touch him.

However, Secondo thought otherwise and closed the distance between you, stepping right into your personal space and cupping your face. You breathed in and out, slowly, trying to calm your now racing heart.

"I guess it's time for us to stop pretending," Secondo said, slowly running his fingertips along the side of your face. His voice was thick with emotion, eyes shining softly in the dim light.

"What?" you whispered, even though you had a good hunch of what Secondo was talking about. He slid his other hand down, stopping it onto your chest, right where your heart was.

"We both have been fools as we thought that there would never be any feelings involved. But there is, has always been," Secondo spoke, leaning closer to you. "At least on my part."

You blinked, not sure if you had heard right. It couldn't be...

"I..." you started but didn't know what to say. Secondo gave you the tiniest of smiles, brushing his thumb over your lips.

"I'm sorry I didn't say something sooner," he apologized. "But I've never been good at voicing my feelings."

You let out a light chuckle. That was something you both were equally bad at, or so it seemed. Slowly you moved your hand up, placing it onto Secondo’s chest. Butterflies were fluttering in the bottom of your stomach, your heart filling with warmth and a smile rose to your lips as a thought came to your mind.

"Perhaps you can show me how you feel."

Secondo's smile grew, the fondness and relief evident on his face.

"That I can certainly do," he said quietly and closed the gap between you, claiming your lips. The kiss was anything but hurried – there was gentleness, hesitation as if you could break if he was too rough. It was slow, giving you both time to taste each other, feel everything, convey all the feelings you had no words for now.

Secondo wrapped his arms around you, pulling you as close to him as he could and your hands grabbed his upper arms as he deepened the kiss. It felt like your knees could give out at any minute and you were lucky Secondo was holding you so tightly. Your heart was full, the ache now gone, replaced by the most beautiful warmth you had ever felt.

Something wet fell to your cheeks soon and you realized that you were crying. All the emotions were flooding out and you had to break the kiss so you could take a moment and breathe. Secondo was gently wiping your tears away, resting then his forehead against yours.

Silence fell between you, being comfortable this time. It was a lot to take in, this new closeness, the feelings you never thought would step in the picture. You slid your hands to Secondo's waist, breathing slowly in and out. Secondo placed a few kisses on your cheek, the sweet gesture making you smile and heart soar. It was scary to step into this new chapter in your relationship but you knew together you could learn to communicate differently, a better way.

"This is crazy," you eventually sighed, earning a small chuckle from Secondo. He pulled away, just a tiny bit so that he could look at you, affection shining in his eyes and at that moment you knew that you would never get tired of seeing that look.

"Well, I'm all in for this crazy ride," Secondo said smiling and your brows quirked up.

"Oh, are you sure?" you asked, teasing the man little. Secondo hummed, a grin passing his lips.

"As sure as I can be."

You brought your face closer to his, smiling.

"Good," you said and kissed him, short and sweet. When you pulled back, your expression changed more serious and you lowered your gaze, squeezing Secondo waist.

"I'm scared," you admitted quietly.

"I know," Secondo spoke softly, pressing a kiss on your forehead before pulling you into a hug. "But I'm with you on every step of the way.”

You smiled against Secondo’s chest, wrapping your arms properly around him and listening his heartbeat, the sound of it strong and steady, calming.

Silence followed again and you just stood there in the middle of the greenhouse, embracing, for what felt like a small eternity. If that moment had been a part of a romance novel, there would have been many saccharine words used to describe it. Words that were so familiar to you on pages but didn’t sit well on your tongue yet.

But in time you knew that you would learn to speak of your love.

#secondo x reader #papa emeritus ii x reader #ghost band fic #ghost band fanfic #jen writes fics

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moe-broey · 10 days ago

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Would you like some strangely elaborate specific ass headcanons? Of course you do!!!! Also I'm outsourcing a very specific dilemma. But you have to Learn My Methods first. Okay? Okay!!!!

PIERCINGS. AS STORYTELLING DEVICES. GO!!!!

Okay! So what the hell are we looking at and what exactly am I trying to determine, here? Well!!! There's a few different facets to this.

FIRST OF ALL. REALLY REALLY CUTE AND ALWAYS SO FUN TO ME

One, two, three!!! They're a set of three, and they're marked as such by how many sets of piercings they have in their ears. It's such a small detail that happened more by coincidence than intent, but it makes drawing all three of them together feel coherent and again, fun! I also really like the storytelling/contrast of the Askr siblings having golden jewerly, while Moe's is in silver (it does mix silver and gold more broadly -- but I'm talking just the face/ears here!). You get the sense (... in addition to Moe's more scruffy appearance in general), that one is from a more "common" background.

Okay, but what's all that text? STORYTELLING.... 2

Piercings, as a way to indicate connections to other characters, and to imply background information.

First example, it's noted that Bruno has had his in for a long time (... kind of regretting the specificness of "as a kid". That's supposed to have implications, but tbh it may be more fitting for Bruno as a whole to simply have said, "A Long Time"). He wears something modest, maybe a common stone, but still eye-catching. I like to think Alfonse became enamored with it (guys can also do this???), same way he was completely smitten by all of Zacharias. One extremely questionable piercing job courtesy of Zacharias himself and egged on by Sharena (who made a generous donation and/or sacrifice from her own jewelry box) later, it's a miracle he managed to heal them. Equally impressive is how long he managed to hide them as a teenager.

Meanwhile, you see Sharena's example is pretty straightforward! Assigned ear-stabbing at birth. It worked out well, though! Aside from that one time where her piercings mysteriously closed up and they had to be re-done, when she was little. Which could mean nothing. Alls well that ends well! In fact, she liked the look so much she decided to get another set done! Which may or may not come back later...

I will admit, the saddle plugs on Bruno were an impulse decision I made drawing this out (so not a super strong design headcanon, and maybe I could draw it better w more practice tbh, test run ect ect), BUT. MORE IMPORTANTLY. That idea, AND NEXT UP: STORYTELLING... 3.

On top of noting significant connections and providing background information -- here, you have gaining more and/or doing different Things with your piercings, as a way to indicate the passage of time or a change of taste. Woah, that's a lot of text! That's just my autism showing, I'll do you a favor -- with Moe specifically, the biggest takeaway here is:

One, two, three. There are other iderations of Moe of course, plenty of awkward in-between stages. But as I've developed it, I've found that there's like... three really plot relevant parts of its life. One easy to forget, two OH GOD OH FUCK, three that's the guy who lives here now. AWESOME!!!!

OKAY. OKAY. PEONY she has BEEN HERE THIS WHOLE TIME. What's up with that?

So we have background implications/information, we have connections to other characters, and NOW. WE HAVE. Paths that diverge. Sharena, 2. Peony, 1. Plus, a little bit of shape language with those tear drop earrings... on Sharena specifically...... ohghhghhf........

I've always been really indecisive with my Peony designs (for some reason it has been SUCH A STRUGGLE FOR ME), but I do like the simplicity of this one actually. The "Princess Peach core" note about Sharena is more about her color palette, but after writing that I went You know what. Fuck it *gives Peony Princess Peach earrings*. This does feel subject to change, but the idea they could be like water droplets is so cutes... I have really wanted to give Peony earrings with a blue gem though, BECAUSE...

The blue and silver are a nod to this reoccurring detail on Peony! So not only does it tie back to Sharena (IMPORTANT), it also (theoretically.) ties together nicely overall!!

Okay. So. Where does this leave me. Why did I draw all this out? All these little details that exist in my mind, why did I go out of my way to create this elaborate in-depth demonstration? Remember when I said I was gonna outsource some shit?

PROBLEM: I NEVER. EVER. EVEEEERRRRRR KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH LIF'S EARRINGS‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ AND THE LACK OF DIRECTION IS BECOMING MORE AND MORE GLARING EVERY FUCKING TIME I DRAW HIM‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

And what prompted all of this. What REALLY made me Think About This. I did another "ehhh Fuck It" with Lif's piercings, where he's sharing a panel with Moe, and

Ooughgughfhghhh...... them having the same earring arrangement.

But then. Then. I got autism brained about it. I can see Bruno having fuck all time to stretch his ears while on some gayass journey (... the. Timelines. Time in between Events. Maybe he wouldn't have full big stretched ears in Book 1. HOWEVER). Inconvenient, maybe, but if he's dedicated to the grind. He can do it. And I mean, have you seen his muscles? Dude CARES about his appearance. Meanwhile Moe ABSOLUTELY had fuck all time to stretch its ears before arriving in Askr. Then I'm thinking about Alfonse. NEVERMIND how much time it takes to stretch your ears, I'm thinking about the Number Rules. I'm thinking about how he's One, the first guy of a set of Three. I'm thinking about the Number Rule, to indicate Time. Why WOULD he have Three? The Number Rule, as Paths Diverging. There's Two of him, not Three. ALSO ASKING MYSELF "Would Alfonse get more piercings???" LIKE NO. BECAUSE. THE. THE RULE OF THREE. THE ONE TWO THREE. WERE YOU EVEN LISTENING‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😫😫😫😫😫

Idk am I just insane. Am I a lost cause. Lif's ears are usually covered up by his long shaggy hair anyway. But really that does just make any time any piercings Would be visible, just. I am just so deeply conflicted torn between Goth Alt Men Hot and THE METHODS‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ THE STORYTELLING THE METHODS MY DEEPLY INTRICATE RITUALS‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

#fire emblem #feh #bro why do i have the intricate piercing hc autism................... of all flavors of autism..........#like even within my special interest. i am on some NICHE bullshit. all of yhe fucking time.#the number rules only go for ear piercings. btw. if that fucking means anything #do you wanna hear more oddly specific piercing hcs.#something i lowkey regret my most recent summer sharena is i think it would have been cute to give her a navel piercing #and it was be soooooo funny. of both askr siblings were like. okay well i want a hidden piercing actually.#again like almost we got the rule of threes here too. if we were to fuse them we would have one fully decked out guy.#* most recent summer shari being the one i did for sharena week! it's like a year tradition for me... to draw a Her..#anyways i spent so long typing yhis up and i haven't even done text transcribs yet. goodbye forever.#fe alfonse #sharena #fe bruno #fe peony #fe lif #moe tag #summoner oc #moe ref #yeah sure actually. i'll file this under that. you get a p good look at its piercing arrangements at least #past and present.#now the real question is do i tag mani... that's... moe isn't it? but the same rings true for mani. aesthetically.#eh.#mani tag #my art

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totowlff · 8 months ago

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chapter five — report card

➝ what is it like to be truly seen by someone you like?

➝ word count: 2,2k

➝ warnings: mentions of smut and aftercare

Everything seemed too far away from Toto.

There was no pain, but there was no pleasure either. There was nothing.

The sweet smell of the vanilla scented candle mixed with the sweat and semen on his skin, somewhere he didn't know where it was. Not that he'd moved to see where he'd come that time, after practically begging to Ava. He hadn't moved an inch since she'd pulled away from him with a smile, satisfied with his obedience.

But why couldn't he feel the same way?

— Toto — a female voice said, softly — Are you okay?

A sound similar to something affirmative came out of his mouth. However, the truth was that Toto didn't really know if he was okay. It was something strange, a kind of emptiness inside his chest, even though his heart was still beating strongly, his pulse was roaring in his ears. It was as if he were completely hollow.

The answer probably didn't please Ava, judging by the expression when her face entered his field of vision. Her lips, which had started the night painted red, were pressed into a thin line, her eyes seeming to analyze him carefully as she brought one of her hands to his face.

— Are you sure you’re okay, Toto? — she repeated, softly.

He nodded, words jumbling together in his head in an attempt to formulate a coherent response. However, that gesture was enough for the woman to give a soft smile, almost as if she had understood something that not even Toto had yet understood.

— You did well today — Ava whispered, her fingers lightly brushing his cheek.

— I did? — he managed to ask, his dry throat making the words come out strangely hoarse from his mouth.

— Yes, very well — she smiled tenderly — You're getting good at this, you know?

— Do you think?

— I know when I'm in front of a good submissive — Ava replied — And you're being an incredible submissive for me.

The last word made Toto smile a little. There was something about the idea of pleasing Ava that compelled him to do his best in that room. And hearing from her lips that he had done well, that he was a good submissive for her was priceless.

— I like it — he cooed, bringing one of his hands to hers.

— Do you like being an incredible submissive?

— I like being yours — Toto replied, in a low voice. His eyes were lost in hers, the brown flecks mixing with the delicate green. “She's so beautiful”, he thought, as Ava watched him with a small smile.

— I also like that you're my little boy — she finally said, before placing a soft kiss on his lips. The gentleness with which she touched him made Toto feel the emptiness being slightly filled. He was not alone, quite the opposite. He had never been in better company, but…

After a few more kisses, Ava managed to get Toto to sit on the bed, leaning back against the headboard while she went to the small fridge that was in the corner of the room and took something from there. He only identified what the woman had brought the moment she sat down next to him.

— That's…

— Water — Ava said, placing the bottle in his hand. Faced with his hesitation, she continued — You need to hydrate, little boy. Drink it.

Bringing the bottle to his mouth, Toto realized how thirsty he felt as the cold liquid began to flow down his throat. He had drunk almost all of it when he stopped to catch his breath.

— I was going to suggest you drink more slowly, but it doesn't make much difference now — she murmured, smiling — Better?

Toto nodded. He definitely needed that. Apparently satisfied with the answer, Ava got up from the bed and then helped him do the same. Then, she took him to the bathroom in the room, indicating for him to enter the bathtub installed there.

— But — he stammered, a little confused with the direction — It's empty.

The remark made Ava laugh.

— I know, little boy. Come in and sit down.

Still not understanding what she was getting at, Toto gave in, getting into the bathtub and sitting on the cold, white porcelain. Then it was Ava's turn to enter, but unlike him, she sat on the edge, with her legs positioned next to him. A few seconds later, he heard the sound of water running towards the drain, as well as the tap being turned to adjust the temperature.

The feeling of water running down his back made Toto let out a long sigh. The temperature was perfect, warm enough that he felt cozy, like he was wrapped in a hug.

— How does that feel? — Ava asked, as Toto nodded — Great. Just relax now, okay? I will take care of you.

Toto just muttered a 'yes', while the jet of water went up his back until it reached his head. Feeling her fingers massage his scalp, he felt his body gradually relax, the muscles that were tense were now looser. He felt so comfortable that he could have fallen asleep right there.

The two continued in silence for some time, while Ava washed his hair slowly, the foam running towards the drain as she rinsed the dark strands.

— Feeling better? — she asked softly.

— A little — Toto murmured, his eyes fixed on the bubbles that were near his feet.

— Have you ever felt this way before?

— What way? — he asked, looking up at her.

— The way you’re feeling right now.

Toto pursed his lips, his stomach churning with tension. It definitely wasn't new to him, but it had never been as overwhelming as that night. But nothing bothered him more than the idea of Ava knowing about it and, in some way, feeling upset or even mad at him for feeling that way.

— What are you talking about? — Toto questioned, trying to emulate some innocence.

— I mean, the sadness you feel. How you feel emptiness, and guilt.

He blinked. Apparently, he was an open book to Ava.

— I never…

— You've felt this before, there's no point lying to me now.

Toto swallowed. He was cornered.

— I'm sorry, Ava. I'm really sorry. I try not to feel like that, I try to focus on what we did and the good feelings but — his voice trailed off, his throat tightened with anguish — Damn, it's always like this. It's always the same and there are times when it doesn't go away.

— What?

— This feeling of being disposable, of being just a toy for you to have fun with.

Those words made the tears that had been accumulating in his eyes run down his face. Lowering his head, Toto was certain that he’d never looked more pathetic in his life. After all, was there anything more ridiculous than crying naked in a bathtub after another session of incredible sex with a fantastic woman?

— You know that's not how I see you, right? — Ava said, seriously. That made him raise his head suddenly, the fear that she had taken his words as an offense or something filling his chest with worry.

— I didn't want to…

— I never saw you as a toy, Toto, quite the opposite. Domination is something serious for me and I would never treat it as a game, much less fun — she explained — But I understand where these thoughts and feelings come from, so it's okay for you to question that.

— Do you? — Toto asked in a low voice.

— Yes. You're experiencing what is called a “sub drop”.

Something about that last word made him hesitate for a few seconds. Despite having read a lot about the world of submission in recent months, Toto didn't remember that term being mentioned on some of the sites, much less in the conversations they had had about the sessions.

— What is that?

— It's a reaction that happens in your brain after you leave the euphoric state of the sessions and return to the real world. After such an intense scene, it’s natural for your dopamine levels to bottom out. It makes you feel empty, anguished, exactly as you described to me.

— It is serious?

Ava nodded.

— No, it's not serious. It just means you need more time and attention, that's all.

Something about those words made his heart sink. Toto didn't want to be a problem for Ava, especially in that context. He wanted to be the person who satisfied her, who made her happy and not another source of stress and worry. That would probably be their last date, after all, no woman wanted to sleep with a guy who simply went into depression after coming.

— I’m sorry — he muttered softly, lowering his head.

However, Ava brought one of her hands to his face, lifting him towards her.

— You don't have to apologize, Toto.

— But, aren't you mad at me?

She raised an eyebrow.

— Why would I be?

— Because of this… Thing you said, this sub stuff.

He wasn’t expecting Ava’s reaction to his question.

She smiled. Not one of the mischievous or cruel ones that she sometimes gave him, but a gentle smile.

— I would never be mad at you for that. It’s something completely natural and is not something you have to be embarrassed about. Almost all submissives go through it at some point.

Toto pursed his lips when he heard the word “submissives”. Ava was experienced, having probably dominated many men on her journey through the world of BDSM. However, thinking about them and the way they probably satisfied her better made the anguish rise again in his chest.

— They didn't have that, did they?

— Who? — Ava questioned him.

— Your other submissives. They didn't go through that, right?

— Wrong. Almost all of them have gone through it, and some had much worse reactions. One of them had the habit of leaving right after the sessions without saying a word and would go days without answering my messages or answering my calls — she said, while combing his damp hair back, letting her fingernails drag gently across his scalp — It was at that time that I discovered that dominants can also experience something similar.

— They can?

— It's called a dom drop, but the concept is the same. And just like the sub drop, there is also a way to resolve it.

— How?

— Doing exactly what we’re doing — Ava replied, taking the handheld showerhead to his head and wetting his hair — Taking care of you. Showing you that the sessions are just a role-playing game and that you are not a toy. Showing you that I care about your well-being, above all else.

Toto didn't know what to say after that. There was so much kindness, so much sweetness in Ava's words that he felt compelled to reciprocate in some way. After a few seconds of indecision, he simply put one of his arms behind her legs and hugged her, in absolute silence.

Feeling Ava's free hand stroke his head, Toto felt strangely safe there. It was as if, in fact, he had finally managed to strip away all the labels and expectations that had been placed on him, leaving just a man, naked and raw. A man capable of choosing to submit to the most beautiful woman in the world. A man who wouldn't hesitate to do anything to make her happy.

A man who had finally stopped being invisible.

Ava continued the bath in silence, rubbing Toto's skin gently. The scent of the liquid soap she had spread over his shoulders reminded him of Sardinia, with its cool late afternoon breeze coming from the sea. “Maybe I should invite her to come with me”, he thought to himself, as the water running down his body took the foam to the drain.

After getting up from the bathtub, Toto dried himself off with Ava's help, enjoying the focused expression on her face. Her eyes, still well-lined and with voluminous eyelashes, followed the movement of her hands, which dried his skin with the plush fabric. Her red mouth, with the tip of her tongue peeking out of the right corner, indicated that she was focused on the activity, which made him smile.

— What’s wrong? — she asked.

— None, just admiring you. You look beautiful when you're focused.

Ava gave a shy little smile before asking him to cover up and follow her. Toto figured they would go back to bed to relax, but he was surprised when she led him out of the room in silence. Following her down the dark hallway, he only realized where they were going when Ava turned on the lights.

The place was bright and minimalist, with the same modern touch as in other rooms in the house. However, that didn't make it any less cozy or inviting, quite the opposite.

— Is this your bedroom?

— Yes — Ava replied, as she walked to the bed and settled in it. Then, she patted the pillow next to her — Come here.

Without saying a word, Toto dropped the towel on the bedroom floor and laid down next to her, allowing Ava to pull him towards her and make him lie against her chest. As she gently stroked the back of his head, Toto listened to the sound of her heart beating. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh.

— Comfortable? — she asked softly.

— Yes — Toto replied, going quiet for a few seconds before adding — Thank you very much.

— For what?

— For seeing me. For really seeing me. Thank you, ma’am.

#toto wolff #wlffog #formula 1 fic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x oc #toto wolff x oc #formula 1 x oc #formula one x oc #liowlff #formula one fic #toto wolff fanfic

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