#Spice Mantra

[spicemantra]

Best Indian Restaurant in Hampton

Indian cuisine's favorite meal, chicken curry, is renowned for its flavorful and fragrant spices. Whether it's a spicy masala or a traditional butter chicken, people frequently ask if it can be frozen. Yes, you can, is the answer, then! One great option to prepare meals ahead of time or freeze leftovers is by freezing chicken curry. It's convenient, time-saving, and guarantees that you'll always have a tasty supper available. However, there are a few things to keep in mind to preserve the taste and essence of your curry.

How to Freeze Curry Chicken

1. Cool it Down: Before freezing, let the chicken curry cool fully. Food that has been heated up can cause other foods to get warmer in the freezer. 2. Select the Right Container: Use resealable bags or freezer-safe containers. In order to avoid freezer burn and preserve the curry's flavor, make sure they are securely closed. 3. Portion Authority: Before freezing, divide the chicken curry into smaller parts. This reduces waste and makes reheating simpler. 4. Label and Declare: Remember to write the freezing date on the containers. This makes it easier for you to monitor the amount of time the curry has been frozen.

Warming Up Curry from Frozen Chicken When you're ready to enjoy your frozen chicken curry, follow these instructions for a proper reheat: 1. Thaw Overnight: Place the frozen curry in the fridge and let it to thaw through the night. 2. Stovetop: Lightly reheat the curry over medium heat, stirring from time to time to ensure it is thoroughly heated. 3. Microwave: If not, you can cook the curry in the microwave for a full minute or more, stirring now and then. If you'd rather eat out but are in the mood for some delectable Indian food, Bayside and Hampton provide some great options. With dishes like succulent butter chicken and real curries, these eateries provide a memorable dining experience.

Bayside's Best Indian Restaurant: Spicemantra, a popular restaurant in the center of Bayside, is well-known for its tasty food and friendly service. Savor a range of traditional curries, such as tikka masala and butter chicken.

Best Indian Restaurant in Hampton: Spice Mantra is a must-go-to place for everyone visiting Hampton. Savor the rich flavors of Indian food with their wide menu, which includes traditional dishes like aromatic biryanis, lamb rogan josh, and palak paneer. Bayside and Hampton Indian cuisine lovers are spoilt for choice when it comes to identifying the best spots to sate their desires. There are countless options, ranging from flavorful curries to creamy butter chicken. However, what happens if you have leftover food? Is it possible to freeze chicken curry without affecting its flavor and consistency? Let's investigate.

Visit at:- https://spicemantra.au/ indian restaurant in Hampton

[instantmanifestation]

[egberts]

it's so easy & so fun

[quaksi]

My search for poems yesterday made me realize that after years of therapy I pretty much know what there is to know about my psyche but that doesn't really change anything regarding my perception of myself or my surroundings so I'm going back to being unreasonable

[ash-says]

Hey Girl, Tired of Being Told to "Be Nice"? ‍

Forget the sugar and spice, it's time for some fire and ice! This ain't your mama's self-help blog. Here, we ditch the damsels in distress routine and learn to be the queens of our own damn castles.

Remember the following mantra's while interacting with this blog:

"Kill or get Killed."

"Be Pretty. Be Petty."

We're all about unleashing your inner boss babe and conquering your goals with a side of sass. Here's a taste of what you'll find on this hot mess of a blog:

1. You are your own saviour.

Survival 101

Tips for Dysfunctional Family Girlies Part 1

Tips for Dysfunctional Family Girlies Part 2

Saviour Complex Fever

Tried and tested Manipulation Techniques

2. Quit Being Basic, Get Iconic

Mini steps towards being independent

Devil may care- A guide on being unbothered

Tips on how to be Goody Two Shoes and Pure in the society's eyes

Be Bold. Be Shallow

Being Audacious

The vicious cycle of Needs, Wants and Demands

The Art of People-Pleasing and how to Fail at it

Corporate Tips

Things to be aware as a hopeless romantic

22 highlights for the next year for me and you

3. Mic Drop Talk

Tips to improve People Skills/ Being more Charismatic

Practicing Tact and Open mindedness

Listening techniques

Handling curiosity so the cat doesn't gets killed

Hush Hush Honey

Tips on how to dodge personal questions in a Professional Setting

4. Mind Over Matter

Cheating Anxiety With Me

Exercise and staying fit

How to tackle Fragmented Sleep/ Sleep disruptions

5. Siren School

Being in touch with your sensuality

How to feel sexy instead of cute

6. Opinion Time

Opinion Time 1

Opinion Time 2

Opinion Time 3

7. Random Motivation

Motivation 1

Motivation 2

Motivation 3

Motivation 4

Motivation 5

Motivation 6

Is that Britney Spears ,"Gimme more" playing in the background??

I know you'll be coming back for more like a moth to a flame.

[b1rds3ye]

Can you make a fic / short headcanon of how the COD men reacts to reader riding those bull mechanical? Their usual bar/pub has installed a new attraction which is that bull mechanical. Either they dared reader or reader wanted to try to ride, depends on the character. You know how those bulls move makes the rider look like they’re grinding?? Yeah I wanna know how the guys reacts to that 👀

OHOHOHOHO GOT IT thank you for sending in the request!! This is the first one this blog has gotten 🥳🥳 I hope you enjoy~

Ride On

The local bar has installed a mechanical bull for an extra activity among the drunk and whimsical. One day off duty, you decide to give it a go and have some fun, and it seems the boys are enjoying it just as much as you.

Characters: Captain John Price, Simon “Ghost” Riley, Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, König

GN!Reader w/ no physical descriptions (except you're shorter than König)

Word Count: 2.5k (~500 each)

Genre: Fluff, Spice, established relationship

Warning: Spicy (but no smut), 18+/MDNI,  awkward dialogue (it’s the cutest thing during flirty time fight me)

A/N: I don’t even write stuff that’s mildly spicy so I hope I did a decent job - also apparently mechanical bulls can do some real damage oh my god???

Captain John Price

On duty Price may be your direct superior but off duty you were more than free to do as you please even in his presence, he had always been clear about that. So he knew you were up to something when you sauntered up to him asking him for permission to go on the mechanical bull in the middle of the bar

He could only stare at your deceptively innocent smile for a moment before repeating the mantra that you could do what you want, his free hand automatically reaching into his pocket for a smoke as you strutted to the mechanical bull. You were going to be the death of him

He’s sure this is what emperors felt like in the days of old. Food, drinks, some very enticing entertainment and Price feels like he’s on cloud nine. Sitting by a table, he lounges back, thighs spread as he takes up the entire space of his seat and then some, feeling like a king as he watches you on the mechanical bull. He does not move, save for the occasional shift as his pants tighten

When you’re done riling him up, Price stays put as you approach him again. He can’t hide the incredible smugness he feels when the hungry eyes of strangers trail you, only to look at him in envy when they realise you’re already taken. He isn’t bothered by any of their stares, he can easily give any of them a piece of his mind

“You’ve got guts, love,” Price huffed out a puff of smoke. He remained seated by his table while you stood beside him, his face directly in line with your torso. His gaze travelled along every line and curve of your body that was so tantalisingly close, he could feel the body heat emanating from you. He stifled the urge to lick his drying lips.

“I did a good job though, right?” You beamed. He quirked an eyebrow at your sickeningly sweet voice. So you were going to keep up this charade, as if your face was only flushed from the physical exhaustion of remaining upright on the automaton and not from being so close but so painfully far away from him. Even in the darkness, he could see how your pupils swallowed your irises but he chose not to comment on it - he wasn’t faring any better.

“Passable. You’ve got two choices, sergeant.”

You swallowed, a shiver travelling down your spine as Price tilted his head down, idly extinguishing his cigar against the ashtray.

“Either you go back on the bull for some further training, give everyone here a sight for their sore, miserable eyes…”

Price regards you again, head up so that you could finally see his full face. Like a man lost for days in the desert, he gazed at you as if you were an oasis. Eyes lit up in awe, full of reverence, yet glazed over in carnal hunger.

“Or we leave this pub and you give me a private encore.”

Simon “Ghost” Riley

The instant he saw the new attraction he instinctively groaned under his breath. He already knew that you, Soap and Gaz will be provoking each other for some sort of competition. He’ll interfere if anyone seems uncomfortable but if it’s all smiles and laughs he’ll just quietly watch on with a mirth in his eyes reserved only for you and the task force (he will make a quip about you lot behaving like muppets though)

That being said, he already knows how suggestive a mechanical bull can look. When it’s decided that you’ll give it a go, Simon can only exhale slowly out of his mask, mentally preparing for an unexpected trial of restraint

He slinks back into the darkness of the bar, one with the shadows. His eyes shine like jewels as they reflect the treasure that is you. He drinks in the sight, committing it to memory. If from the bull you manage to see him in the gloom, his gaze is so intense it can single-handedly throw you off the automaton

Even off duty, he’s good at keeping his composure. When you return to him, you almost mistook him for being completely unfazed by your little stunt on the bull. But his voice is a little gruffer, the muscles in his throat straining with every syllable. He shows his neediness through his presence, you won’t be alone for the rest of the night as he accompanies you for even the smallest of errands

Rubbing your shoulder that was bruised from falling off of the bull, you beelined for the rest of the task force, only to get unexpectedly pulled towards the corners of the bar where the lights could not reach.

“Simon?” Your voice is barely above a whisper as you feel his hand splayed across your spine. He was never big on public displays of affection, he was possessive in that all of his love will be seen by you only. Daring a move like this has you turning to him in concern, but he didn’t seem uncomfortable in the slightest.

“We’ve got a problem.”

“And that is?”

Simon doesn’t reply, not verbally. He takes your hips in his hands, you can tell he’s trying his best to be gentle but his fingertips dig ever so slightly into your skin. Guiding you back to stand just in front of him, you grunted as you felt a hefty weight against your backside. Now that is a big problem indeed.

“Need you,” he rasps, voice so thick with air they were barely discernible words. You allowed him to pull you further against him, a guttural groan escaping him. “Fuck, didn’t know you could ride like that.”

“I’m a soldier of many talents,” you replied. He huffs against his face mask, digging his face into the crook of your neck. “I suppose I could go again. Just, not on the bull.”

Simon’s lips curved into a smile that warped the mask against your skin. His hands on your hips tighten, you won’t be escaping him anytime soon.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

When Johnny’s eyes settled on the mechanical bull, he then took a brief glance at you and his mind went places. This absolute menace is conjuring up a million and one ways to get you on that bull ASAP (with your wholehearted consent, of course)

He’ll do anything, making a dare, teasing you, trying to make a bet, just so he can see you mount that thing. He’s a dedicated man, once he has a goal he’s seeing it through, no matter how many playful slaps and lighthearted glares you give him. He’ll even set an example and go first - he’ll be flattered as hell if he can get you out of all people riled up

Johnny thinks he can handle it, but he’s always overestimating himself when it comes to you. He can’t play off how you’re bothering him as your hips slide forward and back against the saddle. He can only clear his throat uncomfortably and choke out a fake laugh when the rest of the 141 comment on how quiet he’s become

He bit off more than he can chew, he thought he was the smooth one for being blessed with such a sight but he’s finding himself more bewitched by you by the second. When you get off the bull he gives you a feeble punch on the shoulder, trying to act like he’s alright but really he’s completely at your mercy, hovering around you near begging you to give him attention

You didn’t even have time to greet him as Johnny pulled you away from the rest of the task force, down into a quiet corridor of the pub. His silence was unnerving, you asked him if something was wrong but his only response was his lips against yours. When you reciprocated, the Johnny you knew was back with you, smiling into the kiss with an exhale of eagerness into your mouth as he traps you against the wall with his body. His weight against you, it was already hard to get a breath in as he claimed your lips again and again and again. But what truly made you gasp was the hardness that brushed against your thigh. It was initially so brief, you could credit it as a phantom of your own lust, but as Johnny got bolder, it rested permanently against your upper leg.

Now that he made his predicament clear, he reluctantly pulled away from you, just enough for him to speak. His heaving breaths burned against your skin, no more than his azure eyes that bored into yours.

“I got another thing you can ride, aye?”

You burst into laughter as you gave him a playful shove on the chest. It did nothing push him off of you, his smile widening at your countenance.

“Johnny, that was awful.”

“I ain’t lyin’. My li'l MacTavish needs some help.”

“I swear to god I’m leaving you.”

“You know you love me. Now are you gonna help me or no?”

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Kyle has a playful streak, when he sees you eyeing the new attraction he’ll approach you with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he slides some cash to you. “This twenty says you won’t last five seconds on that.”

And with that, a light-hearted competition started. Kyle’s intentions were genuinely innocent, he just wanted to have some fun beyond drinking the night away. After you gave the bull a go he was wholly planning to try after you to show you how it’s done - and possibly impress you with superior balancing powers

It started off fun as you laughed at the odd movements of the bull under you and Kyle smiled with you. He’s willing to give up that twenty as you were clearly having fun

What he did not expect was how as the mechanical bull became more erratic, bucking indiscriminately in all directions that the sight seemed more… suggestive. A yelp of surprise from you has him situating himself behind a table, ensuring no one can see the growing issue below his hips

He dares a look at the rest of the task force who are taking in the sight innocently. Soap is shouting encouragements like a battle cry, Price pulls a face that’s a mix of amused and impressed, Ghost offers a single dip of the head in respect and now Kyle feels dirty, guilt mixing with arousal into a sinful concoction that drips down his tightening pants

As you returned back to the task force, Kyle immediately came up behind you. His arms wrapped around your waist, he sat his head on your shoulder, cheek against yours. With his entire body smothering yours, his whole being moved with every inhale and exhale of yours as you tried to recollect yourself after that exhausting ordeal of the mechanical bull.

“Getting touchy’s not going to make me forget about that twenty, Kyle,” you chided with a smile. You hear a little hmph as one of his hands dip into your pocket, resting over your hip bone. He slips the note in but his hand stays there, his thumb tracing over the wrinkles in your pants.

“You looked real nice up there, you know,” he mumbled into your ear before giving it a peck, arms tightening around you possessively.

“Feels like you enjoyed it,” you whispered, voice disappearing as you noticed something firm pressing against your ass. Your laugh came out far too weak. “Is that a pistol or are you happy to see me?”

He chuckled, husky and restrained, too distracted to reply. His hand in your pocket was becoming more animated, rubbing at your skin. Even through the fabric, you can feel how hot he is, only getting warmer as he gets more antsy, his free hand now tugging and teasing at your shirt.

Kyle spares a look at the rest of the task force, clearly distracted with their own drinking and antics.

“Do you think they’ll notice if we leave?”

“... No, let’s go.”

König

König will never ask you to go on the mechanical bull because he’d never go on it himself. Putting on a show for a whole lot of strangers in a pub? Potentially embarrassing himself in front of said strangers, his allies and you? The thought already fills him with dread and he is empathetic to never ask for such a thing from you. That being said, when it’s established you’re more than happy to give the bull a go, he’s not going to stop you

He knew how suggestive a mechanical bull can look but he figured he could handle it; he did not reach the rank of colonel by giving in to every temptation. But he should have known better when it came to you, your mere existence making him feel like he lost all composure and combat experience

Upon noticing the lustful stares of others, König doubles as a bodyguard. He slowly stalks around the bar, using his hulking figure to strategically block the view of you for others. He also takes note of anyone who seems a little too fixated on you, not hesitating to send a glare their way

Once you lose to the bull, he waits by the edge of the ring, taking your hand to escort you back to your friends. He does it both to be a caring partner for you, but also he’s preening as onlookers visibly deflate upon realising that if they want to get to you, they have to go through him

König’s hand was tight around yours, you could feel it occasionally twitch, aware of his own strength and trying to loosen his hold on you.

“Entschuldigung, mein Schatz,” he grumbled. “You wanted the night here, but I must leave.”

“Why?”

König turned his head away in embarrassment, but you noticed his eyes dipped lower for a split second. When you followed his gaze, you took a moment to pride yourself for getting your partner so riled up. It was only broken when he gently took your chin with his free hand, tilting it up - or just anywhere away from his growing predicament.

“It is embarrassing,” he muttered. “You were just having fun, but I am here… needing.”

“Not at all,” you smirked. “I wanted you to notice me.”

“I am always watching you, Schatz,” König whispered. He was getting bolder - or perhaps more desperate - with every word, the hand on your chin moving down to settle on one of your hips. You tilted your hips into his grip and the consequent breath he emitted was forceful and ragged. “I did not think such a machine could be so… crude.”

“But you liked the sight, right?” Your voice was smug as you pulled his face down to be in line with yours. You now had a perfect view of his eyes that were alight with lust, pupils blown so wide you could not distinguish if it was the gaze of a predator or prey.

“Zu viel.”

Call of Duty Masterlist

[crystalskiesandcherrywine]

The way you say my name

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen x female!Reader

Its pure smut and since its about Feyd, there are some warnings: he is not so gentle. There is desire on both sides and it ends up getting in the praise kink/forced orgasm territory.

Summary: Your planet has brought magic into the galaxy - a source of new spice- and upended the political status quo. You are the sole heiress of your house and the emperor decided that the best way to protect your family's survival is to betroth you to the most enigmatic but violent fighter in the known universe: Na Baron Feyd Rautha Harkonnen, dangerously seductive and very intrigued by you …

2.203 words

one shot ( for now)

_________

Your whole body was tense, filled with anticipation and nervousness. You noticed your fingers were unconsciously playing with your belt again, and with effort you made yourself refrain from doing so. It was not your first time in the Emperor's court, nor was it your first state reception. Still, it was the first time you had set foot on Kaitain since the new spice was discovered on your planet. Something that had been considered impossible for millennia and that would shake the existing power structures in the Landsraat and the entire known universe. From an insignificant house on a planet beyond Orion, blessed with centuries of stability because of it, your family has been catapulted into a position of a central political player. Your fate, albeit a small piece of a power play against the backdrop the these developments. "Our task is greater than ourselves. Our fears, smaller." The mantra that helped you hold a steady course. You relax your shoulders and notice how your back straightens. 

At that moment, a festively dressed servant entered the room to announce Baron Vladimir Harkonnen and his nephews arrival. Even though you had been prepared for this encounter, the sight was a shock to her. At the first glance he is less imposing then Rabban, who moved into the room like a mountain of muscle and leather uniform. But there is a slow and steady menace in the way he carries himself. His demeanor, both elegant and commanding, reminded you of a marble statue brought to life; his skin almost seemed to illuminate the room, a contrast stark against the dim flicker of torches.

If he had eyebrows, he would certainly have raised one a little crookedly by now. But as it was, his ice-blue eyes suddenly started at you, and you sensed a hardness in his entire demeanor that you weren't used to at home and whose traces you might have felt in her upbringing with Bene Gesserit, but which had always been wrapped in a velvet glove. But power, violence and strength were clear to see in this man. The reason why the Emperor wants to make him your husband - the only one who can apparently guarantee the safety of your planet. He was not used to having to hide his true character. And that is exactly what you would make his downfall.

The formalities dragged on endlessly, time seems to slow down under his gaze. He cannot comprehend you, the strangeness of your features, the luxuriant curls of your hair falling over your shoulders in an elegant half updo, the waves of burgundy silk of your cloak adorning your shoulders, your dress of the same silk and lace - how can anyone appear so vulnerable and exposed? Especially one who holds the key to the most coveted of secrets - a new spice, as powerful as the one exported from Arrakis, but with fewer dangers, Fremen rebellions and more sustainable methods of harvesting. Only this thin fabric separates you from him, something his knife could shred in seconds. He notices that your eyes have left his and are now focused on his hand, gripping the blade at his waist so tightly that his knuckles turn white. He unclenches his hand and offers it to you, bowing slightly. 

"My lady, would you allow me to escort you?"

You place your hand on his and he almost jerks back, surprised by its warmth.

"A mere twist of nature, I tend to forget how shocking it must be to someone not from my home. Our temperature has evolved to be slightly higher than the average, so that when the temperature drops at night, we never fall below a certain threshold".

He listens to you as you walk down the hall towards the banquet room, taking in your voice, the slight swish of your gown on the floor, the click of the delicate gold chains around your neck disappearing into the modest cut of your dress. 

His thoughts oscillate between genuine intrigue with you and your planet, both of which he will soon call his, and a burning desire to test your seemingly obvious fragility, to see how many times he can take you before you beg for mercy, how many bites into your skin will make you whimper, how many slaps on your ass will bring you to your knees regretting whatever misdeed you may have done. You can see his hunger, thinly veiled by manners, and you are sure that he is not accusing you in front of everyone for being in the Emperor's house and not on Giedi Prime. He seems so lost in thought that you have to repeat your question.

"Are you all right, Na Baron? Is something wrong? My conversational skills must be truly dull to bore you so".

He seems to come back to the present, his eyes resting on yours again, the colour of pure blue, like a deep frozen mountain lake. You look down, and just as he finds his voice, the Emperor rises to end the banquet.

"Then I shall bid you good night. If you wish, join me in the botanical garden tomorrow before noon. Perhaps my conversation skills will have improved by then".

He nods and stands to pull out your chair, taking the opportunity to let his fingers slide down your spine through your dress as he moves the chair to the side. He will join you tomorrow alright.

_____

The sun flickers through the canopy of trees above you, leaving a mosaic of shadows on the small, flat cobblestones of the path. You have your hair in a braid that sits like a halo around your head, your arms bare in the sun, dressed in a light linen top and form-fitting trousers that allow for more movement as you tend to the plants. The small patch in front of you is half empty, with small plants dug up. Their purple roots are gnarled and wobbly, while the vines are the darkest shade of green. A tiny bead of sweat clings to your eyebrow, and you pull off your glove to remove it. 

"Is this how my intended likes to spend her time?" His voice behind you, rough and deep. You are startled and drop the glove. He picks it up and holds it out to you, looking straight into your eyes again.

"Thank you. Sometimes I do," you give him an open smile and take the glove back from him, he holds it for a second longer than necessary, seemingly puzzled by your open expression once again. "These plants are from my home, the Emperor tries his best to cultivate them here, but we cannot figure out why they do not develop as they should," you look up at him, his gaze still unmoved from your face.

"Am I boring you again, Na Baron?"

"Not at all," his tongue moves over his lush lips, brushing his cupid's bow.

"Well then, these tiny plants are one of the main factors in the production of the new spice. Their sap is..." You take a small knife from the box beside you and just as you cut into one of the roots, your hand slips and a red streak of blood appears on your left hand. In an instant, a small trail of red drips down your palm and onto the light stones at your feet.

His eye darkens as he grabs your post, ignoring the plant in the flower bed, and brings the injured hand to his lips. A shower passes through you, his tongue brushing your skin, electrifying.

"You should be more careful, my lady." 

His voice almost a growl, his soft and plush lips sucking lightly at your skin, leaving a red mark around them. 

"Yes, I should, Feyd," you are not sure if calling him by his name was a familiarity you allowed yourself too soon, but his reaction proves you wrong. His arms are wrapped around your waist, his face inches from yours. You feel your breath mix, his scent sweet and musky around you.

"Say my name again" There is no politeness to hide his hunger now.

"Feyd..." An almost unbearable exhalation is all you can manage. And with that, he closes the gap between you and descends on your lips, devouring you. His kiss tastes slightly metallic as you taste your blood on his lips, his tongue touching your teeth, demanding entry. You give in, melting into his ministrations, your hands unable to stay still, reaching for his neck, nails digging into the porcelain skin, he almost Monas into the kiss, his hands clawing at your bottom, gripping the flesh in an iron grip. You make a small sound that seems to be all he has been waiting for. Leaving your swollen lips, his attack continues in your jaw and neck, leaving small marks. You feel his arrousal pressing against you and your right hand lets go of his throat and slides over the leather in a rhythmic motion. Before you can think how you can take so much, his size is obvious even fully clothed, he grabs the knife from before and cuts open your top, not bothering with the buttons, leaving your chest exposed to him. His mouth travels to your nipples, his tongue dancing around them before his mouth closes on them and his other hands pinch the other hard. You moan, the pain delicious and unexpected, making you arch even more towards him. He unties the rest of your clothes, leaving you bare to him. A drop of your wetness makes its way from your core along your inner thigh as you melt in his arms. His hand wanders deeper along your hipbones and thighs and as he catches the drop his predatory smile becomes a grin. 

„My lady seems to be enjoying herself... Kneel down".

You obey, the hard floor hurting your knees almost immediately. He pulls his swollen cock out of his trousers and strokes the head along your lips. You open your mouth and begin to lick his shaft with broad strokes, sucking the tip in and letting it fall from your mouth with a wet plop. He watches your every move and pushes a lock of hair that has come loose from your braid out of your face.

"Yes, that's a good girl, keep going."

Spurred on by the praise, you redouble your efforts, disregarding the discomfort of kneeling on the pavement and look up at him to find him completely mesmerised. He cannot believe how willingly you give yourself to him, without reservation. He feels as if he has found something sacred, something so precious and wild that he cannot imagine ever getting enough of it. He steadies your neck and finds his own rhythm, fucking your throat hard, the gurgling sound coming from you like music to his ears, you are struggling for air but he is relentless, filling you with his cum until you swallow every last drop. Your eyes almost in tears, you try to catch your breath, but Feyd has other plans as he helps you to your feet and lays you down on the patch of fresh earth. He spreads your legs and caresses your core. The pain seems to dissolve into a sea of pleasure, leaving you disoriented and greedy, your hands pressing the back of his head into your cunt. He moans in approval, sending more delicious vibrations through your cleat and as his tongue fins you entrance, you lose yourself in the orgasm, chanting his name with more earnestness than any prayer that was ever to leave your lips. 

He looks up at you and just when you think you are going to get a break from his ministrations, he pauses only to strip, his leather overalls falling to the floor and revealing his muscles. He grasps your hips and you spread your legs even wider, giving him an unobstructed view of you and your pulsating cunt.

"So ready to take me, my lady, so ready for my cock to fill you," he smiles, aligning himself with your entrance and thrusting in at once. His cock, thick and throbbing, disappears inside you as you continue to chant his name. He rams into you with abandon, his head touching your wall as his hands wander from your hips to your breasts, kneading them, whipping you into the frenzy of the second high, spasming even harder around his cock. 

"I think you can come again for me, my Na Baroness," he whispers in your ear as he lowers himself over you, one hand loving your breasts to study himself on the floor, the fingers of the other circling your clit. You moan, overstimulated and hot, writhing under his touch.

"I know you can do it," he continues, not slowing down, and he is right as you cum again, this time sending him over the edge, his movements becoming ragged as his seed fills you. As your both breathing calms, you look into his eyes again and you know he is a goner, lost to the magic of your touch and how your desires dance together.

[misscherry-26]

I saw you were taking requests for Bellamy Blake and I haddd to send one in!! Could you please write a lil spice fic, where they’re in the woods and get in a fight or sum n he js suddenly kissss her. Thank you twin!!

Unspoken Feelings

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x Reader

Author's Note: Hi!!! Thank you so much for this!! My first request for Bellamy Blake. Oh the things I felt while working on this...👀 By the way I had to make a few changes, this is my most polished draft, haha. I'm so excited to share it, though I don't know how good I did with the spicy. I hope you like it!! Thank you for requesting. ❤️

There could be grammar mistakes, English isn't my first language.

He really thinks he’s the leader, the king of the earth. Self-centered egoist of a man. He can go fuck himself. You think as you walk through the woods in search of the plant that Clarke needs for Finn, who was attached by the grounder that kidnapped Octavia.

They managed to get him to the ship, but now he was struggling for his life. The problem was that the knife he was stabbed with was infected. Bellamy and his group got the grounder and tortured him to get information. Of course he refused to give it, that until Octavia threatened him to harm herself with the poisoned knife. Finn would live, but Clark needed more medicinal plants for him.

But of course, Bellamy Blake had to give his ultimatum that no one would leave the camp, no after realizing that you aren’t the only survivors of earth. He could care less about saving people, but you for sure didn’t. You don’t know Finn completely but, he deserves to live.

Since the ship landed on Earth, You and Bellamy have been at each other’s throat every single moment. It’s like you are locked in a never-ending battle, a constant clash of wills. Every decision he makes seems to deliberately oppose yours, every step he takes is a challenge to your very presence. He thrives in the chaos, you can see it in the way he strides trough camp, shoulders squared, head held high, daring anyone to question him. His motto—whatever the hell we want—rings in your ears like a taunt, a reckless mantra you can’t ignore. He embodies it with every decision, with every command he gives without caring for the consequences.

When he encouraged the others to rip off their bracelets, you felt the sting of frustration burning through your veins. To him it was a bold declaration of independence from the Ark, but to you, it was a hasty move to those above thinking Earth wasn’t livable.

And then, there was the Grounder. The way he’d dragged the man into camp, beaten and bloodied, as if his very existence was a crime that needed punishing. You left the room when he ordered the torture, convinced that brute force was the only answer. The look in his eyes then—cold, calculating, determined—was a look that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

He’s always there, hiding on the edges of your vision, challenging you. It’s infuriating, the way he dismisses anything resembling compromise or collaboration as weakness, how he scoffs at your attempts to hold onto something resembling order or morality.

Yet, there’s something in his attitude —something in the way he glances at you, a flicker of underdetermination, a tension that thrums between you like a wire. It’s in the way he steps closer when you argue, his body taut, like he’s gearing up for a fight he both craves and dreads. You feel it too—the tightness in your chest, the burn of frustration that’s more than just anger, something deeper, more complicated. You don’t know whether you want to scream at him or—

But no, you won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he gets under your skin.

You take a look at the sky losing its light with each minute that it passes.

Taking a deep breath, you continue.

After what feels like hours of searching, you finally spot the familiar shape of the plant you’re looking for. You remember the details Clark gave you. Crouching down you carefully pull a small bag from your pocket. You work quickly, plucking the plants and stuffing them into the bag, your movements precise and purposeful.

But then—a sudden rustling, a low whisper of movement through the leaves nearby. Your heart stutters, and your breath catches in your throat.

Instinct takes over. You drop low, pressing yourself against the cold ground, hiding behind the broad leaves of the plant. Grounders, maybe.

They could be watching, waiting.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, listening for the sound of footsteps, for the snap of a twig or the rustle of leaves that would betray their presence. But instead, you hear a low chuckle—soft, mocking, and far too familiar.

Your eyes snap open, and you whip around, breath catching in your chest.

There, arms on his waist, is Bellamy. His eyes, dark and sharp, are fixed on you like a predator who has found his prey. His brows are drawn together, the muscles in his neck tense, and there's a fire in his gaze that blazes hotter than any annoyance you've seen before.

“I see you like to test my patience, Princess.” His deep voice cuts through the silence, pulling your gaze upward. He's standing right in front of you.

You get up immediately, your breathing and muscles relaxing at the notice that you are not in danger.

“What are you doing here?” You ignore his previous comment, turning around and continuing on getting more plants.

“I remember telling everyone to not leave camp, and that includes you too, you know? There’s no special treatment here.” You hear him from behind.

“I wasn’t going to sit around. Clark needs this for Finn.”

“He’s stable enough; we don’t need anyone else getting hurt over this.” Bellamy insists, his tone sharp.

You clench your teeth and turn. “Look, I couldn’t care less what you think. I don’t go by your rules.”

Bellamy scoffs and grabs your arm. You let go of his grasp as soon as he starts walking.

“Don’t touch me!”

Bellamy watches you, wondering why you are being stubborn right now. Hell, he even wonders why he came here for the first place. Was he worried about you? Why did he come here? He questions himself. Bellamy’s mind races, battling with the tangled web of his feelings. He’s been fighting to keep everyone safe, to enforce rules that seem cold but necessary, and yet, here he is, breaking his own rule because of you.

Truth is, you have been nothing but a burden to him every single day since they put a foot on earth. Your defiance, your refusal to follow orders, your reckless bravery—all of it has been a thorn in his side. Every day, you challenged his authority and decisions, and yet, despite all the friction, despite the constant arguments and the resentment, there’s something about you that pulls at him.

He can’t quite distinguish it, but it’s there—a magnetic pull that makes him question his own motives and feelings. It’s in the way you stand up for what you believe in, even when it puts you at risk. It’s in the fire and determination in your eyes, something that resonates with him on a deeper level than he’s willing to admit.

The frustration he feels is braided with an unspoken admiration, a bittering respect that complicates his emotions even further. Bellamy is torn between his duty and the sudden impulses of something else—something he can’t easily define or control. It’s a vulnerability he hasn’t allowed himself to explore, and it confuses him.

All he knows is that despite the danger and the defiance, he can’t seem to turn his back on you. His frustration is laced with a deeper, more complex emotion that makes him question why he’s so determined to keep you safe.

He thought you would be this scared of everyone and everything type of girl, but you prove him all the opposite.

“Let’s go back—”

“I won’t.” You cut him off, not giving him a chance to say anything. You turn again and continue with your job.

Of course, you hoped that he would go and leave you alone. You hoped.

Next thing you know, your feet aren’t touching the ground and you are being lifted up by him. A few leaves escape your grasp, so you make sure to close the bag.

“Let me go!” You protest.

“Stop screaming, you are putting us in danger” He doesn’t listen to your request, instead he walks back to camp.

You scoff, moving frantically. “If you cared so much about safety, you wouldn’t be carrying me off like I’m just another pack to you!”

Bellamy's jaw clenches, and he stops abruptly, eyes scanning the surrounding woods.

“You’re the one making noise,” he retorts, setting you down but not releasing his grip entirely. “Keep quiet or—”

You hear it then—a rustling of leaves, far too close, far too deliberate. Your breath catches in your throat. It’s not just the wind. Bellamy stiffens beside you, his grip on your arm tightening reflexively.

For a split second, your eyes meet, and you both know: the Grounders.

“Run,” he whispers, urgency dripping from the word.

But there’s no time to argue. You both take off, feet pounding against the damp earth, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The sounds behind you grow closer—footsteps, which makes your heart race even faster.

Up ahead, you spot a dark opening—a cave, half-hidden by foliage. You yank Bellamy toward it without thinking, and for once, he doesn’t resist. Both dive inside, pressing against the cold rock. The cave is narrow, suffocating, but it’s cover.

Outside, you hear the murmurs and footsteps of the Grounders drawing near. You hold your breath, every muscle tense. Bellamy’s hand is still around your wrist, and you can feel his pulse racing just as fast as yours.

“We’re not going anywhere until it clears. We need to stay inside.” he mutters, barely audible.

Bellamy presses a hand against the small of your back, steering you deeper into the cave, his touch firm, almost commanding. You feel the heat of his palm through your shirt, and it sends a jolt of anger through you.

“Get your hand off me.” You snap, jerking away from his touch. But the cave is too narrow, and he doesn't give you much space to maneuver.

His jaw tightens, and he steps even closer, his eyes dark and unreadable. “I’m trying to keep you from getting killed.”

You dig your heels in, resisting just to spite him. “I don’t need you to save my life, Bellamy.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it—just a sharp, bitter edge. “You think I want to be stuck here with you? Trust me, Princess, this is the last place I want to be.”

You whirl around, stepping closer, your chest brushing against his, both of you too angry to care. “Then why are you here?” you fire back, your voice louder than you intended. “Why do you always have to control everything? Who made you the boss of me?"

His hand, still on your back, clenches into a fist, pulling you closer instead of pushing you away.

“Maybe because I’m trying to keep you alive!” he spits out, his face inches from yours, his breath hot. “You are always doing this—taking risks, getting in my way. Do you have a death wish?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, anger flaring into something more intense. “No, but maybe you do,” you whisper fiercely. “Coming out here, risking your life for someone you supposedly can’t stand. What is it, Bellamy? Why do you even care?”

He grits his teeth, and you see something flicker in his eyes—a momentary crack in his armor. “I don’t!” he snaps, but his voice lacks conviction, faltering on the last word.

“Liar,” you accuse, stepping even closer, your forehead nearly touching his. “If you didn’t care, you’d have let me go. You wouldn’t have come after me, wouldn’t have—”

His grip tightens on your arm, and his other hand moves to your waist, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” His voice is low, almost a growl. “You think you’ve got me all figured out?”

You tilt your chin defiantly, eyes blazing. “Why don’t you just admit it? All this, you’re not really angry. You’re scared. Scared of what might happen if you lose control. Scared of what it means if something happens to m—"

But he doesn’t let you finish. In the blink of an eye, he’s on you, lips crashing against yours with a force that takes your breath away. The kiss is rough, almost bruising, a mixture of frustration and something deeper—something desperate. You freeze for a moment, caught off guard, before the shock melts into anger again, and you shove against his chest.

He doesn’t pull back. Instead, he presses you harder against the cold, cave wall, his body flush against yours. His hands move up, one sliding to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place while his mouth claims yours with a furious intensity, like he’s trying to silence every word, every protest.

Your heart is racing, your thoughts a tangled mess. You should push him away again, should shove him back and yell in his face, but instead, you find yourself kissing him back just as fiercely, your hands fisting in his shirt. It’s like all the anger, all the arguments have boiled over into this—this raw, heated clash of mouths and tongues.

When you finally pull apart, both of you are panting, breaths coming fast, and his forehead rests against yours, his eyes still dark with emotion.

“Why do you care?” you whisper again, but this time your voice is softer, less certain.

His thumb brushes your cheek, and his gaze is intense, almost searching. “I don’t know,” he mutters, but there’s something vulnerable in his tone, something that makes your heart ache even as your anger simmers beneath the surface.

“Maybe I’m frustrated…so damn frustrated because—” He hesitates, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “—because you’ve got a way of getting under my skin, and it’s driving me crazy. But yeah, there it is. I’m worried. Happy?”

His lips are so close you can feel his breath on your skin, and for a moment, it’s like the whole world has narrowed to just the two of you, trapped together in this cave, trapped by something you can’t name.

"Bell..." you start, but he silences you again, this time with a softer kiss, one that seems to ask for something instead of demand it.

His hands slips down to the curve of your waist pulling you even closer, and you feel a shiver run down your spine, heat pounding low in your belly.

Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers locking on his dark strands. The kids deepens, growing more urgent, desperate, as if both of you are trying to pour all this unspoken feelings into a single, shared breath.

And you know that whatever this is, you are not ready to stop it. Not yet.

[heystephen]

also one thing that’s been bugging me is that taylor associating with matty healy goes so specifically against her brand of feminism that she has tapped into since 2014, which is the whole Women Supporting Women™️ mantra. like, her thing for years has been about trying to uplift other women in the industry and call out the manufactured cattiness.. but just a few months ago, her man called ice spice a dumb bitch on that podcast and made disparaging remarks about her appearance. and considering she plays ice spice’s song before going on stage, it seems, idk, insulting to then go date that guy. we all know how taylor feels about women being referred to as bitches especially by men (see: look what you made me do) and that she has no problem calling out what she sees as misogyny happening to her (see: her tweet to damon albarn & her ginny and georgia tweet). imagine if matty had referred to taylor as a dumb bitch on that podcast instead and made remarks about her weight, we KNOW she would’ve hit back immediately. but it’s fuck other women i guess

[sweetcherryharry]

lunch

based on the song 'lunch' by billie eilish.

pairing: harry styles x reader

from the first moment i listened to the song i NEEDED to write something based on it. tbh it wasn't edited, so sorry if there are mistakes. hope u enjoy!

(masterlist)

I could eat that girl for lunch Yeah, she dances on my tongue Tastes like she might be the one And I could never get enough

The bustling energy of the party swirled around Harry, a kaleidoscope of laughter, music, and conversations. Yet, his gaze remained fixed on Y/N across the room. She stood amidst a circle of friends, her vibrant laughter ringing out like a melody that cut through the noise.

His eyes traced the elegant curve of her neck, the way her hair cascaded over her shoulders like a silken waterfall. She gestured animatedly as she spoke, her hands painting vivid pictures in the air.  The way her eyes sparkled with amusement, the genuine joy radiating from her every inch of skin, made his heart quicken.

"I could eat that girl for lunch," he murmured to himself, the phrase echoing a sentiment far deeper than the words implied. It wasn't a physical hunger, but a craving for the essence of her – the wit, the warmth, the intoxicating energy that drew him like a moth to a flame.

The thought of Y/N danced on his tongue, a symphony of flavors that he yearned to savor. She was sunshine and spice, a tantalizing mix of sweetness and intellect that left him wanting more. Each encounter with her, each shared laugh and stolen glance, was a morsel that only fueled his appetite.

As he watched her toss her head back in laughter, a sudden realization struck him. Tastes like she might be the one. The thought resonated within him, a profound truth that he couldn't ignore. It wasn't a fleeting infatuation or a surface-level attraction. It was a soul-deep connection, a recognition that he had stumbled upon something rare and precious.

Their friendship had blossomed over time, a tapestry woven with shared jokes, heartfelt conversations, and unspoken understanding. Yet, from the very first moment their eyes met, Harry knew there was something extraordinary about Y/N. She possessed a magnetism that pulled him in, a captivating aura that left him utterly spellbound.

A slow smile spread across his face, a warmth blooming in his chest. And I could never get enough. The words whispered through his mind, a mantra that encapsulated his desire to delve deeper, to explore every facet of Y/N's being. The thought of spending more time with her, of unraveling the layers of her heart and mind, filled him with an exhilarating sense of anticipation.

I could buy her so much stuff It's a craving, not a crush, huh "Call me when you're there" Said, "I bought you somethin' rare And I left it under 'Claire'"

Harry found himself constantly thinking of ways to make her smile, to surprise her with little gifts and tokens of affection. It wasn't just a fleeting infatuation; his feelings for Y/N had blossomed into something deeper, more profound.

One afternoon, while browsing a vintage market, he stumbled upon a delicate silver locket engraved with intricate floral patterns. It was a piece of exquisite craftsmanship, a rare find that whispered of timeless elegance. He knew instantly that it was meant for Y/N. The locket seemed to embody her essence - delicate yet strong, beautiful yet unassuming.

With a surge of excitement, he purchased the locket and carefully placed it in a velvet-lined box. He imagined Y/N's eyes lighting up as she opened it, the surprise and joy radiating from her face. The thought of her reaction filled him with a warmth that spread through his chest.

He couldn't wait to give it to her, but he wanted the moment to be special, away from prying eyes and flashing cameras. So, he decided to leave it at her favorite coffee shop, tucked under the name 'Claire'—a playful code they had developed in the early days of their friendship to protect Y/N's privacy from the ever-present media. It was a secret only they shared, a testament to their unique bond.

Dialing her number, he waited for her to answer, his heart pounding with anticipation.

"Hey, Harry!" Y/N's cheerful voice filled his ear, instantly calming his nerves. "What's up?"

"Just wanted to let you know I'm thinking of you," he replied, his voice laced with a hint of mystery, hoping to pique her curiosity. "And, oh… I might have left you a little something special at our usual spot."

"Really?" Y/N's voice rose with excitement. "What is it?"

"You'll have to find out for yourself," Harry said with a chuckle, enjoying the anticipation in her voice. "Let me know when you get there."

He could practically hear the smile in her voice as she replied, "I'm already on my way!"

As Harry hung up, he couldn't help but grin. The thought of surprising Y/N, of giving her something that reflected his deep affection for her, filled him with a warm glow. This was more than just a crush; it was a craving, one that he knew would never go away.

So now, she's comin' up the stairs So I'm pullin' up a chair And I'm puttin' up my hair

A light knock on his apartment door pulled Harry out of his reverie. A wave of anticipation washed over him as he crossed the room, his heart beating a little faster. He took a deep breath, composing himself before opening the door.

There stood Y/N, her face flushed with excitement, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You wouldn't believe what I just found at the coffee shop," she exclaimed, holding up the velvet box.

"Oh really?" Harry feigned surprise, a playful smirk on his lips. He stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. "Come in, tell me all about it."

As Y/N walked into the apartment, Harry's eyes followed her every move, admiring the way she effortlessly filled the space with her energy. He felt a surge of warmth and affection, a longing to make this moment perfect for her.

"So," he said, pulling out a chair for her at the small dining table, "what did you find?"

Y/N eagerly opened the box, revealing the delicate silver locket. Her eyes widened with delight as she traced the intricate patterns with her fingertip. "Harry, it's beautiful," she breathed, her voice filled with awe.

"I'm glad you like it," Harry replied, his heart swelling with happiness at her reaction. He wanted nothing more than to see her smile like that, to be the reason behind her joy.

"I love it," Y/N corrected him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "It's the most thoughtful gift I've ever received."

As she reached for the locket to fasten it around her neck, Harry noticed a few strands of her hair falling loose from her ponytail. Without thinking, he gently tucked them behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her skin for a moment longer than necessary.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes locking with his. A moment of shared understanding passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken emotions that hung in the air.

Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he realized that this was more than just friendship, more than a mere crush. It was something deeper, something undeniable. He wanted to be the one to make her smile, to cherish her, to be her safe haven in a chaotic world. And as he gazed into her eyes, he knew that he would do everything in his power to make that happen.

Baby, I think you were made for me Somebody write down the recipe Been tryin' hard not to overeat You're just so sweet

Weeks had passed since the night of the locket, and the once unspoken feelings between Harry and Y/N had evolved into a palpable tension that hung in the air whenever they were together. Their friendship remained strong, but an undercurrent of longing and desire pulsed beneath the surface.

The pair –along with their group of friends– were illuminated by the dim lights of the bar, a lively mix of laughter, clinking glasses, and the rhythmic pulse of music washing over them. Harry leaned against the bar, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand, his gaze fixed on Y/N right next to him.  She was close, their knees occasionally brushing against each other, sending sparks of electricity through him.

"Baby, I think you were made for me," Harry finally blurted out, the words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them. The alcohol had emboldened him, giving him the courage to voice the sentiment that had been echoing in his mind for months.

Y/N turned to face him, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. The playful banter on her lips faded as she met his gaze, a flicker of recognition dancing in her eyes.

"Very funny," she retorted, her voice barely a whisper above the din of the bar, though her tone wasn't as lighthearted as her words suggested.

Harry leaned in closer, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "Who said anything funny? I didn't." His voice was low and husky, sending a shiver down her spine.

A moment of silence hung between them, the air thick with unspoken desires. The music seemed to fade into the background as their world narrowed to just the two of them, their bodies mere inches apart.

"Why would you say that?" Y/N finally asked, her voice barely a whisper. "That I'm made for you —I mean?"

Harry's hand found hers on the bar, his fingers intertwining with hers. He took a deep breath, the warmth of the whiskey emboldening him further. "Because it's true," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I think we both know it."

He paused, his thumb gently caressing her hand. "We fit together, Y/N," he continued, his eyes searching hers for a sign of reciprocation. "In a way that I've never experienced with anyone else."

Y/N's heart hammered in her chest. She had felt it too, the undeniable connection that sparked between them every time they were together. The way their laughter intertwined, the way their thoughts seemed to align effortlessly, the way their silences were never uncomfortable but filled with an understanding that transcended words.

"I...I don't know what to say," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "But I do understand what you mean– I also feel like you're meant for me."

A wave of relief washed over Harry, his heart swelling with happiness. He squeezed her hand, a silent reassurance that he understood her unspoken feelings. "You don't have to say anything," he whispered back, his eyes filled with love and adoration.

At that moment, words were unnecessary. Their shared gaze spoke volumes, a silent symphony of affection and desire. Harry leaned in, closing the distance between them. His lips met hers in a tentative, tender kiss. It was a kiss filled with longing, a culmination of months of unspoken desires and a shared understanding that had deepened with each stolen glance and whispered conversation.

The kiss was electric, sending shivers down their spines. It was a moment of pure bliss, a confirmation of the undeniable connection that had drawn them together from the very beginning. As they pulled apart, their eyes met again, filled with a newfound understanding and a shared secret that only they knew.

"Finally!" one of their friends cheered from across the table, breaking the spell that had momentarily enveloped them.

Harry and Y/N turned towards the sound, their cheeks flushed with embarrassment and a shared secret. A wave of laughter erupted from their drunk group of friends, a joyful celebration of the love that had finally blossomed between them.

I'll run a shower for you like you want Clothеs on the counter for you, try 'em on If I'm allowеd, I'll help you take 'em off Huh

As the night went on, the air between them grew thick with unspoken desire. Every stolen glance, every accidental touch, ignited a spark that threatened to consume them both.

"Stay with me tonight?" Harry whispered, his voice husky with desire as he leaned in closer.

Y/N's eyes met his, a silent question in their depths. A smile tugged at her lips as she nodded, her heart pounding with anticipation.  While she had been to Harry's apartment many times before, it had always been as friends, platonic. This time felt different.

With a final lingering kiss, they reluctantly rose from their seats, their hands intertwined as they made their way towards the exit. The world outside seemed hazy and distant, their focus solely on the promise of intimacy that awaited them in the quiet sanctuary of Harry's apartment.

As they stepped inside, Harry kicked the door closed behind them. He turned to Y/N, and without a word, they melted into each other's embrace. His hands found her waist, pulling her close as his lips met hers in a passionate kiss. Y/N's fingers tangled in his hair, her body responding to his touch with a fervor that surprised even her.

They moved as one, their kisses growing deeper and more intense as the pent-up desire between them finally found an outlet. The world narrowed down to the taste of him, the feel of his hands on her skin, the sound of their breaths mingling in the quiet apartment.

But as Harry's hands began to roam lower, Y/N gently pulled away, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of desire and hesitation. "Harry," she whispered, her voice breathless, "maybe we should slow down."

He looked into her eyes, understanding dawning on his own. He nodded, a tender smile gracing his lips. "Of course," he murmured, his thumb gently tracing the outline of her lips. "Whatever you want."

The tension in the room shifted, morphing from fiery passion to a gentle intimacy. They stood there for a moment, their foreheads resting against each other, breathing in unison. The unspoken understanding between them deepened, a silent promise of a night filled with love and tenderness, a night where they could explore each other's souls as well as their bodies.

"I'll run a shower for you like you want," he offered, his voice barely a whisper, a gesture of care and intimacy.

Y/N nodded, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of shyness and excitement. The anticipation hung in the air, thick and sweet.

Harry led her to his bathroom, turning on the shower and adjusting the water temperature to her liking. He laid out a fluffy towel and a set of his clean clothes on the counter, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Clothes on the counter for you, try 'em on," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And if I'm allowed, I'll help you take 'em off."

Y/N laughed softly, her cheeks flushed with a rosy hue. "We'll see," she teased, her eyes locking with his, the air between them crackling with electricity. The night was young, and the possibilities were endless.

She's takin' pictures in the mirror Oh my God, her skin's so clear Tell her, "Bring that over here" You need a seat? I'll volunteer Now she's smilin' ear to ear She's the headlights, I'm the deer

A warm glow from the bathroom light spilled into the hallway, illuminating Y/N as she emerged, wrapped in a towel. Her damp hair curled around her shoulders, her skin luminous in the soft light.

Harry's breath caught in his throat, marveling at her natural beauty. He longed to reach out and touch her, to trace the delicate curve of her skin with his fingertips. 

But more than that, Oh, I just wanna get her off, he thought, the primal urge surging through him like a tidal wave.

Y/N caught his gaze in the mirror, a sultry smile playing on her lips. She let the towel drop, revealing her silhouette against the soft glow. "What do you think?" she purred, her voice husky with invitation.

Harry's eyes darkened with desire. "Come over here," he commanded, his voice low . He patted the edge of the bed, a silent invitation for her to join him.

Y/N walked towards him, her movements slow and deliberate, each step a tantalizing promise. She perched on the edge of the bed, her eyes never leaving his.

"Need a seat?" Harry offered, his voice thick with anticipation. "I'll volunteer."

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken desire. Y/N's breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. She leaned forward, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "I think I'd rather have you."

Harry's smile widened, a predator's gleam in his eyes. "And you shall," he murmured, his hand reaching out to caress the side of her face.

Their eyes met, and in that moment, all pretense vanished. The air crackled with electricity, their connection undeniable. Y/N was the headlights, blinding him with her beauty and allure. And Harry was the deer, caught in her irresistible pull, ready to surrender to the passion that consumed them both.

I've said it all before, but I'll say it again I'm interested in more than just bein' your friend I don't wanna break it, just want it to bend Do you know how to bend?

"I've said it all before in other words, but I'll say it again," Harry began, his voice low and husky, "I'm interested in more than just being your friend."

His eyes searched hers, a hint of vulnerability flickering beneath the desire. "I don't want to break what we have," he continued, his hand cupping her cheek. "I just want it to bend, to evolve into something more."

He paused, his gaze unwavering. "Do you know how to bend?" he asked, his voice a soft whisper.

Y/N's heart fluttered in her chest. She knew exactly what he meant. The question wasn't just about physical intimacy; it was about their relationship, their connection, their willingness to take a leap of faith together.

A soft smile bloomed on Y/N's lips, her eyes filled with a warmth that mirrored his own. "I think I do," she whispered back, her voice barely audible.

With a shared look of understanding, their lips met once again, their kiss deeper and more passionate this time. It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken truths and a mutual desire to explore the uncharted territory of their relationship.

Harry's arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer as their bodies melted together. Their kiss was a symphony of longing and desire, a dance of lips and tongues that ignited a fire within them both.

Time seemed to slow down as they explored each other's mouths, savoring the taste of forbidden fruit. Harry's hands roamed over Y/N's back, his touch sending shivers down her spine.

Y/N tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as their kiss deepened. She felt a sense of liberation, a freedom to express the emotions she had held back for so long.

He knew it was just a hunch, but as he held her in his arms and had her taste dancing on his tongue, he knew just one thing; she is the one.

[spicemantra]

How do you freeze curry

[qveerthe0ry]

Conquer the Heart

Summary: Joel comes out - written for @romanarose Pride Event Week 1: Coming Out Word Count: 3,981 Pairing: Joel Miller x M! Reader Rating: Mature (but my blog is 18+ mdni) Warnings: vague descriptions of sex, fluff, kissing, conversations about sexuality, really that's it this is pretty much just sweet and fluffy with a tiny hint of spice Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar who could have guessed? Love y'all <3 A/N: I just wanted to make Joel queer idk. Title from an Orville Peck song because of course

You don’t know what possessed you to pay the $5 cover to check that place out. The Round-Up Saloon, perched on a street corner in downtown Austin. The outside was unassuming enough, but the neon lights and mechanical bull and rotating dance floor inside made it look like something straight out of Urban Cowboy. 

There were all kinds of crowds. College kids and business casuals and actual cowboys. And it’s Austin, so all the sexualities were represented in one way or another as you took note of the couples at tables and on the dance floor. You couldn’t really care about any of them, though, as soon as you laid eyes on him. 

You were drawn to him and his broad shoulders and tight Wrangler blue jeans. 

He was with a big group of women and men, all drinking and laughing and taking turns line-dancing with each other on the dance floor. 

And to think you only stumbled into the honky tonk cowboy bar out of curiosity… It certainly wasn’t your scene. 

But you’d watched Joel dance with a few women with respectful hand placement, and then he danced with a man, and hope had bubbled up inside of you to the sound of Alan Jackson. 

He was a little sweaty when you worked up the courage to talk to him, and his cologne masked all the alcohol and cigarettes in the air.

You plastered on a flirty smile and asked him if he could teach you some of his moves. When he looked taken aback and flustered, you backtracked. 

“I’m sorry, I saw you dancing with that guy— I didn’t mean to assume.” 

“Tommy? That’s my brother,” he’d explained, a little flushed in the face. 

“Oh! Shit, sorry, ignore me.”

But he’d caught your arm as you turned to hibernate for approximately 5-10 business days. 

“I don’t see no harm in teachin’ you.”

And so he did. And it was fun, and his hands on you were so warm you swear they branded his mark all over your skin. 

A few songs, all background noise to the ‘he’s just straight, don’t do this’ mantra in your head, and he was leading you off the dance floor for another beer. 

A friendly beer. Surely that’s all it was. 

But he was so friendly. He gave you pointers on how to dance, and then asked if you’re from around here, and then he was waving off his group of friends when they all announced their departure. 

He asked you about your job, and you asked about his, and then the way his hands felt rough on the skin of your arm made more sense. 

Maybe you were crazy, or the two beers you had were really getting to your head, but there was something so unspeakably electric between you. You felt it when he’d lean in closer to hear you, the way he touched your arm with the back of his bottle-filled fist, the way his hoppy breath ghosted across your cheek to reach your ear.

And then he said he should probably get home, and asked if he should walk you to your car, and maybe he wasn’t straight, you thought, as he briefly placed his hand on your back to guide you through the packed bar. 

And you really, really shouldn’t have. But you asked for his number, and he put it in your shitty flip phone, and then you kissed him. 

Right on the mouth. A quick peck that was so short you could’ve nearly pretended it was an accident. 

He looked so stunned, and guilt boiled up in your stomach. 

But he’d grabbed your wrist gently, and looked you in the eyes. 

“I’m uh… I don’t… I haven’t ever done that.” 

“That was your first kiss?” 

It was a joke, and thank god he laughed. His smile looked so fucking good under the shitty, flickering street lamps. 

“Call me, okay?” 

And then he was gone. You thought about him the whole drive home, while you got undressed and ready for bed, as you fell asleep. You felt his touch in your dreams, and when you woke in the morning you could hardly believe he was real. 

But his phone number was burning a hole in your cell phone. You stared at it on and off all Saturday long. What would you even say? Why did he even want you to call him, if he’d never even kissed a guy before? Did he just want a new drinking buddy? 

The dread built up all day long, until it was late, and a sense of now or never goaded you into calling his number. 

He answered, and you told him who you were, and he’d sounded so surprised to hear from you. He didn’t think you’d want to see him again, after he embarrassed himself, and his admission made you balk. 

You told him you were the one who felt embarrassed. He laughed at that. Said he’s a lot smoother with ladies, but you made him feel nervous. He said he wanted to meet up again. 

And so you did. 

Just a shitty diner for an early dinner on Sunday, unassuming enough. The chemistry you felt at the bar hadn’t faded. If anything, it was so much more apparent now. The way he blushed when you flirted seemed less like the bad kind of gay panic. His foot kept nudging yours under the table. 

He walked you to your car again, and then he kissed you, much less chaste than the night at the bar, with one big, rough hand on your neck and the other on your hip. 

“That was pretty good for only your second kiss,” you’d said. 

He shrugged, a sheepish smile gracing his heated face.

“Should stick around and find out about the third.” 

And if you hadn’t already been wrapped around his finger, he certainly secured the spot for you then.

He wasn’t new to dating, but he was new to this, and it showed. He got pretty easily flustered around you. On your second date, he brought up his daughter for the first time like he’d forgotten he hadn’t mentioned her before. A casual thing, talking about her getting ready to graduate high school. 

“Does Sarah know… who you’re on a date with?”

Joel shook his head. 

“Not yet. No one does… Not even sure how to explain it to myself, if I’m honest.”

You were patient with him. It’s gotta be culture shock, living nearly 40 years of your life completely straight and having some random guy at a bar change that for you overnight. 

You took things slow. You talked a lot over the phone, after Sarah went to sleep. He told you about his dating history, Sarah’s mom and only a few unserious flings after. You tried not to psychoanalyze him, but it makes a little bit of sense. Getting some girl pregnant at 19, marrying her, getting ditched with a toddler and a curt ‘good luck’ and then raising her on your own? 

No wonder he never questioned his sexuality. There was genuinely no time to. 

At first, you thought you may just be a stepping stone. A news flash for him, an experiment, something fun for a season. It didn’t bother you. It’s happened before. But as your nightly talks got longer, and as you took each other out more and more often, it became clear that it wasn’t like that. 

You watched with fascination and adoration as Joel figured things out. It was so endearing when he asked if he should hold the door open for you, or if you should take turns. Likewise, when he held your hand in public for the first time, the way he asked your permission made your heart grow way too big for your rib cage.

Things weren’t perfect, of course, but nothing ever is. You didn’t get to see him as much as you ideally would. You were both busy during the work week, and he often had father duties on the weekends. Most of your dates were quick dinner bites when Sarah had a school thing, or an odd Saturday here or there when Sarah had a sleepover. 

But that was quite enough for you. You weren’t even looking for something when you’d met him. You didn’t feel the need to move quickly when you hadn’t planned on going anywhere in the first place. 

And he was sweet, and quite self-aware. 

“Wish we could spend more time together,” he’d tell you over the phone, “I know this ain’t the way things normally go.” 

But you liked him. So much. So it didn’t bother you.

And, as the weeks passed by, he opened up more. He started asking you more pointed questions, like how you came out to those closest to, and what it was like. He asked if you were seeing other people— it’s okay if you are, was just wonderin’— and then he asked you if you wanted to be together when you made it clear you weren’t. 

“Like… as boyfriend and boyfriend?” 

He chuckled, the deep gravel a familiar tone swimming through your landline with a nervous twinge to it. 

“Yeah, as boyfriend and boyfriend.” 

And he treated you right, and you got along with him so well, and he was so put together and responsible and respectful. 

“I’d really like to be your boyfriend.” 

And his breath had hitched so loud it was caught by the receiver, but you could hear the smile in his voice when he told you that he’d really like that, too. 

A few days after that, he told you Sarah would be gone all weekend, on a team trip for some hiking and kayaking and bonding. 

“Could I stay at yours? I hate to invite myself, it’s just— Tommy’s got no boundaries. Wouldn’t want him bargin’ in, y’know, before I get to tell him.” 

You didn’t mind one bit, aside from the mountain of laundry you had to fold in preparation for his arrival. 

It was the first time you’d been truly alone with him. Your dates were always public, at least somewhat. And he’d kissed you, a ton, but that’s as far as it had ever gone. 

You definitely wanted him. You’d wanted him since the very second you laid eyes on him at that cheesy honky tonk bar. But it was funny how nervous you were, even though your experience with men put Joel’s to shame. 

It was a lot like high school, in the way you danced around each other at first. A movie on your couch, with his arm draped along the back of it. Readjusting to ‘get comfy,’ inching, until the warmth of his body was pressed against yours and his arm dropped from the back of the couch to your shoulders. 

His heartbeat was deafening, hard and fast, when you’d tucked your head against his chest. You moved your hand to his knee in the world’s most intense match of The Nervous Game and feared for his cardiovascular health. 

He said your name, and like it was the magic word, every single facade crumbled around you in an instant. 

His kisses made your head spin, and the way his thick thighs felt under your own was addictive, and it was over before either of you realized it had started. Two sets of soiled pants and underwear thrown into your washing machine, along with the last of the pretenses. And then you’d dragged him to your bed. 

The sex wasn’t even your favorite part. The best was the morning after, and how you were plastered to his back as you woke up slow and easy. The way he held your arm to his stomach, even in his sleep. And the way you only got out of bed for food or bathroom breaks, a whole day with him, alone, uninterrupted. 

Just as you started to worry that this was a one-time thing, at least for a while, Joel huffed beside you and nuzzled his head into your shoulder. 

“I wanna come out. At least to Tommy ‘n Sarah. S’not right, keeping you a secret like this when you’ve been makin’ me so happy. I know you’d make them happy too.” 

You stroked his hair, and asked if he was sure, and though his pretty brown eyes looked wide and scared, his jaw was set with a determined nod. 

So you devised a plan. Or— Joel devised it, and asked for your input, and it all made you a bit giddy. 

He had you over for dinner. Just as a friend, at first. He’d ordered pizza and stocked beer and told Tommy and Sarah he was having a friend over. 

You wondered if Tommy would recognize you from the bar, but if he did, he didn’t show it. He just talked your ear off about Texas sports and old cars.

Sarah was… well, you understood why Joel could never seem to smile wide enough when he talked about her. She was so smart, and kind-hearted, and funny. You had a hard time keeping up, but the way Joel and Tommy were around her, you think she probably has that effect on most people. 

It was a nice night, fun and easy conversation, good pizza, and a very competitive game of Boggle in which Sarah dominated. 

And it was only a little bit difficult to spend the evening as just Joel’s friend, solely because of how easily you fit into his life. You wanted to scream it from the rooftops, that Joel wanted you to be a piece in his puzzle. 

Sarah, so politely, excused herself to go to bed as it got later. The three of you left shuffled around, gathering game pieces and paper plates and empty cans, until you all eventually met back in the kitchen. Joel gave you a look, and you gave him a comforting smile right back, and it was like the room’s air was replaced with water as he spoke up.

“Tommy?”

“Mmhmm?” 

The younger brother whipped around to face you both, sliding the leftovers into the fridge with a slice in his mouth. 

“I uh… I wanted to let you know that I’m— that we’re, uh… Together?”

You watched as his dark eyes glazed over for a second, brow scrunched up in confusion. And then his gaze flickered from you to him, and back to you, and his eyes grew as big as saucers. 

“No kiddin’?”

Joel laughed. 

“Serious. He’s my… He’s my boyfriend.” 

Tommy swallowed his mouthful of pizza, wiped his mustache, and smiled. A genuine smile, sweet and warm, reaching his eyes. 

“Hermano, good for you. That’s— I’m happy for you.” 

He opened his arms and tugged Joel into a hug, and Joel grumbled something about Tommy getting pizza grease on his clothes, but he was smiling wide and relieved over Tommy’s shoulder. 

But then Joel’s face got serious again as Tommy pulled away with a manly slap to his shoulder. 

“Sarah doesn’t know yet. I wanted to make sure everyone got along first, y’know?” 

And then Tommy was looking at you and rolling his eyes and chuckling. 

“Think we all get along just fine. You should tell her soon.”

And Joel knew Tommy was right, but it didn’t stop him from looking so anxious when Tommy left with another round of goodbye hugs. 

“What are you most worried about?” 

You asked him because you knew there were many things to fret over, in his situation. 

“Just that… She’s had this idea of me this whole time, y’know? What if she sees me different, and then things change between us?” 

And god, that made your throat feel thick, and Joel’s eyes got a little misty, so you pulled him tight against you and let him sag into your hold.

“I know the feeling,” you told him, “but I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

“No?”

You huffed a laugh and tangled your fingers in the curls at the back of his neck. 

“You mean everything to her. I can tell just by how she looks at you. Never seen a teenager like their dad that much.” 

And he laughed too, a little wet against your shoulder. 

“Will you be there with me when I tell her? I don’t— I don’t think I can do it alone.”

Your lips found his bristly cheek and planted a kiss there, and you mumbled of course into the salty skin.

So you went home, with plans to come back the next day. This wasn’t easy for you, either, dating a guy with a kid for the first time. You knew she liked you, at least, but that was a face value assessment. Would she mind you taking up more of her dad’s time? Would she mind you in their space every so often? Would she mind if you came around to her soccer games or science fairs or graduation, as her dad’s boyfriend, in front of all the other kids with nuclear families? Would she resent you for shaking up what they had?

You didn’t get much sleep, thinking about it. You wondered if you should bring her some kind of gift, flowers or a trinket or something, but then you’d be trying too hard, right? 

As you got ready the next morning, you thought about all the ways it could go wrong, but none of them really seemed realistic. Sarah was sweet, and intelligent, and surely if she did have reservations, they’d be able to talk them through civilly. 

Right?

You couldn’t even listen to music on your way to their house. It was a silent fifteen minute drive with your nerves boiling over and spilling out, thinking of how awkward things could get. 

But all of that kind of fell to the wayside when Sarah answered the door and said “I haven’t seen you in forever” with a cheeky grin and those bright eyes she definitely got from Joel. 

It felt cozy when you sat down at their kitchen table while they sipped their coffee and orange juice and Sarah told you both all about the English project she was working on. It put you at ease to ask her questions about things you have in common, and for all of you to mesh so well into a normal conversation.

But as it lulled, you noticed Joel getting restless, and you noticed Sarah noticing his uneasiness. 

“Dad, you’re acting weird in front of our company.” 

And while she was alway kind and respectful, she was still a teenager with a dorky dad. 

“Well… I wanted to talk to you about somethin’.”

She looked at him with her head tilted and her eyebrow raised. 

“Now?”

She nodded her head toward you as she asked, and you couldn’t blame her for being confused as to why he had to have a heart-to-heart with his ‘friend’ visiting. 

“Yeah um… You know how you’re always tellin’ me I should get a life and start datin’?”

Sarah laughed and looked at you.

“Yeah, could you be his wingman? It’s getting sad.” 

And you laughed, and Joel laughed, but it was a little forced, and Sarah’s smart, so you could read the confusion on her face. 

“What’s this about, dad?”

Joel took a big, deep breath and took Sarah’s hand on the table. You watched her squeeze his fingers as her face twisted up in worry. 

“He’s my— we’re dating. He’s my… boyfriend.” 

The worry dissipated, and her eyes got wide and her lips pursed before her jaw slowly dropped with surprise. 

“You guys are together?” 

She looked over to you, then, and all you could do was give her a soft smile and nod. 

“I know you might have some questions—”

“How long? When did you guys meet?” 

She looked back to Joel to answer, but you could see he was still reeling, with sweat saturating the curls at his temples. 

“Just a couple months ago, he taught me how to dance to the Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”

She made a noise, like a scoff, and it made you wince.

“Months!? Dad, why didn’t you tell me?” 

You watched Joel’s eyes cloud with— fear? You’d never seen him look so scared. 

“I’m sorry, babygirl. I just— I guess I didn’t know how. At first.” 

His voice trembled, and you watched Sarah’s lip quiver before she shot out of her chair and lunged toward her dad, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. 

“I love you,” she’d mumbled, like she knew it was what he needed to hear, because his shoulders slumped and his arms wrapped around her back. 

You thought maybe you should look away. It felt real personal. But Joel had asked you to be here, and it was about you, too, as much as that fact made you want to burrow underground. 

“You could have told me sooner. I love boy talk.”

Her voice was muffled and heavy with tears, but Joel chuckled all the same through his own misty gaze. 

“I didn’t know you liked boys.” 

She pulled away but didn’t go far, letting her hands squeeze his biceps as she looked to him for an answer. 

“Me neither,” he shrugged, “I like this boy, though. A lot.” 

And he got this goofy smile on his face, even though it was a little wet, and he looked at you, and you felt so awkward but so head over heels. 

“Okay, well, you still should have told me. I would’ve been on the porch cleaning Uncle Tommy’s shotgun when he pulled up.” 

Joel groaned and covered his face but you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up out of you. 

“What are your intentions with my father?”

And though her tone was joking, her eyes grew soft as she waited for an answer. 

“I guess I just wanna make him happy. Because he makes me happy. If that’s alright with you?” 

She sat back down and rested her chin in her hand, with her lips pursed again as she thought. 

“Sarah, you can have time to think—”

“Deal.” 

She extended her hand out to you from across the table, and you took it eagerly to shake on it. But after an appropriate amount of handshake time, she didn’t let your hand go. 

“You have to come over for movie nights now.” 

“I can do that.”

“And I have to make sure your taste in movies doesn’t suck before I let you pick one.”

“That’s fair.”

“ALSO—“

“Sarah,” Joel interrupted, “this isn’t how deals work. You can’t add stuff while he’s still shaking your hand.” 

“As I was saying,” Sarah rolled her eyes, squeezing your hand tighter, “you have to treat him right. He acts all tough but he’s just a softy.”

“Oh Christ,” Joel huffed. 

“No, she has a point,” you told him with a smirk, “I promise I will, Sarah.”

Her eyes narrowed at you, but then she grinned, and finally let go of your hand. 

So yeah, you really really like Joel Miller. You’re never happier than you are when you spend the evening at his house, snuggled up on one side of him while Sarah’s snuggled up to the other, watching some movie Sarah’s usually the one to pick. 

Or when you meet him and Tommy at Sarah’s soccer game, and he greets you with a smile and lifts the bill of your Miller Contracting hat you’ve stolen to peck your lips. 

Or when you’re in your own kitchen, making his coffee, and you feel sleepy arms wrap around your waist and a sleep warm kiss at the nape of your neck. 

Really, as long as you’re with Joel, you’re the happiest you’ve ever been. And if those three little words slip out one day soon, well, there isn’t a single thing that makes you think Joel would be surprised by them.

[mrs-kodzuken]

hard to desire ⨟ kenma k.

chapter one

can I call you tonight? dayglow

❝There's so much time

For me to speak up, but I keep quiet

I'll complicate most of the mantra❞

next chapter

"This is the coffee shop that I was telling you about," Kuroo gestured towards a small building that seemed to have a theme of dark academia and books.

The cafe didn't seem all that bad, you thought. It would be the perfect place to study before a huge exam, the tall windows which showed the beautiful inside were not forgettable. 

"It looks so pretty. Do you come here often after class?" You questioned as the little bell rang when Kuroo held open the door for you. A wondrous smell of coffee, books, and spice wafted into your nose. It could have been a bit overwhelming if you hadn't loved the scent.

It almost brings you to your favorite season of them all, which is definitely autumn. 

"No, only once in a while. This place is kind of pricey, but it gives good beverages and great seats." Kuroo chuckled, looking down at you as you scoured the menu. There were definitely a lot of choices to choose from and yet you still didn’t know what to pick. 

"See anything you like?" He asked as you guys stood off to the side – by the entry way that had a lot of books nearby.

"Hm, I think I would like to try the toffee crunch espresso? It seems good." You pondered on that, not really liking coffee but love to try different kinds once in a while.

"Sounds great. You go pick a seat for us and I'll get our orders." He patted your head and slightly pushed your forward a bit in case you decided to protest on the matter.

You rolled your eyes a bit at that but looked across the cafe to see where you wanted to sit. Eventually you decided on the floral printed sofa that had an antique wooden table to set the drinks on. This place was definitely one for the books.

Kuroo soon came back with the drinks and taking that first sip was always magical – until it gave you the shits later.

"Thank you for this. You didn't have to buy it for me, you know." You made a point at that, even though he knew that too. Your parents still give you an allowance, especially now more than ever too. They don't want you working your ass off in college at a dead-end job when you could be focusing on studies.

"I know, little one. But you're my favorite non-biological sister, so why wouldn't I?" He remarked, sipping his drink as the warmth fogged up his reading glasses that he only wears occasionally.

Your heart strings tugged at the nickname Kuroo used for you.

He had given you that name when you were very young and needed help on something so small at the time that your parents thought it was huge – your writing skills. 

"So, you have other not favorite non-biological sisters?" You snorted, as that sounded weird coming from your mouth.

"Yeah, yeah." He waved you off, rolling his eyes at your dumb question. 

"Okay, so, when can I move in? I was kind of wondering why we aren't there now and instead at a coffee shop." You raised an eyebrow at that. It was kind of weird Kuroo wasn't showing you where you were going to live for the next four years. 

"Well, there is something I was supposed to tell you about, but in all honesty, I kind of forgot."

You urged him to go on.

"So, I have a roommate too. His name is Kenma and he's super chill and goes to uni with me and I've known him since we were young." He spit out all at once, leaving you stunned.

"A roommate? How old is he? I mean, I haven't met him. What if he kills me in my sleep, Tetsu?" You can't possibly move in with Kuroo and his roommate that you don't even know! That's just crazy work, he was trying to get you killed.

"I promise Kenma is a good guy. He likes video games and cats. He used to play volleyball with me in high school. Like I've known him forever, there won't be anything to worry about!" He tried to reassure you. Tetsuro had promised your parents that he'd take extra special care of you once you got accepted into his university.

And right now, he hoped that you would look past not knowing Kenma very well and agree. It never really came up in the past letters about Kuroo’s social life – probably because of the age difference. Not only that but your parents had monitored all of your letter conversations till they got you a phone. 

"I mean... I guess it's fine," You trailed off a bit, wanting more time to think on it but then again, he's right in front of you. And Kuroo would never purposefully put you in danger, he's not like that. You’ve known him since you were in primary too. 

Kuroo blew a sigh of relief, "Great! I swear it will all be fine. Want to go look around a bit? I can show you some good places around this town, so you'll be more familiar with it once you move."

You sipped your coffee, now bitter in your mouth – from how long it sat there untouched or from the conversation? You don't know.

"Yeah, that's a good idea. I don't want to not know where a gas station is and have to pull over on the side of the road and a stranger kidnap and kill me." You got up from the cushioned couch to stretch a bit before leaving.

"Did someone make you watch a scary movie lately? You sure are being a bit weird, little one." He chuckled as if it was funny. You're deathly scared of gory, horror movies.

"As if, this is just my regular morbid self." You laughed, exiting the cafe and taking in the scenery of the streets. It wasn't a bad town at all. It looked kind of magical like it came out of a movie or something.

After a bit of sight-seeing, you gathered that there were a lot of thrifting shops, coffee places, a public library and even different kinds of food areas that you'd definitely be trying out once you move.

Your feet started to hurt but you wouldn't tell Kuroo that, he'd make fun of you for being such a big baby.

So, you decided on, "Tell me more about Kenma? I'm still a bit nervous of actually moving in with a stranger I've only heard stories of." 

"I'm not sure what to say. He's a year younger than me, Christmas is his favorite holiday, and he's started a small YouTube channel a bit ago."

He saw the look on your face and then added, "He knows you're moving in; it'll all be okay. Save the worries for your new classes, okay?" He ruffled your head, effectively messing up your hair that you worked hard on this morning.

"Agh, stop," You pulled his hand away, "You're annoying." You scoffed at him as you guys arrived at your small car.

This beauty has gotten you through senior year and you're just praying she'll get you through this year of college. It was a red VW convertible that your parents graciously gave you on your 18th birthday.

You had decked her out with plenty of red accessories and most of which were strawberry or hello kitty themed. What can you say? You're just a girl after all.

"Thanks for the day Tetsu, it was really nice. I'm feeling a bit better about moving here." You give him a genuine smile as you unlock your car door.

"Anytime for you, little one." He reached over to give you a squeezing hug and then released you.

"I'll see you soon then, bye!" You waved once you were buckled in your cute little car. Kuroo gave you a huge wave and a smile goodbye.

As you were driving back home, you couldn't help but to roll your windows down and let the air flow through your hair. At a red light, you connected your phone to the car and started playing your favorite song.

A man crossed the road, you couldn't help but to stare at his outfit. Who in the hell wears a hoodie and sweatpants in the summer? Granted, it was the end of summer, so the heat was slowly fleeting but just barely.

As if he heard you, his head snapped up, locking eyes with yours. His strange golden ones felt like they could have pierced your soul with how hard the expression on his face was. Even with the windows down, in the summer heat, you managed to shiver just from him.

As you drove by, you couldn't get the image out of your mind nor the feeling off your skin. You hoped it maybe was the music that had perhaps made that man stare you down in the middle of the crosswalk.

You turned the music up a little louder, hoping to drown the thoughts out and letting the wind send a different type of chills down your back.

. . .

On the long drive home, you couldn't help your mind from wandering to when you had your first encounter with Kuroo. You had maybe been no older than nine or ten. You remember your parents sitting you down at the kitchen table with serious looks on their faces that had you worried.

They had told you that they had been concerned about the way you had been writing your past few school assignments. However, those couldn't have been not much longer than a paragraph or two, so you didn't really understand.

Anyways, that's when they signed up for a program to help you connect with another grade schooler to improve your writing skills. You had been excited to use the many pretty stationary that your parents had gifted you to get you into writing.

You soon had met a junior high version of Kuroo -- through pen pal letters of course. He had introduced himself and mostly asked about you and gave you tips to correct your writing. And then, well, the rest is history.

Not to mention that you definitely kept all of the letters that Kuroo had sent to you as memories.

As the years blended away, you finally got your first phone when you reached your last year in junior high! That was Kuroo's third year too and after the long wait of your letter sending through the mail with the excitement of your new phone, you finally got a message back.

That is when you both decided to meet up in person, conventionally it was right after Kuroo had a match and won it that same day. It's safe to say that he was exceptionally happy to win a match with his team and meet his pen pal sister.

You still remember cringing away from him trying to give you a hug because you both just now met up in person, but he did just win a match. Over the course of your high school years, he would occasionally come back on breaks from university and take you out for ice cream or help with your science homework.

Kuroo was like the big brother you never got, and you were like the little sister he always wished for. It was the perfect duo.

You wish you could have recorded his face once you facetimed him about being accepted into his college. That was the day that he had sworn to your parents that he'd take excellent care of you if you decided to go there with him.

Safe to say, your parents loved and trusted Kuroo.

You couldn't help but to smile at all the delightful memories that ran through your head. 'It'll be weird for a bit, but I'll have my bro Kuroo, so it'll be fine' you thought to yourself, pulling into the driveway of your house.

Maybe it all would be okay.

synopsis: it's the summer before you go to university, and you decide to become roommates with your pen pal that you've known since you were in primary. big problem arises, he's got a roommate, and it just so happens that his roommate either has a sexual want for you or hates your guts – or probably both?

tag list: [let me know if you’d like to be in the tag list!]

@geektastic84 @lavanderdreamve @hhoneyhan @kirikeijii @marsoverthestars @nymphsdomain @justagirlnamedkai @kodzukein @74zix47 @kakuzone @jaeminaur @3lectraheart

a/n: i hope you enjoyed, and the idea for this entire multi-chapter fic came from @deftrow !! i made the banner <3

[magicalbats]

Flesh-Devouring Part 2

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 20,217

Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, brat taming, forced submission, corporal punishment, non consensual spanking, thigh grinding, mutual masturbation, belt spanking, some very mild violence (reader is mostly a helpless bystander nvxcnvde), a pinch of angst for spice

A/N: okay, I promise I’ll work on the next kinktober prompt now 🙈 and also we're just gonna' pretend Wriothesley has an actual belt somewhere on his person, I eyeballed the hell out of his official art and started to doubt myself buuuuuut I was already fully committed to the bit so dvdknvgkdngg

⭐

“Good morning, your grace!” 

Looking up from the sheaf of papers in his hand, Wriothesley swivels his head around to watch you disembark from the elevator with a noticeably eager skip in your step. He quirks a brow at it and fully turns to greet you at your approach. “Good morning, little miss. You certainly seem to be in a good mood today.” 

You can’t quite keep the smile off your face as you come to a stop in front of him, practically vibrating in your excitement. “Of course I am! Todays the day I finally get to meet with some of the inmates and get started on our new program, what else would I be?” 

He smiles at that. “While your enthusiasm is quite commendable, I must remind you not to get your hopes up too much. The group that volunteered for this is a — mixed crowd, so to speak. I’m not exactly sure what sort of reaction you’re going to get.” 

Drawing a stilted breath, you square your shoulders and give him a brief nod of understanding. You knew he was just being practical and realistic as always, but you felt good about this. Optimistic. You were positive your efforts would soon pay off in a very real, very tangible way, and at last justify all the grief you’d suffered at his hands just to get here. For weeks now you’d been meeting with him, discussing, planning, organizing and fine tuning a plan of implementation, all while wrestling with your own self control where the duke was concerned. There wasn’t any use denying that you liked kissing him a great deal. In fact, it seemed to be your new favorite activity, amongst other, less wholesome things … 

Even now you could feel the urge to go up on your tiptoes so you could tug him down to your level threatening to overpower your common sense, but there were much more important matters at hand. You’d told yourself this over and over again, repeating it like a mantra to steel your resolve and keep your mind focused on matters of business instead of giving in, and it was going to pay off. Today. Here and now. You could feel it. 

“I understand, your grace. I will make sure to keep my expectations appropriately tempered.” 

Wriothesley looks at you like he doesn’t quite believe that, but he relents without further pressing you on it. His boots sound impossibly heavy on the steel plated flooring as he half turns, motioning you ahead. “Let’s be off then. Did you bring everything you need?” 

“Yes, your grace.” Clutching your worn leather carry case in hand, you fall into step beside him as he leads you down the long winding corridor. 

The Fortress of Meropide is somehow both stuffy and chilly at the same, the air thick but infused with the cool temperature bleeding in off the water that surrounds it. You’d learned your lesson the first time you came here (in more ways than one) and had opted for a light jumper over your blouse to stave off the ever present note of cold which you could take off if you got too warm. That seemed like a not far off possibility when you were internally quaking with nerves, both eager and anxious, but for now at least you just keep your attention on him while he gives you a brief rundown of who was supposedly going to show up for this little meeting he’d arranged for you. 

Sixteen inmates had signed up. Not even half of that number were finished with their sentences, the vast majority still actively serving time, and you can’t help but feel a little disappointed about that. You’d of course hoped to give those who had made the conscious decision to stay at Meropide a chance to reconsider integrating back into overworld society but you try to remind yourself that this was only the first preliminary phase of a much greater project. If things went well today, there would be plenty of time to work with the others. 

“Ah, and before I forget.” He says, sending you a meaningful look. “Someone by the name of George should be in attendance, if he bothers to show up. He’s a little rough around the edges but don’t let what he says get under your skin. He’s had his sentence extended twice now and as I’m sure you can imagine he’s a bit grumpy about that.” 

“Understood.” You give the clutch of your bag a fierce squeeze. “May I ask why?” 

Wriothesley thinks that over for a beat. “The first time was due to excessive fighting outside of the regulated channels. We have a three strikes policy here, as I’ve mentioned before. I suspect he was trying to assert himself as the top dog in his block but he ran into a bit more opposition than he was expecting, so he had to start using his fists instead.” 

“And the other?” 

“He tried to take one of the sponsor representatives hostage and use her as a bargaining chip.” 

Your eyes go big. “Oh.” 

Smiling one of those rare but incredibly flattering genuine smiles, he reaches out to lightly nudge your elbow. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there the whole time to keep everything under control and make sure nobody gets out of hand but the ball will be in your court, little miss. I’m just your guard dog today.” 

You hate the way fluster slowly creeps up your neck but you valiantly stamp it back down as you shyly avert your gaze elsewhere. “Thank you, your grace. I … I really appreciate you doing this for me.” 

“I know you do. But don’t thank me just yet. Wait until after we see what kind of response you get.” 

That gentle warning niggles at the back of your mind like the tickling whisper of sharp claws brushing your skin, and your stomach gives a little flip. You were nervous to meet with them face to face despite being excited to get started. Working in the public affairs office and spending most of your time at a desk didn’t exactly prepare you for hands-on encounters such as this, but between your unfaltering conviction and Wriothesley’s ever present cool demeanor at your side you keep your head held high. 

Up a short flight of metal steps and down another steel plated hall, you find yourself stepping into a small room that, based on the rickety old tables tightly packed into the cramped space, looked like it was perhaps largely used as a card room. You can’t help but feel a dull rush of relief at finding it yet unoccupied by anyone. Unable to fight the urge any longer, you reach out to snag Wriothesley’s sleeve and he sedately turns to look down at you. 

Shuffling closer until you were practically pressed right up against him, you offer him an imploring look as you go up on your toes. “Your grace …?” 

Something distantly sparks in his eyes and, humming softly, he carefully bends down to press his mouth to yours in an altogether chaste kiss. But even for as innocent as it is — not nearly as heated as some of the kisses you’d exchanged with him in recent memory — it still inspires a flood of warmth in you that races down your body. Sighing softly, you lean further into him and give yourself over to the stilted, hard press of his lips on yours. 

It lasts for only a brief moment though, and your lashes flutter against the apples of your cheeks when he pulls back just enough to speak. “Don’t be scared.” He tells you quietly, so gently it makes your heart wrench. 

“I’m not scared, just … nervous, is all. I think.” 

Humming quietly, he gives you another quick, lingering kiss that makes your bottom lip warble against your will. “You’ll do great. I know you will, but even if you should happen to fall I’ll be right there to catch you. Just like always, right?” 

Your face was quickly starting to become unbearably hot. Oh, how you wanted him so badly, even if he was the most confounding, frustrating man you’d ever met. “Will — will you have me later? When we’re done …?” 

Wriothesley goes still, just looking at you for a drawn out moment, but you’re a little too embarrassed to be saying something so shameful out loud to meet his gaze anymore. Flutteringly, your hand comes up to anxiously tug at the fur collar of his coat under the guise of straightening it for him, even though you really wanted to use it to tug him in against you. 

Finally, at length, he draws a carefully tempered breath. “How do you want me to have you, little miss?” 

The violent shudder that abruptly tears through you almost has you going cross eyed. “I - I’m not sure, I just … I feel like such a mess inside and everything is confusing, and I don’t know what it is exactly but I want you to — to - -“ 

“Oh, sweet girl,” He exhales slowly, and you jolt when one of his hands finds your hip. Giving it a tight, possessive squeeze to make you tremble, he drags that oppressive palm further back and around to grab a pinching handful of your ass. “Do you need me to ground you in place? Is that what you’re asking me for? Huh?” 

You sway unsteadily, feeling terribly faint when it seemed as if you were being smothered under his weighty presence. The heavy, rough calloused hand gripping your backside through the seat of your pants, the body heat bleeding off of him in waves to settle into you; the smell of him swarming your senses to settle on the back of your tongue and leave the masculine taste you’d come to recognize solely as the duke’s cloying in your throat. It was all too much. 

Much, much too much. 

Whimpering softly, you force your attention up to look in his face, still hovering mere millimeters from yours even when doing so proves to be quite the struggle. “Yes.” It’s little more than a faint whisper. “I want … I need you to reorient me. It feels like I’m — lost out at sea. I don’t know how else to describe it.” 

With a barely audible, rumbling growl, Wriothesley closes his fingers around the meat of your ass hard enough to make your breath hitch in your chest. “You need your head cleared so you can focus all that energy you have where it belongs. I’ll give you that outlet, as much as you require it. I have no problem giving you a guiding hand, little miss. You know that.” 

Your mouth warbles in a jittery smile, unable to keep it at a bay even when you try very hard to stop it from spreading across your face. You didn’t fully understand it yourself, what you were asking for or what you needed. All you’d seemed to grasp over the short time you’d known him was that Wriothesley made you feel good. Almost inexplicably so. Even when he was being infuriating and condescending towards you, even when he’d give your poor bottom a handful of stinging swats at the first sign of attitude to remind you to behave yourself, it still didn’t detract from this flutter low in your gut. There was something deeply gratifying about being with him like this, in this particular dynamic, and for as little as you know what to make of any of it, he seems to know exactly what it is you instinctively crave from him. Why you keep seeking him out this way. 

The sapphires in his eyes shutter with what you’re starting to recognize as desire in his otherwise implacable facade and he leans in again, issuing an anticipatory breath into the scant space separating you. His mouth finds yours, as sure as any compass points north, drawing a threadbare moan from the depths of your shuddering gut. You lean into him, lips carefully parting to kiss him back, and — the shuffling sound of heavy approaching footsteps echoing off the metal walls has you wrenching back from him so fast your head spins. 

Eyes going impossibly wide, you quickly slap him away in your fluster and rush to extricate yourself from his person. Chuckling softly, as if he wasn’t at all concerned about being caught in such a compromising situation, Wriothesley lets you go, but not without a playful swat to your ass when you move to brush past him. You yelp at the mild sting but keep your attention ahead as you hurry over to deposit your bag on one of the tables so you can dig in it and give your racing heart a chance to calm down. Even now you somehow manage to be surprised at how utterly unapologetic he was about everything! 

Forcing your lungs to expand on a deep, steadying breath, you listen to the approaching shuffle behind you until an unmistakable shift of occupancy in the cramped room indicated that you were no longer alone with the duke. You keep your head down just a moment longer, both to ensure you had your expression under control and to also listen to the way Wriothesley amicably greets the inmates. You’d never gotten to see him interact with them before and, rather than coming off like the strict, hardass warden you’d had a first impression of, he almost seems to talk to them like they were … friends? Or at least on friendly terms with each other. 

Could it really be that you were the only one unlucky (or lucky, depending on how you looked at it) enough to bring out that side of him? But why would that be …? 

Slowly, more people start to drift in and you have to make a concerted effort to shove those thoughts to the back of your mind so you can stay focused on what really matters. You take your time neatly organizing your stacks of papers, the forms you’d carefully composed on the typewriter in the affairs office, and make a concerted effort to greet everyone with a smile when they move away from the duke to find their seats. Some of them are rather friendly when they respond, but others simply look at you without a single word and not so much as a backwards glance. No matter, though. You didn’t exactly come here to make friends. 

All in all, only seven inmates show up. A pair of shady looking brothers, one woman and the rest are men who just disinterestedly eye you up and down with varying levels of annoyance reflecting in their eyes. You can’t quite shake the feeling that they’d expected someone a bit more impressive than the slight, eager-faced woman wearing a jumper and slacks standing before them now, and it probably didn’t help that you looked downright diminutive standing next to Wriothesley either. Oh, well. You were just going to have to try and make the best of it. 

“Hello, everyone,” You chirp, a little higher in pitch than you’d intended thanks to your jittery nerves. “It looks like we won’t be getting anyone else today, so let’s get started. I’m very excited to be working with all of you.”

Resounding, echoing silence and a wall of blank stares. 

You waver slightly, but recover admirably. “I’m from the office of public affairs, and recently I’ve been working with his grace here to come up with programs for the prison that can help or otherwise enrich the lives of the inmates here. I appreciate you taking the time out of your day to come see me, and I hope you’ll feel comfortable enough to speak freely. This preliminary meeting is first and foremost going to function as a feeler so we can get an idea of what sort of activities you'd like to see offered at the prison in the future.” 

More silence. More staring. 

You can feel your face starting to grow warm even though you’ve also broken out into a cold sweat, and you flounder for something else to say. Far be it that you’d expected them to jump for joy and lift you in the air over their heads in celebration or anything as preposterous as that, but you had anticipated at least some kind of response. What were you supposed to do when they wouldn’t even speak so much as a single word to you? It’s not like you could get anything of worth out of this if you were the only one talking. 

Suddenly, Wriothesley shifts beside you and the soft creak of his boots makes your pulse nervously jump. “I expect all of you to show our guest some respect today. I'm not sure why you would sign up for this if you had no intention of participating, so let’s get it in gear. If you have something to say, now is your chance to say it.” 

The brothers sitting nearest to you bend their heads close and exchange a quick, muffled conversation between themselves, but you’re a little too rattled by the tone of Wriothesley’s voice to make out what they’re saying. Ah, so it wasn’t just you then. Good to know. 

“What sort of activities are we talking here?” One of the men in the rear suddenly speaks up, snapping your attention back into the present. 

“O - oh, yes. We were thinking things like trade skills and daily lifestyle necessities that could give you a better sense of independence while you’re here. Things like sewing or cooking, or - -“

“Why would we need any of that?” The only other woman in the room chimes in. “Meropide works just fine as is and the system already in place provides us with all of that.”

“Well, yes, but - -“ 

“Yeah, what do I need to know sewing for when I could just as easily pass it off to someone who already knows how to do it?” One of the brothers, the larger and seemingly more cantankerous of the two, adds on, making you pull your mouth into a firm line. 

“That’s exactly why.” You assert in an equally firm voice. “The prison’s internal functionality works like a well oiled machine, doesn’t it? Why want for anything else when everything is already right where it needs to be. Just like cogs, everyone fits into their role and they fit it well. You all keep Meropide running as it should, there’s no doubt about that. But each and every one of you has a life beyond the role you take on here. You aren’t just cogs, and you aren’t just part of the greater machine. I want to give you a chance to be independent of that clockwork, even if it’s only for an hour or two each day, and remind you that there’s still something beyond these tin walls.”

You draw a steadying breath, carefully taking in the faces sitting before you. It looked like a few of them were starting to come around, or were at least curious enough to actually hear you out now, and that bolsters your courage by some margin. You could do this. You would. 

“I know how easy it is to get comfortable with the lifestyle here. His grace has taken the time to explain to me in great detail the ins and outs of the prison, how everyone lives on a schedule, what freedoms you’re allotted and what has restricted access. I’m aware that there is a great deal of self governing here in the fortress, which is precisely why I want to give you all an opportunity to deviate from that routine. It might be fun, right? Having a little bit of your old life back?” 

A few looks are exchanged between some of the inmates, a soft murmur rising up, and your heartbeat starts to quicken. Next to you, Wriothesley snorts a quiet laugh before moving back to lean against the wall, leaving you feeling strangely alone and exposed standing there by yourself. You shoot him a quick, harried glance over your shoulder but he just crosses his arms over his chest and nudges his chin at the small congregation. When you turn back around, you’re more than a little surprised to find the other woman leaning towards you in obvious interest.  

“I always wanted to be a seamstress some day.” She abruptly announces, startling you slightly. “My mother taught me when I was younger, but I never got a chance to really hone the skill. Is that really something you could arrange?” 

You swallow your nerves, hearing Wriothesley’s reminder not to get your hopes up in the back of your mind, but it was so hard not to when she was looking at you like that. You wanted to help her. More than anything else, you just wanted to give them something more to live for. 

“I believe we can. His grace and I have already reached out to a few businesses, and a few of them have expressed willingness to volunteer their services to the prison. I’m sure if everything goes well and word of mouth starts to spread, we could convince others to do the same as well.” 

“I did always want to be a chef.” The larger brother admits somewhat sheepishly, and you smile. You couldn’t help it. 

This was really working. 

It doesn’t take long to have a full dialogue going after that. Even with the one or two stragglers still wary and uncertain about introducing any real changes to the system the overall reception seems to be resoundingly positive. You talk with them, discussing what they’d like to do, what they’d like to potentially see implemented, and through it all Wriothesley just hangs back against the wall, watching over everything like a silent sentry just at your back. He even stays true to his word and lets you be in charge even when tempers seem to flare up in disagreement every so often instead of snatching the reins from you at the first sign of trouble. All it takes is a sharp look from him or a low word of warning, and everyone grudgingly settles back down, which was not something you’d expected to relate so much with them about but you do. It almost feels like a strange sense of solidarity in a way, and you were immensely glad to have him on your side like this. 

Everything goes so well, in fact, that by the time a real problem raises its head, you almost overlook it completely. The man in the far back corner hadn’t said much at all over the course of the last hour and some change, but you’d felt his burning gaze on you the whole time. He appeared to be the most opposed to the program you’d presented to the group, but you hadn’t been able to squeeze the reason out of him yet which is why you eventually defer to your hand typed forms. You’d thought it would be a good idea to have them put their thoughts down in writing in case they felt too shy to say it out loud, and you hoped your careful planning would pay off in this. 

You’re in the process of handing out the papers to everyone along with the pencils you’d brought along, slowly making your way over to him last, and he tips his head back as if in challenge at your approach. You had a sneaking suspicion who he was, of course, but you still offer him a cheerful smile as you move closer. 

“I know you haven’t said much today, but I hope you’ll share any thoughts you have on the form. It’s really helpful to have different perspectives on things like this.” You tell him, holding out the sheet. 

“Can’t write.” He rumbles, making your hand falter. 

“Oh.” You hadn’t even considered that being a possibility. “I - I’m sorry. Maybe we could see about starting up classes so you can - -“

“Don’t want em’” 

You blink at him owlishly, trying to make sense of his surly attitude, but Wriothesley calls over from the other side of the room before you can think of something to say. “Watch yourself, George. I’m not going to give you another warning.” 

Ah. So your suspicions were correct. 

You start to pull back, decidedly unnerved by the way he clearly wants nothing at all to do with you, but then you see the look that flashes across his eyes. Like a street hardened dog that was ready to bite in retaliation. You almost hate yourself for it, but your heart irreparably softens and you turn your head to send Wriothesley a reassuring look. “It’s alright, your grace. I don’t mind.” 

He begins to open his mouth to say something but you whip your head back around, speaking before he can further insert himself into the conversation. 

“Please don’t worry about it, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I know not all of us have been given the same kind of opportunities in life. Where are you from, George?” 

The grizzled man sends you a slow look, the muscles in his jaw working with what you think is probably irritation, but you refuse to back down or give up on him. He was still a person deserving of respect and dignity no matter how much he might hate you. 

“Fleuve Cendre.” He says at length, and you feel a distant twang of understanding in the back of your mind. The underground sewer systems in the Court of Fontaine were not always the best place to grow up so it made sense, in a way. 

“I see. Well, if you’re at all interested I can make every effort to arrange for someone to come teach you how to write, or maybe I could even do it myself. Does that sound like a good idea?” 

He suddenly leans forward in his chair, getting right in your face, and it takes everything you have not to go scuttling back though you do give a startled jerk in surprise. “Not a chance! I don’t want your stinking charity, lady!” He practically spits at you, vitriolic and full of malice. 

“Charity?” You incredulously echo him, but he reaches out to viciously grab your wrist before you can think of anything else to say. 

“That’s right! You think I need you looking down on me or something? How about I tell you exactly where you can shove it instead!” 

You open your mouth to say — what, you don’t know, but a shift of motion in your peripheral stops you in your tracks. Snapping your head up, you’re not the least bit surprised to find Wriothesley quickly closing the distance with long, purposeful strides, but it still horrifies you and your heart promptly jackhammers straight up into your throat. 

“Wait!” You shriek, holding your uncaptured arm out as if to stop him. Like you even could. He’s like a solid wall moving towards you and you could already see how this was going to play out, your eyes going round as saucers seconds before a violent wrench on your arm takes you right off your feet. 

In a sudden rush of movement that you can’t even begin to process or comprehend, you abruptly find yourself pinned to the front of George who’s shot up out of his seat. Wriothesley comes to an immediate halt, just short of being within arms reach, and you stare up at him in unseeing disbelief as George shuffles back to press himself into the corner, using you like a shield. You’re distantly aware of an eruption of chaos in the rest of the room, likely a result of everyone rushing to get out of the way, chairs loudly scraping and clattering against the floor, but you feel strangely numb to it all. 

The only thing you can manage to think at that moment is that you were going to be in so much trouble once everything was said and done. 

“Don’t touch me, you bastard aristocrat!” 

“Wha — h - hold on a minute!” You squawk, feet kicking uselessly at the floor in a blind attempt to find some traction. It’s no use though, and your shoes just slip and slide against the papers you’d dropped in the shuffle. 

“I thought we already went over this, George. You know taking hostages isn’t going to get you anywhere except straight into solitary.” Wriothesley intones, and the surprisingly calm, leveled quality of his voice surprises you slightly, prompting you to bring your head back up. But the look you find in his face, the icy heat curling in his eyes, is anything but tranquil, and your stomach twists in dread. 

You’d never seen him look like that before … like he could really kill someone. 

“I don’t want to hear it!” George snaps, nervously clutching you against him — as if you were going to stop anything! “I’ve had enough of this place, and I’ve had enough of all of you! Always looking down on me like I’m less than dirt!” 

“No one is looking down on you.” Wriothesley says, clearly trying to reason with him. “Just calm down and let her go. I know you’re having a hard time adjusting, and I’m sure having your sentence extended didn’t help with that, but this is only going to make things worse for you in the long run. You can’t bargain your way out of this.” 

“Maybe so, but I could kill her!” 

“You what!” You shriek, nails sinking into the arm pinned across your front, but they both summarily ignore you. 

“That’d show you not to mess with me!” George continues on. “I’m serious, you know! I’ll do it!” 

“And why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?” Wriothesley shoots right back. “If you’re hoping to spend the rest of your life in Meropide you don’t have to do this to accomplish that. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.” 

“Dammit, I want out of here! I can’t stand this place! No sun, no fresh air, no sky! It feels like I’m going crazy down here!” 

“Then let her go. You still have a chance to return to the surface someday and you’ll get to see the sky as much as you want then, but that’s not going to happen if you keep this up. If you extend your sentence much further, you’re just going to seal your own fate. Permanently.” 

That actually seems to give him pause, and you hold your breath in anticipation of the pin dropping even when your chest strains and aches in protest. You almost didn’t dare to hope that he would actually listen to reason when you were viscerally aware of all the impotent rage and unrealized frustration coursing through his body, making him shake against you. It didn’t appear to be a bluff, at least not where you were standing. You think he really could kill you if pushed far enough, but … slowly, his hold on you eventually starts to relax. 

“I don’t want to be trapped under the ocean for the rest of my life …” He murmurs, a brief glimpse of cognizance returning to him after that manic flash. 

“Then hand the young lady over to me and let’s be done with it. I think this has gone on long enough, George.” 

Carefully reaching out for you, Wriothesley takes a step forward. His ability to stay cool and collected even in a situation like this surprises you a great deal, of course, but you find some amount of comfort in his unflappable demeanor. It helps you stay calm, in as much as you’re able to at least, and a dull wave of relief washes over you when George reluctantly pushes you away from himself, shoving you straight into Wriothesley’s waiting arm. 

You almost don’t believe it as his hand grabs around your waist and tightly gathers you up against him, angling you further from the inmate. It felt like you were dreaming. Numb to everything that had happened over the last few inexplicably short moments, you turn in his hold just in time to watch Wriothesley snag George’s wrist before he can pull it back all the way. 

And just like that, he snaps the bone with one solid twist. 

The sickening crack! that rings out makes your stomach lurch up into your throat. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Slamming Wriothesley’s office door open hard enough to make it bang against the interior wall, you storm inside so mad you could just scream! 

He comes in behind you at a leisurely pace just a moment later, taking his time to close and lock it, but you’re a little too caught up in the absolutely blinding surge of anger you’re trying to wrestle with to question it. Seething viciously, you start to pace the perimeter of the room. It’s all you can think to do. You wanted to scream at him, kick him, slap him, spit at him! What was wrong with this man that he would ever think that kind of violence was okay? 

“Are you alright?” He eventually asks you, just standing there in the doorway watching you stomp around his office as if it were a perfectly normal sight to see. That evenly tempered, almost blase tone of his voice just makes you see red though, and you finally round on him with a wordless shriek. 

“Why did you do that to him?” 

“He was dangerous.” Wriothesley says it like it should have been obvious. “I think he made that quite clear, don’t you?” 

“It doesn’t matter! He’d already let me go, you didn’t need to hurt him like that! It was just excessive at that point, you damn brute!” 

“That doesn’t mean he couldn't still hurt you. You’re not stupid, little miss. I know you’re aware of just how differently that could have played out if he hadn’t listened to me, and I wasn’t about to risk him changing his mind and having the means to lash out. You’re acting like I killed the poor guy.” 

You couldn’t seem to process his logic and, with no other choice, you return to your fitful pacing. “I don’t understand you. It doesn’t even make any sense. You say you care about your inmates but then you turn around and do something like that?” 

“I care about you too.” 

Stopping dead in your tracks, you slowly turn to look back at him again. The chill that creeps over you is suffocating, threatening to choke you up on the spot. “No. Do not do that. Not right now!” 

“But it’s true.” 

“I don’t care if it’s true!” You shout, impulsively closing the distance so you can jab your finger into the center of his chest. “You broke that man’s wrist, your grace! That was uncalled for! If you cared about him, or the others, or me you wouldn’t have done something so — so unnecessarily violent! He was just … he was just scared, is all. I think.” 

Wriothesley reaches up to carefully take your hand off him and you flinch at the contact but still let him do it because … because you don’t know why. You’re well aware you should be yanking out of his hold like he’d scalded you, skin crawling at just the touch of those rough worn fingers, but you can’t quite bring yourself to do that right now. Not when it felt like you were moments away from shattering to pieces right there in his office. 

“You think?” 

“I don’t know. Not really, but … he could have hurt me if he wanted to, right? But he didn’t. He only used me like a shield because you were coming, and he panicked. I can’t really blame him for that. I’d be scared too.” 

“I bet.” He murmurs, lifting your hand to press a kiss to the backs of your loosely curled knuckles. Grimacing at the gesture, unable to reconcile it in your mind — this soft version of the duke and the brutal prison warden — and you quickly look away. “I’m sorry you’re unhappy with how I handled the situation. I probably did frighten you, and you have my sincerest apologies for that as well, little miss. But you have to understand that I was protecting you.”

“I didn’t ask to be protected!” You seethe. “Least of all like that!” 

“Be that as it may, I still did what needed to be done. I already told you once, didn’t I? I’m your guard dog. You were in danger and I acted accordingly. It’s not fair of you to be so upset with me when I was only doing my job.” 

“But there must have been another way - -“

“There wasn’t. Believing any different is just naive and childish. You need to let go of this little fantasy you have that everything can be solved peacefully if you’re just nice enough. That’s not how the real world works.” 

You jerk your attention up with a low snarl, but he just looks at you with the same unreadable expression as always. He wasn’t the least bit sorry, nor did he feel any real regret for what he’d done. Not only that but he would have done it again without a second's hesitation. You could see it in his face, clear as day. He may as well have been saying it out loud for as little he tries to hide it. 

“It doesn’t work with violence either.” You finally rattle out, shaking in his hold. 

“I’d say my methods are a bit more effective than yours. You’re safe, aren’t you? If anything, you should be thanking me.” 

Your pulse spikes as you wrench your hand free and slap him as hard as you can, popping him right across the mouth. Wriothesley doesn’t even flinch and that just makes you angrier. Going up on the tips of your toes to get as close to him as you’re able to, you hiss at him with every bit of vitriol you can muster. “Is that thanks enough for you, your grace?” 

Terse silence descends over the room, interspersed only by your heavy breathing. At length, he finally draws a short, clipped breath. 

“I’m going to give you one chance and one chance only to apologize for doing that. I do hope you make the right decision.”

Veins turning icy, you bring your hands up to shove at his chest and push yourself away. “You wouldn’t dare. Not right now. Not when I’m so mad at you I could just - -“

He’s on you in an instant. 

For someone so big he certainly moves quick, and you barely have enough time to suck in a ragged, gasping breath of air as he roughly grabs under your arms and hauls you right up off your feet. The sudden rush of movement makes you nauseous, your stomach flipping end over end. Throwing your head back, you suck in a mouthful of air to scream. 

Wriothesley abruptly drops you back down to the floor before you can follow through and the sudden impact makes sharp, splintering pain race up your legs. That split second hesitation on your part is all he needs to get a hand over your mouth and your eyes go big in wild terror as he all but drags you by the back of your jumper towards the chaise lounge against the far wall. You wrench against his hold like a trapped animal, desperate and mindless as you shriek behind his palm, but the sound comes out muffled. Distant. There’s nothing at all you can do to stop it as he pulls you over and plops down on the cushions before yanking you down to kneel between his feet. 

You wince at the way your knees slam against the unforgiving ground but you don’t get a chance to fully process the hurt. He bends over you and reaches back to grab the back of your pants, using them to yank you up and brace you over his thigh. His hand stays locked around your mouth though, making it hard to breathe when you were sucking in quick, panicked gasps, one right after another as you frantically try to shove at him. 

His hand abruptly cracks across your ass with enough force to leave you seeing stars, and you wordlessly shriek into his palm. Winded and lurching, you instinctively try to angle away from him but the way he’s got you trapped between his legs makes it impossible to get very far. He hits you again, right on the mark, and hot tears immediately rush up to flood your eyes. Wailing in pain and impotent frustration now, you blindly reach up to shove at his arm. 

Wriothesley’s fingers just tighten around the lower half of your face though, securing his hold on you, while the other hand continues to rain down on your bottom in quick, blistering succession. Even through your pants it makes your toes curl achingly tight as you writhe there on the floor, rocking against his leg with each punishing blow. 

You couldn’t believe him, doing this to you in a situation like this! It was one thing when you were being bratty or stubborn, or hardheaded, and you’d even come to rather enjoy those intimate sessions with him in which he’d gradually break you down piece by piece before building you back up into a whole, complete person again. It was strangely relaxing, comforting even. Therapeutic. But this was something else entirely. You were mad for a good reason. You’d hit him for a good reason! It wasn’t fair that he could spank your ass red and raw, but you couldn’t even slap him once without incurring his wrath. 

So caught up in the tumultuous surge of emotions assaulting you all at once, you almost don’t realize when the tears start tracking down your face. They burn against your heated skin and pool in the seam where his hand is sealed over your face from the nose down, gathering there before eventually dribbling over his blunt knuckles. He has to feel it, has to know you’re crying, practically sobbing, but still he doesn’t stop. He just keeps spanking you, again and again, again, until the throbbing pain scorching across your defenseless backside seems to reach incomprehensible levels that have you struggling just to think through it. 

And you try to, desperate to cling to your anger and your fear, the betrayal you’d felt when he broke that poor man’s wrist right in front of your very eyes with hardly any effort at all to show for it. You hadn’t thought him capable. Even now when he was lighting your ass up it seemed like an entirely inconceivable notion for him to be capable of that level of cruelty. But it’s next to impossible to hold onto any of those thoughts or feelings when you were so swept up in the pulsing thrum of hurt he’s inflicting on you and slowly, ever so slowly, your mind starts to go blank. 

Evidently feeling you go lax against his knee in acceptance, Wriothesley’s voice starts to drift over you and it seamlessly penetrates the fog hanging over your head to dig straight into your brain. “I’m not sure who you think you are,” whap, whap, whap, whap, “But I have to say,” whap, whap, whap, whap, “I’m actually rather impressed you had the guts to do that,” whap, whap, whap, whap “I suppose that’s why I like you so much though,” whap, whap, whap, whap, “You're so damn bullheaded you just don’t know when to quit.” 

Groaning deliriously into the meat of his hand, you mechanically bring your hand down to clutch his pant leg in a death grip while the other blindly stretches back as if to protect yourself from his strikes. He pauses above you as your trembling fingers creep across your bottom, drawing a clipped, mildly annoyed breath. 

“Move your hand.” 

You wail something that might have been a ‘no!’, incomprehensibly muffled, and he clicks his tongue at the petulance. 

“Don’t test my patience with you any further, little girl. You have no idea just how much I can really make it hurt if you want to be cute.” 

Noising a sound of surprised confusion, you hastily retract your hand in favor of shoving it up against his stomach and pushing at him with renewed determination, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. Leaning forward, he reaches down the front of your body to fumble with the buttons on your pants. You squeal a muffled protest and try to angle away again to no avail. It takes him a prolonged moment to get them with the use of only one hand, but eventually he has your slacks undone and he starts to roughly shove them down your quaking thighs. 

“You know,” He says almost conversationally, as calm as ever while your internal panic was just ratcheting higher and higher. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, so let me explain something to you. There’s a right way and a wrong way to go about things, and somehow you always seem to consistently pick the wrong choice. I don’t mind so much that you’re upset with me. I still don’t think that was very fair of you, but you’re entitled to your own opinion. I’m certainly not trying to take that away from you.”

He’s finally got your pants bunched around your knees but, rather than spanking you over your panties next, he instead starts to yank those down too. A violent shudder tears through you at the implication, the suggestion, your blood running so hot for him it has you swaying there on the floor even as you give your head a weak shake. If he was skipping the usual buildup then he must have been rather upset with you indeed. 

“But as always you get too carried away. You won’t stop until you push me enough to end up over my knee, getting your butt spanked like a child.” He swats your bare ass for emphasis, making you shriek and sob at the pulsing sting as much as the resulting jiggle it causes. “Do you have anything to say for yourself? Huh?” 

You nod your head frantically, noising behind his hand, and Wriothesley gives your face a dull squeeze of warning. 

“I’m going to take my hand away but I promise if you scream you’re going to find yourself getting hit with something much worse than a hairbrush, do you understand me?”  

Another nod, even more wild than the last. 

Slowly, his fingers loosen and then tentatively fall away, leaving you to gasp wretchedly at the flood of fresh air. You slump against him and try to catch your breath, wet little hiccups making your back bow. “I … I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — shouldn’t have hit you!”

“I’d say that’s an understatement.” 

Forcibly pulling yourself up even though it hurts to do so, you twist on your knees to peer up at him. Your lower lip promptly wobbles when you see the hard way he’s looking at you but you just sniffle and reach up to wipe at your tear stained face. “You made me so mad! And you never take me seriously! I tell you something and it seems like you always just brush me off!” 

Wriothesley watches you shake and heave for a drawn out moment before sedately slouching down, elbows shifting forward to brace against his knees so he can lean over you. The gesture makes you feel so incredibly small and insignificant, a borderline hysterical sob bursting out of your mouth which you quickly cover with your hand. You screw your eyes shut, trying to calm down, but he just hovers over you like that in complete and utter silence until the shudders wracking through you get too uncontrollable and you start to sway dizzily on the floor. 

His nearest hand finds your back and smooths over it in comforting circles, wrinkling your jumper in the process. Sucking in a thin, gasping breath, you instinctively rock forward as if to heave but all you do is cough like some sad, pathetic broken little thing. 

“Calm down,” He murmurs, giving your trembling shoulders a firm pat. “You’re going to make yourself sick carrying on like that. Will you listen to me?” 

Sniveling, you blink through the thick sheen of tears making your vision swim and nod your head with a faint whimper. His hand stills on your back, keeping you in place as he leans further down to your level and tips his head so he can see your face. 

“I wasn’t brushing you off. I understand why that upset you and I’m nothing if not sympathetic. Really, I am. If you want the honest truth of it, I regretted it almost as soon as I did it. I’ll have to apologize to George later and have a real long talk with him about what happened, but I’m not going to apologize for protecting you. You’re under my charge regardless of if we’re in the city or your house, but especially when you’re here. If something happened to you on my watch, that would be a resounding failure on my part. Can you understand that much, at least?” 

You hesitate and then nod your head again, not quite trusting yourself enough to speak yet. Wriothesley gives you an approving squeeze and another idle pat that makes you whimper softly. His hand was so big it felt like it was taking up almost the whole of your back … 

“I didn’t mean to scare you … you know that, right?” 

“Y - yes …” 

“Good. Because that I will apologize for. It was unnecessary. I should have completely removed you from the situation first before acting but he just had me so mad, I wasn’t thinking straight, and … honestly, I probably owe you an apology for that too I had some reservations about letting him come to the meeting of course, given his track record, but I thought maybe it would help him adjust a little better if he had something from the overworld to keep him busy. Preoccupied.” 

Gingerly, you shift on your knees so you’re knelt directly under him rather than braced up against his leg, and you lift your hands to hesitantly slide them across his strong jawline. Wriothesley let’s you do it, much to your thrumming relief, and you carefully tip his face towards you until just a scant breath separates his nose from yours. 

“What’s going to happen to him now?” 

He just looks at you, and your face slowly starts to crumple. 

“Please don’t let him get into trouble.” You plead, unable to bear the thought of his sentence being extended because of you. “It was just a mistake and I wasn’t hurt. He didn’t do anything wrong, your grace! Not really. Please, please don’t punish him.” 

Stiffly, he sighs out through his nose. “And there you go being naive again. I’m afraid there’s not much I can do to protect him at this point. He’s sealed his own fate.”

“But that’s … that’s terrible! If I hadn’t been there — if you hadn’t let me come here that never would have even happened! I’m the one at fault here, aren’t I? I’ll take the punishment in his stead! That would be fine, right?” 

“Lovely girl - -“ 

Wriothesley reaches out with his other hand to cup your face and you try to pull away, a fresh wave of tears springing up in your eyes, but he holds you fast. Tipping his head, he seals his mouth over yours and swallows down the muffled wail you let out. Even when the rolling beads of moisture start to track down your damp face, he just kisses you and kisses you until you finally start to stir underneath him some indeterminable amount of time later. 

You have no idea how long you’ve been sitting there on the floor but your legs are numb and prickly when you finally move, shifting forward to lean into him. Your breaths are still a little ragged through your nose but you start to kiss him back, tentatively slow at first and then with growing confidence. Growing hunger. The emptiness inside you is quickly filling up with a white hot, molten need, and you groan thickly into his mouth when you feel your pussy give a muted throb of interest. It matches the ever present sting across your ass, in a way, and you feel both in stunning high definition as you carefully raise up to meet him. 

Gradually easing back when you find your balance and sit up straight, Wriothesley brings his hands around to cup your ribcage. He squeezes, rucking up your jumper and blouse in the process but, as always, he doesn’t try to relieve you of it. That he was still willing to go about this on your terms, at your pace, fills your chest with a strange helium feeling, and you try to follow after him when he eventually pulls back all the way, whining low in your throat at the loss. 

“Come here, pretty girl.” He murmurs, tugging you up to stand and you do so with a great deal of haste even when your sore legs threaten to give out under you. Bracing a hand on his broad shoulder to steady yourself, you carefully step out of your sagging pants and underwear when he stoops down to pull them over your feet. 

Carelessly tossing your clothes aside, he grabs around your middle again and easily tugs you into his lap. Your heart pounds a wild beat inside your chest when you realize he’s centering you over his leg, and you quickly scramble to get into position. There’s no denying the excitement you feel searing your veins now, the speed at which you’d come to love this particular activity surprising even you. It felt like you were irreversibly addicted to it, and you moan very softly when your bare cunt presses down into his thigh. Pelvis tipping upward, you steal a quick glance down at yourself, still amazed at how broad and thick his leg looks under you. It’s not exactly hard to imagine something else forcing your thighs into a wide spread around him but that still scares a little more than you were willing to admit. 

Gently pulling you forward so that your cunt rocks down to settle squarely against his pant leg, Wriothesley gathers you right up against his chest and bends his head to yours again. You moan into the searing hot kiss and bring your hands up to clutch at him, the toes of your shoes bracing on the floor to give yourself leverage as you settle into a slow, mind numbing pace with him. 

It truly feels like your brain is melting when the stilted friction on your pussy soon makes you tremble and shake for him, panting heavily into his mouth. You’re distantly aware of the stiff tension in his body but Wriothesley just lets you find your pleasure on him without trying to take advantage of your muddied, intoxicated state. His hands roam over your body in a continuous caress, pinching, squeezing, kneading with rough calloused fingers, but he doesn’t wander to your chest or between your legs. He’d only touched you there once, back in that cramped little alley, but thinking back on it when you were moving with him like this … maybe you should invite him to touch you there again? It would probably feel good, and grinding yourself on his leg was such a slow, tortuous process. 

Or maybe you could try touching him? 

Turning your head to suck in a much needed lungful of fresh air, you take a moment to steady your nerves. You’d never crossed this line before, never been brave enough to take the plunge but, oh, you were so curious and your pussy positively clenches at the thought of feeling him under your palm. You wanted to touch him. You needed to. 

“Y - your grace …”

“What is it, pretty girl? What do you need?” He breathes into the scant pace separating you from him, head tipped back to look at your from this slightly elevated position. 

An intense shudder works through you at the thought of actually doing it, of actually saying the words, and you loose a keening mewl as you stubbornly turn your head to look elsewhere. You couldn’t look at him and say it, you just couldn’t! 

“Can … ahhn, would it be permissible for me to, um — t - touch you as well?” 

His thick fingers give a muted little jolt of surprise where they’re squeezing around your waist, and you tightly screw your eyes shut when he leans in to kiss the side of your neck. “Oh, little miss. You don’t have to ask. You can touch me as much as you want.” 

Trembling there on his lap, you hesitate to do it but finally gather enough courage to drag your hand down off his shoulder. Shyly watching the slow descent of it down his broad barrel chest, over his stomach, all the way down to the center of his lap. You give a tiny little jerk when you see the stiff outline pressing up against the interior, the motion of your hips inelegantly stuttering as you take in the shape of it, the size. It was indeed quite large, your heart nearly giving out entirely in your overwhelmed horror, but … but like this it wasn’t quite so bad. Not as scary as if you were perhaps looking at it straight on. 

Timidly cautious, you press your fingers over the outline and Wriothesley breathes out a thick, heavy sound that is suspiciously reminiscent of a growl. It seems to vibrate through you, pulling a quiet whimper out of your throat, but you force yourself to stay focused. Your curiosity was a little too compelling to get sidetracked now, and even your mindless rutting against him slows to a complete standstill while you feel along the length of him, just familiarizing yourself with the press of it against your hand. Even through his slacks it seems heavy and it’s so incredibly warm that you feel a dull, sympathetic tremor deep inside your cunt.��

Evidently realizing just how distracted you were, Wriothesley pulls back from your neck enough to look down at himself as well. “Is it so fascinating?” 

“A little bit …”

He laughs, sounding mildly strained. “If you’re curious I’ll teach you about it, but I won’t make you do anything you don’t feel comfortable with. In this, at least, I’ll play by your rules.” 

And he’d done such a good job respecting your boundaries thus far … perhaps it was alright to test the waters some. To give in to this primal urge coursing through your system, making you feel indescribably hot and mindless. 

“Would it really fit inside me?” 

The hushed noise he makes sounds so wounded it actually startles your attention up, and you take in his pained expression with great big eyes. 

“W - what? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, nothing. Please don’t start getting defensive, now of all times.” Grunting, Wriothesley grabs under your arms as he shifts back further against the lounge so he can rather gingerly recline back, pulling you right along with him. The careful motion stretches you out across his body to rest against his chest, prompting you to readjust the way you're straddling his thigh to keep your thrumming cunt pressed up tight against it. Letting out a shuddering exhale, he shifts underneath you just so before tipping his face down again. “If you say things like that you’re going to make this go crazy, and I’m not so sure you’re ready for that yet. Try rubbing it, like this.” 

You can’t quite stop the squeak of surprise that bursts out of you when he reaches over to grab your stilled hand. Redirecting you to the center of the bulge, he manually squeezes your trembling fingers around him and your skin positively crawls with an eruption of goosebumps when you feel it pulse against your palm. Wide eyed and quaking, you slowly bring your gaze back down to watch him guide your hand up along the rigid length and then back down again. You’d never before seen anything quite like it, but there was a very real, very primitive part of your brain that abruptly clicks on at the sight of it. 

“Will it hurt?”

“No.” He grunts, still dragging your hand up and down, up and down the length of him. “It feels good. Like when you rub that cute pussy all over my leg. You can squeeze it, if you want.” 

Experimentally, you do just that and the responding twitch of Wriothesley’s cock has your cunt repeatedly clamping down on nothing, a harried, deeply frazzled whine rising in you. It was like you were cumming, but not really. You felt close, though. As if just touching him like this, feeling the hot, pulsing need of him in the palm of your hand was stoking your own fire. Building your own pleasure up into something that was very nearly palpable. 

More confident this time, you give him another squeeze, and he makes a rumbling, needy sound in the back of his throat. Consumed with your own wanton need, you turn your head to look at him again and a distant thrill of surprise rushes through you when you find those deep sapphires watching you. Not your hand on him, but you. 

“Am I really making you feel good, your grace?” 

“Very much so.” 

Smiling, you lean up to press your mouth to his. He watches you do it, accepts your kiss, and a stilted puff of air rattles out of him to dance over your lips. You’ve never seen him hold himself quite so stiffly before but he starts to kiss you back just a heartbeat later, slowly at first and then with more demanding force behind the motion. Just like every other time he pulls you into his pace with ease, soon dominating the exchange while his hand continues to stroke yours over his trapped cock. It doesn’t take long for you to start feeling impatient like this, indescribably needy, and you wriggle yourself down on his leg in search of more friction. Wriothesley gladly obliges you, curling his leg up a little higher to press more firmly into your cunt to make you keen at the sensation. 

As you start to ride him again, the hand that had remained carefully on your back this entire time starts to drag lower, tracing the curve of your waist and further still to smooth over your reddened bottom. You suck in a sharp breath at the sting but it just seems to make your pussy clench and drool even more obscenely. Rearing back against his hand, you give his length another tight squeeze to pull a low groan out of him. 

“You are a real menace, pretty girl.” He softly chides you, pulling back just enough to look in your face. “For as prim and proper as you like to act, you’re certainly an insatiable little thing.”

You start to apologize for it, but then think better of it. “Do you like it, your grace?” 

“More than I’d like to admit.” 

Your breath catches at that and you lurch on top of him when a warning tremor tears through your shuddering body. “Will … will you bounce your leg against me?” 

“Of course.” Eyelids drooping to attractive halfmast, Wriothesley presses his forehead against yours and tenderly nudges at your nose. “Shall I spank you while I do it? Something tells me you’d like that an awful lot.” 

“Ooh … yes, your grace, please spank me.” 

Another rumbling groan rises in him, eyes drifting shut as if in great pleasure. You don’t get a chance to linger on how positively devastating he looks like that because he presses his thigh up into you, sending you lurching with a faltering, deeply wounded sound. The motion of his leg jostles you slightly, prompting you to clutch at him all the more fervently — one latched around his cock and the other clinging to his neck — and you toss your head back with a high pitched squeal when he suddenly swats your ass without warning. You waver, hesitate for only a blink of the eye, and then you’re driving your cunt down to meet him with fast mounting urgency. 

“Oohh, gods —“

Swat! Across the other cheek to make the meaty swell bounce. 

A deeply flustered sound punches its way out of your mouth, hips swiveling desperately. “Ahhn, ahh! Y - your grace! Nggnh!” 

Swat! The first cheek again, this time with a possessive squeeze afterward that makes your toes curl. 

“I’d say I could never get tired of watching you bounce that pretty pussy on my leg, but I’d hate to discourage you from wanting to try anything else.” 

Your tense fingers impulsively squeeze down on his cock, making his chest hitch, and you seethe through your teeth at the quickly cresting waves of ecstasy washing over you. You were close, so close. 

“Please —“ Swat! Swat! First one cheek and then the next, in rapid succession. “Ooh! God! I - I want it, your grace! I want it!” 

Swat!  

“What do you want, lovely girl?” Wriothesley grunts, his own voice faltering now. 

“I - I want this!” You give his length a desperate squeeze, so lightheaded and dizzy you barely even know what you’re saying anymore. 

Swat! 

“It’s already yours, sweetheart. Whenever you’re ready for it, you’ll have it.”

The thought alone of taking him deep inside your body makes every single muscle in your shuddering frame lock up, and you lurch to a sudden standstill on top of him. Your mouth drops open as if to scream but nothing comes out when he just keeps bouncing his leg on your drooling cunt, quicker now. A little harder. You sway unsteadily as your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably around him, chest heaving with the gasps you frantically try to suck in but you can’t quite seem to get enough air. It felt like you were smothering under the intense pressure, hanging right on the precipice. 

Swat! 

“Cum for me, cum all over my leg and let me see that pretty face you make.” He practically growls, grabbing a tight, pinching handful of your ass to really drive the sting home. 

It’s that sharp, toe curling throb of pain that tips you over, and you cum with a gutted lurch. Wheezing, you arch against him so hard your spine aches in protest but you can’t stop it. Your hips judder wildly and your knees nearly give out from how hard it slams into you all at once, but he clutches you tight in his arms while you spasm and writhe, squealing in mindless delight. It’s all you can do just to keep your voice down, painfully aware that the two of you were not in the privacy of your flat, but you manage, somehow, to get through it without shrieking at the top of your lungs. 

You’re so exhausted and drained by the time the tremors finally ebb and fade that you collapse on top of him with a deeply frazzled groan. Giving your bottom one final, lingering squeeze, Wriothesley drags his hand back up to rub across your back and a faint shudder ripples through you when you feel him bend close to place a brief kiss to the top of your head. 

It was … really nice, actually, sharing such a quiet, intimate moment with him. It wouldn’t be hard to get used to it. In fact, you dully realize, you kind of already were. 

“You’re such a good girl for me sometimes.” He murmurs into your hair, his voice warm with praise and affection alike. “It just makes me wonder why you can’t be so good all the time.” 

“That would get boring.” You dazedly slur, making him chuckle. 

“That’s true. There’s no fun in it without a little power struggle first.” 

You hum a noncommittal sound, already half dozed off where you’re spread out on top of him when a muted twitch under your loosely curled palm makes you jolt. Blearily lifting your head from his chest, you glance down to find him still rock hard in his pants and your brows quickly draw together in confusion. 

“You didn’t - -“

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll go away.”

“But - -“ 

“Hush. Just do as I say for once and let it go.” Reaching up to palm the back of your head, he forces your cheek back down to his chest and holds you there even when you weakly try to struggle out from under it. “You really aren’t making this easy on me, you know that? Saying all that nonsense and now this. It’s nothing for you to be concerned about, little miss. Not yet.” 

Your mouth pulls in a pout even though he can’t see it. “Will you teach me more later?” It’s little more than a mouse squeak when you were so tired, so exhausted after everything that had transpired today. 

Wriothesley seems to think on that for a moment before softly pressing another kiss to the crown of your head. “I’ll teach you everything in due time. You just need to be patient. I don’t want you to get so caught up in the moment that you rush into something only to regret it later. As I said before, I’m a guarddog. I'm not interested in biting the hand holding my leash.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You aren’t sure when, exactly, you fell asleep, but you wake up on the lounge some time later, finding yourself blinking up at the ceiling of his office in a bit of a daze. You’re a little disoriented at first and then you remember where you were. Everything that had happened. The meeting with the inmates. That horrible incident with George. The sound slap you’d given Wriothesley right across his stupid smug mouth. The way you’d crawled into his lap and … 

You bolt upright with a soul sucking gasp. Your instinctive panic is immediately interrupted, however, when you realize his coat is now pooled in your lap, and you blink down at it with owlish surprise. He’d given you his jacket while you slept? 

“Ah, you’re finally awake. I was wondering how long you’d be out for.” 

Startling, you twist around on the lounge to look over at the desk where you find Wriothesley reading over a small stack of paperwork in his hand while the other lifts a steaming cup of tea up to his mouth. You could smell it from where you were sitting, the rich aroma drawing you a little further out of your half asleep stupor and a bit more into reality. Archons, you felt like you were dying of thirst. 

“You wouldn't happen to have an extra cup for me, would you?” 

“Of course I do. Don’t be silly.” Setting his own back down after taking a sip, he sedately glances over at you from across the room. “I even grabbed some sandwiches and cookies for you from the cafeteria. I figured you’d be hungry when you woke up.” 

You immediately realize that that was an understatement. You weren’t just hungry, you were famished! 

But when you move to get up, pulling his coat off your lap, you abruptly come to a screeching halt. Eyes widening to the approximate size of dinner plates, you stare down at your bare legs in abject disbelief. “Where are my pants?” 

“Don’t sound so alarmed. I put them somewhere safe.” 

“Well, I’d like to have them back!” You snap, shooting daggers over at him. 

Humming as if in thought, Wriothesley drops the paperwork on top of the desk and reclines back into his chair. “I don’t think so. Not just yet anyway. I’m not quite through with you yet.” 

A shudder races up your stiffening spine, and you nervously gather his heavy jacket close to your chest, clutching at it. “W - what does that mean? I thought you said you’d let me decide when I was ready?” 

He barks a quick laugh. “I don’t mean that. I’m talking about your punishment from earlier. We got a little sidetracked, didn’t we?” 

“Oh.” Heaving a long suffering sigh, you roll your eyes and move to stand up. Keeping his coat held to your front, you slowly shuffle over to the desk to stand in front of it. “Is that really necessary? I understand why you had to do it, even if I don’t agree with your methods.”

Idly tapping his finger on the sturdy wood, he just silently studies you for a long moment. “It’s not exactly about agreeing with me.” He says at length. “I’m still waiting on an apology, for starters.” 

You promptly shrink in on yourself. “You hit me all the time …” 

“No, what I do is spank your bratty little bottom to sort you out. I don’t hit you across the face, and I never would unless you asked me to.” 

“Why would I - -“

“Do not try to change the subject. I told you once before that I’m not so easily distracted, didn’t I?” 

He tips his head to one side as if to further drive his point home, and you feel your cheeks start to warm. “You’re like a dog with a bone.” 

“Ah, so you have been paying attention then. Good. I know firsthand just how smart you really are so I do expect you to start figuring things out, the more time we spend together. And I do hope that you’ll continue to share more with me.” 

You hesitate at the first inkling that something was not quite right here. He was talking about more than just the slap, wasn’t he? But what else could there be that he wanted to talk about? 

“I do enjoy spending time with his grace,” You say slowly, warily. “Even if he does make me feel uniquely harassed half of the time. And I’m sorry for hitting you. You’re right that there’s a difference between the two. I tried to hurt you out of anger, while you do it to —“ 

Wriothesley chuckles when you search for the word only to come up empty handed, the smile tugging at his mouth equally roguish and charming. “To correct you. I can’t deny that you can be a little frustrating sometimes, but I’m sure the same can be said of me. In fact, I know it can. But I don’t hit you in anger. Not when I’m nearly double your size and weight. To allow my self control to slip even slightly would be … reckless indeed, because I could seriously hurt you. I’m always careful to make sure I’m fully aware of what I’m doing and how hard I’m doing it before I ever put my hands on you, little miss. I hope you know that.” 

Your back straightens when it suddenly hits you. That’s what he was worried about? 

“Are you afraid I won’t want to see you anymore after the way you … broke George’s wrist earlier?” 

A long stretch of quiet settles over the office, perfectly still and perfectly quiet. 

“A little.” He says at last. “I couldn’t exactly blame you if that was the decision you came to, but I’d still be a bit — disappointed to lose you. A lot, actually. I enjoy our time together too.” 

You swallow. Hard. “Your grace, I … I won’t deny that you scared me earlier, but it’s not like it was the first time. You’ve made me nervous and frightened, and happy, and sad, and so incredibly confused I could just tear my own hair out sometimes, but — I was more frightened for George than myself, if I’m being honest. I was scared you were going to hurt him.” 

“And then I did.” He says simply, and you nod. 

“Yes. Frankly, I was horrified. That’s why I got so mad at you. I never thought you’d actually be capable of something like that, and I guess I didn’t really know how to react. But you’ve never made me feel like I was truly in danger. I’ve never worried about you breaking my arm, or snapping me in half even though I’m sure you easily could. I’m not scared of you, your grace. I just … I don’t want to see you hurt anyone else, least of all because of me.” 

He lets that settle for a drawn out beat, clearly turning everything over in his head, before decisively leaning forward to grab up the teapot sitting on a tray at the corner of the desk. “Well, I can’t exactly promise you that. Should the need ever arise again, I won’t hesitate to protect you. Especially if it’s one of my inmates trying to cause you harm. But with that being said,” He starts to pour out a second cup, also taken off the tray. Your eyes voraciously wander over to the little plate covered with a tin lid, knowing there were promised sandwiches and cookies hiding underneath, and your stomach churns in hunger. “I solemnly swear that from here on out I will do everything in my power to avoid it ever coming to that. If we can stop it from reaching that point then surely both of us will be satisfied. Does that sound like a reasonable compromise to you?” 

“Yes, your grace.” 

“Excellent. Then come sit on my lap and help yourself to some food and tea. I’m sure you’re starving.” 

For once you only feel slightly hesitant to heed his command without needing to be told twice, and you eagerly shuffle around the desk to join him. You’re able to hide the nudity of your lower half behind his coat which you keep tucked around your waist even as you get settled on his legs. It was a seat you were quickly (perhaps even embarrassingly so) getting used to, and the thick arm that snakes around your middle to secure you in place was likewise becoming something comfortably familiar as well. 

The first thing you reach for is the plate, stretching across the desk to pull it closer so you can peel away the lid and find out what’s inside. A handful of neatly sliced sandwiches of a few different varieties greets you, as well as a small pile of assorted biscuits. You don’t hesitate to snag one up and pop it into your mouth, humming in delight at the taste. Chuckling softly, Wriothesley gives you a brief squeeze around the middle as his other hand slides over to pick up the abandoned stack of papers again. 

“Are you aware just how adorable you can be at times?” 

Humming in agreement, you covetously go for a sandwich next. “His grace flatters me.”

“Brat.” Giving your tummy an affectionate pinch, he turns his attention to the papers. “Another question, if you would be kind enough to humor me. Are you aware that you’ve earned yourself a few fans here in the prison?” 

You freeze in place with the dainty little triangle lifted half of the way to your waiting mouth. “I beg your pardon?” 

“Belle, the woman at the meeting earlier, slipped this note into my mailbox some time ago. She apologizes for what happened with George, and she wishes you a speedy recovery with hopes that you’ll return soon to start your sewing classes. You’re welcome to read it for yourself if you’d like.” 

Slowly, you lower the sandwich and reach out for the paper. You’re more than a little surprised to find it says exactly what he’s relayed to you. “Wha — but I don’t understand?” Dropping the sandwich altogether now, you numbly flip to the next page only to find a second letter written in two different but equally terrible sets of handwriting. Those brothers. 

“Don’t pay them much mind.” He murmurs as you scan over the, frankly, perplexing note. “They’re trouble, but mostly harmless. I won’t go so far as to say they mean well, but …” 

Thoroughly perplexed, you flip to the final page. This one is rather neat and tidy, and relievingly concise, but you can’t quite place who it would have come from. All it says is that they hoped you wouldn’t be scared off by what happened, and that they looked forward to the program being a resounding success. It was of course very flattering but rather unexpected. A bit confounding, if you were being honest. 

“Who wrote this one?” 

“His name is Gaspard. You probably didn’t notice, but he was making puppy dog eyes at you the whole time.”

Flustered heat promptly crawls up your neck to settle deep in your cheeks. “Has anyone ever told you that your sense of humor leaves much to be desired, your grace?” 

“Oh, I’m actually being quite serious. I thought for sure if I was going to have to pry someone off you it was going to be him.” 

Another teasing pinch at your waist accompanies that and you sigh out through your nose, trying very hard not to let his foolishness distract you. “May I ask what he’s serving time for? This handwriting looks very well practiced, and his spelling is perfect.”

With a quiet hum, Wriothesley leans to the side to brace his chin in the palm of his hand. “He’s in for embezzlement.” 

“Embezzlement!” You squawk, beyond horrified. “B - b - but if it’s the man I’m thinking of, he was so polite and quiet! I thought he was just shy so I didn’t want to draw too much attention to him!” 

“Those are the ones you have to watch out for the most.” He laughs. “You’ll learn that in due time. The ones like George are mostly all bark and no bite, unless you back them into a corner. Gaspard’s type is way more dangerous because you can never be quite sure what they’re thinking.” 

More than just a bit ruffled, you defensively clutch the small stack of letters to your chest. “So then I suppose that would put you in the latter category?” 

“Hm … I suppose it would.” 

With a click of your tongue, you set the papers aside and primly return to your sandwich. “Regardless, I think it’s clear how we should proceed. We need to get a seamstress out to the prison as soon as possible for Belle, and I’m sure we can find a willing chef for those two troublemakers as well.” You pause with the little triangle almost up to your mouth again, hesitating a moment before slowly lowering it once more. “That is — if you’d still like to work with me going forward. I’m sure you probably have some reservations after what happened today, but I promise I’ll be more cautious next time and - -“ 

“Hush. I’m not going to take it away from you like a toy you’re not allowed to play with anymore. You’ll still have your little program and I’ll still work with you to help you implement it. You’ll just have to be a bit more closely supervised with it going forward.” 

“… you are truly detestable sometimes.” 

“So I’ve heard.” 

Wriothesley thankfully lets you eat in peace after that, and your stomach is quite glad for it. You happily scarf down two sandwiches and another cookie to go with your cup of tea, but you quickly begin to feel full. Eventually, you find yourself leaning back against his chest with your head resting along his shoulder, and you just quietly watch him work through a different stack of papers, this one much more formidable than your measly pile. You were going to cherish them forever though, even had half a mind to go out and have them framed immediately, but that seemed a little excessive, even for you. 

The intimate atmosphere and the close proximity with him almost has you dozing again, but the large hand idly rubbing over your tummy keeps you more or less grounded in reality, you sigh, very softly, when he eventually gives you an attention grabbing pinch some indeterminable amount of time later. 

“You’re not falling asleep on me again, are you?” 

“No, your grace. I am only resting.” 

“Good.” He says rather amicably, setting the sheet in his hand down. “Because there’s still the matter of your punishment to go over.” 

Groaning, you let your head loll back against his shoulder to look up at the ceiling. “You really never let anything go, do you?” 

“It would be remiss of me if I did. More importantly though, I wanted to show you something. Do you remember what I said earlier, about getting spanked with something much worse than a hairbrush?” 

You immediately lurch on top of him, skin crawling at just the thought as you try to jump up off his lap and escape, but Wriothesley just tightens his arm around you to keep you pinned even when you inelegantly flail. “Wait — that’s not fair, your grace, I — ow!” 

The hard slam of your knee against his desk has you whimpering in pain, and he quickly takes advantage of that stunned moment to haul you back and secure you more firmly in place. “That’s what you get for jumping to conclusions. Let that be a lesson to you.” Sighing, he presses his mouth to the top of your head in a lingering kiss while you try to shake out the hurt from your leg. “Troublesome girl.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you right now!” You snip, still rubbing at your bruised knee. “And what were you even talking about? I don’t think I deserve to be struck with a stick or a measuring rod, or — or - -“

“You don’t, you’re right about that. But I want to show you what comes after the hairbrush, if you’ll let me. I’d like to think having that knowledge in the back of your mind might give you enough incentive to make better decisions in the future, but given how hard headed you are … maybe it won’t.” 

Huffing, you petulantly cross your arms. “You only want to show me?” You didn’t trust it at all. Not one bit. 

“I planned to actually strike you with it, of course. Otherwise it would just be an empty threat and you’d have no baseline to gauge how far you’re willing to go just to throw a fit over something. But how about this? I’ll make you a deal. You like when I do that, don’t you?” 

You were loath to admit it out loud but you did indeed, and your pussy slowly clenches with interest. Damn him straight to the abyss and back. “I’m listening.” 

“Good girl. I figured you would be.” Another kiss pressed to the top of your head, his breath displacing some of the flyaways there. “You get to choose then. Would you like me to round off your punishment with my hand and twenty strokes of the hairbrush, or would you prefer to take six from the mystery implement?” 

Twisting around in his hold, you look up at him in abject shock. “Only six?” 

“Only six.” He confirms. 

“And you won’t tell me what it is first? Is it really that bad?”

“No, and no. It’s just a different kind of pain, is all. Something you aren’t used to. I strongly suspect if I told you beforehand, you’d be too frightened to take it on and would instead gladly subject your poor bottom to a much worse fate than it needs to suffer.” Drawing a stilted breath, Wriothesley slips one of his hands under the jacket to caress along your bare thigh, warming the skin under his palm. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve already been appropriately corrected. There’s no need to actually take you over my knee unless you leave me with no other choice. The second option is preferable for both of us, first and foremost because I intend for it to be a warning more than anything. The choice is yours though, little miss. I am but at your beck and call.” 

You snort at that and pin him with a wry look. “Sure. I might believe that when pigs fly.” With a shake of your head, you turn back around so you can slump against him, listlessly picking at the fur trim on his jacket in your lap while you think it over. One was obviously the better sounding choice but … didn’t that mean it was a trap? 

Big, burly arms squeezing around you, Wriothesley bends close to kiss your temple, your cheek, down to your neck. They’re soft and fleeting, decidedly, chaste, and yet they still make your pulse start to thrum a little faster. You really were regrettably weak for him. It just wasn’t fair.  

“May I add an extra term onto our deal?” 

“Let’s hear it.” 

“If I choose the second option, will … will you play with me afterward?” 

He seems to hesitate against you, no doubt catching onto your meaning. “I was planning on doing that anyway. I always make sure you get rewarded at the end, don’t I?” A lingering kiss pressed into your temple. 

You were really starting to become hot and flustered again, and it shows in the way your voice strains slightly. “I don’t mean like that. I — I think I want you to touch me, your grace.” 

This time he really does go still. A long beat of quiet punctuates the moment, and then he shifts against you, speaking across the side of your face. “Where do you want me to touch you, pretty girl? Between your legs?” 

Just hearing him say it makes you shudder from your head straight down to your toes, and you fitfully twist on his lap so you can tip your head back to look at him. “Everywhere, sir. Between my legs and — my chest too. If you want.” 

“Of course I want to, silly thing.” Breathing out a rather terse exhale, he tips his head to kiss your mouth but it is regretfully short lived, and you whine softly when he retreats again. “I need you to clarify something for me first though, so I know exactly what it is you’re comfortable with. Do you want to get completely undressed for me or would you rather I touch you through your shirt?” 

“O - oh.” You hadn’t thought about it that far, and you shyly avert your gaze. Although you did want to feel his hands on your breasts, the thought of being completely nude with him was a daunting one indeed. It was silly, of course, but that seemed like something of a big step and a potentially awkward one at that. “I … I don’t know if I’m ready to get naked yet so — through my shirt?” 

“Through your shirt it is.” He agrees, pressing his mouth to your cheek in a hard, reassuring kiss. It makes you squirm, just a little bit, how willing he is to humor you in this way, but you think that it probably means more to you than you even fully realize. “You’re a good girl, you know that?” He murmurs against your skin. “I’m so proud of you for being honest with me. I know that’s not always easy for you to do.” 

“Enough already.” You huff in embarrassed fluster, making him chuckle. 

“Don’t start getting cranky. I don’t want to have to really spank you if I don’t have to.” Finally, he pulls all the way back to give you some space, patting your leg under the jacket. “Alright. Stand up and put your hands on the desk for me. We’ll do this standing up.” 

Suddenly confused, you hesitate just a moment before rocking forward with no shortage of hesitation. He didn’t often strike you while standing. Usually only when he was made to grab you to stop you from scuttling away and a chair or other wasn’t readily available … 

You try not to think about that too hard though as you find your feet with his coat somewhat awkwardly clutched to your front still. He reaches around to take it from you and you reluctantly let it go, shivering when it falls away to leave you bared from the waist down. Shuffling forward a step, you then reach out and slowly place your hands palm down on the desk while he stands up behind you, pushing the chair further back to allow for some space. 

Wriothesley presses up close behind you then, making a fresh shudder work down your spine as he leans over you to gently reposition your palms a little further apart. He reaches down to take your waist next so he can carefully bend you forward with your legs squared, nice and firmly rooted. You aren’t quite sure what to make of it all but his hands feel decidedly nice on you, and you just sigh very softly when he moves back. The following moment or two of rustling further leaves you stumped, especially when you catch a soft metallic click on the air, and you have to try very hard not to turn around and look. He seemed quite sure whatever it was would startle you a great deal but … 

When he eventually comes up beside you again, you turn your head to look at the hand he holds out towards you. Your brows make a prompt, very expeditious trip up to your hairline. 

“Wha — y - your belt, sir?” You warble out on a squeak, genuinely flabbergasted by this revelation. 

He chuckles faintly, snapping your wide eyed attention up at him so fast it nearly makes your head spin. “That look on your face is exactly why I didn’t tell you outright but it sounds worse than it actually is. At least the way I’m going to do it is.” 

“W - which would be?” You ask, nervously glancing at the folded over strip of leather with a great deal of fast mounting horror. 

“We’ll start off slow and work our way up in intensity, but even by the end I won’t be using too much force. My goal isn’t to actually hurt you, just teach you. See, the thing about this is it covers a wider area. I can strike you across both cheeks in one swing, and the relative flexibility of the leather means it carries a sharper sting with it as well. I don’t think it’ll take much to have you dancing on your toes, so I probably won’t even end up using a fraction of my strength when all is said and done. Does all of that sound agreeable to you, little miss?” 

You work to swallow down your nerves and almost choke on it. “I … I suppose so. But — if I really can’t take it, will you stop?” 

“Of course I will. I have no interest in brutalizing you or anything of the sort. That being said though I’m confident that you’ll do just fine. Who knows? You might even enjoy it.” 

A wholly mirthless laugh punches out of your throat. “I’m really not sure about that, your grace.” 

“Then let’s find out.” 

Transfixed, you follow the motion of the folded over belt when he lifts it in one hand and then slaps it down into the waiting palm of the other. You startle at the loud, meaty whap! and suddenly your blood turns to ice. You can feel yourself slipping under alarmingly fast, whatever the incomprehensible shroud was that blanketed your mind every time you ended up in these situations with him, but you had a feeling it wasn’t going to do much to shield you from the full brunt of it in this particular instance. 

Trying very hard not to shake when he steps behind you, you tip your face down to stare blankly down at the desk. The tension thrumming through your body is thick enough to suffocate and nauseatingly cloying. Just thinking about him hitting you with that was enough to make you sick … 

“Oh, and just a word of advice.” He tacks on, standing about a step behind you by the sound of it. “Try to breathe through it as much as you can. That will help more than anything else.” 

“… yes, sir.” 

“Good girl.” 

His fingertips brush across your ass then, and you jolt so hard you almost come right up off the floor. Wriothesley just takes a moment to coo at you though, chiding you softly for being so jumpy, but it was a little hard not to be! You felt like you were going to vibrate right out of existence, and the heavy weight of nervous anticipation was not making it any better. You’re such a mess of nerves and sharp adrenaline that you barely even notice the way your skin prickles under his hand, still hot to the touch and tender from your earlier spanking, and you wince slightly as he rubs over your bottom. It seems like a cruel thing to do, getting you sensitized and warmed up for his belt like this. 

“I’m going to start.” He finally warns you as his hand retreats, and you immediately brace for the deafening crack and the splintering pain to go with it. 

To your flinching surprise, however, the belt just lightly swats across your bottom with a soft little pap! and you absolutely hate the way you still violently lurch, having expected much worse. Your cheeks immediately flood with heat as he laughs softly behind you at the big reaction. 

“I told you we’d work our way up. That’s one. Count for me, pretty girl.” 

You obediently open your mouth but you only make it so far as drawing a breath to respond when the belt slaps across your ass, a little harder this time. You notice the sting he’d mentioned immediately, as well as the insidious reach it has across the swell of both cheeks, but all it does is make you rock forward on your toes a bit. You’d never admit it out loud to him, but he was right. This wasn’t as bad as you’d thought it would be. 

And that was precisely why you didn’t trust it. 

“… two, sir.” 

“Good girl. Your bottom looks mighty cute like this, by the way. I think I could get used to seeing you bent over my desk.” 

You clench your teeth, half in annoyance and half to brace for the next hit. If they kept steadily increasing like that … 

Whap! 

This one subtly jerks you forward with the impact and you wheeze over the desk, trying and failing to process just how sharp the sting really is. It leaves you dizzy, a bit stunned in the aftermath as prickling fire welts up over the swell of your bottom. It has your toes curling in their shoes, skin crawling with needle pinpricks as you work to steady yourself. Okay, that was marginally worse than his hand but still not quite as bad as the hairbrush. 

“Ooh … three, sir …” 

“You’re doing very well so far. What do you think of it?” 

You weren’t entirely sure you were properly equipped to answer that question at the moment, but after a short beat of consideration you finally say, “I see what you meant. It’s a different kind of pain, but it’s not terrible.” 

“It could be.” 

You snort. “I bet it could.”

Wriothesley shifts behind you making you instinctively brace for the next hit, but it never comes. Instead, he speaks again after a drawn out pause. “Do you really trust me not to get carried with it, and to know your pain threshold better than you do?” 

That seemed like an odd question to ask after all this time, but you decide you can humor it as you readjust your feet with a quick shuffle. “I do, your grace. You push me sometimes but you’ve never actually crossed that line. Until you do, I trust you.” 

“That’s very generous of you.” He murmurs, a note of humor in his voice now. “Incidentally, I think you should know that I trust you as well. I suppose that makes us even.” 

A dull trickle of surprise washes over you, but before you can fully process what he’d said the next strike comes with a considerably louder crack and it startles an ‘oh!’ out of you. Rocking forward on your toes, seething, you gingerly shift your weight from one side to the other but it does absolutely nothing to dispel the throbbing strip across your backside. It really was insidious how it could catch the meatiest parts of your ass in a single blow, and you carefully try to stretch it out with a dramatic curve of your spine. 

“That’s quite a show you're putting on for me right now, pretty girl.” Wriothesley drawls in a low tone that sounds like silk in your pounding ears. “Are you sure you don’t want to take your top off? I’m already seeing quite a lot …” 

Whimpering faintly, you shyly squeeze your thighs together and straighten slightly. “Don’t be a pig …” 

“My apologies. It’s so easy to forget my manners when you’re presenting such a cute pussy to me like that. I’ll be sure to mind myself.” 

“Ooh … will you touch it, your grace?” 

“Yes. Gladly. But only after we’re done.” He says. Then, much more softly, “It will be a reward for the both of us.” 

You draw a steadying breath and force your constricting lungs to expand with it as you carefully resume the position he’d put you in, or something close to it. “Four, sir.” 

“Good girl.” 

This time you know the swing is coming because you can hear the displacement in the air, and it seems to catch you in a particularly vulnerable spot, because you dance up on your toes with a frazzled yelp. The sting of unshed tears in your eyes quickly joins the splintering sensation across your decidedly sore bottom, and you sniffle rather sadly at the hurt. You understood now why he’d set the count to six, and you were immensely glad for it. 

“F - five, sir …” 

Wriothesley’s hand abruptly finds your shuddering back and you jolt before stiffly relaxing into his touch. Gently, reassuringly, he drags that massive palm across you in slow, coaxing circles. “There, you’re almost done. I’ll let you decide when you’re ready for the last stroke.” 

You can’t decide if that makes it better or worse, but you take a moment to collect yourself, just taking slow, deep breaths, just like he’d said to. It does help, a little bit, but the searing line across your ass is very hard to ignore. You were undoubtedly scared of what was coming and, yet, his steady presence at your side was a comforting one. You could do this. You knew you could. Not for him, but because of him. 

Gingerly easing your body out of its defensive hunch, you carefully move back into position again.  “I’m ready, sir.” 

Your first sign that this was going to be awful is the fact that Wriothesley keeps his hand braced against your middle back and just shifts to the side. Your second is the sharp sound of it cutting through the air. 

Whap! 

Pain explodes across your entire body unlike ever before. You lurch with a wounded, faltering animal sound, unable to even scream, it was that bad! Your knees instantly turn knobbly and you practically collapse with a strained, gasping sob, but he’s right there to catch you. So lost in the swimming daze of blind agony, you barely register him holding you around the waist to keep you upright and somewhat steady, but the soft press of his mouth against your shoulder somehow still manages to catch your attention. It pulls you back into the physical world, bit by bit, at a sluggish pace, and the sound of his crooning voice soon penetrates the numbing fog to mist over you. 

“— such a good girl, I’m so proud of you for taking that so well. You didn’t even scream, and I thought for sure you would on the last one. Do you have any idea how much strength that took? You’re such a precious thing.” 

Groaning dizzily, you slowly start to straighten up under his helpful guidance, and you don’t protest when he gently steers you back towards the chair with a hiccuping mewl. You’re glad for it, in fact. You just wanted to crawl into his lap and cling to him for the rest of the day. Night? You weren’t even sure what time it was. How long had you fallen asleep for? 

You feel well and truly delirious as he sits down and gets situated behind you before reaching back up to tug you into his lap, and you viciously seethe the moment your throbbing ass brushes his pants. Making a valiant effort to arch up off him and escape the pressure, you openly sob when he just pulls you right down. You writhe at the pain, twisting in his arms but then — you abruptly realize where his hands are headed. 

Choking on a stuttering gasp, you tip your tear stained face down with a confused little whimper to watch his palms drag up the front of your body, further rucking and irreparably wrinkling your jumper in the process. They smooth over the curve of your breasts and then pause to give them a savory squeeze, and you shudder intensely at the sensation. You’d never been touched like this before. Not by anyone, and it surprises you how sensitive your chest is under the weight of his hands. Your nipples immediately spring up even under your clothes, and you fitfully turn your head to rest across his shoulder with a half strangled wail. 

“These feel so good in my hands, pretty girl. Is this what you wanted me to do? Hm?” 

Screwing your eyes shut against the onslaught of so many sensations all at once — the pain and the pleasure so horribly intermingled that you could hardly tell them apart anymore — you offer a quick, jerky nod. “Mhm!” 

Wriothesley breathes out a terse sigh against the side of your head and nuzzles further into you while his hands keep fondling your breasts. “Good. They seem sensitive. There are a lot of fun things we could do with that information, you know. I have a few — toys you might be interested in later. Do you like having your pretty tits played with? You certainly look like you do …” 

Whining low in your throat, you shudderingly arch to shove your chest further out, and he takes advantage of that to squish them up and together. A deeply frazzled moan rattles out of you when he jostles them for a brief moment before letting them go so that they bounce back into place. He groans, very softly, as he quickly cups around the swell of them again, just holding them in his palms for a moment while he bends close to kiss you. 

You’re sinking alarmingly fast, much too fast to make any sense of it, and you clutch at his shirt in a fitful, twisting death grip. He doesn’t even seem to notice, just hungrily kissing you for a tortuously long stretch before eventually pulling back with a stilted exhale. Meaningfully, he sends his gaze lower and you follow his lead, slowly looking down at yourself just to find your tits straining up even through two shirts and a brassier. You issue a low, wounded sound, watching through the impossibly heavy fall of your lashes as he brings his hands up to delicately pluck at the stiffened buds. That alone is almost too much, both the sensation and the visual, but he really starts to tug on them. 

“You like that, do you?” He chuckles at all your sensitive quivering. “I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m more of an ass man myself, but these are nice too. Very nice, indeed. They fit so nicely in my hands, almost like they were made for them. And your nipples … oh, sweet girl, are you going to cum just from having me play with them?” 

That didn’t seem to be as much of a preposterous suggestion as you would have otherwise thought when you were currently wrestling with the thrumming tension that spikes through your body. You’d never felt quite so hot or overly sensitive, and you keen at the growing need threatening to swallow you whole. 

Evidently catching on, Wriothesley drags one of his hands down across your front, over your belly and straight down to dip between your trembling thighs. You feel him experimentally touch over your slit for a brief moment, familiarizing himself with it, before pressing his fingers into meaty lips to spread them. You rock violently in his hold and instinctively curl your legs out wide even when they weakly twitch in the air, keeping them spread for him. You’re not sure what you were expecting in your punch drunk state of mind, but it shocks a flustered yelp out of you when he slips in to tease over your clit. It has you twitching, twisting and writhing against him for everything you’re worth. The calloused pad on the tip seems to catch at soft flesh even with the excessive slick coating you and he tauntingly nudges at the delicate little pleasure button, just drawing it back and forth, up and down for a moment, before starting to press down more firmly. You promptly go cross eyed, lurching in his lap with a gutted moan. 

The direct contact felt so good … so good you could hardly even stand it, and it brings fresh tears to your eyes. You liked rubbing yourself on his thighs. Thought you’d liked that the most and that you couldn’t like anything else better — but this was overwhelming your already cotton stuffed head alarmingly quick, and the way he continues to pluck at one of your nipples did not seem to be helping you in the slightest. You were going to vibrate right off him if he kept that up! 

“Y - your grace! Ooohhnnggh!” 

“Do you enjoy that, little miss? Hm?” He nuzzles against the side of your head, pressing idle kisses to your temple again. 

“Ahhnn … yes! I do, your grace! I - I feel like I’m gonna’ — oohh!”

With a soft chuckle that makes his chest vibrate against your back, Wriothesley reaches across to the other breast to give it a savory, pinching knead. Fitful and needy, you impulsively reach down with trembling hands to grab the hem of your jumper so you can yank it up to bunch under your chin. He obliges you by grabbing at your tit again, through just the thin layer of your blouse now, and you somehow manage to shake even harder when he digs his fingers in to tug at the brassier underneath. It’s hard to do indirectly like this and he jostles you slightly with the effort, but you still feel the exact moment your stiff teat slips out of the top of the cup and you just shake even harder. 

“I bet you do. Such a sensitive little girl you are …” Pulling in a carefully tempered breath, he abandons that tit much to your blubbering disappointment and reaches over to do the same to the other. Pinching through fabric to grab at the lacy material underneath and nudge it down enough to leave both nipples cutting up directly into the fabric of your shirt. You writhe on top of him with a back bowing shudder and blindly grab at him, his arms, his shirt, the now rumpled collar of his button up, whining a low plea. “Hush. I’ve got you. Bring your hands up for me and wrap them around my neck. Think you can do that for me?” 

Offering a stilted nod, you do as he’d asked without question or even much thought to the matter. Later you might wonder why you’re so obedient and pliable with him like this, but in the heat of the moment you find nothing but pleasure, and deep satisfaction at the rumbling noise of approval he gives you when your arms stretch up to curl over his shoulders in a loose hold. The position proves a bit awkward when you can’t get a very good grip on him, but the reason for it quickly makes itself known. Your tits lift under your shirt with the upward motion to jut further out, and his blocky hand quickly descends upon one, pinching the tightly coiled teat to leave you moaning in equal parts distress and delight. 

“Ooh, isn’t that a lovely sound? You really are going to be the death of me … let me show you something nice now. You’ll like it, I promise.” 

The blocky fingers on your clit slowly retreat and you hiss at the loss only to choke on it a heartbeat later when he firmly presses them over your slit. He gives them a sedate rub and your pelvis involuntarily jumps, pressing up into them with a juddering twitch, eager for more. Desperate for it. 

“There, now move with me, pretty girl. Just like you do when you’re grinding this sweet pussy on my leg … that’s it, move your hips. Back and forth. Just follow the motion of my hand — see, you’ve got it. Keep going and don’t stop until you’re shaking for me.”

You suck in a thick, heavy gasp as you bring your swimming attention back down to look at the way you’re spread open on top of him. The wide stretch of your legs is shameful and a little embarrassing even now, but your cunt looks so small and dainty rubbing against his big hand while your thighs quack around it and you can’t quite bring yourself to care about it right now. Wheezing, you rock your pelvis up to follow the friction of his rough fingers before swiveling back and — you outright choke when your sore ass grinds down on him in the process. The faintly raised welts seem to crawl and sting with renewed fervor at the brush of his pants, the hard press of his cock digging up into you in search of the hot, wet warmth between your legs. Your pussy squeezes wildly at the sharp pain, drools yet more sticky slick to coat you in an obscene amount of liquid arousal, and you quickly do it again. Up against the firm pressure of his hand and then back again to rub your sore bottom on him. 

It doesn’t take long for you to start quaking in earnest like this and you cling to him desperately as the tension in your body rapidly swells, threatening to bowl you right over if you weren’t careful. But as always Wriothesley’s hold on you is absolute, and you’re free to shake and twist as wildly as you want without having to worry about falling. The hand on your chest alternates between your breasts, squeezing, pinching, tugging at your nipples, each in turn, to leave them feeling raw and sensitized through your shirt while the other keeps guiding your pelvis through the stuttering motion. Maintaining it becomes more difficult with the steady locking of your muscles as warning tremors wrack through you, but he remains an ever steady presence around you and it’s so easy to get lost and swept up in his pace. 

Your cunt tilts up against his hand and then your ass nudges back to make dull throbs of pain erupt across your bottom. 

Up against his hand with a sticky glide that does absolutely nothing to stop his rough skin from dragging against petal soft folds, then back to feel the weight of him digging into sore flesh that burns at the friction against his slacks. 

Up against his hand, back against his cock. 

His hand, his cock. 

Wriothesley’s hand and Wriothesley’s cock. 

The coil snaps. Just like that. 

Throwing your head back against his shoulder, you wail through your soul shattering release as quietly as you can manage. You seethe, you hiss, you groan, low and faltering. You squeal and you wheeze, bucking uncontrollably with a frantic desperation that he takes in stride. His hold on you doesn’t falter, and he neither grunts or flinches even when you spasm on top of him without heed. He’s like a solid wall underneath you, and he pets you through it all until you finally, at last, start to come down from it some moments later one jagged piece of you at a time. 

Going boneless with a haggard noise of deep sated pleasure, you just lay there for a long while and let him caress over you to leave pleasantly warm tingles in the wake of his hands. It’s comfortable like that, there with him. Sitting in the stillness of his office in the buzzing afterglow of release, simply listening to each other's heartbeats for a long time. He was right to say this was something he could get used to, because you could too. 

And strangely enough that thought doesn’t frighten you half as much as it probably would have at one time. 

“You’re a very good girl for me, you know that?” Wriothesley says at last, finally interrupting the quiet. 

Snuggling deeper into his body with a content little sigh, you tip your head back to look up at him from just a scant few millimeters away. “You’re very good to me as well, you’re grace. T - … thank you for that.” 

A slow smile tugs at his mouth to accompany the almost wry quirk of his brow. “Oh, am I now? Well, you’re very welcome, of course, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t half expect a different sentiment.”

You frown at that, unable to stop it. “You are easily the most frustrating, blockheaded man I have ever met, and I won’t deny that, but you — you’re kind to me, aren’t you? In your own strange way.” 

“I try to be.” He relents, his gaze drifting lower to fix upon your mouth. You can tell he’s thinking about kissing you again by the way his eyelids droop to attractive halfmast, but you reach up to cup the strong ridge of his jaw before he can follow through on it. 

“Can I … be kind to you as well, sir?” You give your butt a pointed little wiggle down onto the hard length straining under you, and his brows draw together as if in great discomfort. 

“As much as I would like that,” He intones rather thinly. “And for as much as I am tempted, I would rather teach you about that somewhere a bit more appropriate than in my office. At your home. In the comfort of your own bed, if you would permit it, sounds ideal to me.” 

You hesitate to respond just a moment too long, still a little overwhelmed at the thought of sharing your bed with him despite the eager thrum you feel at the suggestion, and he takes the chance to gather you against him in a tight squeeze. 

“There isn’t any rush, sweet girl. Whenever you’re ready, you will have me. I just want to ensure you receive the care and attention you deserve first and foremost, and I also want you to feel safe. Your bedroom will represent that final boundary and when you’re prepared to invite me into your life like that, that is when I will take you. That sounds fair enough, doesn’t it?” 

You want to tell him you are ready, that you want him now, you’re sure of it. Your body and mind alike both seem to crave the intimacy of skin on skin contact with him, while your heart … 

Oh, you simply couldn’t think about that right now. 

“Yes, your grace.” You murmur instead of any number of other things you could have said to him, wanted to say to him. Needed to say. “That sounds fair.” 

“Good.” Wriothesley gives you a reassuring pinch to make you squirm slightly in his arms. “Then I think with that settled it’s about time you and I considered making things somewhat official. Do you think you can stand to be seen with me in public in a non professional capacity for an hour or two?”

Going still against him, you frantically try to parse what he’s asking, what he’s getting at. Make it official? “What do you mean, my lord? I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” 

“I’d like to take you out to dinner, little miss. On a date.” 

Your face instantly lights up like a firework. A date? With the Duke of Meropide himself? 

Oh, but you suddenly felt terribly faint. 

“I … I think I’d like that, your grace. Thank you.” 

“Wonderful. Then that is what we will do.”

⭐

Crossposted: here

[our-neighbours-cat-is-a-menace]

YANDERE OBEY ME: Barbatos and (?)

From the soon to be series: "MC pranking them by jokingly cancelling the wedding"

TW: Disturbing, Toxic, Mentions of death, Violence

Oh dear, now why would you do such a thing. You of all people should know better how your soon to be husband is the silent but deadly type. Plus he is madly in love with you, did you really think you can just cancel it like that and expect a well mannered retaliation.

The ever so graceful barbatos has been your boyfriend for almost six years and just last month he finally got down on his knees and propose. You, on the receiving end was tackling him down the moment he showed you the ring and was saying yes like a mantra.

And now you guys are on the process of getting everything done, down from the venue to your wedding dress. The process was exhausting but the thought of finally meeting him in the altar, exchanging rings and saying your lifetime vows was worth the strain.

On the day of the said disaster, you are in the HOL asking asmodeus for his input in which wedding dress suits you best.

"how about this one" you said gleefully, pointing to a certain dress in the catalog

"yes it's stunning but the top is too modest"

" i personally don't think it's a bad thing" you reasoned out

"MC, it's your wedding day, your big day, a little bit of spice isn't bad, and it's only once in a lifetime."

"but-"

"and also, you can dress as slutty as you want, your soon to be husband can fight, and we're not even in heaven"

" i do like the other one better, the one with the slit, it's so pretty, but do you really think it's gonna be okay" you asked

"oh sweetie, it's fine, have a little confidence in yourself and the dress you really like will make you shine better in your wedding day" asmodeus said in a sweet manner " and if you're still not convinced how about playing a bet with me"

" can i say no, it sounds ominous" you said

"no, so here's the bet. Show pictures of both the dresses to barbatos, the modest one and the spicy one. If he chooses what you liked best, you give him a kiss, but if he chooses the too modest one, then you gotta say that you're cancelling the wedding" the devil of lust grins

"that's evil" you said agaped at the ridiculous statement made by the demon

"and that's why I'm a devil. Now go on show it to him" he pushed you out of his room with a grin that is way too suspicious

Unknownst to you, Asmodeus already know that Barbs is gonna pick the modest one, why? that's because he knows how shy you are in front of crowds, you only dress up when it's just the two of you. Asmodeus is just trying to stir up some fun, not knowing how it could lead to a serious situation.

.......

Arriving at the castle, you were quick to spot your fiance and immediately bothered him to pick dress he prefers.

"so which one do you think suits me best" you said, already feeling giddy inside

"the one on the left, the modest one. I think it would look marvelous on you" he said oh so sweetly while kissing your hand but you on the other hand was already starting to feel downfallen

"what about the one on the right?" you inquired suddenly feeling disheartened, and you don't even know why

"it's pretty as well, but i don't think you'd be comfortable in that" barbs reasoned out

"why would you assume that" you said, losing the smile on your face. You also don't know why you are getting upset and angry when all he did was being considerate

"MC, why are you getting upset?" he asked worriedly cupping your hand

Setting aside how he was just being considerate, you got mad knowing that he didn't pick the dress you liked, it's unreasonable yes, you know that too but in your part it's just upsetting, especially since asmo was doing every pep talk to boost your confidence and convince you to live a little.

You didn't realize how you have become silent and that barbs was peeking at you worriedly, but you still had the audacity to yank his hand away.

Remembering what asmo said on the last part of that ridiculous bet, you spoke of it carelessly.

"let's just cancel the wedding" you muttered silently, looking down on the floor

"what"

"i said let's can-"

"I'm not asking you to repeat it MC, I'm asking if what do you mean by that" barbs said while seething, you on the other hand was still mulling about your unreasonable anger not noticing how dark the room has become and that Barbs horn was out

"look at me" he took ahold of your jaw and forced you to look at him

Finally out of your trance, you saw how he was seething with anger and you try to speak up, but he clenched your jaw harder

"don't speak, i don't want another word coming out of that mouth." blinded by rage he spoke oh so threateningly " Listen carefully MC, you and i are to be wed tomorrow morning, and that will happen, cause i will personally make it happen"

You were shocked by this tone of his, yes, in the past, he has also shown you his obssessive traits but not this serious. You tried to break out from his hold and try to straighten things out but the demon refused to let you utter even a single sound, opting him to use magic of you not being able to speak or even open your mouth.

"the only word that's coming out of your mouth is I DO" barbs firmly stated while chaining your ankle to the bed.

Barbs immediately left, planning to finish every preparation for tomorrow. Walking away saying " if the reason why you don't want to marry me is because of that god damn dress, then rest assured you won't be wearing any"

Terrified by all this, you coud only cry in silence with no sound heard. You were bawling your eyes out until the break of dawn, and suddenly realising how you weren't alone in the room

"awee, look at you, how pitiful"

You could only continue to bawl your eyes out since you can't even make a sound. But that soon ended when asmodeus took the magic off making you talk again

"asmo pleaseeee, get me out of here" you said completely begging

"and what do i get, if i do that" asmodeus sneered, staring at you like something dirty

"what are you-" you stammered, trying to make out of the situation

" oh MC, how clueless of you and how heartless" he glared, gripping your jaw hard

"You knew how much i loved you, i was there for you first but you chose him. You even had the audacity to make me pick the dress you're going to wear when you guys finally become one"

"let go, it hurts" you said with tears falling down from your eyes

"I don't ever plan on letting you go though. Look at you now, you're here chained to bed with eyes as puffy as a cloud, all because you chose him, if you had chosen me-"

"SHUT UPP" you shouted "both of you are the same, you justify your violence as love and that's just sadism and i don't want to be part of that sick twisted world of yours"

He slapped you HARD. You felt your ears ringing, and your vision was spinning. The only thing you can make out is asmo desperately trying to get close to you as if you are injured.

which you are. Due to the slap, you hit your head on the pointy edge of the headboard, and that you're bleeding from your head.

Despite his attempts to stop the bleeding, it was useless, you died.

The sun has risen and the thing that welcomed barbatos was your dead body along with asmodeus who killed himself after you.

Filled with rage, he burned the devil of lusts remains and started a war with the archdevils of hell right after marrying your dead body in the dress you liked.

THE END

A/N: yes it is dark period.

Masterlist🌻

[crystalskiesandcherrywine]

The sound of the waves collide // Part Four

So it is time for the last part.... I still cannot believe that I managed to write something and look forward to post more

This chapter is very explicit - for my taste at least.

Song for the chapter - Alkaline by Sleeptoken

English is not my first language

_____________

Na Baron Feyd Rautha x Atreides!Reader

shameless smut

FxM

All feedback is welcome <3

Part One // Part Two // Part Three

1.695 words

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The encounter with Feyd leaves you so shaken that, come morning, you avoid seeing anyone. It feels childish and less dignified, your mind circling around the memories of the evening like vultures. It's as if he doesn't even need to touch you to make you forget years of training and let your emotions get the best of you. And he visibly enjoys it, your pain and humiliation making it even more luxurious for him. Frustrated and unable to concentrate, you put Irulan's gift away and lie down in a lounge chair on the balcony overlooking the small garden. The sun's rays are softened by the huge trees and reflected in the pond below. Its crystal clear waters appear like a mirror - calm and serene, a painful contrast to your mental state. You close your eyes and try to ground yourself in the moment, repeating the mantra „I am alive in stillness“, but to no avail. The fever that has been ignited within you consumes your mind and body. Your hands seem to develop a life of their own and, as if guided by a puppet master, they find their way to the small band of your tunic. The warm air touches your skin and you close your eyes, letting your fingers slide over your breasts, caressing the nipples that instantly stiffen under your touch. Your hand continues to slide down as your eyes flutter shut. It is almost as if you are picking up where he left off. The heat concentrates under your fingers, and letting your intuition guide you, you move your fingers in circles, dipping in and out of your cunt. The orgasm is so intense that for a second you forget where you are. You can't stop yourself from moaning his name and you feel like coming up for air.

Two days later it is time to say goodbye. Your father kisses you on the forehead and your mother seems to think the same as you - "I will not fear". Letting go of Paul's embrace seems almost impossible, but when all is said and done, you make your way to the Baron's ship. His gigantic form floats in front of you, while your betrothed follows at the same level as you.

Even if he doesn't look at you, you can't help but feel his presence. Each step seems to be part of a well-orchestrated choreography and reminds you of a wild animal, ready to reveal its murderous nature at any moment. At the last glance, you turn your head to see your mothers signing "Good luck" to you with a small flick of her wrist. The connection to what was familiar is tethered and you are not sure of the tumultuous feeling your gut that the now empty space in your soul is son tobe filled with a new home. The change is almost tangible, as if when you pay close enough attention, it glow like a dark halo around you.

Once on the ship, you are left to your own devices. You can call upon servants at any time, but they seem to anticipate your wishes before you know them. Food and drink are brought to you, as well as an army of new clothes. Your favourite is the black dress with heavy beading around the bodice, covering your torso like a shield. Paired with a translucent black veil and a small gold chain around your neck, connected to your torso, it feels appropriate to take your first steps on the planet you will call home.

Your unease is heightened when, upon your arrival, neither Feyd nor the Baron are to be seen. A tall, slender man who introduces himself as Piter de Vries escorts you to the Feeds chambers. You immediately recognise the characteristic traces of spice in his eyes, the only thing that seems to have any colour in this world. Shielded from the harsh black sun, you reach Na Baron's quarters, only to find an army of monochrome grey, white and black surroundings. The palace seems to be the essence of the Harkonnens, with hard, clear lines, yet graceful and spacious.

"If you need anything, there are always two servants at the door," says Piter. The servants resemble guards, but you decide not to share this observation. Piter's eyes linger on the glass box with the fir tree. "Do you want to have a closer look?" You ask. "Only if you don't mind. I have never seen anything like it". "It was a parting gift from my father. On Caladan, fir trees grow as tall as these walls, more of them than you can count. You may take it with you if you promise to return it in one piece tomorrow." Pieter seems to understand your bid for connection and bows his head „I am indebted to you, Na Baroness“ Its the first time some one dresses you with your new title and you barely suppress a shiver. And as if the title was a spell, Feyd Rautha appears in the doorway. Piter bows and leaves at once, holding the precious piece of your home in his hands. He moves so siletly, that you begin to wonder if the planet is not only devoid of color but also of sound. Blood seems to rush to your cheeks as you meet Feyd's gaze. "Is everything to your satisfaction?" His voice echoes. "Yes, thank you, Baron." His arms are behind his back and before you realise why, you see droplets of thick, almost black liquid collecting on the floor behind him. Slowly he unclasps his hands, drops to one knee and holds out a slim silver knife to you, covered in more of the same substance. "Is… is it blood?" You don't know why you question it. "Yes, it is. Please accept this as a token of my devotion to you. It is…" his blue eyes find yours, "the proof that my body will be yours alone. No other being shall touch it."

"Your pets…" you feel almost dizzy as the understanding dawns on you.

"No more pets," he says, still on his knee.

You slowly take the knife and place it on the white table beside you. Some of the blood gets on your wrist. He grabs it and licks it off. While a part of your brain screams that you should be afraid, your body seems to find the spark he struck on Kaitain again. His tongue flicks across the sensitive skin as he rises and begins to undo the buttons on your shoulders, the need to touch him overwhelming you and you reach out with your palm to his cheek. He leans into your touch with more tenderness than you ever expected. But as soon as your dress falls to the floor, pure hunger returns to his eyes. He presses into you and you feel as if your insides have melted on the spot. You try to feel his length through the fabric of his tunic. „So needy, Na Baroness?“ He purrs, enjoying the dominance he has over you. With a swimming motion, he pushes you onto the bed, holding your arms above your head. His tongue descends to your collarbone, moving deeper as he takes one breast in his mouth, sucking the tender flesh. You moan under him, already feeling washed away from any security of a shore into a whirl of need. His tongue continues to drive you mad as he bites you, the pain searing and glorious at the same time. Your hand reaches for him again, but he holds your wrists down as his tongue continues to run between your legs. He looks up at you, and it is the last thing to break the tiny shreds of your resolve. But he doesn't let you go, his tongue still swirling between your folds, drinking in your sweetness. Suddenly your hands are connected and a split second later you realise why: he uses his left hand, with slender, graceful fingers, to push your thighs further apart. You feel wanton and still needy, and as one of his finders curls inside you, you moan his name. "Feyd, Feyd, Feyd." Your own voice seems alien to you, high-pitched and desperate.

"My Na Baroness seems to want more," he smiles devilishly and inserts two more fingers at once. You whimper and throw your head back into the pillows. It feels like the stars are exploding behind you and feel the second orgasm coming as he stops and pulls away from you. You can barely hold back a frustrated squeal. Your body feels hot, the only antidote to this madness his skin on yours. You try to concentrate on his form, seeing him remove his tonic first, then his trousers, leaving nothing to the imagination. His body is pure perfection, not a mark on his porcelain skin, he kneels on the bed again and moves towards you. The tip of his shaft is already pink and covered with pearls of pre-cum. It touches your clit lightly as it settles between your legs. "You'll have to learn to control yourself. So responsive to my touch, so desperate…" he hisses as the black of his pupils replaces the blue, making them almost invisible. His tip touches your entrance and then disappears completely inside you. You feel torn apart and put together at the same time, pain and pleasure mixed into something new, a delicious cocktail of discovery that leaves you drunk and breathless. You want to close your eyes, but he says "Look at me" you hear him murmur and you are lost again. With every movement of his hips, your whole being seems to refragment and reassemble like a kaleidoscope. Your walls convulse around him, his name like a sacred chant. Your nails dig into his back and he lets himself fall, speeding up and thrusting into you with even more abandon. You feel his use of you, your name on his lips. For a few seconds you are speechless, your shallow breaths filling the room. He holds your hips as he lies down behind you, still inside you to the hilt. „Welcome to being my wife, dear Na Baroness“