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freezerbrldes · 3 months ago

Text

short n’ sweet - part 1

“wanna try out my fuzzy pink handcuffs?”

PART 1, PART 2,

PAIRING. spencer reid x popstar!reader

SUMMARY. spencer gets a lot more than he bargained for when he attends a concert with garcia.

WARNINGS. afab!reader, sub!spencer, softdom!reader, oral (m receiving), use of handcuffs, begging, red lipstick in places it should never be, unprotected pnv sex, creampie, just pure filth, also not proof read

AUTHOR’S NOTE. i got this idea after rewatching my short n sweet concert videos. i could not get the thought of spencer receiving the juno handcuffs out of my head so I wrote it all down. i hate the beginning and ending of this a lot but the middle is so good hehe.

credit to @cafekitsune for dividers

wc: 4,029

also on ao3

Garcia gripped Spencer’s hand tightly, pushing through the crowd until they reached the barricade next to the stage.

“Holy shit Spence! We made it!” Garcia cheered.

“Nice, that’s great… I think i’m going to pass out.” Spencer pants, gripping onto the railing for dear life.

Spencer, who isn’t particularly fond of concerts or music in general, reluctantly agreed to attend this show solely to appease Garcia’s relentless begging. Concerts were not Spencer’s forte, that was until he saw you up on the stage prancing around in lingerie…

Despite his initial discomfort, Spencer finds himself inexplicably drawn to your energetic performance. Your confidence, charisma, and raw talent captivate him more with each passing song.

As you move about the fake penthouse on stage with reckless abandon, your provocative attire leaving very little to the imagination, Spencer's analytical mind struggles to reconcile his attraction with his deeply ingrained social awkwardness.

He tries to focus on the music, his thoughts consumed by the intricate details of your choreography and the way your skin seems to shimmer under the bright lights.

Spencer's cheeks flush slightly as he realizes the extent of his distraction, his heart racing in a way that's both unfamiliar and exhilarating. He shifts uncomfortably, tugging at his sweater vest as he attempts to regain some semblance of composure.

After performing a very heartfelt ballad, you approached the edge of the stage, scanning the crowd with your eyes.

“Hey, girls?” you call out to two of your dancers who are standing by your side. “I believe I might have found my future husband in the crowd tonight.”

The crowd erupted in cheers as they realized the clever bit.

“Do y’all see him? He’s standing right over there, the tall one wearing the sweat vest.” You point to Spencer while giggle like schoolgirls with your dancers.

“Hey there, baby. What’s your name?” A grin spread across your face as you noticed his cheeks flushing a vibrant red.

Caught completely off guard, Spencer stammers, his hazel eyes wide as saucers. He feels like he's been struck by lightning, the sudden intimacy of you presence leaving him momentarily speechless.

"Dr. Reid," he manages to choke out, his voice cracking slightly. He can feel his face burning, and his heart hammers against his ribcage like a jackrabbit.

"I-I mean, Spencer," he corrects himself, the remnants of his professional demeanor trying to resurface amidst the chaos of his escalating nervousness.

Spencer swallows hard, trying to gather his scattered thoughts as he meets your intense gaze. The mischievous glint in your eyes sends a shiver down his spine, even as his analytical mind struggles to comprehend the whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

“Oooooo, a doctor!” You exclaim, dramatically fanning yourself. “Well, Dr. Reid, you’re under arrest for being too hot.”

Spencer jumped as police sirens blared through the arena, accompanied by flashing red and blue lights.

“I might need you to examine me, doctor. I feel extremely hot, and- OH!” You teased as your long skirt fell to the floor, revealing a much shorter version of it.

Spencer’s jaw was practically on the floor.

You grinned as you inched closer towards the edge of the stage, crouching down to Spencer’s level.

“I want you to have these,” you smiled as you handed Spencer a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs.

Spencer can't help but stare at the exposed skin of your legs, his breath catching in his throat when he notices the bedazzled lipstick stain on your inner thigh.

"Ah, um, thank you..." He reaches out to take the offered cuffs, his fingers brushing against hers. The sensation sends sparks dancing along his nerve endings, and he feels himself grow flustered once more.

As you stood up, you blow Spencer a kiss. The all too familiar intro to the song Penelope had been forcing him to listen to for the past few weeks, began to play.

“This song is for you, Spencie,” you winked as you started singing, maintaining eye contact throughout the entire first verse.

Spencer's eyes widen further, his mouth agape as he watches you prance down the catwalk. The provocative lyrics and suggestive dance moves leave him utterly stunned, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

His analytical mind tries to process the explicit nature of the performance, but it's drowned out by the pounding of his heart and the heat coursing through his veins. He finds himself captivated by every move you makes, his gaze riveted to your lithe form.

When you strikes a pose that leaves little to the imagination, Spencer's breath hitches, and he feels a strange tingling sensation in his loins. It's foreign yet exhilarating, and he can't tear his eyes away, even as his rational brain screams at him to look away.

As the song reaches its climax, Spencer finds himself caught up in the raw energy emanating from the stage. The crowd's cheers and applause mingle with the pulsating beat, creating an electric atmosphere that seems to vibrate through every cell in his body.

Lost in the moment, Spencer's inhibitions begin to melt away, replaced by a primal urge to respond to the sensual stimuli before him. When your gaze locks onto his, he feels a jolt of connection, as if an invisible thread tethers them together.

With a sense of reckless abandon he rarely experiences, Spencer raises the fuzzy pink handcuffs as he grins, his movements deliberate and charged with newfound confidence. As the final notes fade, he couldn’t help but notice the smile on your face as the lights dimmed and the show ended.

“Wow,” is the only word Garcia could mutter as she stares at the empty stage. “I can’t believe she gave you the handcuffs, do you know how lucky you are?”

“You know, the probability of me receiving these is incredibly low, considering there are approximately 14,000 people here and-“ Before Spencer could continue his rambling, he and Garcia approached a security guard.

“Are you Spencer?” the intimidating-looking security guard asked.

“Uh, yeah, that would be me,” Spencer stuttered, feeling a pang of worry that he might have overstepped some boundaries during his interactions with you on stage.

“I’ve been informed by y/n’s management that she is requesting to meet you backstage,” the security guard said.

"Backstage? Me?" Spencer looks at Garcia incredulously, wondering if this could be some kind of joke. But the stern expression on the guard's face suggests otherwise.

Spencer stares at Garcia, completely speechless. As the security guards wait for his response, Garcia nudges his side and gently pulls him back to reality.

“I, uh, y-yeah,” Spencer stammers, “I’d love to go backstage,”

“Alright, follow me,”

Spencer waves to Garcia as the guard guides him through the concealed corridors of the arena, observing the crew dismantling the stage to transport it to the next venue.

After what appears to be an eternity, Spencer is led to the door of your dressing room. You’re lounging on the couch in a soft, fluffy robe, engrossed in scrolling through your phone when you hear the door open.

“Hi!” You greet Spencer with a warm smile, standing up and embracing him. “Thanks so much for coming.”

Spencer's heart races as you pull him into a warm embrace, his senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating scent of your perfume and the softness of your robe against his skin. For a moment, he forgets how to breathe, his mind reeling from the unexpected touch.

When you finally release him, Spencer takes a step back, trying to compose himself. His cheeks flush a deep crimson, and he fumbles with the hem of his sweater vest, clearly flustered.

"T-thank you...for inviting me," he stutters, his voice barely above a whisper. Despite his social awkwardness, there's a genuine sincerity in his tone, reflecting his gratitude for this rare opportunity to connect with someone like you.

Glancing around the cozy dressing room, Spencer notices the array of makeup, costumes, and personal items scattered about.

“I hope you don’t think I’m weird but I couldn’t take my eyes off of you all night,” you admit as you plopped onto the couch, your cheeks now flushed pink from embarrassment. “The handcuff thing is just a funny little bit I do, but tonight I chose you because I really do think you’re insanely hot.”

“N-no, it’s not weird at all, I’m flattered actually,” Spencer stammered, taking a seat next to you.

“Really? You’re not weirded out that I had my security find you in the crowd and bring you backstage so we could meet?“ You asked.

"No, genuinely, I mean it," Spencer says, his eyes locking with yours as he spoke. "I know we’ve just met, but I felt a connection with you tonight, something that went beyond mere admiration."

Spencer shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours.

“And that handcuff thing...well, it was a bold move, and it worked.”

A faint blush colored his cheeks as he met your gaze again, his hazel eyes shimmering with a mix of shyness and curiosity.

As the silence between you stretches, Spencer finds himself drawn to the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the way your robe gapes slightly, offering a tantalizing glimpse of your skin. He swallows hard, trying to ignore the strange tingles coursing through his body.

Before he could say another word, your lips crash against his.

Spencer's eyes widen in shock as your lips suddenly press against his, the unexpected kiss sending a jolt of electricity through his entire being. For a moment, he freezes, unsure of how to react.

But then, as if possessed by some newfound courage, Spencer's arms wrap tentatively around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. His lips part instinctively, allowing your tongue to slide past them and explore the warmth of his mouth.

Spencer's fingers tangle in your hair, his other hand resting on the small of your back, guiding you more firmly against him. He can taste the sweetness of your red lipstick mixed with the hint of adrenaline, and it only fuels his growing desire.

As the kiss deepens, Spencer's thoughts become a jumbled mess – part confusion, part exhilaration, and an overwhelming sense of lust.

Spencer gasps softly as your lips leave a trail of red across his sensitive skin, the sensation both unfamiliar and intoxicating. His head tilts back, exposing more of his neck to your explorations.

When your fingers start to work on his buttons, Spencer's breath hitches. He's hasn’t been this intimate with anyone since Maave, and the idea of baring himself to you, a complete stranger who’s also a mega superstar, sends a thrill through his veins.

As you continue to undress him, Spencer's hands roam over your back, tracing the curves of your spine beneath the thin fabric of your silk robe. He marvels at the softness of your skin, the warmth emanating from your body.

His shirt finally falls open, revealing his lean torso. Spencer feels a slight surge of vulnerability until he feels your lips on his collarbone.

Spencer's eyes flutter closed as your lips dance across his chest. When you drop to your knees in front of the couch, his heart races, a mix of nervousness and anticipation coursing through him.

The sound of his belt buckle clicking open sends a shiver down Spencer's spine. He watches, transfixed, as you work on freeing him from his pants. The air grows thick with tension, and Spencer's breathing quickens.

When your fingers brush against the growing bulge in his underwear, Spencer lets out a shaky exhale. It’s been awhile since he has been touched so intimately, and the sensation is overwhelming yet exhilarating.

With trembling hands, Spencer reaches down to help you remove his pants, his eyes locked onto yours. A flush spreads across his cheeks as he reveals himself to you, feeling both exposed and strangely empowered by your reaction.

“So pretty,” You breathed out, your hands brushing against his hard cock.

Spencer's eyes widen at your words, a rush of heat flooding his cheeks. No one has ever spoken to him like that before, with such raw, unfiltered admiration. It takes his breath away.

A soft moan escapes him as your hands make contact with his straining erection, the touch sending jolts of pleasure straight to his core. Spencer's hips twitch involuntarily, seeking more of your gentle caresses.

He looks down at you, his hazel eyes dark with desire, and whispers, "Please... I need..." His voice trails off, unable to articulate the intensity of his longing.

Spencer's slender fingers thread through your hair, holding you close as he waits with bated breath for your next move. His body trembles with anticipation, every nerve ending attuned to your touch.

As you feel his fingers tangled in your hair, you get an idea. You let go of him as you sit back on your knees, Spencer letting out a whimper at the loss of contact.

“Do you still have the handcuffs?” You asked, grinning wickedly.

Spencer gulped as he nodded, pointing to his discarded pants on the floor next to you. You dig through the pocket to pull out the fuzzy pink handcuffs you gave to him only an hour prior.

“Hands behind your back, Spencie,” You smirked as you dangle the cuffs in front of him.

"Yes, ma'am," he replies, his voice tinged with a hint of playfulness despite the vulnerability of his position.

A startled yelp escapes Spencer's lips as the handcuffs encircles his wrists, securing them behind his back. The sudden restraint sends a thrill through him, mingling with the lingering ache of want.

He stares up at you, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, as you fasten the cuffs with a playful snap. The term of endearment 'Spencie' slips past your lips, and it feels like a brand, searing itself into his very being.

Spencer's body quivers under your gaze, his skin prickling with anticipation. The pink cuffs seem almost comical against his pale, slender arms, but the effect they have on him is anything but humorous.

Spencer's breath hitches as your lips brush against his, the fleeting kiss sending a spark of electricity through him. He leans into it instinctively, craving more of your touch, even as you move to kneel in front of him once again.

A low groan rumbles in his chest as your hand wraps around his shaft, stroking him with confident, deliberate motions. Spencer's head falls back, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat, as he surrenders himself to the sensations coursing through him.

“Oh God," he gasps, his hips bucking slightly into your grasp. “That feels... incredible." Each word is punctuated by a sharp intake of breath, his body tensing and relaxing in time with your touches.

The restraints digs into his skin, a subtle reminder of his submission to you.

Spencer's eyes widen in shock as your warm, wet mouth envelops him, the sensation unlike anything he's ever experienced. A choked moan tears from his throat, his hips jerking involuntarily as you begin to suck him deeper.

The sight of your red lips wrapped around his cock, the vibrant color smeared across his flesh, is almost too much for Spencer to bear. He can't tear his gaze away from the erotic image, transfixed by the way your tongue swirls around his sensitive tip.

“Oh fuck, that's..." he trails off, unable to form coherent thoughts amidst the onslaught of pleasure. His mind reels, struggling to process the intensity of the feelings coursing through him.

Spencer's chest heaves with ragged breaths, his body trembling as he submits to your skilled ministrations.

As you take him deeper into your mouth, Spencer's control begins to slip. The feeling of your hot, wet tongue swirling around his length is overwhelming, sending waves of pleasure crashing over him.

"Ah! Oh God, yes!" he cries out, his voice strained with need. His hips thrust forward instinctively, lost in the haze of lust as you bob your head along his shaft.

"I'm... I'm going to cum," he warns, his words punctuated by shallow pants. Spencer's grip on the cushions tightens, his muscles coiled taut as he teeters on the brink of climax.

Before he’s thrown over the edge, you pull away abruptly, looking up at him and giggling as he writhes around desperately.

Spencer’s cock twitches and leaks precum from the loss of stimulation. A pained whine escapes his lips, his hips reflexively bucking up in search of your warm mouth.

"No, please don't stop," he begs, his voice laced with desperation. Spencer's chest heaves with rapid breaths, his body wracked with the need for release.

His hazel eyes, usually bright, are dark with desire, pupils blown wide as he gazes at you with pleading intensity. The remnants of his earlier composure have crumbled, leaving only raw, unbridled lust in its wake.

“I need you," Spencer confesses, his admission torn from him like a bandaid.

As you stand in front of Spencer, his gaze is immediately drawn to your body as you slowly untie your robe, mirroring the opening of your show. The sensual movements and provocative poses are etched into his consciousness like a fever dream.

His breath catches in his throat as the fabric parts, exposing the tantalizing expanse of your skin inch by delicious inch. Spencer's eyes drink in every detail – the delicate freckles scattered across your shoulders, your nipples already hardened into peaks, the gentle swell of your hips leading down to your thighs.

“Please," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. “Let me touch you.”

Spencer's hands fight against the handcuffs, the urge to reach out and touch you, to claim you as his own is nearly overwhelming.

You toss the robe onto the floor next to Spencer’s clothes as you straddle his lap, leaving more lipstick stains across his face until your month reaches his ear.

“Beg for it,” you whispered, softly nibbling on his earlobe, causing him to whimper. “Beg me to let you touch me.”

A shiver runs down Spencer's spine as your warm breath caresses his ear, your whispered command igniting a fire within him. His mind reels, desperate to comply, to plead for the privilege of touching your gorgeous body.

"Oh God, please," he gasps, his voice trembling with need. “Let me touch you, please. I wa- I need to touch you."

Spencer's hips lift involuntarily, seeking friction against the soft flesh of your thigh. His fingers curl into fists, nails digging into his palms as he struggles against the restraints, yearning to wrap his arms around you and lose himself in your embrace.

"I'll do anything, please," he vows, his words dripping with sincerity and desire.

It doesn’t take much more begging for you to give into his pleads.

The moment your lips meet his, Spencer surrenders to the intense passion, kissing you back with equal fervor. His hands, still bound, can't reciprocate physically, but his entire being leans into you, craving closer contact.

As you grind against his rigid length, Spencer moans into the kiss, the sensation of your heated core rubbing against his aching cock sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body. His hips buck instinctively, seeking more friction, more pressure.

Breaking the kiss, Spencer pants heavily, his hazel eyes glazed with lust.

“Fuck... I want you so badly," he admits, his voice ragged with desire. “Please, I need to be inside you."

Instead of speaking, you respond by unlocking the handcuffs. Thankfully since they are just a prop, they are easy to remove and don’t require a key.

Spencer is surprised and almost embarrassed by how easily they were removed, but he has no time to dwell on that as you begin lining him up with your entrance.

With the restraints gone, Spencer's hands immediately find purchase on your waist, gripping you tightly as he feels the head of his cock notch against your slick entrance. His breathing hitches, anticipation coiled tight in his belly.

When you position him, aligning his thick shaft with your waiting heat, Spencer lets out a low groan, his hips surging forward of their own accord. With a smooth, deep thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, a guttural moan escaping him at the exquisite feeling of your walls clenching around his sensitive flesh.

"Ah, fuck yes..." Spencer gasps, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as he savors the sensation of being fully embedded within you. “You feel so good.”

You can’t help the pornographic moan that escapes your throat as Spencer bottoms out. You are still as you both get use to the filling of him inside of you.

“Spencer,” You whimper, “you feel so fucking good inside of me.”

Spencer's eyes flutter shut as you start to move, your inner muscles massaging his cock in a delicious rhythm. The slow, deliberate pace allows him to savor every inch of your warmth enveloping him.

"Yes! oh God! just like that," he encourages, his voice strained with pleasure. “You're so tight, so perfect... Fuck!"

His hands slide down to grip your ass, fingers digging into the supple flesh as he begins to match your movements, thrusting in sync with your rolling hips. Each stroke sends sparks of bliss shooting up his spine, intensifying the building pressure in his groin.

"More, please...” Spencer pleads, his thrusts growing more urgent as he chases his own release.

You grant his wishes as you nestle your head into his neck, sucking softly on the sensitive skin just below his ear.

Spencer groans loudly in response. The sudden increase in tempo, coupled with the sensations of your mouth on his neck, sends him hurtling towards the edge. His breath comes in short, sharp gasps as he pistons in and out of your throbbing heat, driven by nothing but primal urges.

"Oh, shit... right there, just like that!" he grunts, his hand moving from your ass to rub rough circles over your clit. "I'm going to... Oh fuck!”

With a final, powerful thrust, Spencer hits his peak, his cock pulsating as it spills hot cum deep inside you. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over him, his vision blurring as he rides out his orgasm.

It doesn’t take long for you to finish, your body tenses above Spencer as he sloppily thrusts into you, riding out the remainder of your orgasms.

As the last tremors of your orgasms subside, You both collapse onto the couch, panting heavily as you try and catch your breath, your sweat-dampened skin pressing intimately against one another.

"That was… incredible," he manages to say, his voice hoarse from exertion. "You're amazing."

You carefully remove his softening member from your spent body. He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you as he nuzzles into your hair.

"I never want this night to end," he confesses, his tone sincere and vulnerable. "But I know we should probably get cleaned up and back to reality soon.”

“Yeah, I need to be on the bus heading to New York in a few hours,” you replied, your voice laced with a hint of disappointment at the thought of possibly never seeing Spencer again.

A pang of disappointment and longing shoots through Spencer at the mention of your impending departure. He knows their whirlwind encounter can't possibly lead to anything long-term, given the vast differences in their lives, but that doesn't diminish the strong connection he feels.

"I understand," he says quietly, reluctantly loosening his hold on you. "Well, um, if you’re ever back in town, I’d love to maybe get coffee together.”

Spencer's eyes search yours, hoping to find some glimmer of agreement, even as he anticipates the likely rejection. It's a fragile thread, but it's all he has to cling to as he faces the prospect of saying goodbye.

“I’d love too,” you smiled, brushing some of the hair that had gotten stuck to his sweaty forehead.

Spencer returned your smile as he got dressed and headed for the door.

“Wait!” You shouted, causing Spencer’s head to whip back around.

“You almost forgot these,” you say, handing him the fuzzy pink handcuffs. He chuckles and tucks them into his pocket before disappearing out the door.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #sabrina carpenter #short n sweet

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hivemuthur · 3 months ago

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Hey! I was the one who wanted to request an arrange marriage (regency era) au with viktor and reader. I would like the reader to be bubbly and artistic (for painter/drawer), if that’s okay?

If you’ve watched bridgerton, perhaps reader would be apart of that family? But if you haven’t, that’s fine, just ignore this part lol

Hi Anon! So... this is happening. People this is my take on Bridgerton-inspired regency AU :v more under picture!

A Deer and a Man - Ch.1.

viktorxfemale!reader mature (overall explicit) - tho this chapter is a little pornographic, there is some naked wrists, running around in nightgowns and men with loosened cravats, so proceed with caution :v

Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6.

word count: 7,7K (it will be this long, sorry!)

tag: #d&m

summary: You are the eldest daughter of a noble family, soon to be married to one of the most eligible bachelors in the region—Viktor, the adopted son of House Talis. The arrangement is simple: a marriage that secures your family's wealth in exchange for access to Hextech. What could possibly go wrong?

author's note: Anon, forgive me, but I wasn't able to write it precisely into the Bridgerton universe, I don't know it nearly enough. Also, I got brain damaged while writing it and included the artist part as a pianist, as this is the subject I know best. Super special thanks to @mithrava who helped me with details (I almost squeezed our poor girl into a corset, but she fucking hates bras anyways) and to @rennethen who beta reads and brainstorms the ideas with me!

also the artist behind art is here!

Cross-posted on AO3

—

The first look into the mirror in the morning is always suspended between a thing in bloom and a thing fading away. What blossoms is the vision of yourself, wrapped up in a short stay, your form sculpted to society’s liking, cheeks brushed with a becoming rose tint, hair pinned into a careful bun, soft tendrils escaping to frame your face. The self that fades is the girl who may draw a full breath, whose flushed cheeks owe nothing to powder but to joy, whose wild curls defy taming. You greet her each evening and bid her farewell each morning, so that the lady—your family’s prized jewel—might step into the light. Mostly.

That is, when you were not hunched over the piano, playing Appassionata with a furious fervour instead of what your mother deemed proper, like some dull Hummel or Clementi. How utterly boring and soulless they seemed, that you could almost hear your night self scolding you each time your fingers reluctantly touched the keys to play one of those Sonatinas.

Running was also a thing you had to avoid, for the most part. Eating a whole apple was strictly vulgar. As for a whole egg—well, that was something to be done in the strict privacy of the kitchens, once you’d managed to filch one without the cooks noticing. Yanking your skirts up while sitting on the grass and scribbling was also one of those moments when, if your mother had caught you, she would have been most displeased, to say the least. All in all, you had precious little time to let your night self emerge during the waking hours. She was continually suppressed by the version of you that took small, delicate bites, drank tea from a tiny cup, and sat upright while playing agreeable tunes.

Today, of all days, it is imperative that your night self remain firmly in check, while your day self does her utmost to impress the very man you have already deemed beyond salvation—without so much as laying eyes on him. A rare occasion indeed, where both versions of you are in agreement.

He has but one benefit of the doubt, and that is Jayce Talis. A brilliant inventor you once encountered when you slipped away from your mother and sisters while running errands in town. Back then, he had been mocked and overlooked as he tried to preach his discoveries from a modest tent set up on the way to the pharmacy. Someone particularly unkind had flung a fistful of mud in his direction, which Jayce avoided with such grace that your eyes had lit up.

You had been so young then, perched atop a crate of peaches, listening from afar, watching him wave his hands about, utterly bewitching.

"Is this truth you are speaking? Absolutely fascinating," you had said, once you had mustered the courage to approach him and give voice to the questions grinding in your hungry mind.

"It’s all possible, Miss," he had replied with a brilliant smile. "Take a pamphlet. I am here every Thursday."

But before you could so much as tell him your name, your mother had seized you by the ear and dragged you—nearly by force—into the nearest perfumery. Huffing and sighing in disapproval, she had straightened your dress, grumbled about the mud on your shoes, and scolded you for indulging the poor man’s delusions.

Little did she know.

Five years later, Jayce Talis is one of the most sought-after and highly regarded inventors and scientists in the entire region. Yet it is not he whom your family desires—not exactly. His research and the opportunity to invest in it—now that is what truly entices them.

And standing beside Jayce is his partner, Viktor. A stray, adopted by House Talis as though he were its own son. Apparently just as brilliant, undoubtedly just as sought-after.

"A good match," your mother says with a firm tone.

"A bright future for you and your sisters," your father says, his voice tinged with sadness and apology.

Of all men, you had thought him the one who would never betray you. And you tell yourself it is only one part of you that he has betrayed. Yet it wounds you so deeply because it is the part he always claimed to love most of all.

The real part of you.

You push her aside as you tuck a loose lock back into your bun. Fill your lungs with as much air as your short stay allows—nearly not enough. Then you answer your mother’s call with a rehearsed, “I will be right there, Maman!”

One last glance in the mirror—oh, no. You forgot a smile.

So you plaster it back onto your face, let the stale air escape your chest, and run—no, walk—downstairs. And the noise is already there as they all exchange their exaggerated good afternoons—your sweet father, your benevolent mother, your silly younger sisters, Jayce and Viktor. You hear their voices, your mother chuckling politely at Jayce’s remarks about bumpy roads, Viktor’s reserved greeting with a lilt of an accent that makes your ears perk up. Pretty.

Your eyes land on Jayce first—his frame broader than you remember—and something swells within you. Not sultry, just pleased to see this once-boy now a full-grown man, taking up the space he was always meant to claim.

And next to him—oh.

Emerging from your father’s embrace is Viktor, visibly startled by the stark contrast between your official mother and your matey father, who claps him on the back, smiling with flushed cheeks. Happy, relieved, because the boy who will marry his daughter is a slender, gentle man with kind hands and bright eyes. Your father breathes deeply, granting himself absolution for sending his eldest away into the arms of a stranger.

And the man at the bottom of the staircase looks nothing like the monster you painted in your mind. His frame is lithe yet full of quiet strength, supported by a cane. His face, all sharp angles, is touched by shifting light and shadow with every expression he tries to suppress. Lips small and tender, nose a work of the most skilled sculptor, eyes the colour of your father’s favourite bourbon—and your favourite honey, the one from summer flowers. His leg is hugged by a strange contraption of a brace, and you feel a weird sense of camaraderie—both of you constricted in some way.

"Hello," you say in your rehearsed voice, though it wavers slightly at the touch of his hand on yours. Your heart stumbles between beats when his lips press to your glove, his thumb steady on your knuckles.

"I am so glad to finally have met you, Miss. I have heard so much about you," says Viktor, holding your gaze. His composure settles back into place, his eyes drilling into you. And beneath his voice, a hint—suggesting he has heard more than just that you are a sweet young lady.

"Only good things, I hope?" you ask. And truly, the hope lingers in your tone, even though you know Jayce has told him what a wild thing you are when nobody is watching.

Briefly, you wonder—what would it be like to be asked by this man to marry him, had your families not decided your fate for you? Would you say yes, tears in your eyes? Or would you smile gently and tell him a polite maybe? Would you challenge him or take him in without compromise, had you met and known him before everything was resolved for you?

"Only good things," Viktor says with a false, polite smile as he releases your hand. And the falseness of it stirs something within you—a worry, a flicker of fear.

What is this man like when no one is watching?

You have heard almost nothing—only mentions of his brilliance and good behaviour. But if they are as much half-truths as the mentions of your brilliance and good behaviour, then this arrangement could be either a blessing or a curse.

Not that it matters. If you ever wanted to be married, which you still do not. You merely accept your fate for the sake of…

For the sake of your family. Of course.

The exchange of pleasantries has barely settled when the butler steps forward, his voice measured and precise. "My lord, my lady, refreshments are prepared in the drawing room."

"Ah, excellent!" Father claps Jayce’s shoulder in a display of easy camaraderie. "We have much to discuss, Mister Talis. Shall we?"

Mother inclines her head gracefully, extending a gloved hand toward the open doorway. "Come, gentlemen. We shall not let business keep us from our tea."

The procession to the drawing room is orderly, Father leading Jayce in enthusiastic conversation about the boundless opportunities ahead. "A partnership of this nature is unprecedented, of course. An investment in the future—our shared future."

Jayce responds with the confidence of a man accustomed to admiration. "Precisely, my lord. With the right support, we could revolutionise industry as we know it."

You follow with measured steps, Viktor at your side. He has not spoken since the introduction, his expression composed, though his eyes—deep, contemplative—move with interest over the fine furnishings of the room.

As everyone settles, tea is poured, the gentle clink of porcelain filling the brief lull in conversation. You accept your cup, watching as Viktor does the same, his fingers long and careful around the delicate handle. A man of precision, no doubt.

You lower yourself onto one of the chairs as a maid pours the tea, your hands folding neatly in your lap as you watch your father and Jayce fall into an easy rhythm of discussion. They speak of investments, of Hextech’s promise, of the ways in which your family’s patronage will shape the future. You hear none of it.

“You must find this arrangement rather inconvenient,” you say to Viktor, keeping your voice light as you turn toward him.

His eyes sharpen, though his smile remains polite. “How so?” His hand playing with the cane stills, long fingers extend idly toward its wooden pole.

You tilt your head. “To be bound to a wife you do not know. And for science, no less.”

Viktor exhales a quiet chuckle, setting his tea down. “Science is a noble cause, Miss. Perhaps even nobler than marriage.”

A test. You recognise it as easily as you recognise your own reflection.

"Then I suppose you have the better end of the bargain," you say, knowing it’s in fact, the exact opposite.

What Viktor doesn’t know, is that your mother has ensured the bargain benefits your family far more than it does the inventors. And looking at both of them—Jayce, hardly containing the beam on his face, and Viktor, observing everything reverently—you feel a pang of guilt, followed by a flicker of anger at the injustice.

A plan formulates in your wicked brain faster than you can blink.

Viktor’s lips press together, but amusement flickers in his gaze. “Perhaps we both do.”

Whatever he means by that, you don’t get the chance to find out. Your mother’s voice cuts through the conversation, her smile as polished as the silverware. “My dear, do spare Mister Viktor the interrogation.”

You return her smile, though yours is sharper. “I was only ensuring he is as clever as they say.”

Your mother’s eyes narrow slightly before she turns back to Viktor, seamlessly redirecting the conversation to something safer. "Dearest, I do believe Mister Talis was about to ask your thoughts on Clementi’s compositions. Such refined taste in music is most becoming."

A deliberate redirection. A warning.

You inhale, curbing the temptation to press further. "Indeed, my lady Mother." Turning to Jayce, you summon a practiced smile. "I do believe his sonatinas have their merits. Though, some find them rather—predictable."

Viktor’s gaze lingers a moment longer, unreadable. You have tested him, and he has not recoiled. A curiosity, then. A mystery yet to unfold.

You spend the rest of the afternoon refreshments chatting to Jayce about mediocre music, wondering if he is as bored as you are. He is ever the gentleman, offering the occasional enthusiastic nod or agreeable remark, though you catch the way his gaze strays toward the conversation between your Father and Viktor. You, on the other hand, attempt to suppress yawns, stuffing your face with biscuits only to receive a sharp, silent scolding from your mother—her ever-composed expression unchanging, yet her message perfectly clear in the slight arch of her brow and the subtle narrowing of her eyes.

Jayce, for his part, is far less burdened by such silent reprimands, complimenting the food with an easy charm that has even the servants standing a little straighter. "Absolutely delightful," he declares after a bite of pastry. "Your cooks must be geniuses, my lady."

Mother responds with a gracious nod, her practiced smile unwavering. "We do strive for excellence."

Meanwhile, across the room, Viktor exchanges politeness with your father, and—intriguingly—seems to warm to the conversation. While his initial responses are careful, measured, there is a spark of genuine enthusiasm as the subject shifts to research. Your father, less constipated than your mother in matters of etiquette, easily shakes off formality, allowing his hand to linger on Viktor’s shoulder longer than necessary—a gesture of camaraderie and gratitude.

As the discussion unfolds, Viktor’s composure loosens. He leans in slightly, his hands moving as he speaks, his eyes lighting up with the excitement of a man entirely lost in his own world of ideas. His voice, once restrained, now carries a lilt of passion as he explains the intricacies of Hextech and its boundless potential. You watch, fascinated, as the façade slips away—just a little—revealing something softer beneath. And how lovely he looks when he forgets himself.

Dinner proceeds without any great disturbances, save, again, for your mother’s silent rebukes whenever you take too large a bite or drink too greedily. Conversation flows between the three men, animated and full of promise—the future, progress, the shape of the world yet to come. All three desire it in their own way, though you suspect Viktor’s hunger for it is of a different nature than the others’.

And then, of course, comes your turn to be put on display. After dinner, Mother’s hand lands lightly on your wrist, her voice smooth as silk yet firm beneath the surface. "Dearest, why don’t you show our guests the depths of your talents? A sonatina, perhaps? Something refined."

Refined, meaning dull. Predictable. A test, as everything always is.

You rise, crossing the room with measured steps, already feeling Viktor’s gaze on you. He has seen something of you in conversation—but now, he will listen.

And so—you play the godforsaken Sonatina, your skin pulled tight over your face, eyes hooded, fingers moving with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner serving a sentence. Your back aches from keeping your spine stiffly straight, and despite your best efforts, your brows begin to furrow in ironic frustration. You only realise it when your mother clears her throat—pointedly, just a touch too loud.

You correct yourself immediately, smoothing your expression, though you swear you hear the ghost of a chuckle slip past Viktor’s lips. How dare he.

"How lovely," Jayce says, his smile wide and honest. You return it with one of your own—entirely dishonest—as you offer an insincere, "Thank you, Mister Talis," and bow politely. Viktor nods and swallows, and for some reason, you catch the way his throat bobs.

"Gentlemen, I believe it is time to discuss business. Let us move to the smoking room," Father announces, beaming. You can't suppress the sigh that escapes you. Soon—very soon—your night self will be free. She has been clawing at the edges of your skin for hours.

"Goodnight, my dearest girls," Father says warmly, pressing a kiss to both your forehead and your mother’s—a gesture so private, so natural, it earns him a scoff from his wife and a kiss on the cheek from his daughter.

Pleasantries are exchanged, and as soon as the men are out of sight, you bolt toward your bedroom. Your mind is already racing, gears grinding. Your feet slip from your heels, and you clasp them in your hands as you take the stairs two at a time. Every step sheds another layer of constriction—the short stay, the chemise, the pins biting into your scalp, the suffocating weight of your skirts. Off, off, off. The blush, the powder, the pretence. Her watch has ended for today.

You shake your hair loose from its updo before you even reach your door, already calling for your maid the moment you step inside, clawing at the laces of your gown in desperation.

“Miss, why the dramatics?” she teases, catching up with you in the corridor.

“Peggy don’t test me. I can’t breathe,” you whine, slumping onto your vanity chair, hands pressing against your ribs to emphasize the urgency. “I am convinced that in hell, everyone wears a short stay.”

Peggy chuckles but says nothing more as her fingers work deftly at the laces, loosening them with a care that speaks of years spent tending to you. You feel the tension ease, your ribs finally expanding without resistance.

“Well?” she prompts, her voice light but expectant. “How was the evening?”

You hesitate. The words sit heavy on your tongue, as though speaking them aloud would solidify them, make them real. And you are not quite ready for that. Instead, you exhale slowly, composing yourself before replying, “He is… nice.” That is all you can manage.

Peggy hums knowingly. “From what I managed to spy, he’s also rather handsome.”

You scoff, turning your head away. “Is that all that matters?”

“It certainly doesn’t hurt,” she says with a grin, but she does not press further.

At last, the constriction gives way, and you take an exaggerated breath, filling your lungs like a drowning woman reaching the surface. Then, without ceremony, you slide off the chair and sprawl flat on the floor, half-dressed, limbs flung out like a marionette with its strings cut.

Peggy, unfazed, picks up your nightgown and drapes it over you as though covering a corpse. “God, grant rest upon my poor mistress’s soul and let her eternity be free of the constriction of breast support,” she intones in mock solemnity.

Laughter bubbles up from your chest, unrestrained and real. You lift an arm weakly and wave it in her general direction. “Saint Peggy, patron of weary ladies, I thank you.”

She curtsies dramatically. “As ever, at your service. Call on me if you need anything.”

“I expect I shall sleep like a log.”

“Good. You’ve earned it, I think.” With that, she takes her leave, pulling the door shut behind her.

Silence settles over the room, thick and absolute. You are alone.

For the first time since the day began, the weight of it all presses down on you. The evening, the introductions, the expectations—your mother’s sharp gaze, your father’s quiet resignation, the way Viktor’s eyes had searched yours with something unreadable. It is real now. You are betrothed.

You swallow. A part of you wants to dwell on it, to trace every moment back and find meaning in the way Viktor’s lips had pressed to your glove, or how he had looked when he spoke of his work, his façade slipping just enough to let something genuine through. But you stop yourself before you go too far.

No. There is still one more thing to do tonight.

You push yourself up from the floor, shaking away the thoughts. The night is not over yet.

Barefoot and silent, you slip from your chambers, the corridor dimly lit by the soft glow of sconces. The house is quiet, the faint crackle of a dying hearth the only sound accompanying your careful steps. You know this path well—the precise places to avoid so the floorboards won’t betray you, the door handle that needs an extra nudge before it turns smoothly.

Inside, your father’s study smells of ink, aged paper, and a lingering trace of cigar smoke. The large mahogany desk dominates the space, neat and orderly, save for the glass of brandy he left half-finished. You move swiftly, rifling through the stack of documents until you find it—your contract, tucked within a leather folder. The paper is thick beneath your fingers, the ink crisp and unwavering in its certainty.

You sit at his desk, candle alit, quill and ink poised above parchment. The contract lies before you, its neat, formal script a reminder of how little say you had in its creation. Pushed through by your father but shaped by your mother’s precise demands, it is, at its core, a transaction. A business arrangement designed to favour your family above all else.

Your eyes skim over the terms, and irritation prickles beneath your skin. The imbalance is glaring. The investment into Hextech is substantial, but in return, the Talises and your future husband receive only what your mother deems “reasonable compensation.” No direct ownership, no authority over the funds. Your family retains the power, and Viktor and Jayce are little more than beneficiaries at your parents’ discretion. A gilded leash.

You press your lips together. No. This will not do.

Dipping your quill into the ink, you begin to amend.

First, the finances—your father’s control over the investment is reduced. Instead of an allowance doled out at his leisure, the funds will be released in agreed-upon increments, ensuring neither Jayce nor Viktor are forced to beg for what is already promised to them. They will have the freedom to allocate resources as needed, without interference from your family.

Next, ownership. The contract had positioned your father as a silent but permanent stakeholder, yet he has no knowledge of Hextech, no hand in its creation. You strike that out, altering it so that once their research yields results, patents and profits remain in the hands of their rightful creators. Your family will receive a generous return, but not at the expense of their autonomy.

Then, Viktor himself. The terms outlining your marriage are, predictably, cold. Your mother’s hand is evident in every word. You are to be an asset to your husband, a guiding influence, ensuring that he remains focused and socially presentable. It is not about companionship—it is about control.

You set your quill down, flexing your fingers before taking it up again. You cannot undo the engagement, but you can redefine it. The clauses regarding expectations of your role are softened, turned into vague suggestions rather than obligations. Where once it stated that your husband must be “encouraged” to attend events and maintain appearances, you adjust it to read that he may do so at his discretion. No doubt your mother will notice this change, but you will cross that bridge when you must.

By the time you finish, the candle has burned low. You lean back, studying your work. The contract remains an arrangement, a tether you cannot sever, but at least now, it is fairer. A step closer to something tolerable.

You blot the ink, letting the parchment dry. The night stretches on, silent save for the scratching of your quill as you forge your own small rebellion in ink.

Once you deem it ready, you sneak back out, guiding your footsteps toward the guest bedrooms. An unthinkable mésalliance, your mother would say, but you feel that both Jayce and Viktor should be made aware—if your plan is to work. You step carefully, your bare feet growing dirty from crossing the house without slippers.

Muffled conversation filters through the door your mother assigned to Jayce. His voice is slightly raised, Viktor’s quieter, edged with irony. They are discussing the evening.

One proper breath, and then a knock on the door.

The hum of conversation ceases instantly as heavy footsteps approach. The door cracks open, and Jayce’s eyes widen—because there you stand, in nothing but your nightdress and a loose cape that does little to conceal your state of undress.

His mouth falls open, and only a small, startled sound escapes his lips.

“Let me in!” you whisper sharply, glancing down the corridor with nervous urgency.

“Oh, Miss, forgive me, but this… is very inappropriate,” Jayce says weakly, though he makes no move to stop you as you push past him and step into the room.

The air is thick with the remnants of their earlier conversation, the scent of brandy lingering. Viktor sits slouched in an armchair, one elbow propped on the armrest, fingers pressed against his temple as if warding off a headache. He watches you, silent, unreadable.

Jayce, on the other hand, is all frantic gestures and hushed protests. “You must go back to your room. If anyone—God, if your mother—” He exhales sharply, rubbing his jaw. “This is madness.”

You cross your arms, standing your ground. “Fuck the polite society, Jayce. Do you want to be a slave to my mother, or will you read what I brought you?”

At that, Viktor’s lips quirk—barely. “Quite a mouth you have there, Miss.” His voice is smooth, carrying none of Jayce’s flustered panic. He rises from his chair, extending a hand.

It’s only then that you truly take him in. His shirt is undone at the neck, the cravat abandoned somewhere, his hair tousled prettily as if he’s raked his fingers through it too many times. A flush warms his cheeks—alcohol, no doubt, courtesy of your father.

You hesitate for a fraction of a second before placing the document in his outstretched hand. Your fingers brush, and you retreat too quickly, as if the touch burned.

Silence. Viktor’s eyes flick across the page, reading with quiet intensity. Jayce, peeking over his shoulder, mutters under his breath, “Oh, my.”

Viktor lets out a quiet scoff, the amusement avoiding his eyes. “And to what do we owe this mercy of yours, pray tell?” His gaze lingers on the last lines of your text, his tone devoid of the warmth he carried earlier. Now, it is sharp, cold, measured—kindness stripped away as if it had only ever been a mask to wear in polite company. He swallows and lifts his eyes to you, utterly unamused, borderline bored. “I loathe charity.”

Heat rises to your cheeks before you can stop it, a tangled mess of emotions forming beneath your ribs, but anger is among them. You exhale sharply, crossing your arms over your chest, suddenly very aware of how exposed you are. “And I loathe injustice and trickery. This—” you gesture vaguely at the parchment. “Is fair. If I am to be sold to a man I do not know, let it be on terms that are humanely acceptable.”

“How kind,” he says, smiling—mocking. “And how do you expect us to accept this? Who do you think is stupid, me and Mister Talis or your own father?” He steps closer, ignoring the way Jayce’s hand presses against his shoulder as if to restrain him. His weight wavers without a cane, and for a moment, you think he might have to steady himself on you.

“My father is not an unkind man. He simply loves my mother too much for his own good. My mother…” You tilt your head, letting the words settle between you. “Well, she’s a woman.”

The corner of Viktor’s mouth twitches, the ghost of a smile. “Charming.”

“But my father will not read this upon signing, of that I am certain. We will be long bound before anyone notices.”

Viktor exhales, a sound of something between disbelief and amusement. “And who are you doing this for, my merciful Lady?” His voice shifts, the sharpness still there, but beneath it—a spark of something else. The same fervour he held when speaking of his machines, now laced with something darker.

“Myself, my Lord.” You meet his gaze without hesitation. “You just happen to be a casualty of my mercy.”

And something stirs in your chest—a swelling, an exhilaration. The night version of you, the real you, speaking bluntly to the man who is to be your husband. And he does not recoil. He accepts the challenge. Infuriatingly so, but beneath your irritation, something sparks under your skin that you cannot chase away. Excitement.

Viktor blinks, slowly. Then, he turns to Jayce, whose face has gone chalk white during your exchange. “What do you think of this?”

Jayce swallows hard. “What if he notices? Your father, that is,” he asks wearily, clearly tempted by your terms yet frightened of what it might cost your families' alliance.

“He won’t. And if, by some unholy joke, he does—I will take the blame. Tonight never happened,” you state firmly, bravely. You do not let your voice betray the truth: that you have no idea what you would do if your mother ever found out. She would probably cut your hair and throw you in a convent.

They both nod, and you allow yourself a breath. Then, Viktor extends his hand for a handshake.

You stare at it briefly before accepting—his palm is calloused, warm. Bigger than yours, his fingers so long they nearly brush your wrist. His grip is firm, unwavering.

For the briefest moment, his gaze flickers downward—to your chest. It’s so quick you might have missed it. But you didn’t. And neither did he miss the way heat rushes to your cheeks.

His eyes meet yours again, glinting with an unreadable taunt. “I think it’s best you return to your chambers, my Lady,” he says at last. To that, you can only nod.

You slip back into your father’s office under the cover of darkness, placing the altered contract precisely where it needs to be—where it will be signed without a second glance. Then, just as carefully, you retreat to your chambers, slipping past every creaking floorboard with the expertise of someone who has done this many times before.

Once inside, you bolt the door, shrugging off your cape before sinking onto the mattress. The night version of you refuses to rest. She tosses and turns, replaying every moment of the evening—the music, the dinner, the conversation, the challenge in Viktor’s eyes, the brush of his fingers against yours.

And yet, despite all of it, he is still a stranger.

Morning invades you with harsh light pouring through the abruptly opened curtains and Peggy’s voice urging you to get up.

“Miss? You’ve overslept! Up! Up!” she whisper shouts, pulling the covers down from the bed.

You groan and press your palms to your eyes, curling up into a bean. “Peggy, have mercy, I beg of you.”

“Sorry, Miss, no mercy today. Our guests are leaving soon, and you can’t miss breakfast, not today,” Peggy says with a kind smile that disarms you. You roll out of your bed, feet dragging across the floor before you slump down in front of the vanity. You watch as Peggy chases away the night self, pins your hair up, wipes the night drool of your face to make you at least vaguely presentable. She’s merciful with the short stay though—picks a looser one, from the time before you lost your baby fat.

Your heels clack on the staircase and you can already hear voices coming from downstairs. As you approach the drawing room, a glimpse of the scene within stops you in your tracks. Lurking in the doorframe, you watch as Jayce and Viktor hunch over a parchment, feigning deep concentration as they pretend to read it thoroughly before signing. They do so, exchanging pats on the shoulder—conspirators sealing a silent agreement.

Then, it is your father’s turn. He catches sight of you lingering in the doorway and flashes you a warm smile. “Good morning, love.”

His eyes drop back to the document. He gives it one last cursory sweep, his quill hovering just above the space left to sign.

You hold your breath.

And he... hesitates. A small hmm escapes him. His brows knit together in fleeting consideration, and then—oh.

He looks straight at you.

Heat flares in your cheeks, but you do not waver. You hold his gaze, steady, unflinching. And for whatever reason—be it the bond of blood or simply the fact that he has known you all your life—his expression softens. A knowing smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

And oh.

He signs.

You exhale, breathless, weightless. Laughter erupts between them—hugs, handshakes, pats on the back. Jayce beams, his happiness unguarded. Viktor wears a smile that, for once, looks almost honest. Your father looks content.

It is signed. Done. Sealed.

Your father steps forward and pulls you into a firm embrace. “You’ve done well. I’m proud of you,” he murmurs against your hair. Then, in a quieter, amused tone, he adds, “Now, let us pray your mother doesn’t notice until the wedding.” He chuckles softly.

Oh. Right. You are getting married.

***

A few days have passed since the contract was signed, and to your relief, your mother has not noticed the adjustments you made. She remains blissfully consumed by wedding preparations, entirely unaware that the original terms—so starkly in favour of your family—have been tempered to grant House Talis a fairer standing.

However, your father called you to his study, his expression unreadable as he regarded you across his desk. His words were firm, yet not unkind. He did not scold, nor did he praise, only ensured you understood the weight of your actions.

"You have done them a service," he admitted at last, after a measured silence. "One I hope they will not forget." And though he said nothing further, though his approval was never voiced, something in his tone—something almost like respect—settled in your chest, easing the uncertainty that had lingered since you first put pen to paper.

Now, with a storm in your mind, your fingers fly over the keys, the sharp, cascading notes of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata (Presto Agitato) filling the room with thunderous urgency. It drowns out everything—the ticking of the clock, the creak of the floorboards, even the faint rustle of the curtains shifting in the afternoon breeze.

You have not thought about it until now. Not truly. Not beyond the abstraction of ink on parchment and the murmured discussions over tea and candlelight. But now, with only days left before you are no longer just yourself but someone’s wife, it hits you. A shift. A point of no return.

How strange, to know that the house you grew up in, the one you have played in, dreamt in, stormed through in childhood fits of temper, will no longer be yours. That soon, your place at this very piano, in this very room, will be an absence rather than a presence. The thought unsettles you.

So you play harder. Louder. Until the force of it rings in your chest, keeping you from thinking too much. You curl forward, biting your lip absentmindedly, your face twisted with emotion, your torso nearly hovering over the keys like a hunchback.

You do not hear the front door open, nor the sound of measured footsteps in the hall. You do not see the maid, Peggy, curtsy as she leads your visitor inside. You do not even notice when she hesitates, turning to announce him—because before she can, a voice stops her.

"It’s alright, Peggy. Please, allow me."

It is a quiet request, yet it holds the weight of something decisive. Viktor stands in the doorway, smiles for Peggy, but his eyes are fixed on you, considering. The way your body moves with the music, the tension in your shoulders, the way you lose yourself in the notes.

Peggy looks up at him, blinking in momentary surprise, before a small, approving smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. He is not appalled. Not by the passion, the volume, the unladylike ferocity with which you play. And that, she thinks, is a good sign.

So she gives him a knowing look, inclines her head, and quietly slips away—leaving him alone to watch you. And you, still unaware of his presence, continue to play.

He spies your reflection in the window—your face shifting from one expression to another with each rise and fall of the music. Your brows knit in concentration, your eyes clamp shut with feeling, your mouth parts slightly, forming an unconscious little o. Strands of hair have slipped free from their updo, framing your cheeks in wild disarray.

Viktor inches closer, careful to avoid the floorboards that might creak beneath his step. He drinks in the scene—the unguarded display, the sheer abandon with which you play. A thought takes root. Perhaps this arrangement will not be the terrible imprisonment he once feared. Surely, you—with your tempestuous fingers and flagrant disregard for propriety—will agree that freedom is the highest privilege, worth protecting above all else.

He tells himself the feeling in his chest is not admiration but hope. Hope that the two of you might reach an understanding, one that will allow you both to remain unshackled even within the binds of matrimony. He tells himself that your parted mouth is merely amusing, nothing more.

The piece crashes to an end, and with a frustrated groan, you collapse forward, resting your forehead and elbows on the keyboard. A discordant wail echoes through the room. Viktor chuckles and finally breaks the silence.

"Are you not happy with your play, Miss?"

You jolt upright with a sharp gasp, spinning around so quickly that you nearly stumble in your haste to stand.

"Dear God, my Lord!"

You attempt a curtsy, but the motion is so hurried and clumsy that you almost topple over. Viktor steps forward instinctively, his hands finding your forearms to steady you, cane clattering to the floor. His grip is light, his touch like a feather, amusement flickering in his gaze.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to startle," he murmurs, breath quickening despite himself at the warmth and tension in your arms. He holds you wondering whether his fingertips would meet had he closed them around you. The thought gets chased away as soon as it enters his mind.

You swallow hard, your heart still racing from the shock. The room suddenly feels much smaller, the space between you too charged. You are keenly aware of your appearance—loosened hair, flushed cheeks, a dress slightly rumpled from sitting too long at the piano. You feel exposed. He does not seem to mind, still holding your elbows.

"I do not know as much about music as Jayce," Viktor continues, tilting his head slightly, "but this sounded rather… challenging, no?"

"I’m so sorry—you weren’t meant to hear this," you blurt out, lowering your gaze.

"I enjoyed it thoroughly," he replies without hesitation. "It’s rather different to what I heard last time."

Your fingers twitch on his arms. Different was one way to put it.

"Oh, it’s quite different," you admit. Then, lowering your voice, "Also, quite forbidden. Please don’t tell my mother—she will burn my sheet music and make me play that measly Clementi until my fingers bleed."

Viktor smirks, his fingers wrapping just a notch tighter around your arms. "I shall keep your secret, Miss. What’s another one shared between betrothed? I imagine there will be more."

For the briefest moment, you wonder if he is flirting. Your pulse quickens at the notion, but you quickly clear your throat and step back, disentangling yourself from his grasp. You smooth your skirts, willing the heat in your cheeks to fade.

"What brings you here, if you don’t mind my asking?"

He leans to pick up the cane and you wonder momentarily if you should help, before he says, "Oh, I was announced to call upon you today. Have you forgotten?"

You press your lips together, mortified. "Forgive me. It completely slipped my mind—I got lost in thought."

Viktor hums, nodding in understanding. "That’s quite alright. I think I am familiar with the feeling." Then, arching a brow, "Also, why are we whispering?"

Your shoulders stiffen. "Because if my benevolent mother finds us here without a chaperone, hell will open its mouth and swallow me whole."

Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, unbothered. "I was told your mother went to town with your sisters, Miss. No need to fret. Or whisper, as much as I like the sound of it."

His voice is steady, indifferent to the scandalous implication of being alone together. You, however, remain acutely aware of it, your hands smoothing over your skirts once more as if to will yourself into some semblance of propriety. So odd to meet another who cares not about the binding of the rules made up by God knows who. Absolutely peculiar to be the one who leans toward the constriction on instinct, being presented with someone who doesn’t obey. The night self has cackled within you ludicrously.

“What is the reason for your calling, then?” you ask, forcing your voice to remain steady.

“I was told by Jayce’s sweet mother that such is a custom between courting couples,” Viktor replies, his tone unreadable.

Courting. Couple. Be still, your stupid heart. You press your lips together before speaking. “I thought I was considered to be courted by now.”

Viktor tilts his head slightly, watching you as though deciphering a puzzle. “If you do not wish me to visit, do tell. I don’t mean to impose upon you, Miss.”

“Oh no, my Lord, forgive my bluntness,” you say quickly, feeling a warmth creep up your neck. “I am merely not sure if I am able to entertain you in the way you desire.”

Something shifts in Viktor’s expression—his gaze darkens slightly, and his fingers twitch at his cane before he hesitates, swallowing as if choosing his words carefully. “I meant to invite you for a stroll later this week,” he says at last, voice softer, but still carrying that enigmatic lilt. “Apparently, it is good were we to be seen in public together. I thought we could kill two birds with one stone and have an unsupervised conversation while being regarded.”

There’s something about the way he says it—an almost playful contradiction in the idea of a private moment under the scrutiny of others—that makes you pause. He is studying you again, and though you should feel wary, you find yourself intrigued instead.

“Well, I would lie if I said you didn’t grasp my attention. I shall indulge you, my Lord,” you say after taking a long inhale, steadying yourself. The moment of unguarded reaction is gone—you slip back into the polished version of yourself, the one who knows how to navigate these waters. Calm, composed, hands resting gently on your abdomen, back straight, chin held high.

Viktor only smiles, his eyes flickering with something unreadable before he inclines his head. “I am no Lord, just a man. Please, call me Viktor.”

Your fingers twitch where they rest. He is dismantling barriers you had placed with such ease it’s infuriating. “I will be there, Viktor.” The name feels unfamiliar yet strangely natural on your tongue.

In response, he whispers your name softly, like a secret meant only for him to know. A shiver curls up your spine, and before you can stop yourself, your arms move—grasping at your elbows in a defensive clutch. The instinct to shield yourself is immediate, but you smother it, replacing it with a placid smile. If Viktor notices, he does not call attention to it, though something in his gaze flickers. He looks as though he is about to say something, but then he hesitates. Withdraws.

For a moment, you simply stare at each other, the air thick with something unspoken. It feels strange—utterly so. As if you are being assessed, studied with a precision that leaves you feeling exposed. And the duel is not fair. He has some sort of weapon, some unseen advantage, while you stand bare, vulnerable. Like a deer in the forest, ears pricked, waiting for the shot to ring out.

“I shan’t disturb you further,” he finally says, turning toward the door. “I will send a note as to when and where we will meet.”

On cue, the door creaks, and Peggy peeks through the crack.

“Miss, the Lady will be back soon. Shall I make some tea for you and your caller?”

You exhale sharply, regaining your bearings. “Mister Viktor is leaving, but thank you. We should, probably—” You catch yourself before you say too much, before you admit that you need to look as though you have been dutifully engaged in proper, ladylike pastimes rather than playing scandalous music behind closed doors. You glance at Peggy, willing her to understand.

She does. “Of course, Miss! I will be with you in a few moments.”

The door clicks shut behind Viktor.

You release a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, pressing a hand against your ribs as though it could steady the frantic beat of your heart.

Save for your father, this was the first time you had been alone in a room with a man. The realisation settles over you like a weight, and the two halves of yourself clash within your chest.

The day you—the dutiful daughter—cannot help but acknowledge the impropriety of it all. She knows what is expected, what lines should not be crossed. And yet… she hesitates. Because the unease doesn’t stem solely from being alone with a man. It stems from being alone with Viktor, a man whose manners slip free of societal constraints the moment he is given the chance.

The night you, however, does not hesitate. She roars in satisfaction. This was thrilling. The push and pull of conversation, the glances, the knowing looks. And to do so while basking in daylight, without shadows to obscure the truth of it?

Intoxicating.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #requests #d&m

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ladadiida · 2 years ago

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𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐤)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 as much as you wanted to stay by his side, you couldn't bear the thought of watching him fall in love with other women while you're stuck at the kitchen washing dishes and measuring ingredients. so you dreamt of leaving, of traveling to different islands to share your lovely songs and tunes; but the more your desire to leave grows, the more sanji finds himself drowning in your warmth. or, you and sanji over the years, wherein five times you tried to leave him and the one time you finally did, despite his refusal to let you go.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 musician reader, 5 + 1 things, pining, unrequited love, not actually unrequited love, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 i swear i cannot escape a brainrot whenever i watch a new show. this automatically wrote itself, i don't even remember how i came up with this idea. anyway, i'm surprised there aren't many sanji fics that involves the unrequited love trope, seeing that it suits him. or maybe that's just me. this is only a SNEAK PEEK though.

𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 full version now published here!

You accepted it years ago.

You accepted the fact that you somehow fell in love with Sanji Vinsmoke along your weird journey of working in a sea restaurant full of former pirates and making music while at it. How the pesky feelings grew and wrapped themselves around your aching heart, you didn't know. Maybe it was when he learned to cook your favorite food and gave it to you afterwards, or the way his crystal blue eyes reminded you of snowflakes every winter.

Or maybe it was when he pulled your hair out of jealousy the moment he learned that Zeff would be taking in another child in his care, but brushed it and even braided it after the latter cleared the misunderstanding. Maybe it was when he supported you in your dreams and told you they weren't silly, maybe it was when he fought off drunk men that were trying to hit on you. Or maybe it was the way his voice would drop an octave lower whenever he asks you for a favor. The list could go on and on and you still wouldn't know the reason why. It doesn't matter anyway. You tripped, you fell, and now you're pining.

Drying off the last of the plates, you washed your own hands after and patted them dry on your skirt. You were the last one to leave the kitchen, the other staff already back in their quarters after a long, exhausting day of cooking. You fixed the signature blue bandana tied in your hair then went on your way towards the upper deck.

You weren't blessed with a talent in cooking, so you offered to do chores instead. Washing the dishes, cleaning the restaurant, and doing the laundry were few of the things you do in the Baratie. You can't say that you enjoy it, but you were beyond grateful that Zeff gave you a chance despite his opposition to let a woman work inside his restaurant.

As you were about to go to the newly laundered clothes you hung on a thin wire earlier that morning, you heard two voices speaking. You also smelled cigarette smoke wafting through the air, and you only knew one person who could be smoking at this hour. Your breath hitched in anticipation.

"You bringing a woman to your bed again, Sanji?" The other person asked playfully, but there was a hint of disbelief in his voice. You carefully took a peek so you won't accidentally reveal yourself and be accused of eavesdropping. Two people came into view with their backs facing you.

"Now, what are you talking about, Patty? I am a gentleman. I only had a nice chat with the lovely lady and escorted her back to her ship." Sanji interjected, a cigarette hanging on his lips.

Patty huffed. "I didn't know that chatting included kiss marks on jawlines."

This caused Sanji to laugh and say, "Not my fault she was charmed by my food."

"The boss man ain't gonna like it when he finds out about this."

"He's not gonna find out." Sanji assured him, wiping off the said kiss mark on his jaw. You stared at him as he did so, and you pitied the woman who planted that kiss, knowing she was just one of the many beautiful ladies Sanji had flirted with before. However, a tinge of pain in your chest said otherwise, taunting you that it was not pity you're feeling, but foul jealousy.

"Why don't you look for more decent women, eh? How about 'little lass' for a change?" Patty suddenly suggested.

It was like someone had hit your stomach with one of the metal pans in the kitchen with the way it lurched in surprise and nervousness. Your heartbeat started to quicken the longer you waited for his response, making your grip on your skirt tighter. In moments like these, you allowed yourself to hope, to wish that he saw something in you and that he finds you beautiful and lovely enough to be the person standing by his side.

But his answer made all that hope crumble down into nothing but dust.

"I don't see her that way." Sanji said after a long stretch of silence, taking a long drag from the cigarette then releasing the smoke in a single breath.

Ah.

You blinked repeatedly, trying to keep the tears from forming. It's always been like this, so why can't you get used to it? Taking a deep breath, you gulped away the knot forming in your throat and decided to leave. You can grab the clothes later.

"You're too kind for him." Someone behind you spoke, making you jump and tense up. Turning around, you saw Zeff looking at you with an unreadable emotion in his eyes and his hands on his hips, almost like he knew your secret. Of course he does. He always sees everything.

You stumbled on your words. "Sir?"

"That boy is always up to something." He began, switching his attention to Sanji. "One minute he's stubbornly immature in the kitchen, and the next he'll be a thirsty man staring at women like they're liquid booze."

Clearing your throat, you forced a smile.

"Well, he can be a lot sometimes." You agreed, remembering the days when the two of you would fight over irrelevant matters. Then you chuckled and continued, "But he's kind. He's gentle, and lovely, like a freshly made poem you keep repeating in your head. But then he's also confusing, hot-headed, and reckless. He's like the sea, isn't he? Calm yet wrapped with mystery, dangerous yet beautiful..."

You trailed off, an unbearable heat rising up your cheeks and neck once you slowly began to realize that you just ranted out your feelings to the head chef. You glanced at him with wide eyes, preparing to see a disgusted look on his face; however, Zeff didn't appear to be repulsed by your little speech. In fact, the corners of his lips were slightly quirked up.

"But I cannot swim. If I were to drown, he wouldn't save me." You quickly added, hoping to shut down the topic.

He sighed. "You will meet someone who deserves you as much as you deserve them, little lass." He simply said. He then laid his hand out, and on his palm was a little box poorly tied with a ribbon. "Here, for you."

Altnough you were a bit confused at the random gift, you accepted it and cradled the box to your chest. "I'll be okay, Zeff." You insisted, grinning cheekily. "When I become famous, I'll sing my songs here in Baratie, and people would flood the restaurant to hear my singing. And to eat your food too, of course."

The head chef nodded, relief flooding his expression. "I look forward to that." He said while awkwardly returning your smile.

That night, when you were sure that everyone in the Baratie was asleep, you opened the loose floorboard on the floors of your bedroom and grabbed the wooden box you kept hidden for a long time now. You opened the lid and began counting the Berry you saved for the past few months.

Tomorrow was the perfect day to leave.

You just can't stay here. Yes, you had a roof over your head, delicious food to eat everyday, and clean clothes to wear but you were so miserable. This wasn't the life you wanted. You wish to go out there, sing your heart out, and fall in love with someone who actually loves you back.

A knock on your door made you freeze. You held your breath as the person on the other side continued to knock a few more times. "You awake?"

Pain surged through your veins, your chest twisting in agony. Sanji.

"You didn't come down for dinner. I guess you're too tired, hmm?" He said, his muffled voice gentle, and the sound almost prompted you to stand up and open the door for him. But you dug your fingernails in your palms and resisted, because you can't just let this opportunity pass by.

You heard a brief clinking sound before Sanji spoke again, "Sweet dreams, ange."

Once his footsteps faded away, you cautiously moved towards your door and opened it as quietly as you can. There, on the floor, was a small plate with a slice of your favorite dessert: angel's food cake, topped with fresh cream and strawberries.

You bent down and saw a note beside the plate. And when you got to read the contents of the note, you burst into tears and sobs that wracked down your entire body.

Happy Birthday

— S.

You ate the cake with tears silently falling down your cheeks, and that was the first time you failed to leave Sanji Vinsmoke.

again, this is only a sneak peek of the actual fic, i'm currently halfway in completing it. please let me know if you want to read it, because i might publish it next week. if not, i'll just drown in sorrow and self-pity.

#opla #opla x reader #opla x y/n #one piece #one piece live action #opla sanji #one piece sanji #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji live action #sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #opla sanji x reader #angst #one piece sanji x reader #ਏਓ ladadiida

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strawberrykidneystone · 6 months ago

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put her canine teeth in the side of my neck

lest x female reader

summary: you’re lest’s favorite client, but her services aren’t free

a/n: yk that saying of the devil works hard but fan fiction writers work harder? yeah.

tags: fluff, making out, dry humping, drug use, lest is transfem, female reader, biting

ao3 version

you tentatively knocked at the door with your hood up over your head, glancing back to make sure no one had followed you. lest opened the door with a hum and stepped to the side, an open invitation that you happily took. shucking off your cloak and setting it on one of the hooks by the front door, you made yourself at home on her couch.

lest was in a comfortable purple skirt with slits up the side and a simple strappy white tank top. she strode into the living room where you were lounging, her hips swaying side to side in a very purposeful way. glancing over to her as she leaned down with an intentional arch in her back, she could feel your eyes burning into her ass. your mouth salivated a little which you embarrassingly gulped down, turning your gaze away quickly as she straightened up. with the shimmer paintbrush in her hand, she kneeled down next to the couch and started painting a twirling pattern on your wrist.

lest continued to paint patterns and gently dragged the paintbrush up your arm, ending with a swirl around your bicep that matched the other patterned brush strokes adorning your skin. a familiar buzz worked its way into your bloodstream as the shimmer traveled through your veins, giving you eyes a purple glow at the peak of your digestion. your body sagged with relaxation and a euphoric sigh left your lips.

currently, you were in lest’s shoebox apartment draped over her velvet flea market couch with faded tassels lining the edges. some were missing while others had very few strings left, but she had the couch re-stuffed and replaced the springs so it felt like new. she usually insisted on traveling to her client's houses instead of letting them into her home, but you were a lifelong friend, so she didn’t mind. maybe a friend was the wrong way of putting it, friends don’t usually kiss.

seeing as you were properly satiated, lest turned to her own vice of smoking through a pipe. while she mainly worked with clients who preferred being painted, she always smoked. if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it you supposed to yourself.

she carefully set the brush into its proper case and stuffed it into her doctors' bag. picking up her pipe from the coffee table, she took a long drag and blew the air straight up. you watched as the purple clouds danced in the air and slowly dissipated as if it were never there in the first place.

was she always this pretty or did the shimmer haze just make her seem more ethereal?

she climbed on all fours onto the couch and straddled your lap. your hands connected to her hips and squeezed the soft flesh. rubbing her sides to slightly pull up her shirt, you softly dug your fingers into her fur and felt her shiver above you. she took a long drag from her glass pipe and blew the purple smoke into your face, which you happily inhaled.

she set the pipe down on the table and started rocking her hips against yours, a soft moan sighed from her lips. leaning forward, she panted her hands on either side of your head. you met her rocking by thrusting your hips up against her, arching your back against the couch and zeroing in on her lips. she chuckled at your eagerness, you were always so needy when you were high.

she pressed her lips against yours, her canines quickly nipping your bottom lip for access into your mouth. the taste of the shimmer smoke flooding your mouth as your tongue danced with hers, her sandpaper-like tongue ticking your wet muscle. you giggled into the kiss and she smiled against your lips.

you felt her bulge pressing against you and you’re sure that she could feel the wetness soaking your underwear that was surely moistening your pants. a loud purring started in her chest as she continued to lazily grind again you, kissing down your neck. she licked up the side of your neck, smirking as you squirmed beneath her and held back your giggles. your hands trailed down her waist and gripped the flesh of her ass, needily bucking up against her with a whine. she scraped her sharp teeth against your neck, sinking them in shallowly at the junction between your neck and your shoulder. you gasped as she sunk her teeth into your skin, pleasure quickly overcoming the initial pain that you felt.

she pulled back and gently licked at the bite mark, burying her face in your neck with a deep sigh. you hummed and closed your eyes, rubbing her back as the tones of her purring slowly lulled you to sleep. while the shimmer was nice in your system, holding lest in your arm was better than any drug.

part 2

#lest arcane #arcane lest #arcane season 2 #lest x reader #lest x female reader #lest x fem reader #reader x lest #arcane #strawberrykidneystone writes #strawberrykidneystone #lest #lest smut

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samkerrworshipper · 1 year ago

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sugar baby | alexia putellas x reader

a big big big thank you to @codiemarin because this fic would not exist without her suggestions and ideas!!! also back from my hiatus (maybe) hope yall enjoy!

warnings: smut 18+ minors dni

This had become normal for you.

Every second night, instead of lying in the comfort of your own sheets or servicing clients in the club you used to work at, you were standing in the kitchen of your newest employer, plating up the takeout that had been chosen for tonight.

Sunday nights were take out nights, because it was typically Alexia’s game night, which meant she was starving by the time she was home and looking for a quick eat. Majority of the time, she was riding on an adrenaline high, which meant one thing, you were in for it.

Sunday’s had very quickly become your favourite night of the week for this reason, Sunday night had expectations, ones that Alexia was extremely specific about.

You were to have dinner done by the time she was home, you were to be wearing whatever lingerie she’d most recently bought for you, the shortest skirt in your wardrobe and your cunt and ass stuffed with the vibrator and butt plug that Alexia required you to wear in preparation before she got home.

Normally, being stuffed exhilarates you, it’s your favourite way to spend your afternoons in Alexia’s apartment, as you aimlessly clean and spend time on Alexia’s balcony reading in the Barcelona sun. Normally, she edges you for hours before she returns home, controlling the vibrator stuffed in your pussy with the app on her phone. Today though, she’s left you stuffed but with no stimulation. It’s equally exhilarating knowing that Alexia is giving you a bit of a break, knowing that it means she’s going to destroy you as soon as she walks through the door.

Alexia after a game is always your favourite version of Alexia, it’s like all of the control issues, the built up adrenaline and exhaustion somehow mix into a perfectly horny Alexia who always managed to make you feel good in all of the worst ways.

You swore that you didn’t hear the door open or Alexia’s footsteps making their way through her apartment, slowly approaching you, too focused on plating up the food and making it look less like it had been crammed into a plastic container and more like it was a home cooked meal. Chances were Alexia couldn’t care less, as long as everything was clean and put away by the time she got home and the food was good then none of it really mattered.

She snuck up on you, her hand gently placing itself on the back of your neck. You did your best not to scream in surprise, instead squealing as quietly as possible at the warm hand that was now pressed firmly against your mostly bare thigh.

Ale’s breath is also equally as warm against your neck, you can tell just by her grip and firmness that it’s been a tough game, a bad day for her standards.

You never check the scores on her matches for this exact reason, it meant that there was always some element of surprise as to how Alexia’s mood was going to be when she arrived home, if it was a good game, an easy game, then she tended to be a bit more mellowed out, floaty and happy on the adrenaline high she was coming off of, bad games however could result in many different versions of Alexia.

“Hola.”

Your voice is croaky, the sudden pressure on the nape of your neck making it harder to enunciate.

“Hola.”

Alexia’s voice is short and scrapy, like she’s been yelling for hours upon hours, which you suppose could be the case.

“Dinner is on the table, from Clarice’s.”

It’s a boutiquey mediterranean place that Alexia loves.

For you, it’s mind boggling that she’s willing to spend such an insane amount of money on food that is only half decent, you suppose, though when you have exorbitant amounts of money you might as well spend it.

“You’re eating with me.”

Alexia doesn’t wait for you to take in her words, she grabs onto the hair at the base of your neck and pulls you towards the dining table, dragging you with her.

You don’t normally eat with Alexia, preferring to talk with her after her games or prepare yourself how she wished for whatever the rest of the night was going to entail, tonight though she seemed to have other plans.

Instead of guiding you into one of the seats at the table like you’d expected though, Alexia took her own seat, before dragging you down to your knees below her.

The floor was hard on your bare knees, not that you actually minded.

Alexia kept her hand in your hair, locked down on a clump of roots at the lowest point of your hairline where your neck and hair met.

She didn’t have to say much, her spare hand tugging at the waistband of her shorts was enough of an indication of exactly what she was expecting you to eat.

Your hands replaced Alexia’s, nails digging into the elastic of her shorts and tugging them down her ass and thighs. You didn’t take your time, not when Alexia was clearly so worked up, you dragged them off of her until they were still pooled at her ankles.

Next you moved onto her panties, taking them off with the same intention as her shorts.

You didn’t waste any time staring at the clear wet patch on Alexia’s panties, or the scuffs and scratches up and down her knees and thighs that told you the game had been rougher than she was letting on.

Her knee was cold, you realised that when your shoulder brushed up against it, like she’d had an ice pack pressed to it until she’d walked into the apartment.

Once her panties were off, you took a second to admire her, spread out directly in front of you.

It was one of your favourite sights, quite possibly your number one.

You started at Alexia’s knee, pressing warm sloppy kisses to the skin on the inside, slowly making your way up to where she wanted you most.

Were you purposely teasing her?

maybe.

It didn’t take long, a couple of wet, rough kisses along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh managing to be enough to earn you a harsh pull of your hair, jerking your head backwards so you were looking up at Alexia.

She has a fork in her hand, clearly enjoying her meal.

“Don’t test me, keep teasing me and you won’t like the consequences.”

Alexia’s voice is definite, if you disobey her then she’s going to punish you, it’s a clear outline of her expectations.

Normally, you’d put yourself right in the middle on the scale of brattiness and submission, maybe teetering a little bit further towards the bratty side.

You knew where to toe the line though.

Praise was something you craved, you didn’t necessarily like to be constantly in trouble, you liked to please people and the easiest way to do that was to obey.

So without much fuss, you gently pulled your head from Alexia’s grip, moving past her thighs and with slight hesitation giving her exactly what she wanted.

You started with one thick, broad stroke, directly through her heat.

She was soaked, like she’d been anticipating this her whole way home, which sent a shiver down your spine.

Alexia pushed you where she wanted, up to her clit, you got the message and started to suck, hard.

It was exactly how Alexia liked it, your teeth grazing her most sensitive place every so often, her hips jerking so slightly when you did.

You weren’t all that surprised when her hand reached from your hair to the place inbetween your shoulders, tapping until you correct your posture.

It was random things like that Alexia was a complete freak over, posture, cleanliness, little stupid things that you couldn’t have cared less about.

Yet for some reason, you found yourself adjusting to how Alexia wanted you, even if it meant your head was that much closer to hitting the bottom of the table and your back was now cramping. It was worth it if it meant that Alexia was more at ease and you could avoid punishment.

Alexia wasn’t a loud lover, on a good day the best you could get out of her was a groan or if it was a really good day then a moan, it wasn’t any surprise to you though if you couldn’t get anything out of her.

Alexia stayed silent, apart from the noises of her slowly making her way through the food you’d plated up for her.

You had become a master of Alexia’s body, it was necessary considering she was so quiet, you knew her tell tale signs and exactly when she was close and how to get her there.

It didn’t take long, it never really did after a game.

You were no scientist or professional as far as women's health went, but you assumed it had something to do with all of the hormones and energy that was built up, it put a person closer to the edge.

You weren’t surprised when Alexia’s thighs slowly began to tighten on either side of your head and her grip on your hair became so tight that you struggled to move against her.

Everything in Alexia’s body tensed up, she went rigid and then finally, without any show at all, she relaxed, her clit throbbing underneath your mouth and thighs relaxing on either side of your head.

As soon as she’d come you moved your mouth down from her clit, cautious of over stimulating her too early and instead moving down to her opening and cleaning up the mess that you’d made.

It might have just been the best dinner you’d ever had.

You keep your mouth on her, not wanting to displease her in any way.

As she’s finishing her food and you lazily kiss and lick her pussy you become progressively more aware of the pooling wet heat that has begun to settle into your panties and is slowly beginning to leak out across your thighs, you feel so full and yet so empty, craving to feel more than the motionless toys that you’ve been stuffed with for hours.

Almost as soon as Alexia is setting her fork down on her plate she’s pushing your head away from her, pushing you back until your ass is sitting on top of the backs of your heels.

“Clean up, I’ll be waiting in the bedroom.”

Before you can nod your head Alexia is already standing, walking off towards her bedroom and leaving you on your knees in front of the chair she’d previously occupied.

With sore knees and arousal dripping all over your face you stood up, collecting Alexia’s empty plate and walking unsteadily towards the sink and washing it off before stacking it into the dishwasher. You do the same with her cutlery before closing the dishwasher and putting away any other mess you’d made and making sure the kitchen was as you’d found it, if Alexia found anything out of place in the morning you knew she’d punish you for it, so you took time making sure every meticulous detail was correct.

Alexia kept her home as she kept herself, organised to an obsessive point, everything had a specific space or place that it had to occupy. She had a dish for the tv remote, an alphabetically sorted spice rack, every painting, picture and frame had to be centred and her wardrobe was sorted into so many different categories that you struggled to comprehend how a person could put together an outfit everyday without having an aneurysm.

Alexia loved it though, and for whatever reason she expected you to uphold her level of cleanliness.

Once you were certain that the room was exactly how Alexia liked it, you began walking towards Alexia’s bedroom, your favourite room in her apartment.

The door was half open, giving you a glance into the space before you stepped foot into the doorway.

The lights were dimmed and whilst you couldn’t see Alexia, you could see the items she’d left out on top of the bed spread and it had you quaking from the inside to out.

The anticipation of actually getting to see Alexia is enough to get you through the door, slowly pushing the door open and allowing yourself to step foot in the room.

It didn’t take long for you to find Alexia, she was standing in the doorway of her wardrobe, hands on her hips and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

She was stark naked, excluding the strap that was hanging from the space in between her legs.

The red dildo was one that you’d never seen before, and for that you were glad.

It looked far larger than anything you’d ever taken with Alexia, there were veins up and down the length of it and the girth alone was intimidating, the length though, the length was enough to make your eyes pop out of your skull.

Alexia looked as smug as ever, the cocky grin on her face and the way that her muscles bulged out just above the strap. Alexia’s got a good body, she knows it, everybody on earth who has a functioning brain knows it. It’s one of your guilty secrets that you get it all to yourself, that you get to see parts of her body that nobody else gets to. You’ve seen thousands of women, super models, athletes, people from all walks of life but you’re fairly certain that nobody would ever come close to Alexia Putellas.

It wasn’t just her body either, it was her demeanour, her aura, everything about her was attractive to you. She was a good person, but she was also a good fuck, the best sex you’d had in your life was with Alexia and you’d worked in a sex club for years. You can’t be taught experience or confidence, it’s something that you have or you don’t and Alexia was the best. You supposed she liked to be the best at everything, the best at football, the best at life, the best at sex. Her strive for perfection in all walks of life never deterred.

“Alexia.”

Alexia pouted at you, her hands anchored at her hips, giving you a full view of her full breasts and her rock hard nipples.

“That’s not what you call me.”

You bit down on your lip, the stickiness between your thighs only getting stickier.

“Daddy.”

Alexia’s smirk broadened, her teeth biting down into her lip.

“Yes baby?”

You felt your pussy quiver, your cheeks reddening.

“It’s to big.”

Alexia’s smirk faded in a matter of seconds, the blonde starting to take steps towards you.

“I don’t like that attitude baby girl, you’ll take what I give you unless you want to make me mad, and I don’t think you want that, hm?”

The condescending voice, the way her eyes looked down at you, the saunter in her steps. If you hadn’t already soaked your thong then it was now.

“Daddy, it’s huge.”

Alexia nodded, like you were telling her what day it was instead of talking about the appendage that was attached to her hips.

“Wanna say that again? Wanna make me mad? Wanna put me in an even worse mood than that game did, because I recall that your one job is to do the exact opposite.”

She’s right, you were quite literally employed by her as a means for her to manage her stress. It had started at the club you’d worked at, Alexia spending half of her week in the shitty mildewy basement of a run down sex club in Barcelona just to enjoy your company. Eventually she was spending more time paying for your time at the club than at her own home and that was when she made the decision to give you a proposition, one you’d accepted happily.

“No daddy.”

Alexia nods her head, taking the final step to bridge the gap between the two of you.

“That’s what I thought princesa, now how about you lie back on the bed for me, you know how I like you.”

You didn’t hesitate, brushing past Alexia and straight to her bed, climbing on top of the covers as gracefully as you could manage, trying to give Alexia a show as you crawled your way to the top of the bed. Once you made it to the pillows you flipped onto your back, opening your legs for Alexia and keeping still as she liked you.

Alexia peered down at you, admiring the clear wet patch that was embedded in your thong. It was a sight that she was equally as grateful for every time she got to see it, the evidence that you were just as needy and worked up as she was, that you were equally as desperate for her as she was for you.

“So wet princesa, is that all for me? Does your perfect little pretty cunt get worked up at the thought of me?”

She knows the answer, she only asks you to try and get a kick out of you, to rile you up and try and get you to brat back at her, you know her tricks and you know that it’s best to answer her with some kind of submissive variation.

“Yes daddy.”

Alexia moves her way around to the side of the bed, leaning over to reach for your chin, her index finger pointing it up so you’re looking at her eye-to-eye.

“You’ve been good today? Doing as I asked and not touching what belongs to me?”

You shake your head obediently, you’ve learnt from experience that disobeying Alexia is the worst possible thing you could do, for starters the woman always seems to find the truth anyways and she’s more creative than most with her punishment tactics.

“Yes daddy, I’m always good for you.”

Alexia smirks big and wide, her grip on your chin tightening.

“I’ll be the decider of that. What colour are you princesa?”

You take a big deep breath before answering Alexia, composing yourself to give her a proper answer.

“Green, daddy.”

Alexia nods, her fingers staying on your chin with a grip that you couldn’t even try to escape.

“How are you feeling about being tied up baby?”

You thought about the question for a few seconds.

“Fine, I’m green daddy, I’ll let you know if I don’t like anything.”

Alexia smiles, softer, less aggressively domineering.

“That’s what I like to hear, what are your rules?”

You almost roll your eyes, almost.

Alexia’s made you memorise them, you know them like you know the colour of your eyes and the surface of your palm.

“I know my rules daddy.”

Alexia’s soft smile reverts to the harsh line, the same one you’d been met with when she’d found you in the kitchen.

“I didn’t ask if you knew them, I asked you to tell me them. Don’t make me have to punish you when you’ve been so well behaved so far, what are your rules, slut?”

Alexia’s grip turns into a bruising hold, her finger tips digging into the skin of your chin bone.

“No touching myself without permission. No talking without permission unless I’m spoken to. No cumming without permission. Use my safewords if I want to stop at any time. No moving unless you tell me too. If you tell me to do something, do it.”

Alexia nods, climbing onto the bed beside you and hovering her face just inches above yours.

“There’s my good girl, you can be good if you want to, huh?”

Once again, you do your very best to shrug off the condescension in Alexia’s words, smiling at her and simply nodding your head.

“Yes daddy.”

Alexia leans down, pulling your bottom lip with her teeth before your lips even begin to meet hers. Everything about the kiss is as controlled as Alexia, she goes at her own pace, deepening it when and however she likes, eventually pushing her tongue into your mouth.

It’s slower than you’d like, and with both of your holes still stuffed but unstimulated it’s ten times harder to endure, but you assume that’s Alexia’s doing, she’s trying to get you as riled up as possible, although you are unsure of her endgame.

“You look so pretty with my cum all over your face baby, I taste divine if I do say so myself.”

Alexia’s fingers begin to trail down your body, over the top of the lace that your breasts are confined to and straight down to the waistband of your panties, gently brushing over your hips before her hand dipped below the wet lace and swiped through your heat two times, collecting as much arousal as she could without touching any of the places that you were yearning for her the most.

Alexia’s hands are gone almost as quickly as they arrived, her hand creating a gap in between the kiss. Her fingers replace your lips, her index and middle finger being pushed into her mouth.

The way that Alexia sucks, nips and licks at her fingers is simply mesmerising, you're in a trance watching her.

“Such a fucking filthy slut, all wet from getting daddy off, huh? You taste magnificent, baby.”

The mixture of praise and degrading has your head spinning in circles, all of the different words mixing inside your head, sending you into that perfect headspace that Alexia always managed to drift you into.

“Open.”

Alexia’s fingers, now wet with her slobber, tapped at your chin and without any hesitation whatsoever you opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out.

Within seconds, Alexia was spitting into your mouth, directly onto your waiting tongue.

“Swallow.”

You obey her once again, swallowing the spit on your tongue, faintly tasting your own arousal mixed in.

“How do you taste, baby?”

You focus on swallowing properly before answering Alexia.

“Horny, daddy.”

Alexia rolls her eyes before landing a sharp but playful slap to the inside of your thigh, plastering it with more wetness.

“Behave and maybe I’ll do something about it.”

Alexia’s lips don’t return to yours, instead they hover just far enough out of reach that you can’t connect yours with hers.

Alexia lifts herself up and off the mattress, walking over to the pile of different toys she’s left out on the bench at the foot of the bed and picking out a set of silk ties.

She walks back over to you, reaching for your wrists and knotting the silk around them before reaching up to the posts on each side of your bed and securing your wrists to them. Once she’s done she nods at you to check them, you move your wrists accordingly, testing her bonds.

They’re tight and methodically done, immobilising you how Alexia wishes, but they’re also loose enough that if you really tried you’d be able to escape them without much effort.

Once Alexia’s satisfied with her knotwork she walks back over to her pile, picking out a few items that she keeps hidden from you.

Alexia crawls her way back up the mattress, stop halfway up your body and opting to pull the sticky panties off of you, she peels them off of you, slowly tugging them down your hips until they’re sitting at your ankles. Alexia trails her fingers back up a long your legs, tracing little white lines across your skin with her nails as they made their way back up to the space that your panties had previously covered.

Alexia didn’t touch anything, instead she gently began to tug at the vibrator nestled deep inside of you, it’s lying painfully motionless inside of you and whilst you were more than happy to be filled up with something, it’s almost a relief having it removed.

“Such a good girl staying stretched out for daddy, hmm?”

You nod your head at Alexia, trying your hardest to keep your composure as she gently traces the tissue around your hole, never dipping inside though.

“Such a pretty little pussy, so perfect for daddy to stretch out and play with.”

You suck in a deep breath as Alexia’s hand comes down in a firm but quick slap, the pain flashing across your most sensitive areas.

Your back arches, a few months ago you would have been embarrassed that your body was seeking out that kind of contact but with Alexia that all changed, how could you feel embarrassed when she looked and talked about your body like it was created by God himself.

Her hand comes down again, this time more targeted towards your clit, it takes everything you have to turn the scream that was ready in your chest into a groan.

“Be as loud as you want, princesa, it’s not going to make me stop and it’s not going to make your body dislike what I’m doing to you.”

Alexia’s hand comes down again, the squelchy slap ringing out across the room, this time it’s more targeted directly at your stretched out hole. This time you let out something that sounds more like a ringed out scream, your vocal cords unable to truly suppress the extreme amounts of pain and pleasure that are being sent through the nerve receptors across your cunt.

Another two slaps fall in quick succession and by the end of both of them you’re groaning and moaning as much as your lungs will allow, hips chasing any contact you can possibly get or find.

“Such a little pain slut aren’t you, desperate for any kind of contact daddy will give you, you take it so well princesa.”

Alexia places gentle kisses across your hips and thighs, it’s nice, but it’s nowhere near what you want from her.

“Ale, please.”

Alexia’s lips move from your skin almost immediately, her head jerking up to look at you, her brows knitted in annoyance.

“It��s daddy to you, slut. The only noises I want to hear coming from your mouth are the sweet little sounds that you make when I’m touching you, understood?”

You nod your head, well aware that too much disobedience will earn you a very sore ass and no relief for the night.

Alexia reaches down to her pile at the end of the bed, picking up something that you don’t get a look at.

You find out quick enough, when you hear the whirring of a vibrator and seconds later it’s pressed directly against your sore and puffy clit.

Your body thrashes in reply almost immediately, it’s a painful overstimulation that your body was most definitely not ready for.

Your back arches and thighs clench, even though it’s clear that there is no escaping the forced contact, Alexia’s hand stays steady, pressing the vibrator down hard against your bud. Eventually, the vision blurring pain begins to subside, and your sent into the most unpleasurable slow lead up to your orgasm.

You were close nonetheless, and frighteningly aware that the chances of Alexia giving you an orgasm right now were slim and even if she did it was going to be possibly the least pleasurable one she could give you.

You didn’t need to wait long to find out, Alexia sensing your impending orgasm pulled away, giving you a chance to take a deep breath, a mere second.

A second long reprieve was all you got before she laid down another two quick slaps against your clit.

You screamed. As loud as your vocal cords would allow, you screamed. If the overstimulation before had been too much then now it was completely incomprehensible. There was an accumulation of sweat on your forehead similar to the pool of wetness accumulated between your thighs.

Alexia gave you another second to breathe, before the vibrator was pressed straight back against your clit, making you scream once again, your vision full of white as your body shook from the pure pain you were going through.

Alexia wasn’t wrong when she called you a pain slut, it was why she’d frequented you so much at the club, it was why she paid you so much for your company. Not a lot of people could take the amount of pain you were willing to, and still find it pleasurable, yet you loved every single second of it, or you loved the result that always came after taking some pain.

Alexia always made it worth your while, and she knew where your limit was.

“So perfect bebita, taking what I’m giving you, you’re so wet princesa.”

Alexia’s finger trailed down to your hole, briefly dipping inside and collecting some of the wetness. She smeared it across the flat part of your stomach, leaving a long trail of your arousal against your stomach.

“Can you feel that princesa? My little pain slut, hmm? Getting all soaked over me abusing your cunt. How’s it feel?”

It’s hard to talk and articulate what you’re feeling considering how much your body is being affected by the painful overstimulation Alexia is putting you through.

“Good daddy, so fucking good.”

Alexia smirks, silently proud of herself and silently just as proud of you.

“Mm, you reckon you can take another two for me baby? Another two edges and then you’ll get a reward, can you do it for daddy?”

You actually weren’t sure if you could, maybe another one, but two seemed like it could be teetering on the edge of too much. Alexia realised your apprehension before you managed to voice it, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“Let’s try for another one and see how you feel, hmm? You’ve been so good for me princesa, if it’s too much let me know and we’ll stop or take a break.”

The soft Alexia fades as soon as you nod your head, the determination on your face returning, you didn’t want to disappoint Alexia and you didn’t want to tap out unless you were seriously struggling, so you tried to control yourself as much as possible and focus on the lesser sensations.

It didn’t take long for you to get close once again, once the pain subsided you were left with pure pleasure, pleasure that was almost as blinding as the pain that you had previously been experiencing.

As soon as it starts to be perfectly, consumingly good, the vibrator is taken from you and your overwhelmed with the pain of Alexia’s hand coming down on your pussy again. This time around she’s kind enough to spread her hit across your whole sex, instead of targeting your clit, the pain is there all the same though.

“What’s your colour, princesa?”

You take a few seconds to reply, focusing on taking a couple of deep breaths whilst you wait for the immediate pain to pass.

“Green, I’m green daddy.”

Alexia reaches up to press another soft kiss to your lips, her lips linger on top of yours.

“You feel like you can go for another one? I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”

You take your time replying to her, enjoying the feeling of her lips pressed to yours and the vibrations that would spread across yours whenever she breathed.

“I can go again.”

You could feel Alexia’s lips perk up against yours, a smirk growing on her face.

She keeps her lips pressed to yours as she brings the vibrator back to your clit, making it a little bit more bearable.

Alexia’s lips stay connected to yours the whole time, the scream and moans being pushed straight against her lips as you work through the pain and pleasure coming straight from your core. As soon as you’ve begun to get closer to the edge, it’s gone and just like every other time, you’re hit with an overwhelming pain as Alexia’s hand comes down one final time.

Her lips leave yours as you groan and try to process the overstimulation that you can feel radiating across your lower half.

The pain is soothed by Alexia’s tongue, her lips and tongue flattening out across your puffy clit, it mellows out the pain slightly, but simultaneously begins to push you back towards the edge that you were so desperate to get over but also be away from.

Your hips cant up as a reflex, a reflex that is quickly put to rest as one of Alexia’s hands pushes down against your hips, keeping you pressed against the mattress.

“Stay still and let me clean you up princesa.”

Alexia’s tongue gently traced it’s way around your cunt, lapping at the wetness and getting as much of it on her tongue as possible. Her spare hand pushed it’s way underneath you, locating the forgotten butt plug nestled between your cheeks and gently tugging at it.

While her mouth doesn’t provide any real kind of pleasure, the tugging and twisting of the toy in your ass certainly does. Alexia’s been stretching you out for weeks, it’s been a slow process, but worth it, it’s elevated your experiences with her that extra bit, to the point where you could probably come solely from her playing with your ass. You’ve got no doubt that one day she’ll want to try it and when that day comes around you’ll be more than happy to oblige her, there was something so much more special and sacred about having her play with your ass in ways that nobody else had. You were no anal virgin, working at a sex club meant that you’d experimented more than the average person but never in the ways that Alexia managed to, even now that the two of you were months into your situation she still managed to surprise you by introducing new things.

Alexia didn’t wait for you to get to the edge, she needed you to stay conscious and she was fairly certain another edge might put you too far into subspace, to the point where you weren’t coherent enough for her to be using how she wanted to. Right now, you seemed to be floating in that perfectly obedient place where you typically fell after some proper exertion, compliant enough to do anything Alexia wanted. It was her favourite place to have you.

You mewled at Alexia as she pulled away, stripping off the rest of her clothes and leaving them in a neatly stacked pile at the foot of the bed before reaching for the strap she’d left on the edge of the bed and fastening it around her hips with practised ease. It was a new dildo that she had attached to the strap, larger than she’d had you take before, she was well aware that it might be a bit to big for you, but she was also excited to see if you were up for it.

Alexia crawled her way in between your legs, pressing the silicone cock flat against your stomach before pressing her lips to your neck, reaching behind you to take off the bra that was still attached to you. She keeps her lips attached to the skin across your chest, marking you up just how she liked to. Alexia loved the fact that you were all hers, hers to mark up, hers to order around, hers to come home to.

“Daddy, please.”

With the feeling of silicone pressed against your stomach and Alexia’s lips sucking deep purple marks along your collarbones, it was hard to not be insanely desperate, especially considering just how much she’d focused on working you up.

“I’ve got you princesa, daddy’s going to make you feel so good.”

Alexia finishes with one last hickey before pushing herself up onto her elbows, giving herself a better view of you.

“Gonna give you your reward princesa, gonna make you feel so good.”

Alexia leans back, positioning herself in between your legs and lining herself up with you, slowly beginning to work her way in.

The groan that you let out as Alexia slowly starts to thrust the length into you. Simultaneously, as she’s slowly working her way in, she reaches down, tugging at the plug still slotted inbetween your cheeks.

It seems to be the right move, because your body practically melts from the mixed stimulation, making it that much easier for Alexia to ease her way in, your body pretty much opening up for her.

Just as she bottoms out, she tugs at the plug, pulling it out and replacing it with her fingers.

You moan in a way that Alexia’s never heard before, your whole body vibrates along with the moan, like your whole body is generating the sound.

It only spurs Alexia on.

Once she’s certain that you’re comfortable with the length and width of the strap, she starts to quicken her pace, rocking her hips against yours, her fingers following the same pace. Alexia nudges your legs just a bit further apart and a bit higher up, giving her a better angle to start properly fucking you.

Alexia is mesmerised by the feeling of being inside of you in two different places, she hadn’t planned this for tonight, but she’s so grateful that it happened because it feels different in all of the best ways.

She roughens her pace as you seemingly begin to get closer, your body jerking to meet Alexia for every single thrust.

“D-Daddy, fuck, please.”

Alexia quickens her pace, beginning to roughen her thrusts.

“Hold on for me baby, wait till I’m ready and we’ll come together.”

You bite down on your lip hard, the double penetration is making you feel things that you’ve never felt before and you feel like you're about to explode in more ways than one.

“Please daddy, need to come.”

Alexia nods her head, desperate to get herself to the edge so that she can ride it out with you.

“I know baby, just a little bit longer, daddy’s got you.”

Alexia leans down, pressing a kiss to your jaw and pistoning her hips as hard as possible, getting enough friction against her clit for her own orgasm to begin to grow, the coil in her stomach beginning to tighten.

“Go ahead baby, come with daddy, I’ve got you.”

It doesn’t take long before you’re plummeting over the edge, your orgasm hitting you like a semi-truck, quite literally.

You go boneless immediately, all the pent up pleasure and pain finally coursing it’s way throughout your veins and all the nerves inside of you lighting up like a christmas tree.

Alexia’s orgasm isn’t as strong but it hits her all the same, she pulls out slowly before collapsing on top of you, slotting her head into the crook of your neck and letting the both of you come down.

When your body stops shaking and your breathing evens out, Alexia lifts herself off of you, pulling the strap off of herself before lying down next to you and bringing you into her arms, allowing you to come down in her arms.

The skin to skin contact does wonders for you, sending you into a warm cloud of post sex happiness as you burrow your way into Alexia’s neck, trying your hardest to jump inside of her skin.

“Princesa.”

You try your hardest to ignore Alexia, opting to attach yourself to her.

“Princesa, c’mon you need to get up.”

Alexia doesn’t have the heart to actually try and lift you off of her, but she does have a brain that is telling her that there are things that need to be done before she can enjoy your company in her sheets.

“Princesa, go to the bathroom, I’ll fetch us both some water from the kitchen and then we can have cuddles, okay?”

You groan into Alexia’s neck, clearly displeased with her suggestion but also forcing yourself off of Alexia to do as she’s asked, knowing that it is the logical thing to do.

“I want cuddles when I get back, proper cuddles.”

Alexia rolls her eyes.

“I don’t pay you for cuddles.”

It’s lighthearted, a joke that has you even rolling your eyes.

“No but you probably should, I’m a pretty awesome cuddler.”

Alexia snorts, nodding her head, it’s true.

“Cuddles once you pee and drink some water, okay? I’ll even sleep in an extra hour for you, how does that sound?”

It’s an offer you’ve got no business denying.

“Meet you back in bed?”

Alexia nods her head, already making her way into the kitchen.

“I’ll meet you there.”

———————————————————————

anyways this fic was written in three different countries and i sooo can’t be fucked with editing it so sorry if you experienced the after math of that!!! love yall and hope you enjoyed this 🫶

#woso #woso community #sammykworshipper thoughts #daddy alexia putellas #alexia putellas smuttt #alexia putellas is mom #sugar daddy alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso smut #feral #i’m unhinged

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brokenmenswhore · 10 days ago

Note

HEAR ME OUT.

sirius black, with a fisting AND praise kink

(Plz...im begging...)

all five | sirius black

pairing: sirius black x fem!reader

warnings: not proofread, smut (MDNI 18+), fingering, fisting

a/n: i’m running out of dorian gray gifs y’all are about to learn how bad i wanna fuck billy russo

────── ☾ ──────

The first time Sirius touched you, you could have sworn you saw whatever version of god there might be.

The music was blasting, Remus and Sirius's collection of muggle vinyl records spinning round and round as the holiday home bumped with the energy of almost every single student in your year drunk dancing like it was their last night alive.

You downed another one of your cups, your seat atop Sirius's lap growing more and more uncomfortable as his jeans pushed further and further into your legs.

You shifted to get comfortable, but had trouble, and apparently it went on too long for Sirius.

"Stop fuckin' squirming, you're making me hard," he whispered in your ear, gripping your hips to still you in place.

You giggled. "Am I supposed to feel bad about that?" you whispered in return.

Sirius grinned darkly. "Don't fuckin' play with me. You don't know me very well if you don't think I'll fuck you right here in front of everybody."

You met his eyes for a moment, and you could see his lust clouding them. You sat in anticipation for a moment, teasing him without doing a single thing, before you turned back to the group, saying, "I'll be right back."

Sirius watched you, his breathing slightly heavy, as you marched off to the downstairs restroom.

It took mere minutes for Sirius to follow you. He swung open the door without a care in the world.

You had wanted him to follow you, obviously, as you leaned against the sink counter with your arms crossed. "You need something, Black?"

Sirius stepped closer and closer to you until your bodies were nearly touching. "I'd say."

Sirius gripped your hips and roughly spun your body, pressing the front of your hips against the sink counter. He slapped your ass hard and said, "smartass."

"You'd be bored otherwise," you smiled.

"Get your fucking leg up," Sirius said frantically, lifting your leg until you had one knee propped up on the counter, your leg off to the side, while your other leg kept you standing.

Your skirt was short enough that it rolled up to your waist with the movement of your body, leaving your underwear exposed to Sirius.

He ran a finger along your clothed center, eliciting a breathy moan from your lips.

“Lock the door, Siri."

"Or what, hm?" he teased, pulling your underwear to the side and running a finger between your folds, causing you to throw your head back in pleasure, "everyone'll hear you in a minute either way."

"What are you doing?" you asked as he began to circle your clit with his fingers.

"I'm touching you, baby. Gonna make you come all over my fingers, hm?"

"Fuck, Siri, that's so good," you whined when he picked up the pace.

"Yeah? You like it when I touch you?"

He moved his fingers even lower, circling your entrance before inserting a finger into you. "How about this, hm?"

You just moaned in response, pressing your torso down onto the sink counter.

"Up," Sirius said, pulling your hair so that your back arched and you had no choice but to watch him in the mirror.

He made eye contact with you in the mirror, saying, "tell me how good it feels."

You blushed in embarrassment, opening your mouth to try to force the words out, but you were unable.

Sirius slowly added another finger, and said again, “tell me how good it feels.”

Whining through the words, you said, "fuck, Siri, so fucking good."

The moment you were done, Sirius picked up the pace, fucking his fingers into you quicker and quicker as you fought to keep your eyes open in the mirror.

Sirius slightly curled his fingers, causing you to cry out at the pleasure of the spot he was now hitting. "Shit, you're so fucking good at this," you gasped.

Sirius pressed his body as close to yours as he could, his arm the only thing between your bodies. He met your gaze in the mirror, and you grew even wetter as you saw the look in his eyes.

He continued to move in and out of you, your back slightly arching as your core squeezed Sirius's fingers.

"Yes, fuck, right there," you moaned, and Sirius began to move his hand even faster.

The look in his eyes darkened, and the lust was filled with determination and neediness. Every time you praised him, he got hotter and hotter. He clearly liked it.

"Siri, you're so fucking good at this, I'm gonna come," you moaned, trying to sound as seductive as you could.

"Yeah? You gonna come already?"

Feeling how hot and vigorous he became from just a little praise was pulling you closer and closer to the edge. "Can't help it," you whimpered, "so fucking good."

Sirius started to hit your sweet spot, causing whines and moans to fall from your lips uncontrollably.

"That's it, baby, let me hear you."

You nearly screamed as you came. Despite Sirius's attempts to pleasure you to the point of moaning loud enough that everyone heard you, but the music and dialogue was loud enough that you doubted anyone heard you.

Sirius pulled his fingers out of you, guiding your leg back down to the floor slowly and gently. He continued to stare at you in the mirror as he put his fingers in his mouth, tasting you and humming in satisfaction.

"You're sweet," Sirius said, turning your head to kiss you, "gonna need to taste you again soon."

────── ☾ ──────

Despite your heated bathroom fingering, you and Sirius only fucked once or twice the rest of holiday, and returned to Hogwarts with the rest of the group. Though Sirius didn’t care if people were around, you did, and it was hard to be hot and heavy when your friends were always around.

Your friends, specifically.

Because Sirius didn’t care if people you didn’t know were around.

Horny and desperate from the lack of sex, Sirius decided that he had enough of waiting until you were alone.

“What’re you doing?” you whispered, leaning into Sirius as his hands toyed with the hem of your house-colored skirt.

He shushed you, turning back to your professor, “pay attention, we’re in class, damn.”

“But-“

Your breath caught in your throat when he fully dipped his fingers beneath your underwear, his hand and wrist disappearing beneath your skirt.

“Sirius-“

“Sh! Big exam coming up.”

“I’m gonna slap that smirk off of your face-“

You shut up quickly when Sirius plunged a finger into you without warning, hiding your emotions behind a cough.

Sirius’s smirk only grew at your reaction.

He began to pump his finger in and out, curling to add to the pleasure as you tried your best not to make a noise, or squirm in your seat and draw attention to the pair of you. You were failing miserably.

“Sit still,” Sirius whispered, his tone serious and demanding.

“In case you didn’t notice, you’re currently fingering me,” you snapped back.

“Barely,” Sirius sighed, nonchalant as ever as he added another finger, “now I’m fingering you.”

You nearly jolted off of the stool, but quickly recovered. The stool slid against the ground quickly, causing a harsh noise to echo through the otherwise somewhat quiet classroom.

“Everything okay, Y/L/N?” Your professor called out, the attention of the room turning toward you.

“Yes, perfectly fine, sorry,” you said, straining your voice to sound normal.

Sirius leaned in and whispered in your ear, “pretty fucking wet, didn’t even have to prep you. You like this, hm? You like it when I fuck you with my fingers where anyone can see? All they’d have to do is look close enough.”

“Siri-“

Sirius turned his attention back to the front of the room, completely ignoring any plea or attitude-filled look you gave him as he continued to finger you.

He was pulling you closer and closer to the edge, and closer and closer into an addiction of the feeling of his fingers inside of you.

────── ☾ ──────

The moment you had gotten back to the dorms, Sirius threw you onto his mattress, crawling over you like a predator and pressing his hips against yours.

"Decency! Decency!" James yelled, covering his eyes as if he had seen something grotesque.

Sirius didn't seem to care about his friends, since he completely ignored James and started licking and sucking at your neck.

"Sirius," you hummed, trying to get his attention, "Sirius, literally everyone is looking."

Sirius tilted his head backward, and he saw James, Peter, and Remus all looking directly at the pair of you.

"Something' interesting?" Sirius asked.

"I mean, yeah," Remus shrugged, gesturing toward you two, "what's the plan, Pads, you just fuckin' her in front of us now?"

Sirius smiled. "I'd leave the room if I were you."

"It's our dorm too-"

"Peter, seriously, leave the room."

Remus started laughing. "C'mon, Peter, he'll only be like ten minutes," he teased.

Sirius threw a pillow at Remus as the boys left the room.

"You can't just kick everyone out!" you giggled.

"Oh, yes I can," he said, kissing you before moving lower and lower, taking residence nuzzled in your neck.

You tilted your head back to give him easier access to your skin, sighing in pleasure as he grinded against you.

In between kisses, and so low it was nearly a mumble, Sirius spoke into your ear, "can I touch you, sweetness?"

You smiled. "Isn't it time I return the favor?"

Sirius shot upward, looking into your eyes. He was deadly serious as he said, "no."

"But-"

"I don't want you to return the favor, I want you to scream my name and come around my fingers. I want to make you feel good, baby, please let me."

Your breath hitched in your throat. "I feel bad."

Sirius dipped his head and sighed. "Trust me, telling me you feel good is enough for me right now, yeah?"

With that, Sirius pushed your skirt high, pressing two fingers on your folds through the cloth of your undergarments.

You nodded your head yes for consent, and Sirius teased you over the fabric, running a finger between your folds and soaking up your growing wetness.

“Siri, please,” you gasped.

“I’m just not sure you want it.”

“Please touch me, Sirius, I want it so bad,” you begged.

“I just don’t know. I’m not convinced.”

You sighed in frustration at his teasing. “Please, Siri, I need you to make me come.”

“Atta girl,” he said, pulling your undergarments to the side and circling your clit softly. You let out a heavy breath that you weren’t aware you were holding in, relishing in the pleasure of Sirius’s touch.

He continued to suck on your neck as he inserted two fingers inside of you right off the bat. You moaned loudly, and Sirius grinned wickedly as he watched your face contort.

“Not expecting so much, hm?” he taunted.

“Fuck,” was all you could say as you threw your head back and ground your hips, pushing his fingers even deeper within you as you clenched around them.

“That’s it, baby, pull ‘em back in to you,” he said, “you need a little more?”

Your eyes widened. “I- don’t know if I can fit more.”

Sirius smiled. “I could fit all five if you asked, baby.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Yeah, right.”

Sirius didn’t remove his fingers from you, but stilled them. “Was that sarcasm I heard?”

You smiled, pushing some sweat-slicked hair from your face and adjusting against the pillow as you said, “you do not have small hands, Siri, I appreciate your faith in me, but there’s no way in hell you could possibly fit all five in me.”

Sirius tilted his head like a puppy. “You wanna bet?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“My fist can’t possibly stretch you out more than my cock does.”

You playfully smacked his arm. “You’re filthy.”

“Is that a no?”

“No.”

“Is that a yes?”

You stayed silent in nervousness.

“Baby, I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want. Our little bickering dynamic aside, if you don’t wanna try, then we don’t try. No big deal. I have a vivid imagination for a reason- I’ll be fine. I won’t be mad.”

You smirked. “You puttin’ words in my mouth now, Black?”

Sirius raised his eyebrows.

You shifted your hips to try to get any sense of friction, but Sirius wasn’t giving in. He tsked, meeting your eyes with intent. “What am I doin’, baby.” It wasn’t a question, but more an invitation to say yes or no.

“You wanna fuck me with all five, then do it. A girl can’t lay here forever.”

Sirius smiled. “Just gimme a solid yes first.”

“Yes, Merlin’s sake, Sirius, do it, please.”

Sirius resumed his movements, curling his fingers slightly before moving them in and out again.

His face close to yours, he watched your reaction as he very slowly added a third finger.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re wet enough for this already, huh?” he teased.

“Mhm,” you moaned, “all for you.”

Sirius groaned as he leaned down to kiss you, the muscles in his arm flexing as he fucked you with his fingers.

You pulled away briefly to whisper, “more.”

Sirius moaned at the word, your back arching and his eyes on you as he stilled, then slowly inserted a fourth finger into you.

Your brows furrowed as you held your breath, waiting until you felt him stagnant to cry out at the stretching.

Moving slowly, Sirius said, “y’know, when I had you all spread open at that party, watchin’ how you felt when I added another finger, I thought fuck, she’d fucking love some more. Now, here you are, beggin’ me for it. Knew you’d look so pretty with my fist inside of you.”

You grabbed his hair and pulled him closer to you, pressing your lips against his for an extra layer of intimacy as he continued to stay slow, letting you adjust to nearly his entire hand. He had moved quickly, and now was giving you time to get used to it.

Your moans became higher and higher pitched, your eyes fighting to open as your body completely gave herself over to Sirius’s mercy.

You began to grind your hips in slow, tight circles, moaning even louder at the extra pleasure it gave you.

“Merlin, Sirius, you feel so fucking good,” you moaned, “so fucking good.”

“Yeah? You want more?” Sirius breathed out.

“Please, please,” you whimpered, “need more, please.”

“Open wider for me, angel.”

You hadn’t even realized you were pressing your legs against his arm as you pried your legs apart, spreading them as far as you comfortably could.

Both you and Sirius looked between your bodies to where he inserted the last finger, your head slamming back against the pillow as you tried to catch your breath.

“Fuck,” Sirius said, eyes trained to the site.

“Holy shit,” you gasped.

Sirius growled. “I fucking love being right.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Not very nice,” he pouted, moving his fist inside of you ever so slightly and then stopping again.

“Not fair,” you breathed through shudders.

“Tell me how it feels,” he demanded.

“Full,” you admitted.

“Yeah? You like it when I touch you and fill you up?”

You nodded your head, your chest rising and falling less and less as you caught your breath.

“Move, Siri, please,” you said, and Sirius started off slowly again, giving you time to adjust to a pace before quickening it.

“Yes, fuck, right there,” you moaned, and Sirius moved slightly faster.

The transparency of his need to be told he was doing a good job was dangerously hot.

“Good boy,” you whimpered.

Sirius dipped his head and took a deep breath like he couldn’t believe what you just said, his fist instinctively fucking you even faster in appreciation.

“You’re making me feel so good, Siri.”

He couldn’t help it. He moved even faster.

You cried out at the pace, your hands holding onto Sirius’s arm as his muscles flexed in a consistent rhythm.

“Keep talking,” Sirius pleaded, pressing his hips against the side of your thigh and bucking, chasing his own high.

“I love the way you touch me, Sirius, please don’t stop.”

Sirius moved even faster, pushing as deep into you as he could possibly go.

“You’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that,” you said, moans so loud you were nearly screaming.

“Yeah? You admit I was right?”

Your back arched into his touch. “Yes, fuck, you were right, Sirius, you were right, you feel so good.”

Sirius was rubbing himself against your leg desperately, his hips moving in tandem with his hand, which was moving expertly fast.

“Shit, shit, Siri,” you gripped his bicep, unable to control yourself or your movements as you squirmed beneath him.

“That’s it, that’s it,” he egged you on, feeling you squeeze around him.

You kissed him to keep your moans at bay as you came, Sirius quickly pulling his fist out of you so that he could see the arousal leak out of you.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he said, looking at his hand, which glistening with your juices.

Sirius quickly reached inside of his trousers, using the hand that was inside you moments ago to touch himself to completion in a matter of seconds.

You giggled. “You must really be into me, huh?”

Sirius, out of breath and sweaty as well, said “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

#asks #marauders #marauders era #sirius black #sirius black smut #sirius black x y/n #sirius black fluff #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagines #sirius black fanfic #harry potter

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urcoolgf · 5 days ago

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INTRODUCING . . . SWEETHEART¡READER

sweetheart¡reader who . . . is a dramatic, spoiled, (kind of fragile) pillow princess, && a big money spender. she’s a self-care girl, && spends most of her nights doing face masks, hair care, skin care, body scrubs, basically everything to make herself the best (most softest) version of herself.

sweetheart¡reader who . . . looooves all things pink, && girly, && shimmery. her room is straight out of a fairytale, && her closet? to die for. she’s got all the 2000’s lacy babydoll tees, the short skirts, && bejeweled low-rise jeans. her shoe collection is a sight to behold, && her boyfriend is more than happy to add to it.

sweetheart¡reader who . . . learned to do makeup young, which resulted in perfecting the routine early on. when she first met her boyfriend he was sure she was straight from heaven. his little angelic sweetheart who he will happily supply with his credit card when she needs (or wants) any more makeup, or self care things .ᐟ

sweetheart¡reader who . . . is a big spring / summer girl who loves a good tan. but of course, she takes all the necessary precautions to keep herself / her skin looking perfect, soft, && young.

sweetheart¡reader who . . . cat person all the way just because they’re soft && gentle (&& mainly because they are low maintenance with the best cuddly reward). thankfully, her lovely boyfriend gifted her her dream kitty just a few weeks into dating && she’s treasured her ever since.

sweetheart¡reader who . . . is an innocent attention whore—emphasis on innocent. she’s all big doe eyes, soft pink lips, && perfectly blushed cheeks. she’s quick to give him ‘that look’ when he’s been on the game for too long, stays with his friends for more than a couple hours, or comes home late. she knows just how to make him feel sorry enough for her to drop to his knees as an apology.

sweetheart¡reader who . . . was gifted a ‘R’ necklace a couple days after they met, && hasn’t taken it off since. he loves it—the control, the possession—&& she doesn’t mind being claimed when it comes with the love, && passion that is. . . rafe cameron.

sweetheart¡reader who . . . is a lover of sitcoms like ‘how i met your mother’, ‘sex and the city’, && ‘friends’, && movies like ‘pretty woman’, ‘dirty dancing’, && ‘when harry met sally’. her boyfriend isn’t a big fan, but he’ll never pass up the opportunity to have your head in his lap, hearing your soft giggles, && running his hands through your hair.

sweetheart¡reader who . . . collects jellycats like nobody’s business, so rafe made it a tradition to get a new one for every date they go on. her bed is completely overtaken by all the stuffed animals, but she loves it because they’re all a product of rafe’s love for you.

PAIRED WITH MECHANIC¡RAFE

SWEETHEART¡READER WORKS.ᐟ

⋆౨ৎ˚ ❤︎ ˖ ࣪ what’s a spark plug?

JOIN MY TAGLIST

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itsnesss · 7 days ago

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𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢 𝐝𝐨 | lando norris × fem!reader

summary | you confront lando about his new girlfriend, accusing him of replacing you. he admits he still feels for you, but you demand he prove his love by choosing you fully, not as an option

warnings | emotional manipulation, angst, heartbreak, unresolved tension, rebound relationship dynamics, betrayal

word count | 2.2 k

🖇 sctw album 🖇 more ln4

You see it from afar.

His laugh, the way he runs a hand through his hair, that same sidelong glance that used to be yours.

And her...

She’s wearing your coat. Well, not literally, but it looks like it. Same cut, same worn-out beige tone, like she stalked your old photos and built a Pinterest mood board with your name on it.

"Y/N?" your friend whispers, nudging you. "You okay?"

You’re not. But you smile. Of course you are. You’ve had months to prepare for this. To see them together.

Lando and the watered-down version of you.

She laughs a little too hard at something he barely said. Her hands reach for his like she has something to prove, like she’s marking territory.

And the worst part...

Lando doesn’t even notice.

Or he does. And he likes it.

"You look incredible," he says later, when fate decides to put you face to face. Charity event, lots of familiar faces, lots of cameras.

"Thanks," you reply, smoothing your skirt with a grace you didn’t have when you were with him. You don’t try to be cool anymore. You just are.

She shows up two steps behind, with a rehearsed smile and a scripted comment:

"I love your shoes! I literally saw them at Zara the other day and thought, this is so Y/N."

You look at her.

It’s not just the shoes. It’s your perfume. Your hairstyle. Your way of saying “literally.”

It’s creepy. And honestly, kind of pathetic.

"Yeah?" you say with a thin smile. "Well, not everyone has their own style."

She laughs, like it’s a joke. Lando doesn’t. He frowns. Because he knows you.

And you know he knows.

"It was a joke," she clarifies, but the tremble in her voice betrays her.

"Sure," you reply. "I just didn’t find it funny."

Hours later, you're on the terrace, a glass of wine in hand and a faint song playing in the background. The breeze carries memories, ones you'd rather not invoke. But there they are.

Your fingers laced with his, a broken promise, a fight in Monaco, tears in an airport.

"You shouldn't have said that," his voice comes from behind.

"Which part? The style thing? Or the not everyone part?"

Lando sighs.

"She’s not you."

"No. But she tries to be."

You turn around. He’s closer than you expected.

"Does it bother you?" he asks.

"What bothers me," you say calmly, "is that you let it happen."

Silence.

"You let her step into my place. What did you expect? That she wouldn't try to fit the shape I left behind?"

Lando doesn’t answer. But his jaw tightens.

And for the first time in a long time, you see something in his eyes you didn’t see when you were together:

Doubt.

And that’s when you understand.

Maybe she’s copying you because he’s still looking for you everywhere.

Lando doesn’t speak at first. He just looks at you with that intense stare you once could read with your eyes closed. Now, it’s all noise.

"You don’t have the right to be mad," he finally says.

"And you had the right to replace me so quickly?"

"I’m not replacing you."

You laugh, dry.

"Right. It’s just a coincidence that she likes the same movies I do, drinks her coffee the same way, and has the same ringtone I used to have. What a coincidence."

Lando takes a step toward you.

"She’s not you, okay? No matter how hard she tries. And I’m not the same since you left."

Your eyes lock with his. You see it: the regret, the confusion, the restrained desire.

"I didn’t leave," you whisper. "You let me go. Don’t forget that."

Days later, the universe plays dirty again: a private event, a small guest list, and of course, she’s there. Like a shadow. Like an echo. Wearing a skirt you used to wear and a hairstyle he once complimented… on you.

But this time, you’re done playing nice.

"Can we talk?" she asks when Lando gets distracted.

You raise your brows.

"Now you want to talk to me?"

"It’s just that..." she bites her lip. "I didn’t know it bothered you so much."

"What? That you copy me or that you’re dating my ex?"

She stays silent.

"Look," you add, your tone unchanged. "I don’t care that you’re with him. What bothers me is that you think copying me is the only way to make him like you. That says a lot more about you than it does about me."

She blushes.

And you walk away. Because you don’t have time for imitations.

Later, as you’re picking up your bag at the coat check, Lando appears behind you. Again. Always him.

"What did you say to her?"

"The truth," you reply without turning around. "Isn’t that what you used to like about me?"

"I still do."

You freeze. Slowly, you turn.

He’s close. Too close. Same scent, same chaos.

"Don’t say that."

"Why not?"

"Because we’re nothing now."

"Then why are you still hurt? Why do you look at me like that every time we’re in the same room?"

Your breath catches.

"Why are you still looking for me in other people, Lando?"

And that’s all it takes.

The tension bursts into an unplanned kiss — fast, furious, full of unspoken words. No cameras, no witnesses. Just the two of you, trapped in a corner where you still exist.

His hands hold you like you’re still his. Your fingers cling to his jacket like no time has passed. It hurts. But it feels good. It feels real.

"This doesn’t change anything," you whisper against his lips.

"It changes everything," he replies.

And for the first time, you don’t know if that gives you hope… or scares you.

Lando doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at you with that intensity of his the one you used to read with your eyes closed. Now, everything is noise.

"You don’t have the right to be angry," he says at last.

"And you had the right to replace me so quickly?"

"I’m not replacing her."

You laugh, dry.

"Right. It’s just a coincidence that she likes the same movies I do, that she now drinks her coffee the way I used to, and that she uses the same song as her ringtone. What a coincidence."

Lando takes a step toward you.

"She’s not you, okay? No matter how hard she tries. And I’m not the same since you left."

Your eyes lock onto his. You see it: the regret, the confusion, the restrained desire.

"I didn’t leave," you whisper. "You left me. Don’t forget that."

But this time, you’re not here to play nice.

"Can we talk?" she asks when Lando gets distracted.

You raise your eyebrows at her.

"Now you want to talk to me?"

"It’s just that…" she bites her lip. "I didn’t know it bothered you so much."

"What? That you copy me or that you’re dating my ex?"

She stays silent.

"Look," you add, your tone unchanged, "I don’t care that you’re with him. What bothers me is that you think copying me is the only way to make him like you. That says more about you than it does about me."

She flushes.

And you walk away. Because you don’t have time for imitations.

Later, while you're grabbing your purse at the coat check, Lando appears behind you. Again. Always him.

"What did you tell her?"

"The truth," you reply without turning around. "Isn’t that what you liked about me?"

"I still do."

You freeze. Slowly, you turn.

He’s close. Too close. Same scent, same chaos.

"Don’t say that."

"Why not?"

"Because we’re nothing now."

"Then why are you still hurt? Why do you look at me like that every time we’re in the same room?"

Your breath catches.

"Why are you still looking for me in other people, Lando?"

And that’s all it takes.

The tension erupts into an unplanned kiss—fast, furious, full of unspoken words. No cameras, no witnesses. Just the two of you, trapped in a corner where you still exist.

His hands hold you like you still belong to him. Your fingers cling to his jacket like time never passed. It hurts. But it feels good. It feels real.

"This doesn’t change anything," you whisper against his lips.

"It changes everything," he replies.

And for the first time, you don’t know if that gives you hope… or fear.

The hallway lights flicker. In the distance, you hear laughter, music muffled by the thick club walls. But you’re still there, caught between yesterday and now, with his lips still brushing yours.

"This shouldn’t be happening," you murmur, without conviction.

Lando looks at you with a storm in his eyes.

"But it is. It always happens when we’re close."

And then, as if the universe demands immediate revenge, she appears.

"Lando?"

Your body freezes. Guilt crashes over you like ice.

Lando takes a step back, his lips still red, his breath uneven.

She sees you. She doesn’t need an explanation. The pieces fall into place—your lips, his rumpled jacket, your guilty eyes. It says everything.

"Seriously?" her voice trembles. "Here? With her?"

No one replies. There are no excuses. What could you say? That he kissed you first, that it wasn’t your intention, that you’re confused too?

But you don’t.

Because you’re not confused.

And that makes it worse.

"Since when?" she asks. "Was it always like this? Since we started dating?"

"No," Lando says, still looking at you. "But I never stopped feeling it."

She laughs. A hollow, wounded sound.

"Of course. How could I compete with her ghost if you never let her go?"

You feel awful. Not for confronting her. But because deep down, you always knew this would happen. That he was with you in body, but with her in memory.

She turns to leave. And for a moment, you almost go after her.

But you don’t. Because he doesn’t move. He doesn’t run after her.

He’s still there. With you.

"You’re not going after her," you whisper, more surprised than angry.

"I can’t."

"Why?"

Lando swallows.

"Because she’s not you."

Hours later, you’re in his car. No destination, just familiar streets and the radio playing low. Not much talking just breathing the same air. But something has changed.

"So now what?" you ask.

"I don’t know," he admits. "But I know what I don’t want."

You glance at him sideways.

"What don’t you want?"

"To lose you again."

And that sentence… it stays with you like an invisible scar.

But the problem is, this time, you’re not the one who has to stay. He has to prove he’s changed.

You stay at his apartment that night, but not out of love. Not out of habit. Just because you don’t have the energy to run… yet.

The city sleeps, but you don’t.

You’re sitting at the edge of the couch, a blanket over your legs. Lando stands by the window with a glass of wine he hasn’t touched.

The silence is heavy. He’s waiting for you to say something. You decide it’s time.

"You know what hurt the most?" you ask, without looking at him.

He turns slightly.

"What?"

"That you made me feel replaceable."

You say it slowly, like each word is a punch.

"Like everything I was to you could be copied, shaped into someone else. Someone younger. Easier. Less complicated."

Lando closes his eyes.

"I didn’t go after her for that."

"It doesn’t matter why you did it. You did it. And not only that. You turned her into me. You gave her everything you used to give me… just without the love you had for me."

"Don’t say that," he replies, hurt.

"Why not? Does the truth bother you?"

You stand, the blanket falls. Now you look him in the eye.

"Or does it bother you to realize you were never honest with yourself?"

He puts the glass down. Walks toward you.

"Y/N… I loved you. I love you. I swear."

"Don’t swear it. I don’t want empty promises."

Your voice shakes, but you don’t.

"Do you know how hard it was to rebuild myself after you? You were in everything. My coffee, my playlist, my Sundays. And just when I started to breathe without feeling you, you decide to kiss me."

Lando swallows hard.

"I didn’t plan that."

"But you did it."

You pause. Swallow the lump in your throat.

"And she saw it. You know what’s worse? She hates me, when you’re the one who dragged her into this. Just like you dragged me."

Lando lowers his gaze.

"You’re right."

"Of course I am."

You inhale deeply.

"And that’s why I’m not falling again. Not unless you’re willing to do what you never did."

He looks up.

"What’s that?"