#and did not spend time fact checking this.

[moldylampry]

All for The Love of You

Fandom: The Freak Circus (Fanfic)

Chapter 1: You

It hadn't been long since the circus had arrived in town.

You'd thought most people who had issues with them would have moved on by now, instead their hate for the members continued to fester.

That wasn't to say that everyone in town disliked them. You, for one, had come to like the members. At least, the two you had gotten to know.

One a bit more than the other.

An image of Pierrot pops into your head then, bringing a smile to your face as you prepare for the work day ahead.

You check everything twice, ensuring that the place is locked up tight, and that you aren't forgetting anything, before making your way out of the apartment.

Before meeting Pierrot, you had always been the type to carry a bandage or two around. You weren’t accident prone or anything, but it was good to have a couple or two on you in case of emergencies. Lately though, it felt as if you were carrying a whole first aid kit in your bag.

The number of times Pierrot found you, bleeding, with a scrape or two was starting to become concerning. You would have chucked it up to this particular Pierrot being very…clumsy. If you hadn't seen first hand the abuse some people thought they could get away with.

It was maddening.

But even more so, it made you sad.

Pierrot didn't seem to be bothered one way or the other about it. In fact he seemed nothing if not genuinely happy in your presence. So, you tried your best to smile and comfort him whenever he came to you.

And you did genuinely find yourself smiling whenever Pierrot was around.

But, maybe, you weren't as subtle about your feelings as you'd hoped. You began to see Pierrot less and less.

After your first encounter, it felt as if he were making an effort to come and see you everyday. At first, he would meet with you three times a day. Then two…now it seemed like you were down to one visit per day…

And, that surprisingly bothered you more than you liked. Among other things…

Initially, you thought his absence may have been work related. Maybe he had simply moved onto the next person.

He'd already gotten you to visit the circus once afterall, even though he had said you were an exception in getting to hear him speak, the more logical, sometimes disparaging part of your thoughts, told you otherwise.

It's just a gimmick.

A ‘shared secret’ that makes a person feel special when they hear something like that.

Something to lure you in. Get you to come see them and spend more money.

Sorta like how they say a staff on a cruise might be a bit extra flirtatious, and give a person extra attention, so that you’ll spend or tip more.

Not that you’d ever been on a cruise…but the principal was there. You worked in customer service. You knew the game. It wasn’t anything malicious on Pierrot's part either, it was a two way service. Everybody gets something out of it.

You had another sneaking suspicion however, that it wasn’t because of that. It wasn’t because he had gotten what he wanted from you and had simply moved onto the next customer.

Instead, you couldn't help but think that he was trying his best to look more presentable in front of you. Because he’d caught you looking upset each time you had to dress a new wound.

OR, maybe you just don’t want to face the reality that you weren’t that special to begin with.

You’d rather believe that he’s taking care of himself before coming to see you so that you won’t be sad. You’d rather believe he’d notice something so subtle in you rather than face the reality that you’re just another customer.

You come to a slow crawl in your walking.

Why am I…even carrying this first aid? You think, a sick feeling curling in your stomach.

It’s not like he had come to you for any of that stuff as of late.

Because he's looking after himself. He doesn't want to make me sad. You assure, only to hear another voice in the back of your mind.

Because there's someone else.

Your chest feels tight…

You’re so lost in your thoughts, that you don’t notice a gloved hand carefully lift your chin up, until his face is so close to yours. You blink in a panic out of your reverie as Harlequins voice, like a growl wrapped in silk, reaches your ears.

“What a delicious expression you have on you. Care to whisper your troubles to me, madam?~”

You feel a shiver run up along your body, before quickly putting some distance between you two, trying to hide your face from view. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing how embarrassingly red your face has gotten.

Judging from the amused chuckle that leaves him, you’re sure it's to no avail.

Were you THAT lost in your thoughts of Pierrot that you seriously hadn’t noticed him, a breath away from…

“Don’t…scare me like that.” You manage to stutter out. Heart still frantically trying to sort itself out.

He tilts his head at your words. A sharp and amused smile, ever prevalent.

“Is that the face you make when something scares you?” He questions, not allowing your heart the reprieve as he moves back towards you.

Through his glove you feel something sharp touch the side of your face. Not quite like human nails, more…animalistic. He drags a singular claw against your cheek as you avert your gaze from the intensity of his.

“It makes me wonder…how much prettier you'd look writhing for a different reason.” His grin sharpened, not missing the reaction of your body turning stiff at the connotation of what he was suggesting. “Would you tremble? Would you continue to look away from me like-so?”

You huffed, pushing the hand that had seized your face to look at him.

“I don’t have time for your nonsense Harlequin. I have a job to get too, in case you forgot.”

He chuckled at your pushback, before theatrically stepping aside for you.

“By all means, madam. Right this way, please~”

“I know where I'm going” You shot back, moving right past him. Your steps clipped and walk brisk.

He hummed, undeterred with your irritated tone as he easily followed suit.

Curse his long legs!

“I meant no offense, m’am. On the contrary, you looked rather lost. Pathetically sad looking at best.” He mocked, voice dripping in amusement.

“I wasn't. I was just…thinking to myself.” You decided, not about to admit to Harlequin of all people that you had been sad about–

“About that Pierrot?”

HOW?!

Were you actually that easy to read???

You round back at him, startled that he'd been able to pinpoint what had you so upset. Only to realize that he'd merely been joking. If his confused demeanor was anything to go by. At your utter guffaw, he spills out into unbidden laughter.

If he didn't know before, he certainly knew now.

Stupid!

You're about to continue on, ignore him and his stupid laughter, thoroughly having embarrassed yourself enough for one morning, before you catch the hushed whispers from some of the people about.

“That poor girl..”

“He just keeps following her…”

“What if….next victim?”

“Someone should call…”

“Those damned freaks.”

…

You turn to face Harlequin. The action catching him by surprise, as his jeering laughter dies down. Clearly not having expected this of you.

“Okay, laugh it up. Yes, I was thinking about Pierrot, you got me.” You playfully sigh, preparing yourself for the mockery to come for admitting this to him.

Instead he stares at you, smile stiff, his eyes filter about before landing back towards you.

“...Did you not have to rush off to work, madam?”

You noncommittally shrug.

“I have a few more minutes. Besides, we're friends, right?

The smile on his face seems to twitch at the words.

It did sound weird once the words left your mouth. But you wanted to make it clear to everyone watching or eavesdropping.

Harlequin and Pierrot…

Neither of them, or any of the circus members for that matter were monsters.

They were people just like everyone else. Just here to do a job.

You could understand why people were scared, with all the recent missing cases in the town. But blaming the circus members for every disappearance? It was just blind hatred at this point.

In fact, once you got to know them and talk with them, they were pretty cute.

…

Well, maybe just Pierrot. Harlequin was his own breed of…something.

But, as much as he annoyed you and liked to push at your buttons, you couldn't say you disliked him.

Heavily.

At the very least neither he and especially Pierrot deserved the abuse.

“Ooh?” Harlequin's voice questioned, unconvinced but very much amused at being called your friend. “Then seeing as we're such good friends, care to confide your feelings to this Harlequin?”

“...My feelings?”

“That Pierrot…has he scared you? Do you hate him? Do you find yourself disgusted in some way~”

“...Why do you sound happy asking me that?” You question, expression deadpan, not at all understanding these two and their strange relationship. Questioning once again if the two of them were really friends.

“Sorry if this sounds “disappointing” to you. But, I don't hate Pierrot.” You sigh, watching his mirthful expression dim but remain curiously on you. Sensing their being more you'd like to say.

You debate to yourself for a moment, before a thought comes to you as you look him up and down.

He purrs at the action.

“See something you like, madam?”

“Harlequin, are you hurt at all today?”

“...Pardon?”

“Are you hurt at all?” You ask again, carrying on with your line of questioning. “I never see you banged up or anything. Not that I want too. But, do you ever get hurt passing flyers around town? Pierrot always…”

Harlequin seems to understand then. What you're asking, and chuckles almost to himself. It doesn't sound like his usual mocking laughter, but it's also not one out of amusement.

“Disgusting…”

“What?” You tilt your head, stepping back closer to him. Unable to catch his response.

“I said, unlike that Pierrot, I've got much faster reflexes.” He smiles, “you won't catch me looking quite so pitiful~”

You pout, annoyed on Pierrot's behalf, then with a deliberate slow hand, you raise your palm up.

Harlequin looks questionably at the universal gesture of a high five, half suspicious and half amused.

“...Do you wish to congratulate me, ma'am?”

You don't answer. Merely keep your hand in place, waiting for him.

When you continue to say nothing, he chuckles, seemingly amused by your antics once more as he raises a hand to meet with yours.

Just as his palm is about to make contact, you swerve, tapping at his chest with a small and very satisfying flick.

“Huh,” You mockingly grinned, “Someone who was just bragging about having fast reflexes looks awfully pitiful to me.”

He stills, more confused than offended, before your words seem to sink in.

His Cheshire-like smile broadens.

“Cheeky little thing, aren't we?”

You triumphantly stick your tongue out but before you can follow his response up with a quip. Before you have time to notice just how long you've been standing there talking to this Harlequin. You hear a loud man's irritated voice ring through the air. Everything before is garbled but you can make out one word very clearly

“– FREAK”

You glare towards the voice, so close towards the two of you that it's pretty clear who they're directing their hatred towards.

Except it's you.

You don't have time to react before something is thrown at you. You freeze, and only have time to shield your face before–

There's an arm that comes around you. You're pulled in towards Harlequin who covers your head behind his cape, your body tucked against his.

What?

“So, you were –” Harlequin sighs, after a long silent beat. His words sounding muffled enshrouded behind his cape. Nothing hit you.

Nothing hit Harlequin.

You hear the unmistakable sound of a bell.

You quickly lift your head up from Harlequin to find Pierrot shielding both you and Harlequin from what looked like an explosion of food and liquid. But, Pierrot is clearly more bothered with Harlequins arms around you.

“What? Would you have preferred I'd let her get hit?” He grins, making no immediate moves to remove his arms from you. Enjoying the figurative daggers being stabbed into him.

“Pierrot!”

At the sound of your voice and full attention his expression quickly lifts into a gleeful smile, before turning to mild concern, seeing the worried expression on your face.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” You pull away from Harlequin much to his chagrin, fussing over Pierrot who merely blushes at your rapt attention.

“No need to worry, ma'am. Our Pierrot is quite a magnet for trash. Attracted to its kind, perhaps?” Harlequin jeered, a smirk tugging at his lips as Pierrot turned back to him with clear annoyance. “That's just to say that this isn't anything new.”

You find yourself trembling at those words, the anger only boiling over as you hear the sound of laughter, loud and sharp. Completely devoid of any remorse, the sound grating on your ears.

“Dude, you totally missed!”

“Did I?” The man from before snorts. “Pretty sure I nailed it. Whether I hit one freak or the other.”

"Fucking deserved man."

“Anybodys who's actually buddy buddy with those monsters can rot in hell with the lot of them”

“Seriously, whatever those devils minions are actually doing with those missing girls, she fucking deserves. She's just asking for it, man.”

“That's nothing new.”

The group of men erupt out in laughter, as if they'd just told the best joke in history. Their cruel and mocking laughter begins to echo down the street, as they begin to walk away, congratulating the other on a job well done.

Before either Pierrot or Harlequin could question your actions, too busy it seemed at each other's throats, you reach for a piece of trash, having fallen off Pierrot, and chuck it at the man who'd thrown the bag of trash to begin with.

A smug, wicked, but utterly satisfied smirk curls against the sides of your mouth, as the dirty food hits the man straight to the back of the head

Your companions freeze, as do the man's. Seemingly shocked at what you've just done.

“What?? I thought it was funny. Aren't we laughing?” You theatrically shrug, taking a book out of Harlequin as you look at the group.

“You little bitch.” The main perpetrator turns, jaw tight, shoulders squared. His fists clench beside him as he stalks his way back over to you, each step faster than the last. Ignoring his friends trying to reel him back to them.

The air around you seems to shift after those words leave his mouth. You think it's the clear fear and panic you feel heavy against your chest. As the taller and aggressive man quickly approaches.

He's just trying to intimidate you.

Don't back down.

He doesn't get to say shit like that and just walk away. Not to you. Not to the men behind you. Not to anyone.

So, you don't back down. You stand your ground and meet his glare head on. Sharp defiance in your gaze as you will your body not to show fear.

Don't give him the satisfaction.

The man raises a threatening fist.

Don't–

A hand comes up behind your eyes just as you swear you see him reach for you.

You flinch at the sudden contact, only relaxing at the sound of jingling bells near your ear.

“Pierrot??” You question, feeling as if everything had gone eerily silent.

His body trembles against yours as he presses you closer against it. Hand still over your eyes, the other holding the side of your arm.

…Was he scared? He was much taller than the man coming at you, more intimidatingly so. But, being taller didn't necessarily equal pro-fighter.

You fail to hear the sharp inhale of breath from the man approaching. Too distracted over Pierrot's actions to process it.

There's the sound of shuffling going on. Footsteps, urgent and uneven hitting against the ground. The rustle of clothes as someone shifts? Backs up? Maybe stumbles??

Harlequin's beside you both.

In front of you?

You hear him say something. But it's so quiet that you're not quite able to make out the words. His tone sounded venomous, with only a thin veil of amusement still prevalent behind the words.

The soft rhythmic jingles from Pierrot's costume rise in contrast as he continues to tremble faintly against you. The metallic melody somehow helps calm your frayed nerves as you remain unsure as to what's happening. Or maybe it's just Pierrot's presence alone.

“Hey…” You open your mouth to speak, voice small and unsure, but before you can question it all, Pierrots turned your face up towards him. Allowing you your sight back. He looks down at you with that sweet smile, carved into his mask, or perhaps it was his face. He was so close and you still couldn't really tell.

His hand cradles your chin, as his thumb delicately brushes against your cheek, being mindful of the claws on his glove. It's all done in such a loving gesture, but with unmistakable intent.

Only me.

Look ONLY at Me.

You hear more scrambling. Followed by the sound of heavy footsteps, pounding away against the floor.

“Outta the fucking way! Get out of the FUCKING way!”

You hear loud and very clear panic, followed by multiple footsteps following suit.

It's only when the first man's cries are farther from you, that Pierrot's grip softens. Allowing you to catch the tail end figures of the group running off.

You look at Harlequin, who indeed was standing in front of you. His expression is…unreadable as he stares after the man. Only switching back to its usual mischievous grin once his eyes catch yours.

“I threatened to call the police if he dare lay a hand on you, madam.” He answers your unanswered question. “It's one thing to throw trash, it's another to assault a fair lady such as yourself~”

Seriously?

You doubt that's the full story. Then again, it wasn't hard to imagine that puffed up chest deflate at the sight of these two. Like Harlequin said, it was one thing to throw trash at someone. It was another thing to expect a confrontation.

Harlequin takes your hand in his, only to immediately have it snatched by Pierrot. His whole body vibrating once again, this time for a different reason. Obviously unhappy with Harlequins actions.

“Heh, I was simply checking she was alright. No need to get so worked up again Pierrot.” He chuckled, hand over his mouth, as he seemed all too pleased with himself.

You roll your eyes at the two, before focusing on Pierrot, looking over his dirtied outfit.

“Are you alright, though?”

He stops, quickly nodding along to your question, as he puts your hand against his chest.

“...You're touched over my concern?” You smile back at him, wondering how someone who was meant to be so silent could be so expressive even when he said nothing.

He swoons, that you can understand him so well. That you're so concerned over his well being. That–

“Madam, aren't you usually at work right about this time?”

You gasp, realization kicking in as you look at the watch on your wrist. You were okay with being just a little bit late. This was a whole lot late!

“I gotta go!” You rush past the two, snatching your hand away from Pierrot, only to rush right back as you remember something. Grabbing onto his wrist, missing the way he shivers at you touching him.

“I wanna see you again.” You blurt out, not really thinking about the meaning or connotations. “Later today, can we? After work?”

Pierrot stares wide-eyed, dumb struck. Starstruck. All kinds of struck as he figuratively melts like putty in your hands.

You watch him keel over, gripping at his chest as if he's just been shot through the heart.

“I– I'm going to take that as a yes?” You hesitantly release his wrist, as he shakily offers you a thumbs up.

You let out a breathy laugh, waving to him and Harlequin as you make a mad dash towards the Cafe.

It's only once you're out of earshot, and away from view that Harlequin speaks up again.

“...I didn't think you could be any more pathetic.”

Pierrot's hands are instantly pulling at his collar.

“Ah, ah, ah.” He wags a teasing finger. “We're still under the public eye, my dear Pierrot. You can save all those naughty little things you've been itching to say to me after we've dealt with our little…problem.”

Pierrot stills at the reminder of those men. That man. How he'd tried to sully you.

How he'd tried to hurt you.

He's shaking again. Unbridled hatred coursing through him. The grip on Harlequin tightening in response.

A strained chuckle escapes Harlequin, strained from the pressure on his collar but amused nonetheless at the fury burning from the other.

“...I believe it's THEM you're looking to kill? Not myself.” A pause, “Well, I suppose that's not true. But we can always save our little dance for after we've dealt with them. Yes?”

Pierrot eyes Harlequin suspiciously.

“Why indeed.” He murmurs, as if answering the question Pierrot was most wondering. “Would you rather this get back to Jester? I certainly don't care one way or the other…it would just speed along our plans of leaving the town, but I doubt you'd be happy with that decision.”

Pierrot releases him. Irritated.

“Oh, don't give me that look, Pierrot.” Harlequin coos, mockingly sweet. “I'm doing this just as much for you as I am for myself.”

His eyes narrow in response. Not quite believing Harlequin, but accepting that for the most part, he, for all intents and purposes did intend to help.

Harlequin laughed, the sound chilling and far from his usual teasing cadence.

“Hard to believe, I know, but I’m genuinely angry.”

Pierrot didn't like this. His want and need to keep you safe. To keep you away from him. To keep you all to himself. He was losing himself. He was losing patience with every passing second he wasn't by your side.

You were his.

You were his to shield.

His to watch over.

His to hold.

He would deal with them first.

Those men. That disgusting excuse of a human, who tried to come at you.

He'd show them TRUE hell.

Everyone and anything would come after.

So, just wait for me, My Lady~ ♡

A/N: Posted this story on A03 , and as I said there. This is my first time writing something in this type of perspective. But I'm very much in love with this visual novel and the characters that have been created by @nekoboydreams , so I decided to give it my best!

The hold this game has in strong on me...uwu

Hope you enjoy.

Ao3 Account: TumbleW

https://archiveofourown.org/works/69459796/chapters/180132996

[mistysgardenn]

modern house md headcanons

house

— he is unnaturally adept at picking up new slang and loves surprising the team with it. one time chase conducted some extra tests for him and he said “thanks, you’re the goat”

— regularly says “womp womp” when giving a patient a prognosis; once it provoked them enough to take the treatment he’d been pushing

— “what the HELL is a labubu”

— he actually really likes tiktok. he enjoys watching stupid people and would like seeing fan edits of himself (since he’s actually a well-known doctor). it would inflate his ego even more

— went through a phase where he continuously sang “moonbeam ice cream taking off your blue jeans” just to annoy everyone

— when he found out cameron was a lesbian all he said in response to anything she did was “good luck, babe”

— he LOVES mobile games. he plays the really stupid ones and spends money on them. it’s another way to pass the time while he’s avoiding clinic duty

— the covid era was literally his dream come true. he could still work and solve cases but he didn’t have to deal with the people. he did enjoy zoom calling with his team, though, even if it was just to make fun of them (especially cameron, who was having a hard time not being face-to-face with everyone). he made sure to work on his diagnostics cases but, as usual, he was still lazy from time to time

— goes through a keeping up with the kardashians phase. he quotes them regularly and cancels his plans to watch the season finale

— he sends foreman videos about crime and theft with the message “this you?”

— has an instagram account where all he posts are candid pictures (mostly of cuddy). he posts a lot, to everyone’s annoyance. the pictures are never flattering

foreman

— even though he acts annoyed at everyone for being online all the time (“we have JOBS, act like it”), he’s in tune with the current slang and trends

— kept the team in check during covid along with cuddy. very methodical about scheduling zoom calls, checking up with patients, etc.

— he really hates popular trends. he will insult anyone who partakes in them without hesitation (which unfortunately includes cameron and her labubus)

— gets into online chess and influences pretty much everyone to do the same. soon enough the whole team, wilson, and cuddy are playing chess on their phones while they should be working

— even though he hates trends he becomes oddly enthusiastic about stanley cups. he unironically thinks every other type of cup is inferior. “damn, those white girls were right, these cups are great”

— loud and proud ai hater. if anyone even MENTIONS chatgpt near him he goes on a full-on rant about how harmful ai is

— listens to teddy swims. he likes his music a lot

chase

— the most online out of the everyone. he’s always the first to start using new slang and referencing new trends

— he was pretty lazy during covid, to the annoyance of everyone who worked at the hospital. cuddy and foreman had to constantly remind him to do his work. only house supported his lazy habits

— he and cameron have similar music tastes, much to the amusement of house (who always teases him about it). he likes charli xcx and even listens to taylor swift and chappell roan every so often

— makes references no one else understands. it’s not even on purpose; he’s just so chronically online that he assumes everyone knows what he’s talking about (“it’s like that one video where… never mind”). it’s rare but every once in a while house does actually get one of his references, especially if it came from tiktok

— house makes insensitive jokes about the fires in australia even though chase is, in fact, living in america

— dabbles in being a dj after seeing some tiktoks about it. he goes through a phase where he’s on the rave scene and posts about it, momentarily forgetting that his coworkers could see and make fun of him for it. house called him party boy, rave master, disc jockey, and other related nicknames for the next few weeks

cameron

— she is really into popular trends and spends a lot of time on tiktok. if anyone ever has a question about stuff happening online, they go to her

— obsessed with labubus. she collects them and shows them off like they’re her children. her backpack and locker are infested with labubus. she isn’t at all discouraged by the fact that the whole team has a strong hatred towards them. an episode side plot consists of a furious cameron trying to find out who trashed her labubus. “when i find out who did this, you’re dead.”

— she realized she was a lesbian in some way or another. at some point she tells the team just to get it off her chest and they joke about it at any given chance (but they give her their unspoken support)

— very enthusiastic about chappell roan. she played good luck, babe! for a week straight after its release. she screams the bridge without shame

— uses social media a lot in general. she loves pinterest and instagram the most and is a frequent poster. she has lots of pinterest boards and takes pride in them

— she struggled a lot during covid. she hated not being able to talk to patients face-to-face and could only cope through zoom calls

— she convinces the team, house, cuddy, and wilson to go to lollapalooza or coachella one year. everyone has a lot of fun, even if they won’t admit it. her, chase, and foreman were in the front row screaming along to songs they knew while cuddy and wilson watched it all in a state of polite confusion (house was likely causing mischief in the crowd somewhere)

— to distract her during covid she got into the whole vsco aesthetic. she has a hydro flask and a couple of shell necklaces, and she still uses the app every so often

— has a great taste in music and always knows about current artists and current hits. she had a charli xcx phase that endlessly annoyed just about everyone except chase and cuddy

— HUGE taylor swift fan. she’s loved her for many years and is always the first to gush about a new album is coming out. house makes fun of her enthusiasm (“cameron, shut up about your lesbian crush on taylor swift for one second. people are dying”)

— the team has unanimously agreed to never let her discover k-pop in fear of what her obsession would be like for them. little do they know, she had a k-pop phase before she started working at the hospital. they freak out when she asks if they’ve seen k-pop demon hunters

wilson

— his guilty pleasure is those fruit sensory videos. one time house barged into his office and he closed the tab like his life depended on it

— he’s adorably helpless with social media. he is the most clueless out of everyone when it comes to trends and slang. when house called chase the goat, he was extremely confused (“that’s… not a goat, that’s chase. are you feeling alright, house?”)

— tried his best during covid but could not for the life of him figure out zoom calls. he always accidentally had some ridiculous filter or voice changer on that had everyone fighting to hold back their laughter

— he picked up some dubai chocolate from the store one day and was confused when everyone made fun of him for it

— when house finally convinced him to get an iphone he struggled with it at first. he kept tapping the phone really hard like an old person which made cameron laugh so hard she nearly spit out her drink

— “what’s a… meme?” (he pronounces it mee-mee)

— everyone loves sending him posts that he won’t understand. his dms are filled with the team’s memes, videos, and whatever else they can find to confuse him

— big fan of cocomelon. after he sees cuddy putting it on the tv for rachel, he starts playing it for all his younger patients

cuddy

— she has a very organized and nice-looking instagram feed. she’s not that great at navigating social media, but she likes to make her profiles look nice whenever she can

— house convinced her to get tiktok and she made the mistake of thinking he had pure intentions. instead, since she doesn’t know how to private her liked videos, he incessantly makes fun of her for the posts she’s liked

— she LOVES lady gaga. she makes house, wilson, and the rest of the team go to one of her concerts with her when she comes near princeton

— the only one who pretends to tolerate cameron’s labubu obsession. “oh, that’s nice…!”

— she’s good at taking pictures. her instagram page is quite popular at the hospital; it was only for her friends at first but house leaked the username to pretty much everyone at ppth

— she puts on cocomelon for rachel. the team finds out and they playfully tease her for it

— took charge during covid. her and foreman kept the hospital up and running from their respective homes and had an insanely good work ethic despite the chaos in the world. her zoom calls were sometimes hectic due to rachel, but she always tried her best

— when a patient told her they were going to ask chatgpt she thought that was just a weird nickname they had for a friend

— always up to date with fashion trends. her style is impeccable

— she has really nice phone cases. she has a leather one that doubles as a wallet and a pretty marble-patterned one

— the music she likes tends to surprise people. while her overall taste in music is to be expected (queen, amy winehouse, fleetwood mac, etc.) she enjoys current music as well. thanks to cameron, she got into charli xcx

— house found out she liked a post that implied she was sapphic and never let it go. whenever she’s nice to cameron he makes a rude comment and obnoxiously raises his eyebrows

— the barbie movie made her cry. she and cameron went to go see it and cameron had to awkwardly pat a sobbing cuddy on the shoulder as they left the theater

[zooophagous]

Maybe I'm late to the party but that's a really great (+ nicely done!!) Poe tattoo, why him & do you have a favorite story of his?

Thank you anon.

The backstory behind the Poe tattoo is that I grew up in an Evangelical household and went to a Christian school from the ages of 1st grade all the way to the end of high school.

Now, even from a young age, I liked horror and scary things and darker tales, but when you're in a strict Lutheran school, they sort of frown on 12 year olds bringing in Stephen King novels and such to read.

One thing however that was not only allowed but encouraged, were the classics, and Poe happened to be a large chunk of the curriculum. So, given that he wasn't disallowed from the library, I checked out this one specific pocket version of Poes tales of mystery and imagination no fewer than 11 times. Not only did I love the prose and poetry but I loved the illustrations and spend countless hours in study hall trying to replicate them.

He was a source of comfort for a very lonely kid and when I started getting tattoos I originally intended for my left arm to be literary in nature. Of course there's very few books I cared enough about to tattoo, but I knew I wanted one for Poe that was NOT a raven. So I settled on his author portrait.

He gets some interesting guesses from people who don't recognize him, my favorite guess was someone who asked if it was John Wilkes Booth.

My favorite story from Poe is "The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar" which details the story of a hypnotist who manages to place someone under hypnosis on their death bed, right as the soul is leaving the body, and leaves them in a state of suspended animation.

Highly recommend it if you're not familiar with it, it's not typically one that makes it to a lot of school curriculums that include Poe, but its also an interesting nod to the spiritualist movement that existed at the time, if you're into that sort of thing.

[tarookie]

watching a horror movie with sunghoon and you're scared (reading)

if you like this reading and would be interested to book a more personal one or ask something about your favorite idol, check my ko-fi on my pinned!! <3

context: i asked tarot to give me the answer of this reading based on a context where sunghoon and this person already know each other and are in the flirting stage, going on dates etc..

his first reaction: 4 of wands + 2 of pentacles + the hermit + the star + the justice + the high priestess + the sun on the bottom

aww. that's really cute! the star under the 4 of wands card is saying that he would see that moment as a perfect romantic moment to have with that person, like it's almost a romantic scene from a movie. it's possible that he thought about having this scenario with a girl before. with the the hermit and the high priestess, i feel like his first reaction would be to just observe the other person and feel that warm feeling of being next to someone he likes. i don't think he would do anything immediately but he would spend a couple of seconds admiring the fact that he can be in that situation. there's a feeling of "i'm finally next to someone i like and they're right here next to me being scared and letting me comfort them". he might even feel more attracted to them. with that 2 of pentacles above the justice card i would say that it's possible he would briefly ask if they're okay or do a veeeryyyyy sublte move to reassure them

would he say something: page of cups + 2 of swords + the tower + 9 of pentacles + the world + judgement + ace of cups + king of wands on the bottom

he would definetly say something. he would hesitate at first by thinking he doesn't want to ruin the vibe or make them feel weird but im pretty sure he would say something romantic that gives the room a flirty/romantic vibe. something that would change the mood very quickly and the other person would be completely lost in theirtracks like "what? what did he just say?" and he would be like "i can't believe i just said that" loool so cuute!! speculating what it could be, the page of cups above the 9 of pentacles could be indicating that he would tell them they look pretty or that they're cute. could be something more charming too, very romantic for sure.

would he do something: 6 of pentacles + 4 of pentacles + the hermit + the world + 3 of swords + 8 of swords + 7 of cups + the chariot on the bottom

umm.. he wants to for sure! the chariot is talking about movement and control, so the fact that it's on the bottom of the deck im guessing he would want to get closer and do somehing that shows them he wants to protect them, like putting an arm around them or something. however, the cards of he actual reading are really negative when it comes to movement so he'll just pretty much pretend like he's watching the movie again but spend the whole time thinking "oh i should do something" "i want to hold them" but he'll just end up being lost in his head and overthinking that they might not like it or think it's too much. i don't see him doing anything besides wanting to, but that energy could change depending on he other person's actions and movements too. it will depend if they say anything, if they get closer etc.. this is just >one< hypothetical scenario

[uhidkwhattotyman]

97.Ian is typing...

Summary: Auriela's life has been flipped upside down with covid. No longer able to live her normal life, she ends up on an online chatroom just to talk to somebody. Little does she know, her life is going to get flipped even more.

WC: 2,800~

Content Warnings: Language. Future mature content.

Author's note: Hey yall! The last time I tried to write something was when I was 10-12 and it was for a minecraft youtuber. ≡(▔﹏▔)≡

So this is my attempt at possibly getting back into this and having enough balls to do so. Any and all feedback is appreciated.

NOTE: I do not own any of the pictures or any of the known names I use. They are just my muses. Thank you.

Parts 1 and 2 (18+ MDNI)

Enjoy!

Part 0 : You're who?

Auriela’s life before covid was simple. She went to her classes and went home. She studied, ate, showered and went to bed. She visited her family every other weekend bearing takeout from the mom and pop shop they would frequent while she was growing up. 

During covid was a whole different story. Her classes all got moved to online. She couldn't go visit her family anymore because her mom has asthma and she didn't want to chance it. She couldn't go clubbing with her friends anymore. All of her groceries were delivered to her house. She couldn't do anything really. 

Which is why she ended up on a chatroom, one that her friend sent her. Said "meet new people, it's not the same but it helps." Which is how she ended up meeting Jungkook. 

She didn't know who he was at first. Everybody is anonymous with whatever name and profile picture they give themselves. So to her, in the beginning, was just some bunny named Ian that would speak to her in broken English- likely using a translator for the more in depth conversations. 

Their conversation was easy. Easy to fall into. Easy to spend 5 hours texting and not think about the time. Easy in the way they were both falling for each other but honestly, neither of them minded. 

After 3 months of talking, Jungkook finally asked her if she wanted to FaceTime. Face reveal and hear each other's voices. This is when she will learn the first fact about him: he doesn't live in America. He never specified where he lived, which was only because he was trying to preserve his anonymity. What if this sweet girl he has been talking to for the past 3 months ended up actually being a sassaeng? Or a huge BTS fan? Or just some girl with an Asian fetish. He decided to take his chances. 

Little_Elle99: How about after lunch today? Maybe 2pm? 

Jungkook would then stare at the message for a solid 10 minutes. That would be 4am for him. Granted, it definitely would not be the first time he had stayed up all night just to talk to her, but there would be no faking what time it is for him. He would have to be quiet too as his members would be sleeping. Which is a blessing and a curse. No background noise but he also wouldn't be able to talk how he wants to either. He could ghost her now while he's ahead. Before he sees her. Before he hears her voice. Before he loses himself completely in this random girl he met online. Before—

97.IAN: That works for me. 

Little_Elle99: Perfect! I'll see you then. ☺️ 

The hours would drag by for the both of them. 

Jungkook told himself he should nap before his 4am call with the stranger on the other side of the planet. He ended up tossing and turning the entire 2 hours he tried. Settling for a workout and a shower before to hopefully get his nerves to calm. 

She wasn't doing much better. Couldn't pay attention to her zoom lecture. She keeps checking the time every 20 minutes. She painted her nails in hopes it would give her something to do with her hands- the art turned out a little shaky. She did her hair and makeup because she wanted to impress the random man. The one that she doesn't know what he looks like. Doesn't know if he's really old or actually a minor (she will block immediately and attempt to contact his parents if he is a minor). 

This is stupid. She thought as she checked her hair for the nth time as she waited for him to pick up. 

This was so worth it. She thought after her heart did an annoying flip as his face appeared on her screen. Just act normal. This is totally not a super hot man that you have been talking to for the past 3 months-

"Hi." She finally managed to mutter out. Hi? HI?! That's all?? You've got a smoking hot man on the other side of this call and you can manage is hi?? I'm doomed. 

Jungkook is normally not the shy type. But after seeing her?? He's for certain she is out of his league. He knows she is damn smart. Can cook from the pictures of food she has sent him. She's funny. She's patient and kind. And obviously, she hasn't freaked out seeing Jeon Jungkook. She probably doesn't even know who he is. Honestly he didn't even care what she looked like all too much. But seeing her now? Hearing her voice, even just a simple "Hi.". He's a goner. 

"Hi, Elle." His accent comes out thicker than he intended. She smiles faintly though which he takes as a good sign that she doesn't mind. 

"Actually, its not Elle.." She says with hesitance. His brow raises in curiosity. So he's not the only one that's been faking his name. Smart. "My name is actually Auriela."

Her name is as beautiful as her face. 

"Jungkook." He says. Carefully watching her face to see if there's any sign of recognition. 

There's not. "Pleasure to officially meet you." She says with a smile that easily makes his heart beat just a little faster. 

They talk for a good hour on FaceTime. She's still shaking by the end of it. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much. His heart still doesn't feel normal, jittery between nerves and fumbling over his words as he still doesn't speak English super well. 

After that call, it almost becomes routine. Days where he will call before he heads into bed just to hear her voice. Days she will call as soon as she wakes up just because she knows she has a busy day and won't be able to fit it in later before he goes to bed. Days where he calls her at 3am because he couldn't sleep and he knew she had an hour between her classes. Days of texts that would go unanswered for hours because of the time difference. 

They never say they are dating, but they aren't talking to other people either. 

By the next month, she's hanging out with her best friend, Maya. The first time since the pandemic lockdown that she has spent any time with her. Maya is talking animatedly about the new show she's been binging and she listens with great interest because well, you haven't seen her in 4 months. 

Her phone pings once. She glances at it. Jungkook. She lets it go. He can wait a few minutes until Maya is done. He should have just woken up anyway.

It pings again.

And again.

And again. 

Auriela has learned that about Jungkook. He is not afraid to text multiple times in a row. Why send one long message when it can be broken down into 20?

On the fifth ping, Maya cuts herself off.

"Okay, who is blowing up your phone?"

"Not important, My~ Just finish your story."

Maya looks at her skeptically, hesitating before starting again. She gets one word out before her phone pings yet another message from Jungkook. 

"-Okay seriously. Nobody ever texts you that much in a row. I don't even do that." 

Auriela sighs before picking up her phone. "Just a friend that I met in that chatroom." She says with a shrug but her lips twitch at the texts from Jungkook.

"Okay but that wasn't the chatroom ping. That is a text notification. Auri are you texting this person?"

"It's not like that-"

"You're smiling." And suddenly, Maya's new show is chopped liver as she now pries for information. "Is he cute? Have you guys FaceTimed? How long have you guys been texting? What's his name? Do you have a picture of him?-"

"Maya!" Auriela groans and cuts her off once she feels the heat creeping up her neck and her ears are burning. 

"Oh my God, he is cute, isn't he?" She teases. "Let me see him too! Pretty please? Because you love me?"

Auriela sighs and goes searching for a picture. It's better to get it out of the way now then hear her ask for the rest of the night... or try to steal her phone later. 

When she shows Maya the picture of him her eyes widen and then she laughs. Laughs.

"Girl. I know you fucking lyin' right now. That's him?"

"Yes, that's him! I've FaceTimed him! Why are you laughing? I know he's hot but do you really think he's that far out of my league?"

"Auriela Elle Bennet. That is Jeon Jungkook."

"How do you-"

"The youngest member and lead vocalist of BTS."

"Wait wha-"

"Girl you are talking to a whole kpop idol. One who's band paved the way for kpop."

Auriela sits there, frozen now. Eyes flickering between Maya and the picture of Jungkook on her screen. A kpop idol. Jeon Jungkook. Her thumbs move before she can even think about it. She's got to look him up. Because there's no way-

Except when he shows up all over Google. Quick facts. Wikipedia page. Multiple links all with his name as the headline. Thousands of results. Images, news, videos: he's there. 

"What the..." She mutters to herself. Maya smiles to herself watching disbelief go through her best friend. 

Another ping from Jungkook. 

Jungkook: Would you be free in 20 minutes?

Jungkook: want to see your face before I go have to be an adult 🥲

Her heart skips at it. She looks back at the google page with his name and face all over her screen. Still having a hard time putting two and two together, that is the same Jungkook that she is currently talking to. The one she sees barefaced and hair a mess. The one she sees with toothpaste dripping down his chin while still trying to talk about his day. The one who she hears fumbled over English (which he has gotten so good!) with a heavy accent.

"So when are you finally going to text him back?" 

Maya's voice breaks her out of her daze. 

"Oh yeah, right. I um- holy shit." 

Now she fumbling with her phone trying to get to his contact so she can finally text him back. He's only sent her 100 texts with no response. 

"He asked if he could Facetime me. I'm going to have to postpone-"

"If I am the issue I will literally leave right now. Ya know what, I'm out of your hair. I have to get to bed." She fakes a yawn, standing up and stretching as if a wave of fatigue hit her just now. 

"You don't have to. I promise its okay-"

"No, girl. Looks like you need to have a talk with Mr. Idol~" she teases as she slips on her shoes, not taking no for an answer. "Just be sure to text me. Love ya!" She blows a kiss and is already out the door before Auriela can protest any more. 

She sighs as she looks down at her phone. The multiple texts sitting there almost mocking her. How could she have not known before now? To be fair, it's not like she is googling him or even remotely trying to look him up. He's pretty open with her so she never tried to get any more information out of him. Never asked for an Instagram or anything. She figured if he wanted to share that with her, he would. 

Auriela: I'm free whenever! My friend just left so I'm ready when you are :)

She exhales deeply. She doesn't know how she's going to look at him the same now. Like yes, that's still just Jungkook, but now there's a looming weight tied to his name as well. 

Within minutes her phone is ringing. She looks at it for a few beats before answering it with shaky hands. She props her phone up on a candle so hopefully he can't tell and mutters up the best smile she can. 

"Hey! Miss me that much?" She attempts teasing. But even he can see straight through her. He's learned a lot about her through the last month of seeing her face while she speaks to him. 

"You wish." He chuckles, looking at her for another breath before getting straight to the point. "What's with the face?" 

"What face?" She raises a brow. Deflecting. How does he know? 

"The face." He points at her through the screen, waving his finger around. Trying to find the words for a minute. "Thinking too much about something. Spill. Tell me."

She sighs. Dammit. Looks like I have to tell him now. Because if jungkook is anything, it's persistent. 

"Just.. When were you going to tell me that you're a whole kpop idol? BTS?"

He smirks. Smirks! The one that infuriates her and makes her heart thump wildly in her chest at the same time. 

"You finally found out."

"Finally? Wh- I- You-" she groans, hands coming up to drag them down her face. This is life altering news and he's just being nonchalant?!  "I feel like this is something you tell someone. Someone that you talk to every day."

"I wanted to see when you would find out. And.. I kind of liked you not knowing. Made it easier. Simple."

And now her heart cracks a little. Because he's right. Nothing in his life is simple she can bet. He's a celebrity. He probably gets enough attention every time he walks out his front door. The last thing he needed was her seeing him in that light too before she even got to know him. 

"Okay, that's fair. I'm just in shock right now. I found out right before you called." 

He's silent for a moment. Now his worry is starting to seep in. He genuinely likes her. He doesn't want this to change anything between them. 

"This.. this doesn't change anything, right?" 

"No. God no, Jungkook." She is quick to reassure him. "I just.. I need to get over the shock of it all." She wiggles dramatically, trying to lighten the mood a little. "See? All better. You're still the Jungkook that snores obnoxiously in his sleep." 

That gets him to laugh a little. The tension visibly decreased in his brows and shoulders. He shakes his head. 

"And you're still the Auriela that wakes up with drool stains on her cheek."

"Hey! Take that back!" 

And they go back to their normal routine. Teasing and bantering. She talks about her day. The only non normal part of it all is he now talks more in depth about what his day is going to look like. 

"I'm going to go to the studio in a bit. I think it will just be Namjoonie hyung and Yoongi hyung there today."

She repeats the names back to herself, trying to remember them as this is the first time he has ever mentioned them by name. He always told his friends or coworkers. She will definitely be doing more research later though. 

"They are part of BTS too. My members." 

And he's got this boyish grin to him while he talks about them. His eyes light up as he tells her a little about them. That's when she knows that these people- his members- aren't just friends or coworkers. That's his family. 

"They sound like good people." 

"They are. You would love them." He says before he catches himself. His big boba eyes are comically wide. "Not saying you would ever have to meet them. That's not what I meant. I mean I do- just no pressure or-" 

"Jungkook." He shuts up. His mouth snapping shut as if that will completely erase the fumbled spiral he just went on. "I would love to meet them, eventually.. someday. I'm just hoping I get to meet you first." 

And now his ears are pink, suddenly getting sheepish. A small smile tugging at his lips. Again, this man is lowkey and a goner for her. And because-

"About that.. I wanted to call because.. I want to meet you. Face to face. I have a break in my schedule next month for a few days. If we are still healthy and covid free, too, of course." 

"Oh? You want to come here.. to Chicago? To my rinky dinky tiny apartment?" She asks just to clarify. Just to make sure her ears aren't deceiving her. 

"Yeah." He huffs out. "I would stay at a hotel. You can.. show me around the city. We can hang out.. maybe I could.. take you on a date?"

And the amount of shy hope in his eyes and tone melts her completely. Is he expecting her to deny him? How could she? She's actually been dreaming of this moment since the first time she saw his face. 

"I'd like that." She says, not even bothering to hide her smile. 

A breath of relief escapes his lips, his smile now matching hers before he schools his emotions. He wasn't nervous, no. Not at all. 

"Good. Great. Awesome. Yeah, totally cool. I'm chill. Cool as a pickle."

"It's a cucumber." She giggles. 

"Tomato tomahto."

[vitrines]

okay i give in to the foundationposting for a little bit sorry regulars

spoilers for season 2 episode 9 and some of my thoughts on what's going to happen next (psst it's mostly half baked opinions and rambling)

-literally zero way EVERYONE on terminus is dead. zero way. it's not possible. this isn't even me being delusioned there are just about ten things that don't line up. i will get into this later in the post but first

-i am so so happy that they went into demerzel's past. she is such an intriguing character to me and honestly i was wary to participate in this fandom because of how many people seemed to like. genuinely like her and cleon together. no hate to anyone but it's really not my thing like REALLY not my thing and i kind of cheered when she went all "well i tried to fix you by sleeping with you but well um you're just kind of weird. goodbye 😐" i CHEERED. girl. girl get it.

-and she is lich rally trapped into being with the cleons. i loved the scene when she was with the priestess lady a few episodes ago that was such an insight into her mind and this episode felt like that it was wonderful i was HOOKED i was like oh my god.

-also by the way this paints that scene with sareth in an entire new light. sareth asks "will you serve me" and demerzel GRITS THROUGH HER TEETH that She Serves Empire and maybe she was not trying to threaten her. maybe she was sending a message. saying "hey girl so i literally cannot do anything else. i am telling you i am bound to this man because i has no choice and YOU are going to bind yourself to this man as well."

-same with telling sareth that demerzel killed her family. demerzel didn't need to tell her. demerzel in fact probably should NOT have told her. day didn't want sareth to find out that he ordered it. but demerzel is telling her: if he tells me to kill i must. demerzel has no reason to threaten sareth she's not jealous she is just SICK and tired of loving this man out of compulsion and doing what he says. (this is a bit of the delusions sorry i just really don't like demerzel Actually loving empire and being jealous out of her own free will. so i am grasping at straws.)

-also demerzel is going to go back and like rip dusk and rue's faces off. she is going to Get them. like oh my god. i am becoming a demerzel apologist but i love rue i kind of hope she doesn't die

-okay on to the fate of terminus yeah first of all she is NOT dead. she simply isn't. zero percent chance all those guys are dead. my first evidence for this is the bite mark thing on hober's arm cause like. he says "oh the spacers probably marked me for later and that's how you tracked us down" but bel does not confirm this. he was the one who asked what the thing was on the arm. i don't think that's how the fleet found hober and constant which means it's something else which is very inch resting

-soooo. the invictus gets hit. and destroyed. and then it gets lined up and shot into terminus. and not once do we see a scene from that ship after it starts to explode. pounds the desk if you don't see the BODY it's not DEAD!!!! glawen (how do you spell his name) here is our prime example. man was not dead when his ship went down. and neither is terminus. last shot of the invictus is just the commander guy and that one girl looking at each other and like someone's hand loosens or something. there are like hundreds of people on that ship it was stashed and yet we see none of them???? no explosions???

-hober still has one of the teleport bracelet things... that is Going to be relevant. even though he said it's broken or something they wouldn't show it if not important

-they can't kill poly man :( he's not dead. he is chilling. trust me he told me himself /lying

-all in all just like. yes this is the Killing Main Characters show but i really struggle with believing that terminus is gone. i think the spacers are still relevant and i think we DIDN'T see the body and i think i still cried over bel and glawen anyways. they are so "she's been dead since the beginning" to me like they ARE doomed but damn if i didn't get attached anyways

-as always day you are so. huh. to me. like okay man yeah sure i think my lesbianism is shading me from what most of you all see in him (said politely) like have fun but i need him kind of gone sorry

-hari seldon my best friend back and axe murderer!! girl so true!! he has things wrong with him and it's so intriguing. he's so me

-love you salvor never change. consider lesbianism though. seriously. i miss phara every day they HAD something

-i missed sareth actually i kind of love her she's so spottingly sincere. i hope they don't murder her horrifically

[tea-cat-arts]

Shen Yuan getting transported into pidw isn't "the system punishing him for being a lazy internet hater," but instead representative of "step 1 of the creative process: getting so mad at something you decide to go write your own fucking book" in this essay I will

[liquidstar]

a friend who'd wait :)

[uchiha-gaeshi]

Mental health is reaching new lows rn ngl

[captainclickycat]

The phrase "sexy lamp test" started making a lot more sense to me once I clocked that it was probably implying something like Aladdin's lamp instead of like... a living room light with a shade on but sexy.

[saintlesbian]

as for the rest of the ep…

Chalynn truthers we won. we fucking won 🍾🍾🍾

Lois trying to talk Ned into making peace w/ Michael and Drew sounds REAL funny knowing that drew and Michael r still planning on pushing him out of ELQ again. fuck those two forever actually, y’all can make peace in hell

speaking of drewfus, I wish I could be glad he’s leaving but it’s not for very long and crew is gonna be annoying abt it I’m sure. this version of drew is such a shell of himself that anytime hes brought up I just feel disgusted 😖

I’m getting tired of Sonny bringing up Carly when talking to nina it just feels WEIRD… I really don’t wanna see a Carson reunion but it’s starting to feel like the pikeman/cyrus bs might end up being the catalyst for one… sonaritas should we be worried. 😟

also Tolly agreeing to use krissy as the surrogate… wasn’t there literally a whole argument against doing this months back that resulted in tolly icing krissy out for several weeks…? once again I must assert this whole surrogate storyline is a load of barnacles

[louisaskywalkerani]

✷ · THE INTERVIEW NO ONE CAN EVER KNOW ABOUT || CLARK KENT

(yes, that one. the countertop one.)

MINI NOTE: i haven’t been normal since i saw that damn kitchen scene in theaters. the way clark looked in that white shirt?? the sleeves rolled up??? the fact that he cooked like it was his apartment?? it rewired something in me permanently. i haven’t stopped thinking about this scenario since. anyway. here u go. i am unwell <3

CW: 18+, smut! minors DNI. p in v, unprotected sex secret relationship, fake interview gone very unprofessional, kissing during the questions, no y/n.

It was nearly ten-thirty when your key turned in the lock.

You didn’t expect anything except silence, maybe the hum of the fridge, maybe your own reflection in the darkened kitchen window. But instead, you were hit with something entirely different: warmth, music, and the scent of garlic and tomato wafting from your kitchen like a love letter you hadn’t realized you’d needed.

Your heels clicked softly as you stepped inside, kicking them off by the door.

Your bag hit the floor next. Your coat followed, draped lazily on the back of a chair. Every part of you ached, your feet, your head, your shoulders…but then you turned the corner into the kitchen and saw him.

Clark.

Barefoot. Sleeves rolled up. Glasses slipping a little on the bridge of his nose. He was stirring something on the stove, and humming, actually humming, like some sort of domestic dream. His hair was slightly mussed, his expression relaxed, like this was his place too.

Because secretly, it was.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and said nothing.

He felt you before he saw you, like he always did. He turned slightly and looked at you with the kind of expression that pulled something deep and warm straight through your chest.

“There you are,” he said softly, like he hadn’t been checking for your heartbeat in the hallway two minutes earlier. “Long day?”

You gave a tired laugh. “You have no idea.”

He set the spoon down, turned off the burner, and crossed the kitchen in three steps. His arms wrapped around you instantly, warm and sure, and your forehead fell against his chest like you were exhaling for the first time all day.

“You cooked,” you murmured, muffled against him.

“I missed you.”

You looked up at him, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt.

“I saw you on TV, you know. Saving a monorail full of kids in Berlin.”

He smiled. “Still missed you.”

God, that smile.

He leaned down and kissed you, soft and slow at first, like his lips were tasting the stress on yours and trying to replace it with something better. But there was something deeper beneath it, something familiar and lingering and dangerous, and the longer it lasted, the more you forgot the world outside your apartment even existed.

When he pulled back, his voice had dropped a little. “Come sit. Food’s almost ready.”

But you didn’t let go.

You leaned in, grinning against his throat. “Or you could lift me onto the counter like you always do.”

He laughed under his breath, that low, easy sound that made your stomach twist in the best way, and in the next second, you were in the air.

Strong hands under your thighs, your back settling against cool stone. His body slid between your knees, warm and solid, and the kiss that followed was hungrier, deeper.

You groaned, resting your head against the cabinet behind you.

“I had to spend two hours sitting across from Stern today while he chewed with his mouth open. Two hours, Clark.”

He chuckled, brushing his lips over your jaw. “Tragic.”

“And then my editor cut three paragraphs from my piece without telling me. I swear I’m going to—”

His mouth landed on your throat.

You gasped, words dissolving.

“Clark.”

“Mhm?”

“That’s not helping.”

“Yes it is,” he said, kissing lower. “It’s helping me.”

You let him distract you for a few more seconds before pulling back, reluctantly.

“Okay, but seriously?” you said, dragging your fingers lightly up the back of his neck. “You’re going to get caught.”

He blinked. “Caught doing what?”

“You’re always the one interviewing Superman,” you pointed out. “And it’s not subtle anymore. People are starting to talk.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re people?”

“I’m just saying,” you teased. “If I were Lois, I’d be suspicious.”

“Well,” he said, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, “maybe it’s time you interviewed him instead.”

You laughed. “What, now?”

“Why not?”

“You want me to interview Superman in my kitchen?”

He stepped back slightly, and you saw the shift happen right before your eyes, the slight straightening of his shoulders, the confidence that came into his stance, the subtle intensity in his eyes as he slowly took off his glasses.

And just like that — there he was.

Superman.

You sat straighter on the counter, eyebrows raised.

“Okay then,” you said, grabbing your phone and opening the voice recorder. “Superman, thank you for joining me on such short notice.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Always happy to speak with the press.”

You tried to keep a straight face as you cleared your throat. “First question. How do you manage to maintain your secret identity when you’re photographed almost every day?”

He gave a small smile. “People don’t see what they’re not looking for.”

“Mhm. And how do you explain your ongoing exclusive relationship with reporter Clark Kent?”

He stepped closer. “Let’s just say… I trust him.”

You bit your lip. “Seems awfully convenient.”

He tilted his head. “Are you accusing me of favoritism?”

“I’m just saying,” you murmured, as he stepped even closer, “if I didn’t know better…”

You were going to say more. You had your next question ready, something about accountability and transparency.

But he leaned in, lips brushing your cheek, and said, “Ask me question four.”

You opened your mouth, then paused as his hands came to rest on your thighs again slow, warm, certain.

“Question four,” you managed, “what—”

His mouth touched your neck.

You blinked. “What are your—Clark—”

“Not Clark right now,” he murmured, breath hot against your skin.

“Superman,” you corrected, trying to stay in character even as he kissed that sensitive spot just beneath your jaw. “What are your core values when it comes to—oh my god—international diplomacy…”

He grinned against your throat.

“You’re not playing fair,” you whispered.

He kissed your collarbone. “Neither are you.”

And then suddenly, he dropped to his knees.

Your breath caught.

His hands slid up your thighs, slow and reverent, pushing your skirt up as his eyes flicked to yours.

“Still recording?” he asked.

You reached behind you blindly, slamming your phone onto the counter and shutting it off.

“Good,” he said, and pulled you forward.

You gasped as his mouth pressed between your thighs hot, steady, unrelenting.

Your hands scrambled for balance, grasping the edge of the counter, then his hair.

“Clark—”

When he stood suddenly, your breathing was ragged, your thighs still twitching.

He kissed you, softly now, like an apology and a promise at once and then rested his forehead against yours.

“Still think my exclusives are suspicious?”

You couldn’t even glare. You just laughed breathlessly, pulled him closer, and whispered, “Shut up.”

His mouth crashed into yours. You gasped, and he swallowed the sound, one hand gripping your jaw, the other sliding up under your shirt.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask. Didn’t need to.

You wanted this.

You always did.

You tugged at his shirt, yanked it over his head — palms running over the solid heat of his chest.

His eyes flicked toward the bedroom.

You shook your head.

“Right here,” you whispered.

He growled softly. Kissed you again, teeth grazing your lower lip, hands dragging your shirt off, fingers skimming over your skin like he needed to feel every inch of you just to stay sane.

“Been thinking about this all day,” he said, voice low, gravelly.

You moaned.

He pulled your underwear down slowly, eyes never leaving yours.

“I come home to this,” he murmured, dragging his knuckles up your inner thigh. “And you expect me to take it slow?”

“Clark—”

“No,” he whispered, gripping your hips. “No more waiting.”

He didn’t.

He pressed into you with one smooth, deep thrust and your head fell back, a gasp tearing from your throat.

He didn’t move. Not yet.

Just held you there — full, stretched, his.

Then his mouth found your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone.

“Tell me you missed me,” he murmured.

“I missed you.”

“Tell me you need me.”

“I—God, Clark, I need you.”

That broke him.

He began to move.

Hard, slow thrusts. Deep enough to knock the air out of your lungs. His grip tight, your back arching off the counter with every roll of his hips.

Every time he pulled out, it was only to push back in harder — deeper — his breath hot against your ear.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “You know that, right?”

You could barely nod.

His hand slid to your throat, gentle but firm — just enough to hold you still, to make you feel claimed.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

He kissed you again, messy and hot, tongue sliding against yours, his hips grinding into you with a rhythm that made your whole body shudder.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned. “I could stay inside you all night.”

You clenched around him, and he growled — thrust harder.

“You like that?” he breathed. “You like when I say shit like that?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “Yes—Clark—”

His name became a chant. A prayer. A scream muffled by his mouth.

He came first — deep inside you, pulsing, gasping against your neck.

But he didn’t stop.

He kept moving — slower now, hips still rolling — his fingers slipping between your legs until you came with a cry, body shaking in his arms.

You collapsed against him.

Both of you breathless. Sweating. Bruised in the best ways.

He didn’t pull out right away.

He stayed inside, kissing your cheek, your neck, your shoulder.

Then, gently — so gently — he lifted you off the counter and carried you to the bathroom.

Ran warm water.

Held you in the tub, his hands massaging your thighs, his lips soft against your temple.

You curled into him.

And for the first time all day — for the first time all week — he let himself relax.

Not Superman.

Not Clark Kent, reporter.

Just your man.

[psycheandmind]

How to GENUINELY create an assumption without feeling like you’re lying to yourself/pretending/have to “convince” yourself. How to actually accept your desire as TRUE.

Please, please understand that an assumption isn't forced or something you have to "try" to believe because it's just something you accept as true without question. You don't wake up every day wondering if you have a name, if the sky is blue or if gravity works. You just know with certainty. That's how conscious manifestation works. You decide something IS true and of course it reflects like every other assumption. You need to ACTUALLY assume you have something to get it please don't pretend or hope. A real assumption isn't forced, it's something you accept as fact without needing proof. If you say you assumed something but then claim it didn't happen you didn't actually assume it lol. You either doubted it, contradicted it or held another assumption alongside it. You assuming is NOT a technique and it's not something you "do" to get something.

The reason some people treat creating an assumption like it's a technique is because they think if they repeat it enough their mind will suddenly be tricked into believing it. That's NOT how an assumption works. An assumption is just accepting something as fact. If you're trying to "convince" yourself you're admitting you don't actually accept it as true. Come on… your mind is not stupid. It knows when you're forcing something versus when you genuinely accept it as reality (assume it). You need to be so certain that questioning isn't even an option and idc if other people disagree because who questions an assumption? An assumption is something you accept as true without proof go search it up. You must stay firm. It's not hoping, testing or checking for results it's about knowing aka accepting it as a fact. When you truly assume something it becomes your reality instantly. Reality will always reflect your truth.

So how do you truly accept something as true? It's actually simple but people overlook because they think taking time to face what's holding them down will waste their time. It's better to find out why you're finding it difficult and address it instead of staying stuck in a loop forever.

You need to find out what is preventing you from accepting your own word as the truth. Why don't you trust your own word as a fact? If you tell yourself "I have my desire" but deep down you're doubting or waiting or looking for proof then ask yourself "why don't I trust myself?" What thoughts are making you second guess your own reality? Is it because you're treating the physical world as more real than your own assumptions? Is it because you think that the physical world is the reason why you think you don't have what you want, when in reality it's because you assumed it first for it to reflect? Did you forget that reality is a mirror of your assumptions? Could it be you're looking at your circumstances and saying ughhh this is what's happening instead of actually understanding that what's happening is just a reflection of what you have been assuming up until this moment? Or maybe you've placed your power outside of yourself right? You believe circumstances or external factors hold weight in your manifestation rather than realising that NOTHING is set in stone and the only thing dictating your reality is your current assumption right? Maybe you think you have to do something and this is far too simple?

Figure it out and actually just spend time with yourself to pin point where you are struggling. Stop running away from your problems and address the reason why you can't accept your word as the truth. Remind yourself of the basics of the Law if you need to.

Now ask yourself what are you ACTUALLY assuming? Look at you telling yourself "Oh I'm affirming for my SP" and that being reflected back: you affirming for your SP. Look at you treating the concept of "just decide" like another method or technique to get to your desire and that being reflected in your reality: you in the process of using "just decide" like a technique to manifest. See how perfect the Law is? It's reflecting exactly what you're assuming. You're seeing your assumptions play out exactly as they are because manifestation is always based on what you're ACTUALLY assuming. You're STILL giving options to reality when there are no options… it's only what you say it is. As soon as you drop the debate you have with yourself in your mind and stop entertaining opposing thoughts you'll see how easy it is. You don't argue with yourself about basic facts of your life do you? You just accept them as true. That's exactly how you need to see your assumptions. Yes you need to be that certain and firm.

I PROMISE you the "key" everyone talks about to getting what you want… repeat with me… is to decide once and for all that it's done and that's it. Just accept it as true. Please just say f*ck all and accept it as true. What will you lose? Just do it.

[cherie-doll]

LADS: When You Don't Give Them Attention

༻ Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb ༺

₊˚✧ Xavier just wanted a few moments with you, despite how heavy his eyelids felt and how he should be resting in bed right now; he knew he wouldn't rest peacefully until you came to bed with him. Usually, he wouldn't even stay up waiting for you, but he felt particularly clingy tonight for some reason. It's like falling asleep with your favorite plushie from when you were a kid; you no longer needed it, but it still provided a sense of security and comfort that nothing else could replicate. Xavier kept coming up with excuses to get up, like going to the kitchen for a glass of water, or needing an extra blanket, etc... all just so he could walk by you sitting in the living room with a reading light on. What was so interesting about that book? But you had become so absorbed into the story you hadn't even realized how late it had gotten!

₊ ೀ Zayne tries his best to respond to all the messages you spam him with. Right after he finishes work he picks up his phone to read all the messages you sent him. You know he's not going to respond right away, so you usually get busy doing something else while you wait for that notification from Zayne to arrive. He's answered all your messages and tries calling only for you to not answer. He frowns, slightly disappointed; as he's used to you picking up right away. He's already thinking of what restaurant you'll visit when he passes by you sitting contently on a bench at the park. You don't even notice his gaze lingering on you as you're too busy trying to make friends with a pigeon. Zayne is amused that you managed to occupy yourself long enough that you don't even notice him standing directly behind you. Which when you do feel him you startle.

༄༢ུ࿓ Rafayel will let you know when he's feeling ignored. He's overdramatic and sassy and won't shut up about it. You're seriously tired and trying your best to finish your work, it's not like you're ignoring him on purpose! "I know, I know" as he complains about the fact that you told him you'd be done 20 minutes ago and it's been wayyy longer than that. If only you could close your laptop and cuddle and spend some time with him. Instead, you're stuck stressing over work. Seeing your furrowed eyebrows he decides to stop pouting and instead help you. The corners of this mouth go up in a soft smile as he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling his face into your neck. "I think this is good for us both." Perhaps he did help boost your productivity so you were able to finish early.

ᨳ᭬ Sylus knows every game and trick of yours, so he thinks you not answering his knock right away is you playing a prank of some sort on him. He waits a few more moments, the image of you giggling behind the door in his mind. But there's silence, not a sound when he rings the doorbell. He looks around and peeks in through one of the windows, well thankfully, he knows the code to unlock your door. He walks into your apartment and hears shuffling and plates clattering in the kitchen. There you are with headphones on, completely unaware of your surroundings as you unload the dishwasher and hum to yourself. You don't even feel his tapping on your shoulder nor do you turn right away when you spot his face reflected on a spoon. Suddenly, you feel his hands coming to the sides of your head, removing your headphones and his laugh is heard clearly.

❦ Caleb would come home and wait for when you would run into his arms like you usually did. But he's a little confused when he doesn't hear your footsteps nor you calling out his name. Maybe you were occupied with something? He roams the house; checking each room he passes looking for you. He tilts his head at not seeing you in your usual spots; you're not in your favorite armchair, nor are you in the kitchen grabbing a snack, and you're not in the bedroom either. Like a lost puppy, he stands confused in the house, not knowing where you could've gone. How strange of you... when suddenly he catches a glimpse of you through the window. You're peacefully gazing at the sky, headphones on and completely unaware of Caleb's presence. He decides not to disturb you and observes how serene this scene looks.

[cryoculus]

— DISCONNECTED ⟢

it’s not that wriothesley has been neglecting you. but god forbid a woman misses her boyfriend a bit too much.

★ featuring; wriothesley x f!reader

★ word count; 9.2k words

★ tags; modern au, established relationship, bodyguard wriothesley, emotional intimacy, healthy communication with your partner (yay!!), angst, fluff, SMUT (MDNI)

★ notes; this is a commission slash birthday gift for @joonie-beanie! everyone better wish bean a happy birthday (threatening). but also i haven't written for genshin in a hot minute, so forgive me if wrio is ooc (i don't think he is, but who am i to say!!!)

★ SMUT TAGS; rough sex, dirty talk, nicknames (sweetheart, good girl), body worship, cunnilingus, thigh riding, overstimulation, service top wriothesley, somnophilia, creampie

When you swiped right on Wriothesley all those years ago, you hadn’t really meant to.

In fact, it was Charlotte’s doing—your pink-haired, loud-mouthed work bestie who claimed you looked like you desperately needed to get laid. Blunt as she was, you couldn’t exactly argue, so you let her take your phone, roll her eyes at your half-filled bio, and start swiping with the same precision she used to schedule back-to-back meetings without mercy.

Charlotte had a reputation in the office: the matchmaking goddess. Every coworker she’d paired had at least made it through dinner without a red flag, which was more than most apps could promise. That’s the only reason you didn’t protest when she shoved your phone back into your hands, screen glowing with a photo of a very tall, very muscular, very attractive man.

“Wriothesley,” she read aloud smugly. “Twenty-nine. Lives downtown. Loves dogs. This guy’s your soulmate, I can feel it.”

Eh. You didn’t need a soulmate. You just needed a distraction.

So you nodded. She swiped. A flurry of hearts flooded the screen, and then: “It’s a Match!”

You didn’t expect much from that first date.

This Wriothesley person took you to dinner at some unassuming bistro near the edge of the city. He agreed to pick you up somewhere in the main district at your request. He told you that the restaurant wasn’t anything special, but the waitstaff greeted him by name and he tipped them double what you’d ever dream of spending on yourself. He also came with a dark coat and a voice so low it made your wine glass hum with each word.

You’d gone in expecting something casual—maybe even forgettable—but turns out, that date wasn’t a thinly veiled pretense for a one night stand. Wriothesley dropped you off at the main district again saying he’d enjoyed your company, and hoped he’d get to see you again next time.

Those last few words stuck with you though. Next time. 

It wasn’t until the third date that you found out what he did for a living. You were sitting across from him in a dim booth, half-drunk on a tequila sunrise and the way his frost blue eyes crinkled when he laughed, when you finally asked. 

“I work security,” Wriothesley said simply. “High-profile stuff. Government-related.”

That could’ve meant a dozen things, but the weight in his voice said it wasn’t just checking badges at a door. 

“Well,” you said, offering up a sheepish smile. “I sit at a desk and answer emails for a living. So... not quite bodyguard-to-the-stars level.”

It was meant to be a joke, light and self-deprecating, but part of you meant it. His life sounded like something pulled from a spy thriller, whereas yours felt like the static in between radio stations. But Wriothesley didn’t laugh. He tilted his head, brow furrowing just slightly.

“Sounds exhausting,” he commented dryly. “I think I’d last five minutes before walking out.”

The way he said it made your cheeks warm because it wasn’t the words themselves, but the way he looked at you when he said them. Like your life, your effort, your everyday still mattered. Maybe that was the moment you first started thinking this could actually go somewhere.

Things didn’t explode into love right away. 

There were no grand declarations or slow-motion kisses in the rain, but Wriothesley texted you every night, called you whenever you were both free, and took you out more than you expected. And when he stayed the night for the very first time, he made breakfast and folded your laundry before you could even protest. It was slow and intentional, set at a pace that never set alarm bells in your head, and somehow, that made it better.

A year in, he gave you a toothbrush in his bathroom. Two years, the two of you exchanged keys. By the third, you were fighting over paint swatches for a shared apartment with sun-warmed windows and enough closet space for both of your lives to unfold side by side.

Little by little, you and Wriothesley built a home, not just a place to sleep. The kind of home where laundry is always halfway done but no one minds because you both chip in without being asked. With the quiet rhythm of brushing teeth side by side, splitting chores when the world feels too heavy, and falling asleep tangled in limbs that speak more love than any words ever could.

It’s not glamorous, not like the movies. But it’s yours. 

Even now, with the city in the midst of one political flare-up after another and Wriothesley wrapped tightly around Neuvillette’s every step like the shadow of a well-muscled bodyguard, your routine never breaks. He still comes home and peels off his coat like it weighs double what it should. He still presses a kiss to your hair—even if his lips barely graze your scalp before exhaustion pulls him under. 

You’ve always been each other's safe place. When you're worn thin by the drag of a 9-to-5 desk job that leaves you staring at screens more than anything meaningful, Wriothesley’s quiet presence soothes you in more ways than one. And when he's bruised by the weight of guarding a man as important as the mayor, you're there for him, too. 

But these past few days?

You feel a little… disconnected.

Wriothesley has been working six nights in a row now—long shifts that come with the close-range security detail. Neuvillette has been attending summit after summit, hosting visiting officials with so much tension in the air you can feel it clinging to your boyfriend when he finally walks through the door. He’s more exhausted than you’ve seen him since you got together. 

You don’t fault him for it. How could you? He’s not just doing his job; he’s protecting someone. That’s who he is. That’s part of why you love him.

But gods, you’re tired too.

Sure, your job doesn’t have the physical strain his entails, but the mental grind has been eating you alive. There’s something about being around people all day—clients, coworkers, managers—that drains you in a way you can’t explain and lately, it’s been more than that.

You’re tense, too high-strung than you’d want to be. Your body aches not from work but from want. It’s because of the way Wriothesley’s voice scrapes low when he’s half-asleep. The way he brushes your shoulder when he’s passing by, his large hand spanning your back like he’s still half-protecting you even at home. The way he looks in the morning when his dark hair is mussed and his skin is still warm from sleep. 

You want him.

But every night, when he comes home, it’s clear: he’s spent. He doesn’t even make it to bed sometimes. You’d find him knocked out on the couch with his boots still on, his fingers slack where they’d been fumbling for the remote. And you’d just sigh and kneel down to untie his laces like it doesn’t hurt.

Like your needs don’t count quite as much.

You’ve started to think maybe they don’t.

He’s working harder. He’s serving the city. You’re just... clocking in, filling out spreadsheets, trying not to cry in the break room. It doesn’t feel like enough to justify this low, gnawing ache inside you; the crawling restlessness that no warm bath or vibrating toy or late-night distraction can quite soothe.

You miss him, and it’s not just physical. It’s not just sex.

It’s connection.

But you’re starting to worry you’re being selfish just for wanting it.

Tonight, it’s quiet again. 

You’re curled on the couch with your favorite blanket draped over your knees, all while the TV is murmuring some show you’re not really watching. The lamp you picked out a year ago with Wriothesley casts a soft gold glow across the living room, but it doesn’t feel warm tonight. Not when the other side of the couch is empty and the only sound is the ticking of the clock and the occasional rustle of wind through the balcony door.

You’ve already set out dinner. It wasn’t anything special, just something simple you picked up from the corner deli and left covered on the stove. But that was hours ago, and it’s probably gone cold already. You don’t even remember what time Wriothesley said he’d be back, if he even told you at all. 

You hate this feeling—this hollow, irrational ache blooming in your chest. 

You know he loves you. You know he’s trying. You’re not mad at him, but still... something tightens in your throat as you stare at the front door, willing it to open; wishing stupidly that just once, he would walk in and look as desperate for you as you are for him.

Your phone buzzes. It’s a message from him.

Leaving now. Be home soon.

You stare at the screen for a long moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard before you finally type: Okay. Be safe.

You delete the heart emoji at the end.

By the time the lock clicks and the door creaks open, you’re still on the couch, pretending you weren’t just crying into your sleeves two minutes ago. You paste on a smile that feels too thin and look up as Wriothesley steps inside, heavy-footed and drained, like the city dragged him behind it all day and spit him back out.

“Hey,” he says, his eyes finding you immediately. “You’re still up?”

You hum. “Wanted to make sure you ate something.”

He sighs as he shrugs off his coat, hanging it by the rack. “You didn’t have to.”

You know. But you did. You always do.

Wriothesley walks over to press a kiss to your forehead. It’s automatic and familiar, but not quite present. And when your boyfriend pulls away to make for the shower, you feel something inside you falter. You bite your tongue hard because if you speak, it’ll come out wrong, whiny and ungrateful even if you know you’re neither. But still—

“Wrio,” you say quietly, almost surprised you’ve spoken at all.

He pauses just when he’s halfway out of his shirt, brows furrowing slightly in concern when he turns to look at you. “Yeah? What’s wrong?”

You open your mouth to speak, but hesitate when you nearly choke on the words. You can’t cry—not over this. Not when he’s exhausted, and he’s already giving you what little he has left.

“It’s nothing,” you lie, tugging the blanket tighter around your legs. 

Wriothesley doesn’t move for a moment, as if trying to decipher the tone of your voice. You half-expect him to dismiss it with a shrug, but then he walks back over and kneels in front of you, one calloused hand resting gently on your knee.

“Sweetheart,” he says, voice gentler now. “Talk to me. You’ve been quiet all week.”

You blink rapidly. It stings. “So have you.”

That makes something flicker in his expression—guilt, maybe. 

You shake your head quickly, reaching to touch his cheek like you’re the one who should be reassuring him. “I know you’re busy. I’m not mad, I swear, I just... I think I’ve been pretending that I’m okay a little too hard.”

He catches your wrist, frowning. “You’re not okay?”

You press your lips together, voice barely above a whisper. “I guess… I just miss you a little too much.”

The silence between you hums with tension, and then, quietly, Wriothesley exhales and cups the back of your neck, his thumb brushing gently behind your ear. Your friends always say that your boyfriend has the coldest eyes they’ve ever seen, but it’s in these moments that you get to see the warmth just simmering beneath the glacial blue of his irises. 

“I’m sorry,” Wriothesley says, so quietly it nearly breaks you. “I’ve been gone, even when I’m here. Haven’t I?”

You nod, not really trusting your voice.

Wriothesley doesn’t say anything else. He just rises, takes your hand, and leads you toward the bathroom with a touch so gentle it feels like a question, and you answer simply by not letting go.

The steam curls up from the showerhead when you step inside, the soft rush of water filling the space between your breaths. Wriothesley glances back, and you can feel the hesitancy in his touch as his fingers find the hem of your shirt. You let him lift it over your head, let him undress you like you might break if he moved too fast.

When he’s bare, too, you both step into the warmth.

It’s not rushed, or heated. The two of you stand beneath water and silence. Wriothesley lathers shampoo into your hair with careful fingers, like he’s trying to make up for all the days he’s been absent. His hands move slowly, massaging your scalp, and for a while, neither of you speaks.

You lean into him with your back against his chest, the spray of water hitting your shoulders, and his arms wrapped gently around your waist. There’s no space between you anymore—not physically, not emotionally—and that’s when he finally speaks.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You shrug, pressing your lips in a thin smile. “I didn’t want to make it worse. You come home everyday looking like hell. I didn’t want to be another thing you had to carry.”

Wriothesley’s brow creases, and for a second, he looks like he wants to argue and tell you that you’re never a burden, not even close. But instead of speaking, he turns you around so he can pull you fully into his chest, burying his face in your wet shoulder like he’s the one who's been starved of touch.

“You’re not something I carry,” he murmurs. “You’re where I rest.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and a sob slips out before you can stop it—quiet and shaky. It feels more like relief than sadness. Wriothesley’s grip tightens like he hears it and needs to hold you through it, like he’s grounding himself in your heartbeat.

“I didn’t know it was getting this bad,” your boyfriend admits, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye. “You’ve been so good at holding everything down... I didn’t see how much you were holding it all in.”

You give him a watery smile, cheeks damp both from your tears and the shower. “Yeah, well. I’ve always been a little too good at pretending.”

He exhales, then presses a kiss to your forehead again. “No more pretending,” he says softly. “Okay? You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me.”

“I want to be,” you whisper.

“I know,” he replies, brushing a clump of soap suds just above your brow. “But wanting to be strong doesn’t mean you don’t get to fall apart alone. At least let me be there when you do.”

Wriothesley watches you intensely until you surrender with the barest nod of your head. He sighs, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead like it’s all the confirmation he needs.

The rest of the shower passes in wordless understanding. Wriothesley’s hands are steady as they move across your skin, careful in a way that makes your chest ache. He passes you the bar of soap without being asked. You tilt your head to rinse, and he guides the water away from your eyes with a gentle palm. 

There’s nothing urgent here. Just the quiet act of being—of washing away the days between you, and slowly remembering that love isn’t something either of you has to carry alone.

You both dress for bed after the shower. The air in the bedroom is cooler than the bathroom steam, and you pull on one of your lighter nightgowns—thin straps, soft fabric, a hem that brushes just a bit too high on your thighs when you sit. You catch the way Wriothesley’s eyes flicker down just once before he turns quickly to pull on a clean shirt.

He doesn’t say anything about it. 

You settle under the covers first, curling onto your side before he joins you not long after—close, but not close enough. He lies on his back as his arm brushes yours, eyes fixed on the ceiling like he’s engaged in a staring contest. You both breathe quietly for a while, cocooned in the kind of stillness that’s starting to feel more comfortable again. 

Wriothesley speaks first.

“Things might settle down soon,” he murmurs. “Neuvillette just has a final round of meetings tomorrow, and I should be switching in with some of the other bodyguards. Might actually be home before midnight for once.”

You hum softly. “That’s nice. Maybe you can eat a hot dinner, too.”

He turns to look at you then, a small smile ghosting across his lips. “Maybe I just like it better when you reheat it for me. The extra effort equates to extra love.”

You nudge his arm with your elbow, smiling despite yourself. “You sap.”

Wriothesley chuckles softly and the sound warms you all the way down. For a few quiet moments, he asks about your work, and you give him the rundown of the usual mundane office grind—annoying emails, tight deadlines, and the coffee maker that mysteriously stopped working when you needed it most. He listens carefully like he always does.

But the entire time, you can feel it. That slow coil of tension in your belly, the lingering warmth from the shower, and the ache that never really left. 

You’re not sure if it’s just you, but Wriothesley’s eyelids have dropped half-lidded, while he speaks with a tone that’s deeper than usual. His thigh is brushing yours now, and it makes you shift just a little closer. Then, almost reactionary, you feel his body tense beside you—barely perceptible, but you’ve been with him long enough to know when to wonder: 

Does he feel it too?

But Wriothesley has always been a mindful man. Since you ended up crying in the shower, you’re pretty sure that he now thinks if he touches you now, he’ll break something delicate. It’s something you still haven’t decided whether you hate or love about him because you’re not fragile. 

You’re burning.

Which spurs you to turn to your side and face him. The blanket slides with your hasty movement, and your nightgown pulls a little higher. Wriothesley’s frost blue eyes dip there again, lingering so much longer this time. He says nothing, but you see the way his hand twitches from where it rests on the sheets between you. 

You reach for it without hesitation. 

His fingers slip into the spaces between yours, warm and calloused and so much thicker than your own. You watch him as he watches you, and your heart simmers from… whatever’s growing here in the silence.

“I’m okay now,” you whisper.

His brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...” You shift closer, your knees brushing his. “I’m not gonna break, you know.”

Wriothesley’s gaze lingers for just a moment too long—still cautious, still holding himself back like he thinks he’s protecting you. It makes you want to grab his shoulders and shake him, but you’ve always had more composure than that.

But still, you’ve been together for years. You know Wriothesley, and even if it means swallowing your pride, saying what’s on your mind has always been the surest way to reach him.

“I want you,” you add softly. “If you want me too.”

The moment you murmur the words, it’s like a switch was flipped.

The control in his shoulders crumples all at once, like something inside him finally gives him permission to need—to take. He exhales sharply and sits up just enough to cup your cheek and pull you in like he’s been holding this moment behind his teeth for days.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint, “you have no idea how much.”

He kisses you before you can say anything else.

There’s nothing rushed about it. No hurried tearing of clothes, or frantic fumbling—only the slow, molten press of his mouth to yours as his fingers stroke along your cheek. You sigh into him, melting like wax under his hands. Wriothesley pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours with a shallow breath, his voice still heavy with restraint.

“You’ve been so patient with me. Always waiting. Always putting me first.”

You let out a soft whimper when his thumb grazes your lower lip, the sound slipping out before you can catch it. Your knees brush his as you lean in, drawn by the quiet gravity between you. Wriothesley’s frost-blue eyes crease at the corners, a faint smile tugging at his lips—those same eyes you gazed into on your very first date, wondering how someone so breathtaking could have ever made room in his world for you.

“Let me take care of you tonight,” he murmurs, the words curling hot against your skin. “Let me make it up to you. Please?”

You reply with a breathless nod.

That’s all he needs.

Your boyfriend moves to lower you back against the mattress with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. His hands roam over your body, calloused fingertips ghosting along your waist, your hips, every curve he knows by heart. Wriothesley doesn’t just touch you—he cherishes you, tracing every part of you like a man reacquainting himself with something precious.

“You’re so beautiful,” Wriothesley breathes, leaning down to kiss the slope of your shoulder, then your collarbone, making sure to let his lips linger on every patch of skin. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how hard you’ve been working too. You’ve been holding it all together so well.”

His voice grows softer as he speaks, words dipping between kisses, filling every breath with tender praise.

“Coming home late… still smiling for me. Waiting up, cooking dinner…” His teeth scrape lightly at the sensitive skin along your throat, pulling a gasp from your lips. “And I just… let you carry it all alone.”

“You didn’t mean to,” you breathe as you arch under his careful touch. His hands feel so big, so steady on your skin, like he’s holding you in place with nothing but devotion.

“But I did,” Wriothesley answers softly, eyes dark and warm all at once as he slowly peels your nightgown higher, slipping it over your head until you’re bare beneath him. “I should’ve been here. With you.”

Your breath stutters as the cool air meets your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his gaze—drinking in every inch of you like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. Wriothesley doesn’t rush to touch you again right away. He just looks at you for a moment, steady and unashamed.

“I missed you,” Wriothesley murmurs, more to himself than to you. “So much.”

Then his hands return—broad palms skimming up your sides, teasingly slow in their ascent until they cup your breasts with a reverence that leaves you trembling beneath him.

“Missed these too,” he mutters, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, making you gasp softly. He watches the way you bend into his touch, as if you need more because you do. You always do when it comes to him.

“You’ve been aching for this, haven’t you?” Wriothesley’s voice dips low as his fingers roll over the sensitive peaks, teasing them with practiced care, never too rough, but never quite enough either. You whimper, your back arching off the bed as his thumbs circle again and again, slow and torturous.

“Look at you,” he breathes. “So soft. So sensitive.”

Then his mouth replaces his hands.

He takes his time tasting you, tongue flicking softly over one nipple before drawing it fully into his mouth, sucking slow and deep until your fingers tangle in his dark hair and your breath comes out in shaky little gasps.

The wet heat of Wriothesley’s mouth, the way he swirls his tongue around you before gently grazing his teeth—it’s overwhelming in the best way. He lavishes one breast thoroughly before moving to the other, making sure to tease and kiss every inch in between, leaving love bites in places only he will ever see.

By the time his mouth moves to your other breast, you’re barely holding yourself together—trembling under his slow, relentless pace, breath breaking with every careful flick of his tongue. He takes you deeper into his mouth, sucking with deliberate pressure, then releasing with a soft, wet pop only to start all over again, worshiping you with a focus that makes your head spin.

That’s when he notices.

The subtle, helpless way your hips keep shifting—arching up, grinding down without even realizing it. You don’t even realize it. The soft friction of your thighs squeezing around his, your barely-there panties growing damper by the second as you subconsciously rut against the firm muscle of his leg, desperate for any sort of relief.

Wriothesley’s eyes darken immediately.

He pulls off your nipple with a sharp exhale, his gaze locking onto yours as a slow, wicked smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh?” His voice drops, rough with amusement, low enough to make you shiver. “Didn’t realize you were this needy, sweetheart.”

You freeze, heat rushing to your cheeks as you realize what you’ve been doing, but his hands are already sliding down—gripping your hips to hold you there, keeping you flush against the firm press of his thigh.

“So wet already,” he murmurs, dragging your hips down just enough to grind you deliberately against him. “You couldn’t wait, could you?” His tone is teasing, but fond—like he’s utterly charmed by your desperation. “Rubbing yourself on me like that… Cute.”

You let out a shaky whimper as he rocks you again, slower this time, making sure you feel every inch of the pressure against your aching core.

“Go on,” Wriothesley coaxes, his voice a low, velvety rasp. “Don’t hold back. Show me just how much you missed me.”

With that, he guides your hips once more—grinding you against his thigh while his lips find your chest again. He latches back onto your breast as he sucks deep and slow, coaxing broken sounds from your lips as the heat between your legs grows unbearable.

Wriothesley only smiles against your skin with a voice that’s dark and full of promise as he groans softly, “That’s it… there’s my good girl.”

You can barely meet his gaze, dizzy from the burn between your legs, but it doesn’t matter. He sees everything—feels everything. The wet patch growing on his skin, the way your hips twitch and stutter as you chase every little drag of friction.

“You’ve been so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs, kissing his way up your throat again. “So patient for me. But…”

His hands go still on your hips in an instant, holding you there right on the edge.

“…I’ve been patient too.”

The words rumble out of him like a warning, and before you can even catch your breath, Wriothesley flips you beneath him again in one smooth motion. Your lover pins you to the mattress, looming above you with eyes dark and ravenous, his breath hot against your lips. In a flash, he hooks his fingers under the band of your soaked underwear, dragging it down your thighs and tossing it aside without a second glance. His hands spread your legs wide, baring you fully to him, and the sheer hunger in his gaze makes your breath catch.

Your breath stutters, hips twitching beneath his touch as his thumb teases over your sensitive clit. As though he’s savoring every tiny jolt of your body under his hands while he pins you in place. His voice is a dangerous purr when he speaks, eyes locked to yours as he toys with you. 

“Where do you want me?”

You can barely form words, already shaking from the overwhelming heat and tension, but he doesn’t need your answer. He already knows.

Wriothesley hums, the sound thick with amusement and something darker, more indulgent, as he leans down—pressing a lingering, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, just beside where you need him most. His lips drag slowly as he makes his way closer, that piercing gaze never once straying too far from yours. 

“Poor thing,” Wriothesley coos, deceptively soft as he presses his lips to your other thigh, teasing you with more kisses that only make the ache worse. “You’ve been starving too.”

And then, without warning, he finally gives in.

He licks a broad, slow stripe through your folds, groaning low in his throat the second your taste hits his tongue—deep and guttural, like he’s been denied this far too long.

“Fuck,” he breathes against you, voice rough, almost dazed. “I missed this. Missed you.”

Before you can even gasp, he dives back in—devouring you with undeterred hunger, tongue flicking, curling, pressing just right, relentless and eager as he feasts on you like he’s making up for every night he came home too late, every hour he spent away.

He doesn’t just eat you out.

He worships you.

His hands grip your thighs, spreading you open wider as his tongue flicks against your clit—slow and precise, then faster, then back to languid strokes just to hear how your breath hitches. He drinks down every moan, every shudder, chasing every sound you make like it’s a reward. And he talks. Filthy, breathless praise slurred between licks, his voice deep and dark against your dripping heat.

“God, you taste so good… been dreaming of this for weeks.”

You sob out his name, thighs shaking as you clutch at his hair, but he doesn’t let up—if anything, your desperation only spurs him on.

“Don’t run from me, sweetheart,” Wriothesley growls, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your core as he sucks hard on your clit, drawing out a sharp cry from your lips. “You wanted this, remember?”

You nod, breathless, but it’s useless—he’s not letting you go.

He laps at you deeper, eating you like a man possessed. His thick fingers somehow end up sliding home into your wet channel, There is no escaping him when Wriothesley picks you apart with his tongue as if you’re the only thing he needs in the world.

And you realize—you are.

“Come on,” he coaxes, voice wrecked and desperate between strokes. “Let go for me. Let me have it.”

With the way he’s tasting you, relentless and perfect and starved—you don’t stand a chance. You shatter under him, legs trembling as your orgasm crashes over you, his name spilling from your lips in broken, breathless cries.

But Wriothesley doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t let you go.

If anything, he groans against you as if your taste only fuels him further, only sharpens his hunger. His hands tighten around your hips, pinning you down with an iron grip that leaves no chance to wriggle away from the overstimulation blazing through your body.

You thrash beneath him, sobbing, legs kicking helplessly against the sheets. But he holds you down with ease, strong arms locking you in place, his mouth still locked to your soaked core.

“Wri— Oh god. Wrio, please—” You can barely form words, voice breaking as your body jolts with every stroke of his tongue, every ruthless flick against your already oversensitive clit. But he’s gone completely lost in you as he drinks down every drop, licking you through each spasm and twitch of your trembling thighs.

“So good,” he rasps between hungry slurps, breath hot and wet against your slick skin. “So fucking sweet.”

He buries his face deeper, his grip bruising now, dragging you against his mouth again and again, forcing you to ride every last wave whether you can take it or not. You sob beneath him, trembling so hard it feels like you might break, but he loves it. He moans into you, devouring you like you’re his only salvation.

Your body’s already spiraling toward another high—too soon, too much, but his mouth won’t relent, and the pressure coils again before you can even breathe.

“No, no, I can’t—” you whimper, but it’s useless. He’s not listening. He refuses to stop.

“Shh,” Wriothesley hums darkly against you, sending another jolt through your core as his tongue flicks mercilessly over your clit, deliberate and devastating. “You can. You will.”

Then his voice drops even lower.

“You’re gonna come again for me, sweetheart,” he growls, dragging his tongue deeper, relentless and cruel in his hunger. “Be good and give it to me.”

As if your body is made solely to appease him, you fall apart all over again—screaming his name as your body convulses. Your vision goes white, another orgasm slamming through you so hard you can barely think, barely breathe.

You’re barely conscious of anything—your body still wracked with aftershocks, mind swimming in that heady, blissed-out haze—but you can feel him moving above you, finally letting go of your hips, his lips dragging one last kiss against your trembling inner thigh as he pulls back.

Wriothesley finally rises, breath hot and heavy, lips swollen and glistening from his relentless feast. His chest heaves with every ragged inhale as his frost blue eyes burn with something far more dangerous than hunger. 

Still, there’s a softness beneath it all. He cups your face with a large, steady hand, thumb brushing tenderly over your tearstained cheek, as if he’s grounding himself after losing control.

“Did so well for me,” he rasps, voice low and rough from how wrecked he is. “Took it all like a good girl… but I’m not finished yet.”

You can only whimper, too dazed to speak, and that’s when he sits back—kneeling between your legs, towering above you with that broad, sculpted frame still dressed in his sleep clothes. You watch through hooded eyes, breath catching in your throat as he hooks his fingers beneath the hem of his loose shirt. Wriothesley lifts it slowly, dragging it up over his head in one smooth pull.

God.

You’ve seen him shirtless before, countless times, but it still hits you like a punch to the chest. Your boyfriend is all hard muscle and carved lines, every inch of him honed from years of brutal work. His stomach ripples as he tosses the shirt aside. Your eyes catch on the faint trail of dark hair leading down from his navel, tracing lower beneath the waistband of his pants. 

Scars scatter across his torso, some faint and old, others more recent. They all cut through the otherwise perfect canvas of his body—making him look more devastatingly beautiful. You don’t even realize you’re staring until he speaks again.

“Keep looking at me like that,” Wriothesley murmurs, “and you’ll end up calling in sick tomorrow.”

Then he shoves his sweats down with little ceremony, pushing them past his hips and kicking them off with ease. You suck in a breath—he’s thick, flushed, already fully hard and aching for you. His cock curves heavily toward his stomach, leaking at the tip. The sight of him alone is enough to make your thighs clench together instinctively.

Wriothesley’s gaze softens at the sight, his voice dipping low and tender as he crawls back over you, caging you beneath his weight, every hard inch of his body pressed to yours.

“Don’t worry,” he breathes, nuzzling against your throat, his hips slowly dragging the thick weight of him through your spit-slick folds. “I’ll be careful.”

His voice roughens as he exhales, the words slipping out like a secret meant only for you.

“I want to feel every part of you tonight.”

The head of his cock catches at your entrance, teasing the sensitive spot where you’re still pulsing from his prior ministrations. Wriothesley doesn’t rush—he just stays there for a beat, watching the way you squirm beneath him, your body strung tight with need, trembling and bare beneath his weight.

“Breathe for me,” he murmurs, kissing your temple as he rocks his hips forward.

You gasp—he’s thick, stretching you inch by inch, filling you with an aching, burning fullness that steals the air from your lungs. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into the strong muscles there, but Wriothesley doesn’t flinch. He just watches you, gaze locked on every little change in your expression, like he can feel every shiver inside you just as deeply.

“God… You feel like heaven,” he groans, voice fraying as he finally sinks all the way in—seated flush against you, filling you completely. 

You can’t speak—you can barely think around the pressure, the overwhelming stretch that makes your body tremble from head to toe. He holds still for a moment, letting you adjust, letting you feel every throb of him inside you.

“You were made just for me, weren’t you?” Wriothesley whispers, his lips trailing down your cheek, your jaw, your throat, worshiping every inch he can reach. “Taking me so well. You love being split on my cock, don’t you?”

You let out a broken moan, nodding frantically as your hips shift in a silent plea. That’s all it takes for him to start moving—slow, deep thrusts that make you feel every thick drag of him inside you.

His pace is unhurried but devastating, hips grinding down with every stroke, hitting places inside you that make your breath catch in your throat. Wriothesley groans low against your skin, hands gripping your waist to keep you anchored as he rocks into you, steady and relentless.

“Been wanting this,” he pants, his voice wrecked and breathless in your ear. “Thought about it every damn night—wishing I was here instead of stuck out there, fucking missing you.”

He punctuates the words with a sharp thrust that has you keening beneath him, as if he’s trying to make up for every lonely night all at once. Forcing you to feel just how much he’s longed for you, how much this has been burning in him too.

“It’s been hell,” Wriothesley breathes, his voice fraying as he keeps his pace steady, grinding into you with slow, bruising rolls of his hips. His words fall against your skin, rough and tender all at once. “Coming home too late… seeing you waiting up for me every night, even when you’re dead on your feet yourself.”

You whimper, overwhelmed by the fullness and the weight of his confession both.

“I hated it,” he groans, his pace stuttering slightly as he sinks even deeper. “Hated watching you drift away from me. Hate pretending everything’s fine when all I want to do is keep you right here under me. Where you belong.”

The honesty and filth that coat his words makes you shudder, body arching toward him, helpless to the way his words spark against every nerve ending. 

You nod shakily beneath him—too breathless to speak, but it doesn’t matter. He can feel everything in the way your body tightens around him, in the soft, broken sounds spilling from your lips every time he rocks deep. Wriothesley swallows them all with a kiss, lips messy and desperate, as if trying to drink down every ounce of your need.

His hips grind deeper, slower, his voice dragging low from his chest, half-gone with restraint. “Nothing else feels like this,” he groans against your mouth. “Nothing else… feels like you.”

And god, it’s true. You’ve tried. In those long, aching nights when Wriothesley wasn’t home, when the cold side of the bed stayed empty and you’d buried yourself in pillows that didn’t hold his scent, you tried. Fingers, toys, anything to fill the space he left behind. But nothing ever compared to this.

Nothing ever stretches you the way he does, dragging against every spot inside you that makes your toes curl and your head spin. Nothing else burned like this, leaving you trembling and tearful under the weight of his need.

Nothing else makes you feel this full—this loved.

Your thoughts blur as you claw at his back, nails raking down the ridges of muscle and scars you know by heart. Your voice comes out wrecked, half-sobbing into his shoulder. “It’s not enough. N-Nothing else is ever enough. I only want you, Wriothesley.”

That makes him curse, loud and raw, hips snapping just a little harder as he holds you down, grinding deep into your tight pussy. “Say it again.”

“Only you—only you make me feel this good.”

Wriothesley groans like it’s tearing him apart. 

“That’s right,” he grits out, every thrust sending shocks through you. “No one else gets to touch you like this. No one else gets to have you.”

Your walls tighten around him at those words, and his pace falters, grinding in deeper, staying there, as he cradles your face with one trembling hand. When he kisses the tears away, you feel your heart ache for him even more. 

“I’m gonna give you everything,” he whispers, voice breaking apart with emotion and heat, his forehead pressed to yours. “Every second we’ve missed, every fucking bit of it.” And he means it—each roll of his hips packed with unspoken apologies, with longing and love so thick it almost hurts. He’s not just fucking you. 

He’s reclaiming you.

You can feel it building fast, the knot in your stomach wound tight from everything he’s already done to you, from the weeks apart to the way he holds you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered. Every deep, grinding thrust pushes you closer, and you cling to him, nails pressing crescents into his skin, chasing every bit of him with shaking hips.

Wriothesley feels it too.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice low and frayed, his breath hot against your cheek. “Let go for me again, sweetheart… I’ve got you.”

His words undo you completely.

You fall apart with a sob, the pleasure crashing through you, overwhelming and hot, tightening every muscle as your poor, abused pussy clenches around him. Your body locks up, trembling as your climax hits and stars burn behind your eyelids.

Wriothesley shudders at the feeling—your body gripping him so tightly it rips a ragged moan from his throat. He’s right there with you, his pace faltering as he fights to keep from unraveling too soon, but it’s useless. You’re too tight, too warm, too perfect wrapped around him like this.

“Mine,” he rasps, his rhythm losing all control as he drives into you even deeper, grinding to the hilt, buried completely inside you.. “All fucking mine—”

He spills into you with a groan, his hips locked tight against yours, the warmth of him filling you completely as he pulses deep inside. You feel everything—every twitch, every wave of his release spilling into you—and it only makes you tighten around him more, dragging out every last drop.

For a while, Wriothesley doesn’t move. He simply stays there, holding you close as his chest heaves with every labored breath. You notice his arms shaking as he cradles your face, as if afraid you’ll slip away, and you respond with a breathless laugh. You lean into the warmth of his chest, fingers tracing lazy shapes along the scars on his back.

“Y’know, you always overdo it…” you murmur sweetly despite the jab in your words. “You could’ve just said you missed me instead of nearly breaking my pelvis.”

Your boyfriend snorts. “Sweetheart, we both know you wanted to be folded in half beneath me for weeks. No need to act so coy with me.” 

You make a sound of outrage—weak and breathless, given the state he’s left you in—but it only makes him laugh, the kind of sound that warms your chest.

“As if you weren’t grinding on me in your sleep last week,” Wriothesley mutters against your hair, voice husky but amused, his arms tightening around you as he shifts to pull the blanket over your bodies. “Or moaning my name when you thought I wasn’t listening.”

“Lies,” you mumble stubbornly, tucking your face against his throat, too drowsy and satisfied to argue properly. “You’re full of it.”

He just hums, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before you both start slipping into that soft, boneless quiet—his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek, his body still nestled inside yours, too lazy to part.

But hours later, when the moon has shifted and everything’s hushed and hazy, you stir awake to the slow, instinctive roll of his hips against yours. 

You’re still wrapped around him, your bodies tangled and sticky with warmth, and even in his sleep, Wriothesley’s cock is thick and hard between your thighs, grinding up with needy, helpless thrusts as he breathes raggedly against your neck. You blink, hazy and half-lost in the fog of sleep, but when you shift your hips in answer, you feel the quiet groan he spills against your skin.

Still half-asleep, he mutters your name, slurring it like a plea.

You don’t stand a chance—not with the way he slides himself along the mess between your legs, driven by sheer need. All you can do is cling to him, letting him take what he wants, pulling you both under all over again.

You don’t know what possesses you. Maybe it’s the heady, aching fullness still lingering between your legs, or maybe it’s the low, guttural sound Wriothesley makes with every slow grind against your slick folds. But you tilt your hips anyway, just enough to guide him back inside you.

A soft, broken gasp slips from your lips the moment he catches, the thick head of his cock pressing right where your body is still tender and dripping from before. He slides into your soiled cunt with little resistance—everything still messy, still so wet, and it’s obscene how easily he fills you again.

You both groan, the sound low and guttural in the dark.

Wriothesley stirs at the sensation, his breath hitching against your skin, but he doesn’t fully wake just yet. His body simply moves on instinct, hips rolling slow and deep as he sinks fully inside, grinding against every oversensitive spot within you.

Despite himself, his hands roam, heavy and uncoordinated but hungry—palms dragging over your waist, up your ribs, before settling on your breasts with a rough, possessive squeeze.

“Mmh… Mine…” he mutters against your throat. 

His thumbs rub lazily over your nipples, teasing circles that send shivers down your spine even as his hips continue that deep, drugging rhythm—slow, thick strokes that never quite pull out fully, always grinding back in to the hilt. You can’t help the soft, breathy moans that escape you, half-lost in sleep yourself, body too pliant, too soaked and overstimulated to do anything but take him.

“Good girl,” Wriothesley breathes in that same drowsy murmur, his lips pressing clumsy, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. “Always so good for me… fuck, you feel so perfect.”

Your thighs tremble with every lazy thrust, his cock dragging through the combined mess of your earlier highs, every stroke a filthy reminder of how many times he’s already claimed you tonight, but none of it matters. You let him have you anyway, let him grind into you again and again, too far gone to care about anything but the warmth of him buried deep inside.

Despite yourself, you meet him willingly, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper, as if you’re just as insatiable as he is.

“You’re gonna keep me up all night at this rate,” you manage to tease, though your voice is wrecked, breathless from the slow burn of his cock dragging against every sore, swollen spot inside you. Wriothesley only lets out a dark, sleepy laugh right against your ear.

“Good,” he rasps, grinding in deep enough to make your toes curl. “I’m not done with you yet.”

You don’t even have time to catch your breath before Wriothesley shifts, the drag of his cock somehow sharper as he finally rouses fully from the fog of sleep. His breath is hot against your skin, rough and ragged, the weight of him pressing down on you as he starts to move in earnest—slow, steady thrusts that grind into every spot that makes your body jolt and tighten around him.

“So fucking sweet,” he groans, still slurred from sleep, but every word dripping with hunger. His hips roll deeper, languid and thick, as if savoring every wet, obscene sound of your bodies grinding together in the dark. “You just keep letting me in…”

You can barely respond—you’re too far gone, too soft and overstimulated, your cunt fluttering around him with every lazy thrust. It’s filthy, the way he slips through your earlier mess, grinding it deeper, making you feel every bit of it of his release still sticky and present. 

But when his hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen nub with terrifying ease, you gasp—a high, broken sound that echoes in the quiet. Wriothesley groans right with you, his thumb circling your clit in slow, devastatingly gentle strokes.

“Gotta help you along, sweetheart,” he mutters, his voice half a purr, half a growl as he watches your face twist in helpless pleasure. “Don’t want you falling behind…”

It’s too much. His cock grinding deep, his fingers working you with lazy precision—it has your body locking tight, your hips jerking against him despite yourself.

“Wrio— ah! Too much—” you whimper, but he only hushes you, his lips curling into a dark, sleepy smile against your throat.

“You can take it. You always do, my perfect girl,” he rasps, pressing harder against your clit as he rocks into you even deeper. “Just one more. Give me one more.”

The pressure crests too fast for you to keep up with, but there’s no stopping it. His cock drags through your gummy walls, his fingers never relenting, and you can feel yourself slipping under again, shaking violently as another orgasm curls tight in your belly.

“Come on, sweetheart. Milk my cock again—show me how much you love being filled up like this…” Wriothesley groans, voice wrecked and desperate now as his pace picks up, hips grinding messily into yours. 

You break into him with a sob, white hot ecstasy crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your aching pussy clamps down tight around his cock, and Wriothesley curses with a sharp hiss, hips stuttering as he grinds in deep.

“Fuck—fuck, just like that—”

He’s not far behind, your orgasm dragging him right over the edge with you. His hips lock tight against yours, buried to the hilt, as he spills inside again with a long, shuddering groan—filling you up once more as your body still flutters around him through the aftershocks.

You both stay like that for a while—panting, tangled, drenched in sweat and stickiness and heat, too spent to even think of moving. But you’re too blissed out and filled with cum and love to care.

Eventually, your breathing starts to slow, though neither of you moves—too exhausted, too warm in the tangled knot of limbs and sheets and fading tremors. His cock is still nestled deep inside you, softening but not quite slipping out, the heat of him still leaking from where your bodies remain joined. Wriothesley hums quietly against your temple, barely more than a rasped breath. He strokes slow, soothing circles over your hips, your back, as if to calm the aftershocks still fluttering through you both.

“I love you,” he murmurs, almost slurred with sleep again. But it’s steady—like the words were always meant to be there, tucked between your heartbeats.

You smile, too dazed and sore to do anything but melt into him.

“Love you too,” you whisper back, fingers curling lazily into his sweat-damp hair.

You tug him down for a soft kiss, lips brushing more than pressing, but it’s enough. He groans faintly in response—somewhere between contentment and pride, the sound rumbling in his chest where it’s pressed against yours. And then, in that same drowsy haze, Wriothesley’s hand drifts from your waist down to your thigh, hooking it around his hips again. 

“Better clear your morning,” he mutters against your skin, more to himself than to you. “You won’t be leaving this bed anytime soon.”

You laugh softly, not even bothering to argue because deep down, you know he’s right.

When you finally fall back asleep, your last blurry thought is that you’ll definitely be calling in sick.

The message from Charlotte pops up just as you’re halfway through your afternoon reports.

Get down to the lobby. Right now.

You frown, obviously puzzled as you rack your brain for what could have prompted this. Did you order something? Did you forget a courier drop-off? Were you in trouble with someone from the front desk?

Still puzzled, you grab your phone and make your way downstairs, muttering to yourself the whole way. Whatever it is, it better not be another one of Charlotte’s ridiculous pranks. But the second the elevator doors open, your breath catches.

Wriothesley is standing right there in the middle of the lobby.

Your boyfriend is dressed in his bodyguard uniform, looking every bit the part—broad shoulders, fitted black, looking painfully good and very out of place in the sleek office space. He’s holding an enormous bouquet of flowers that looks like it came straight from a fairytale. Your heart jumps to your throat as every head in the lobby turns toward him. 

“What the—what the hell are you doing here?!” you hiss the moment you stomp over, your face burning as you try to shrink into yourself. “Aren’t you on the clock? Neuvillette’s going to kill you—”

But Wriothesley only flashes that infuriating, calm smile of his, completely unfazed by the growing audience of office workers gathering around you. He steps forward and presses the bouquet into your hands.

“Didn’t think I’d forget my girlfriend’s birthday, did you?”

The words hit harder than they should, spoken like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and your whole face burns hotter.

You sputter uselessly, gaping at the sheer audacity of him—your boyfriend, standing here in full uniform like some dark knight from a drama, handing you the most beautiful bouquet you’ve ever seen, while half your office gawks.

Charlotte, from somewhere behind you, lets out a delighted little squeal. You catch her openly snapping photos, giggling behind her phone like she’s watching her favorite rom-com unfold live.

“W-Wriothesley, I swear to god—”

“Relax.” He leans in close, lips brushing your ear in a way that makes your knees nearly buckle. “I cleared it with the mayor. Just think of it like I’m on my lunch break.”

Then, even lower, he murmurs, “Besides… I figured you’d want something to look forward to after work.” His gaze flicks down before he adds with a wicked glint, “Dinner first. Then we’ll celebrate properly tonight. You’ll get to unwrap another present later.”

You almost faint.

Before you can say another word, Wriothesley straightens, presses a kiss to your cheek—in front of everyone—then turns to leave. His confident stride is slow and smug, leaving you standing there with the bouquet in hand.

Charlotte giggles beside you, utterly delighted as she keeps taking pictures. “Told you he was your soulmate~” she teases, while you bury your face in the flowers—face burning, heart impossibly full.

But honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

⟢ end notes: oh this was extra filthy... it has been A While since i locked in and wrote smut this emotional and passionate and— *sighs dreamily* ohh to be wriothesley's girl... i very truly enjoyed writing this, so i hope you enjoyed reading too :3c thank you again to my beloved bean for trusting me to write this for you!!! i am always happy to go back to my roots (the genshin men...) to bring ur delusions to life <3 happiest birthday!!!

© cryoculus | kaientai ✧ all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my work on other platforms.

[avaricefics]

I do, I do, I do | charles leclerc social media au

| charles leclerc x childhood best friend fem!reader

| It's always been you- his loyal friend, his unrelenting pen pal, his doting girlfriend, and now, his wife. Through curated posts on the socials of people close to you, your story together is played out.

| had a lot of fun writing my last smau with Kimi Antonelli, this one is pretty spur of the moment, but I'm excited :) And this one has an ABBA song as a title too haha

f1updates

f1updates Wedding bells are ringing for Ferrari driver Charles Leclerc and his longtime girlfriend, now wife, Y/n L/n-Leclerc! Fans are flocking to the accounts of wedding guests to get a glimpse at these two loverbirds' ceremony, and it's no surprise as to why!

comments

user1 When you literally watch your favorite ship grow up together... actual tears in my eyes

user2 Man, he actually put a ring on her

user3 The amount of organs I would sell to have been a guest at that wedding

-> user4 Real for that tho

user5 Mom and Dad are finally married!!

youroldersister

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, and 204, 587 others

youroldersister Ever since you were little, you and Charles were inseparable. I remember one night specifically, you were over at Charles' house and Mom and Dad sat me down after dinner. I was probably around 10 or 11, you would have been only 6 or 7. Mom started talking first. She explained to me that a big sister's job was to protect her little sister, no matter what. She said that nothing should come between us- not distance, not money, especially not boys.

Of course, I asked about Charles. 'Does that mean Y/n shouldn't spend so much time with Charles? 'Cause I think he's really nice, and he doesn't pull at my hair or make fun of me like other boys do.' And that's when Dad whispered to me, like it was a special secret just for us three, 'Charles is someone special, sweetheart. He's a part of the family, too.' Even as children, everyone could tell that you two were meant for each other.

comments

youroldersister Sorry for the paragraphs, but I love this story ❤️

-> yourusername 🥹

charles_leclerc My favorite sister-in-law in the world

-> youroldersister I'm your only sister-in-law, but it's the thought that counts

user8 Omg, little Y/n in one of Charles' racing helmets?? My heart 🥰🥰🥰

user9 The fact that mama and papa L/n KNEW, even at such a young age... So precious!

user10 The holding handssss, they were adorable

user11 Can just imagine them terrorizing the streets of Monaco when they were little

-> youroldersister Trust me, they did. They may have looked cute, but they were evil masterminds at manipulating our parents into more pastries

-> yourusername Not my fault I was born with the better puppy dog eyes

-> charles_leclerc Now that she's done convincing her parents to buy her croissants, she's moved onto me

-> yourusername Speaking of croissants... 🥺

-> charles_leclerc Anything for you, ma cherie 💕💕

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername, and 764, 928 others

maxverstappen1 Charles, I mean this in the nicest possible way, but you were insufferable as a teenager. Seriously, I've never met a single other teenage boy pine so besotted over a girl. After every single race, as soon as you were done reviewing the data and checking over the kart, you sat down and began writing a letter. Without fail, after every race you filled page upon page with everything you wanted to tell this one, special girl.

Once, I asked what you seemed to write so much about, and you told me with a straight face that you were telling her about the race, everything down to your tyre strategy and a lap-by-lap review. I thought for sure that no girl would want to date you if all you wrote about was karting, but apparently, Y/n was that girl.

Even if you two are so in love it makes me a bit sick, I'm so happy for both of you. To your future together 🥂

comments

charles_leclerc My best man, everybody!

-> user12 Best man??? Watch me go insane over this information

-> user13 I NEED to know all the drivers who were at this wedding... Guest list must go crazyyy

yourusername Aww Maxie 🥹

lando.norris What he doesn't mention is that his speech at the wedding was about ten times this length

-> charles_leclerc I wouldn't have asked him to be by my best man if I wasn't ready for the Maxplaining of my own relationship

-> user14 So now we have Lando confirmed at the wedding?!

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, youroldersister and 67, 302 others

yourusername My love, we've done it! Married at last- though now that all the wedding planning is over, I can't wait for it to be just us two once more. (And Leo, of course.)

I've loved you all my life, and I'm so excited for us to start building a new life together. You are my light, je t'aime jusqu'à la lune et les étoiles ❤️[I love you to the moon and the stars]

comments

user15 The reason I believe in love fr

user16 Married life looks good on you!!

charles_leclerc Tu es ma vie <3 [You are my life]

user17 Their relationship >>>

-> user18 No one does romance like them lol

-> user19 Absolutely! When I heard that they literally exchanged love letters for years, I knew they were made for each other

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1, and 309, 291 others

charles_leclerc Y/n, mon cher, you are the calm in the storm that is my life. Without you, I'd have drowned or succumbed to the pressure a thousand times over. With you, I am strong enough to withstand anything, as long as I face it with you. Monaco is my home country, but you are my home. Being yours is better than any podium, and our future together is brighter than any trophy. Je t'aime, je t'aime, je t'aime!

comments

yourusername Je t'aime ❤️

-> charles_leclerc ❤️

user20 'Being yours is better than any podium'??? Excuse me while I go cry from pure adorableness

user21 Her literally being his anchor 😭

lewishamilton Congrats to both of you! Definitely winning cutest paddock couple award this year

maxverstappen1 Congratulations, both of you

user22 The grid in the comments congratulating them 🥹

carlos.sainzjr Congrats!

oscarpiastri So. Grid mom?

-> yourusername Ofc darling!! I'm bringing stepmom brownies next time I visit

-> oscarpiastri 😁

-> lando.norris Eyy Osc my buddy! Abt those brownies, sharing is caring, right?

-> oscarpiastri 🤨

-> yourusername Dw Lando, I'll bring some for you too

-> charles_leclerc Darling? Betraying me this early in our marriage?

-> yourusername Don't be dramatic, you're my favorite taste tester and spoon licker!