#but i also wanted to do something that was short and no strings attached and would let me kind of wander for a bit

[volivolition]

suggestion do you have... any wants? like obviously you do but like? suggestion my guy my ourple boy. both the easiest and hardest to write. you need a skill to say something to move conversation along but it doesn't fit any skill in particular? about 80% of the time you can have suggestion say it and it will make sense. but like actually characterizing him... how do i define you dude... what makes your character tick... urgh. i dont get you yet. im trying to understand but you are difficult.

[maxivstappen]

congrats on 1k again mel 🤍 i'm so proud of u!!

i'm requesting for ur event: the lyrics "you make me wanna fall in love" from "juno" by sabrina, and the driver is oscar piastri

౨ৎ MAKE YOU FALL IN LOVE ‧˚. OP81

౨ৎ PART OF MY 1K EVENT & my short n' sweet series (not posted yet) ౨ৎ

summary — you said it was casual, but you both knew it wasn’t. he liked to tell people that he’s certainly not in love with you, so maybe you just had to make him fall in love.

a/n — thank you so much for your constant support ml🥹 im not too happy with how this turned out, but i hope you enjoy reading anyway <3 based on the song ‚juno’ by sab!

warnings — kinda smutty?? jealous!oscar, making out, very suggestive, hints of angst, english isn’t my first language, not proofread

It really wasn’t your fault.

You decided to keep it casual as to not get him into any drama, so that people know his focus was keen on racing - becoming a world champion and whatnot - and also for your sake, because the hate, if you weren’t used to it, really could become unbearable, and the last thing Oscar wanted was for you to have to deal with any of that, you were just way too precious to him for that. So the decision was made. No strings attached.

Stupid, right? No strings attached is something to settle on before being all the way into it. Because at that point of your relationship, there was no way to keep it casual anymore. The only way was to take a few things that had been said two or three times too often back. To leave it all behind and really only do those things for ‚urgent needs‘ . No more spending the night or cooking together or meeting up without the friend group or sneaking away from said friend group just so he could finally rip the dress you had been teasing him with all night right off of you. But he had other plans, he seemed to just keep going with it. Telling you how much he missed you every time he was back from the long weekends, repeating the same three words over and over again as he makes his way down your thighs, kissing every clothed and unclothed spot he could reach from under you.

The first time it happened it was simply an accident, at least that’s what you told everyone. At least that’s what you told yourselves. But your touch and perfume still lingered even after a week, so the next time you saw each other at a birthday party of one of your mutual friends, Oscar couldn’t keep his hands off you either. Confessions of being attracted were spoken out loud and the only thing keeping you from taking it farther was nothing more than a mental holdback. You were scared of the public. He was scared to see you hurt because of that.

After a weekend during summer break spent together you asked him to finally decide on where to go on from this. He blurted out that he’s not in love, so there was no reason for things to get complicated. Your breath hitched. Casual hookups was what he said. Friends with benefits, you chuckled, seemingly angreeing with him as to not make this situation any weirder, even if it hurt just a tiny bit. But he was right. You had a different idea of a perfect life than he had. Racing was his passion, being in the spotlight was part of the sport, and you couldn’t even handle having to hold presentations in class because you hated being the center of attention. You two were just too different.

So yes. It is his fault! Because if he’s really, after all these lovey-dovey moment shared, still not in love — like you admittedly were — then he should stop acting like he did. Why would he get you flowers every few weeks? Why would he gift you a whole vacation with your best friend including hotel, trips and things a sane person wouldn’t even ask for for your birthday, and the rest of your friends would only get a normal birthday card and occasionally whatever small thing they had wished for? If you were really just casual, then why did he treat you as if none of this was ever just casual at all? Why did he treat you like his girlfriend if he so confidently stated that he’s not in love with you just months ago?

He couldn’t expect you not to want him to fall for you too if he was the one who made you fall for him in the first place. As if the “casual” sex wasn’t enough already, he just had to do the most romantic shit for you as to not let you get over him at all. He wanted to play with your head, he made it obvious. Too many mixed signs, too many actions done but too little words said. Lucky for you and for him, two can play the game.

If he was sooo sure he’s not in love with you, which he just had to be, maybe you just had to make him realize his loss if he ever lost you. You had to make sure he knew that you were desired also by men who weren’t him, and since it‘s his fault you fell for him in the first place, he should be the one who has to face he consequences of not loving you back.

In other words, a little jealousy clearly wouldn’t hurt him.

You were getting ready in the bathroom of your apartment together with your best friend, “juno“ by Sabrina Carpenter playing in the background while you gossiped about whatever came to mind — including Oscar and you. It was a secret to everybody else, but not to her. She was the one you cried to after Oscar told you he didn’t have feelings for you.

You finished up your makeup with some lipgloss, and once you were final,y content with your accessories and outfits, you made your way over to your friend’s, jack’s, birthday. Everybody was there, including Oscar. And Lando. His only ally and his biggest rival. If that didn’t make him crack, then nothing would, but you decided to try, at least. Lando and you got along alright already when you had only just met, and he was the first man to point out that Oscar and you aren’t just friends, right?

So when you suddenly put your hand on his arm, slowly rubbing up and down his biceps, he was confused at first, and then caught up on your quick nod in Oscar‘s direction while holding eye contact with him. Lando didn’t mean to do him any harm, but as much as he loved his teammate, he would never be one to turn down an opportunity to mess with him like this, especially not if he knew it would, at last, make Oscar snap so he didn‘t have to listen to his hopeless whining about his relationship with you being oh so complicated. Just ball up and confess, man.

It was innocent at first. Just simple touches, your hand on his chest for just a tiny second because you needed something to steady yourself on as your reached behind him to grab your drink from the small table the couch stood in front of, or his arm around your waist when you all stood next to each other to take a round of shots. Lando was certainly amused and your best friend was winking and giggling at you the whole night, seemingly loving your plan, because Oscar was definitely reacting.

His blood was boiling and he wanted to punch that smug look right off of Lando‘s face. How dare he touch you when he knew that Oscar, his own teammate, loved you?

Oscar thought it was better like this. Playing pretend instead of facing the truth, and he was pretty damn good at doing so. He was sure you believed him when he said that he doesn‘t want your relationship to include anything other than moments of lust, he thought it was easier that way. He thought it would make things less complicated, thought he could live his life without having to put you in any danger, live his life without needing you by his side every second of his damned life if he just put some boundaries. Surprise! It only made things worse, plus apparently, guys seemed to think you were available now, thought they could have you like only he can. And it made him fucking furious.

So when you stood up to pour yourself another drink in the kitchen, he followed, of course not before shooting the other driver for McLaren a death glare. Lando sighed and leanded back in his seat, happy to see your man finally making a real move. He hoped so, at least. Oscar closed the door after entering. It was only you two now.

“Fancy another beer?“ You asked calmly, but the feeling in your stomach was far from calm. This could end in complete rejection, maybe he could see right through your façade and thought you were childish for doing this? But how could you not?! Oscar himself made you do it with his mix of signs every damn time you saw each other!

He shook his head.

The tension between you was palpable as he watched your every move, back turned to him. You felt awkward, but tried to ignore it. The light was dim, and you could still feel the bass vibrating through the floor and the walls coming from the speakers in the living room. Was music this loud even allowed at this hour?

You finished pouring yourself some more champagne when you saw him walking over to you in the reflection of the glass cupboard in front of you. You sucked in a breath, not daring to say anything, feeling slightly hazy from the alcohol you‘ve drunken in the past few hours already. His cologne became starker as he stepped closer to you, eyes closed as you let the familiar smell of him take over you completely. You only opened them again once you realized he caged you between himself and the counter, pressing himself against your behind. He started softly kissing down your neck behind your ear, almost tickling you with how light his lips felt against your hot skin. You wanted this, you wanted him. But his touch wasn’t nearly enough, you wanted all of him, and not just his body. Every yet so little interaction you had during the evening left you with butterflies going crazy in your tummy, yet he never seemed affected, not until Lando came into view. Did he really only want your body and not more?

“What were you doing with him, y/n?”

Nothing but a moan left your mouth as he gently bit into your skin, sucking on your sweet spot as you subconsciously rubbed up against him. You didn’t even want to reply, you just wanted him to keep caressing your skin with his mouth. “Tell me what you were doing with Lando, huh, baby? What were you thinking?”

“Oscar I-“

“Keep talking or I’ll stop,” he whispered as he made his way down your back and then back up your shoulder, kissing and mouthing at every spot. Thankfully your best friend had convinced you to wear the backless top, you thought.

You huffed. This felt so humiliating, but you couldn’t keep going like this, not when he makes you feel like this and then leaves like nothing ever happened. You lived a lie and it was time to stop.

“I was trying to make you jealous so that you would finally stop and do something!”

Oscar’s furrowed his eyebrows and stopped in his tracks, hands still on you. What were you talking about The tension came crashing down onto your body once again, his doing not distracting you anymore. You seemed to want to have this conversation, and Oscar could easily put some of his lust away in moments like these. You didn’t get a reply, the cue for you to turn around and face him. You were still caged between him and the counter, his hands steady on either side of you now as he leaned down to look at you. you couldn’t focus like this, not with him so close to you and with the alcohol running through your body like blood. You looked up at him with doe eyes, prettily batting your lashes even if your mascara was slightly smudged already.

“Stop what? Talk to me, please. I didn’t like seeing you with him,” he looked concerned. Worried even, worried about what he might have done wrong. He wanted to be with you, keep you as his, so why would you want to stop being exactly that?

“Why don‘t you love me?“ You whispered, tears forming in your eyes. You hated it, but it was inevitable. The confrontation was overwhelming you anyway, and being under the influence managed to make it a lot worse. Your hands were all shaky and so was your every breath as you anticipated his reaction, expecting rejection but still hoping for more.

“I- What? Why would you think that?“

“Maybe because you literally said so?“

“Uhm, okay fair point. Listen y/n,“ he sighed, and you could practically hear your heartbeat throbbing inside your chest. He thought for a second, but didn‘t say a thing. Instead, he grabbed your face and kissed you like never before, he kissed you with more than just passion, he kissed you with love. his fingers wiped away a tear that had rolled down your face, kissing and holding you as gently as he could. “Don‘t cry on me, y/n, please don‘t,“ he begged as he now kissed down your cleavage, leaving lovebites on your collarbones. “Was just being stupid, didn‘t wanna hurt you baby, thought long distance is too hard,“ he said something, anything to make you understand that the only reason he didn’t confess was because he was scared of his life not being compatible with yours, and not because he didn’t love you.

You smiled into the kiss once he reached your lips again. You‘d have to talk about it more tomorrow morning after taking some aspirin, you knew, after all, that you‘d go back home with him. It wasn‘t enough to make it official, you weren‘t boyfriend and girlfriend, but you finally had the guarantee that he felt the same way, that he loved you just like you did him.

Oscar swore himself at that exact moment, when he felt you smiling while his lips were dancing against yours, that he would never make you feel so unloved again. It wasn’t his intention in the first place, but seeing your beautiful eyes filled with tears because of him made his heart shatter, and he never wants to see you like that again, not if he was the reason for your pain. And even though you did have to make him realize through making him jealous, you certainly didn’t have to make him fall in love with you.

Because he already was.

౨ৎ general taglist / sns taglist ::

@norrisdriver / @1655clean

[pulisicsgirl]

in my hour of need - mason mount

summary: eight months after the end of their relationship, Y/N and Mason find themselves at the same event—a charity gala—and the night’s events leave them both unsure of where they stand with each other

pairing: Mason Mount x reader

word count: 8.4k

warnings/tags: inappropriate joke is made about the reader, angst, self-doubt, exes-to-lovers, hurt/comfort (hee hee hee), ends with fluff of course don’t worry, lots of crying involved along the way

requested: no

based off of this concept from @mountttmase and @saltyheartnightmare

A/N: I’m so excited to finally have a fic ready to post for y’all again!!! I’ve literally been working on this one for the last three months, so it’s definitely a relief to put it out there! This is set during the TFSL gala that Mason attended back at the beginning of March, so some things might be a bit”outdated” by now… I hope yall enjoy!!!

Seeing Mason tonight had been more difficult than you had anticipated.

Eight months had passed since the fairly amicable breakup between the two of you. Things had ended on fairly good terms, but it had been the little things that built up that had led to the end of your relationship. Between Mason’s injury along with the situation at United and new, huge career opportunities that had arisen for you in the last year, the two of you seemed to be in completely different places in your lives. It seemed like you barely saw each other for a few minutes after you woke up in the morning and a few minutes before you fell asleep at night.

In the end, the disconnect was too much, and the two of you agreed to end things before they could get ugly.

You were thankful to have avoided the period of fighting and bickering that you knew would inevitably come with the track that you and Mason were on. Your relationship with him had many fond memories attached to it, and you didn’t want to see those tainted by a messy breakup. But every day that passed, you missed waking up in his bed, being by his side, spending time with him— all of it.

The two of you had tried your best to remain friends, truly. You had texted back and forth a bit, doing your best to keep up with each other’s lives and keep each other updated. You met for coffee about three weeks after the split, but after that your communication had quickly fallen off. You wondered if, like you, Mason had realized that trying to maintain a friendship had grown too painful. If, like you, it was killing him to have you sitting across from him and not be able to hold you, to kiss you, to call you his.

But there was no way for you to know— the two of you hadn’t spoken since.

It hadn’t come as a surprise that he was making an appearance at the charity gala. After all, it was him that had connected you with Together For Short Lives, the organization that Mason had a long-standing relationship with and also the organization benefitting from tonight’s events. Mason’s passion for the charity and its work had sparked something within you, and you had quickly pulled some strings to get your workplace involved with it as well— all of this while you were still together.

So when your boss told you about his contribution to the charity gala and has asked you to be the representative for the business at the auction itself, you knew that seeing Mason would be inevitable.

But it’s been eight months since the split—seven since you last saw him. Surely, you’d be fine by now, you had thought.

Unfortunately, you had thought wrong.

The first glimpse of him in the sleek black suit had sent a sharp pang through your chest, a wave of emotions crashing over you. His hair and beard were neatly trimmed and the softness of it immediately made you think of how it felt when you would run your fingers through it, or the scratch of his beard when you would cradle his jaw in your palm. His shoulders seemed to have grown broader, if that was even possible. His eyes looked brighter, and he seemed far more well-rested than you had seen him in the months leading up to your breakup.

And then the terrifying thought had hit you.

Maybe he was better off without you.

Maybe the breakup had been good for him. Maybe you had been the thing draining him in the last months of your relationship.

You felt the tears spring to your eyes as soon as the thought crossed your mind, blinking them away quickly.

But the thought continued to plague you as the night went on. There were a thousand things that were making you feel unsure of yourself and the thought that your relationship with Mason had actually been detrimental to him was just the cherry on top.

This just wasn’t the kind of event you usually found yourself at, even less a setting that you felt comfortable in. You would much prefer a quite night in or the opportunity to fade into the background. When you had been with Mason, you found yourself at a few events like this one, but you always had him at your side. Often you would allow him to navigate the evening for you, so you didn’t even have to think about anything. Tonight, instead of standing next to you so you cold hold tightly onto his arm when you felt unsteady, he was 100 feet away, engaged in conversation with someone else.

To make matters worse, you had asked a friend of yours to help you find and choose a dress for the evening, and she had insisted you would look and feel great in this elegant, low-cut, dark green dress that had an open back. At the time, she had convinced you that the piece complimented your figure and would make you feel confident and sexy. However, it was completely out of your comfort zone, and you regretted your decision to listen to her as you tugged on parts of the dress to try to cover yourself up more throughout the night.

Between the unfamiliar environment, the dress, and Mason’s presence, everything left you feeling quite unsure of yourself.

When you reached your seating assignment, you were relieved to see that you were familiar with a few of the individuals that were sitting at your table—acquaintances that worked for the same company as you who, no doubt, were also sent as representatives for the charity gala. The relief was short-lived, however, when you realized that, directly in front of you, a mere two tables over, Mason’s seat was directly in your line of sight.

You did your best to sink into the shadows, allowing conversation to flow around you without making any contribution, unless someone directly asked you a question. You also tried your hardest not to look over at Mason— this sight of him happily engaging in conversation, seemingly unaffected by your presence, was too much for your heart to handle.

A wave of relief washed over you when someone got up on the stage, removing any pressure to engage in conversation at the table as everyone turned their attention to the announcer. He spoke a bit about Together for Short Lives and the work that they did, soon announcing that it was time for the items to be auctioned off.

Some of the auction items piqued your interest, seeming like items or experiences that you thought you might enjoy. But any sort of intrigue faded when you heard the amounts of money that some of the gala’s patrons were volunteering for them, quickly realizing you were way out of your depth in this room of people.

Before too long, the announcer introduced a “Manchester United Experience,” involving a tour of the team’s facility, accompanied by the team’s star boy himself. Mason approached the stage, walking up the short flight of stairs as applause rang throughout the room. You didn’t hear much of the discussion of the experience as you got caught up in watching Mason and the playful way he interacted with the announcer and the crowd. His silly boyishness sent a pang through your heart, missing the playful way he used to interact with you.

You could’ve sworn his eyes caught yours as they swept the room, and you flashed him a short, forced smile as a sort of sign of goodwill. You weren’t exactly sure where the two of you stood, but you wanted to show him that you didn’t harbor any negative feelings toward him, despite the loss of contact.

The faintest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips before he turned his attention back to the announcer who had just asked him a question— one that Mason had to ask him to repeat.

Soon Mason was leaving the stage, having earned an ungodly amount of money for TFSL with his promised tour of Old Trafford.

A sick feeling settled in your gut, knowing it couldn’t be much longer before your company’s contribution was auctioned off. The mere thought of stepping onto that stage sent a rush of fear through your veins.

Before you knew it, you found yourself standing to the side of the stage, awaiting your queue to join the announcer on it. Your palms felt sweaty, your heart racing as you tried your best to compose yourself. Applause rang through the room, and you put all of your focus into not tripping as you walked up the stairs.

The room felt ten times bigger from atop the stage, filled with many more people than you had realized were in attendance. You tried to focus on smiling and nodding at the appropriate moments as the announcer explained what your company was auctioning off.

“And of course, we’re very appreciative of Miss… uhm…”

“Y/L/N,” you spoke quietly as the announcer trailed off.

“Yes, we’re very appreciative of Miss Y/L/N being here with us tonight,” the announcer resumed his charismatic personality after it had faltered briefly. “She’s certainly doing her part to raise money for a good cause. I mean, with this much skin on show, that has to be worth a few extra pounds on your bid, right?”

Your stomach sank to your feet as laughter erupted in the large room. You felt the heat in your cheeks, your smile faltering at his words. You suddenly felt ten times more self-conscious of yourself as you stood on the stage, feeling like a zoo animal being laid bare and displayed for everyone’s entertainment.

“With that, we’re going to start the bidding off at…” The announcers voice faded as the room felt like it was closing in on you. Your eyes flicked through the crowd, jumping from face to face until you found the one you were looking for— Mason.

While everyone else seemed to still be composing themselves from the eruption of laughter at the joke the announcer had made at your expense, Mason’s eyes met yours with the saddest expression you though you had ever seen. You could just barely make out his lips mouthing the words it’s okay, you’re okay, before your misty eyes could no longer make out his face.

You composed yourself just long enough for the announcer to finish off the auction, and you offered him a forced smile before you rushed off of the stage.

All you knew was that you needed to be anywhere but this room. You needed to get out, away from all of the people who had just witnessed your very public humiliation.

You made a beeline toward the back of the large hall that everyone was seated in, spotting the double doors that you knew led out to the hallway. Your heels click on the floor as you push through the doors and find the exit out to the decorative garden off of the side of the building being used for the gala. Thinking a bit of fresh air would do you good, you rushed outside, ignoring the chill that rushed through you as the cold air met your skin. Moving quickly away from the building, you ducked behind some hedges in the hope that no one would see you.

Your breathing was heavy as you tried your best to dampen the emotions welling up inside of you. Your throat felt tight as you fought back the tears of embarrassment, frustration, and regret. Forcing yourself to breath slowly, in through your nose and out through your mouth, you did your best to wipe gently at the corners of your eyes, praying that you wouldn’t ruin the makeup you had done only a few hours before.

“Y/N?” you heard a voice call from around the corner. Your heart sank as you recognized the gentle tone and the footsteps let you know that he was close. This was surely not the circumstances you had hoped to be in when you spoke to him for the first time in months.

You turned your back just in time for Mason to round the corner and find you hiding away in your little nook. There was nothing you hated more than the idea of letting him see you cry in this moment.

“Y/N, love-“

“I’m fine, Mason.” Your voice came out harsher than you had meant for it to. “Really, I’m okay. Just go back to the auction.”

Undeterred by the way you had spoken, Mason took a couple of steps closer to you. “No, you’re not, Y/N. I know you better than that.”

You couldn’t respond, and you knew he hadn’t missed the small sniffle you had let out as you bit your lip to keep it from trembling.

It was only a moment before you felt his fingers gently take hold of your arm, turning you to face him. Your head was bowed low, still unwilling to let him see your misty eyes.

“C’mere, love,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around your torso as he pulled you in for a tight hug. You couldn’t keep yourself from returning the gesture, your arms wrapped under his as you pressed your palms into his broad back to hold him close. You tucked your face into his neck and suddenly, your heart felt more settled than it had in months.

“He had no right to say anything like that— about you or about anyone,” Mason mumbled into your hair, pressing a barely-there kiss to your temple. “It was completely inappropriate, and you have every right to feel upset. I’m so sorry.”

He brought a hand up to cradle the back of your head, holding you closer to him. You didn’t fight it at all, settling into him more and taking comfort in the proximity.

When he could tell that your breathing had steadied, Mason pulled back, still holding you with one arm as he looked down at you with a soft smile.

“There she is.” He brought his free hand up, brushing his thumb gently under your eyes to wipe away a tear that had fallen. The gesture was so gentle and intimate that you felt like your knees were about to give out, thankful that he still had one arm around you to steady you. “Whatever waterproof makeup you’re using is working because you still look perfect,” he joked, warmth flooding through him at the soft giggle you let out before dropping your forehead onto his chest.

“For the record, your dress is beautiful,” Mason said softly. You knew he must have sensed your discomfort with how much skin you had on show, even before the gala announcer had made any comment about it. “And, in the least creepy, predatory way possible, you look amazing tonight.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, wanting to convey your gratitude to him while trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach at his words. The one thing you did like about the mostly open back of the dress is that you could feel Mason’s palm flattened directly against your skin as he held you close, his thumb rubbing back and forth in soothing motions. This, combined with the look in his eye that you couldn’t quite place as he looked down at you, made your skin feel like it was on fire, the heat rising up your neck and into your cheeks.

You brought your hands to his chest, holding the lapels of his jacket in your hand before you spoke quietly. “We should go back inside before anyone realizes we’ve gone.” You felt suddenly overwhelmed by the interaction with him, feeling yourself falling back into old habits without even intending to.

Mason unwound his hands from your waist, seeming a bit discouraged by your comment as he merely nodded, holding his arm out for you to take. You did so, holding onto his elbow to keep yourself steady as he led you back inside.

It was quiet between the two of you, neither sure what to say to the other after the intimate moment in the garden. Once back inside you squeezed his elbow gently, saying, “I’m gonna go freshen up really quickly, but I’ll see you back out there,” with a gentle smile. Mason nodded, letting you step away from him and into the bathroom.

In truth, while you did feel a need to freshen up a bit after the tears you had shed outside, you needed a moment to collect yourself— not because of the auction announcer’s comments, but because of Mason.

You stood at the small sink in the ladies’ room, watching yourself in the mirror as you tried to stop the way your head seemed to be spinning. The last time you had seen Mason was seven months ago, engaged in stiff conversation because neither of you knew how to speak to each other after the breakup. But now, he had come to your rescue without a second thought and held you as if the breakup had never even happened.

And it felt right…

You shook your head, telling yourself not to read too much into it— Mason is a caring person and just because he ran to your side when someone had said something hurtful about you doesn’t mean he wants you back. You were self-aware enough to recognize that you had a tendency to let your thoughts run away with you, and you did your best to shut it down before it got out of hand.

At the same time, Mason’s mind was also running wild. His brain felt as if it was under some sort of fog, intoxicated by the feeling of being able to touch your skin again. He was like an addict who had quit, cold turkey, some months ago, and the first taste of your proximity had nearly done him in. He couldn’t stop thinking of how it felt to be so close to you again— to feel your weight against his body, to smell your shampoo that was still the same, to hear your soft voice, muffled by his own neck, your gentle breaths fanning over his skin.

He was worried that maybe he had been too forward— maybe you hadn’t wanted him to run after you. He didn’t want you to think he felt like he needed to rescue you from every poor situation, but after hearing the announcer’s comments and seeing the way it had so clearly upset you (even though everyone else seemed to have overlooked it), he knew he couldn’t just let you be on your own.

He been wary of overwhelming you, but it felt right to pull you into his arms out in the garden. It felt right to hold you close to him and rub gentle, soothing circles into your back with his thumb, the way he’d always done before.

Mason felt unsure of himself. He worried that your hurry to get back inside was to get away from him. He pondered with the idea of going back into the gala so it didn’t seem like he was hovering. But he battled with himself internally, thinking that you may not have wanted to be left to your own devices.

He hated that the months he had spent apart from you had robbed him of his ability to read you. He just wished he could figure out what was going on in your head.

In the bathroom, if you hadn’t had a full face of makeup on, you would’ve taken this opportunity to splash your face with cold water. However, a few deep breaths while you told yourself to get it together would have to do, and you exited the bathroom, planning to find your way back to your table and leave as soon as the event was over. It would be best, you thought, to not engage too much with Mason to avoid getting your hopes up before they were inevitably crushed.

Those plans were cut short the moment you stepped out of the bathroom and into the building’s foyer. There, Mason was waiting for you, and your stomach did a flip at the soft smile that took over his face when he lifted his head and saw you.

A wave of relief that you hadn’t expected washed over you at the sight of him waiting there.

“It sounds like they’ve wrapped up the auction in there.” Mason jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing toward the large hall that you had fled from just a bit ago. You could hear the sound of loud conversation and laughter, signaling that Mason was, indeed correct, and the guests would be starting to exit the hall soon.

Unsure of what you were meant to say, you were thankful when Mason spoke up again. “Look, I’m here, and you’re welcome to stick with me if you’re still feeling a bit overwhelmed, but if you want me to just leave you be, I understa-”

“No, please,” you rushed to cut him off, the thought of having the face the room full of people before you alone sending a feeling of dread down your spine. “I mean… I just… can I just walk with you?” Your voice was small when you spoke again, feeling pathetic for being incapable of facing an event without him by your side.

A warm feeling spread across Mason’s chest at your words, feeling a sense of pride that his presence made you feel even a little bit safer in the unfamiliar environment. Wordlessly, he offered his arm to you again, a reassuring smile on his lips.

As much as you wanted to portray yourself as an independent person who was able to take care of yourself, you had to admit that the rest of the evening felt much easier with Mason at your side. It was so easy to slip back into the same old routine—everyone wanted to talk to the star footballer, and you were happy to stand quietly at his side while he shook hands and unleashed his irresistible charm on each one.

Mason kept you close to him at all times, and the warmth of him settled your nerves tremendously. The gentle placement of his hand on your lower back sent tingles up your spine every time, and it took everything in you not to wrap your arms around his waist, afraid of overstepping.

It wasn’t much longer before Mason was leaning down, mumbling in your ear to ask if you were ready to leave. He knew this wasn’t your scene at all and had been looking for an opportunity to get you out of there since the two of you had stepped back into the gathering hall.

You had to hold back a shiver as his breath fanned over your neck, nodding in response. You let him know you just had to pop over to your table to grab your things and he nodded, following as you led the way.

Once you had retrieved your clutch and bid as quick of a goodbye as you could muster to those that were still lingering at your table, you and Mason turned to leave, heading back toward the set of doors you had entered through. The hall had grown more crowded, and as you weaved between tables, you allowed Mason to grasp your hand, leading the way through the sea of people so you wouldn’t be separated.

As you entered the foyer, Mason tugged you forward gently so that you returned to his side. The two of you exchanged a short smile.

“Is your hotel close by?” you asked, trying to make a bit of small talk as the two of you walked toward the exit.

When the bridge of Mason’s nose went red, a shy but unsure smile on his face, you slapped a hand over your face, realizing the double meaning of your question.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” you felt the heat in your face as you, no doubt, were turning bright red. “I was just trying to make small talk. Clearly, I’m not good at it.”

“No, no, it’s okay.” Mason couldn’t hold back his laughter. “Uh, I’m actually making the drive back to Manchester tonight. We’ve got training tomorrow morning, so I’ve got to get home.” Mason reached the door, holding it open for you. “What about you? Are you nearby?”

“Yeah, actually.” The two of you reached the sidewalk in front of the building, coming to a stop as you turned toward each other. “I’m supposed to be a hotel just a bit that way.” You pointed behind him, toward the accommodations that your job was paying for.

There was a beat of silence between the two of you.

“You know… you’re welcome to tag along back to Manchester with me, if you wanted to. I could use the company to keep me awake.” Mason smiled softly at you, remembering how much you hated staying in hotels.

“Don’t you have Lewis or someone with you? I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Mason shook his head in response, mumbling a quiet, “just me.” He was subtly rocking back and forth on his feet, and you could tell he was nervous about your answer.

Getting to go home, rather than sleeping in an uncomfortable hotel bed did sound pretty nice after the turn your night had taken.

Mason watched your eyebrows furrow in thought, an anxious feeing settling in his tummy as he awaited your response.

“You’re sure?”

Mason did his best to conceal the excitement he felt at the idea of getting to spend a couple more hours with you. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he whispered. “Come on, you and I both know you won’t get any sleep in that hotel bed.”

You couldn’t deny that he was right.

It wasn’t long before you were ducking into the passenger seat of Mason’s car, making sure the bottom of your dress was all the way in before Mason closed the door behind you.

The drive started out quiet, neither of you sure how to navigate the situation that you found yourself in. But as soon as you asked Mason about the FA Cup quarterfinal win over Liverpool where he had made his return following injury, his face lit up and things felt like they were almost back to normal.

You did your best to keep the topic of conversation on Mason and his life, not wanting to speak about yourself. Any time he seemed to be coming to the end of one topic, you were sure to ask another question before he had the chance to ask one to you.

Because, truth be told, life had been nothing but dull since the two of you had parted ways. Seeing him tonight was the most interesting thing to happen to you since… well, since the last time you’d seen him.

It was no secret that the transition to Manchester had been difficult for the both of you. There was no doubt it had contributed to the ending of your relationship. Leaving behind your friends, your old flat, and all of the things you had known had been no easy task. Thankfully, you had been able to stay in the same line of work, merely transferring to a new location. But you had struggled to adjust to the new, unfamiliar city, even more so when you didn’t have Mason at your side. Weekend visits back to London to visit your old friends were all that had kept you going in the last months.

As you listened to Mason telling stories of all of the fun things he had gotten up to with the boys on the team that he had grown closer with, the self-doubt creeped back in. He seemed to be doing so much better since the two of you called things off, and again your mind told you that maybe he was better off without you.

Mason noticed the change in your demeanor almost immediately. The car grew quiet, and you sat with your head leaned against the window, watching the lights as they passed. It may have been months since he last saw you, but he could recognize the signs of you overthinking from a mile away, unsure of whether it was about the announcer’s comments from earlier in the night or the fact that you were sitting in a car with him.

Wanting to provide a bit of reassurance, Mason reached over, taking your hand in his, bringing it up to his face, and pressing a quick kiss to the back of it. He placed your hand back in your lap, moving to put his back on the steering wheel, but your grip tightened slightly to prevent him from doing so. Your head remained pressed against the glass, but the small gesture brought a smile to Mason’s face as he shifted to intertwine his fingers with yours.

Mason didn’t press you for conversation, allowing you the space to process the events of the night however you needed to. Before long, Mason heard the soft sound of your deep, steady breathing, and a quick glance in your direction revealed that you had drifted off to sleep, your hand relaxed in his. The dull ache that had settled in his chest all night grew a bit sharper as he stole a few glances in your direction, admiring the peaceful expression on your face.

As much as he tried to hide it, as much as he tried to put on a brave face and talk about all of the amazing things that had been going on in his like recently, he couldn’t deny…

He missed you.

He missed having you like this, at his side at the end of a long day. He missed the feeling of ease that washed over him just by knowing you were close by and being able to have that same effect on you. He missed catching up with you at the end of the day, instead of trying to accurately recap the seven months that had passed since he’d last seen you.

He just missed you being in his life and had spent the last eight months trying to find out how to get you back in it.

*

You were jostled awake as you heard the sound of a car door closing. You sat up straight, blinking your eyes a few times as you tried your best to figure out where you were. You recognized the interior of Mason’s car, a flash of confusion running through you before the memories of the night came flooding back in.

The car door at your side opened, Mason appearing at your side as he crouched down, offering you the gentlest of smiles.

“Hey there, love,” he spoke softly, and the kind look in his eyes made your heart flutter. “You fell asleep on the way back, and I realized I don’t know where your new flat is.”

The little flutter of your heart quickly died, the reality of your failed relationship crashing back in after you had been able to put it to the back of your mind for much of the night since Mason had come to your aid.

“O-Oh, I’m sorry,” you shook your head, reaching for your bag to pull out your phone. “I’ll just order a car, I’m so sor-”

“Don’t be silly, just stay here. I’ve got some extra things you can use, and I’m going into training late tomorrow anyway, so I can drop you at home on my way,” Mason smiled at you, and the way his eyes shone hopefully meant you wouldn’t need much convincing, whispering a soft “okay” in reply.

Mason took your hand, helping you out of the car and leading you inside as you wiped your bleary eyes. He led you to his room, releasing your hand as he wandered through the room, laying out a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants for you to wear. He wandered to the bathroom for a few moments. When he emerged, you watched with confusion as he collected a few things in his hands and walked toward his door.

“You can sleep in here tonight. I still had some of your skincare products left over from before, so they’re out on the counter,” he smiled at you. “I’ll just be in the guest room, if you need anything.”

His generosity caught you off-guard, and before you could come up with a response, he placed a quick kiss to the top of your head and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

You stood in the middle of the room for a moment, just looking around, taking it all in. You never would have suspected that you’d find yourself here again, and you couldn’t wrap your head around the turn that this night had taken.

Finally snapping yourself out of it, you slipped out of your dress, pulling Mason’s shirt over your head. The scent of his cologne mixed with the laundry detergent he always used brought a wave of emotion crashing over you, and your lower lip wobbled as you walked into the bathroom.

Along with a spare toothbrush that he had set out for you, all of your skincare products were lined up on the counter, and the thought that he had held onto them for you after all this time was what finally caused the tears the spill down your cheeks, the emotions of the night finally catching up with you.

When you crawled into the bed, face washed and feeling fresher after the long night, you allow the tears to flow, pressing your face into Mason’s pillow.

All of it was so overwhelming. Seeing him again after so long. How unsure you had felt of yourself throughout the night. Being humiliated in front of an entire audience. The way Mason had run to your side without a moment’s hesitation. The way it had felt so natural to fall back into conversation with him, to touch him, for him to touch you. Being back in the house that you had once shared with him.

It was all too much.

Not even 30 feet away, Mason was lying on his back in the guest bed, eyes wide open as he stared at the ceiling. There was no way he was falling asleep any time soon, the thought of you in his bed only a few steps away enough to keep him awake.

After an hour had passed, accompanied by only his racing thoughts, Mason toyed with the idea of sneaking down to his room to see if you were awake. There were a thousand things he wanted to say to you, and he felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t get to say them soon.

But he thought better of it, guessing that you were probably already asleep, and he didn’t want to disturb you.

However, Mason had guessed wrong. Instead, you were lying on your side, legs tucked up close to your body, staring at the small, framed photo of the two of you on Mason’s side table. It had always been there during your relationship, and the thought that he had kept it in the time since you had split brought such a weight of sadness over you that you felt sick.

Did he miss you the way you missed him? Did he, too, regret not fighting harder for your relationship with every day that passed?

The thought kept you awake until the early hours of the morning.

When Mason awoke the next morning, a heavy exhaustion weighed on him as he had only slept a few hours, tossing and turning the entire time. He crawled out of bed and slipped a shirt over his head, his feet padding softly on the carpeted floor as he moved down the hallway to check on you. He noticed that the door to his room was already open, and when he peeked his head in, you were nowhere to be found.

From the way the blankets were shifted, Mason could tell that you had slept on his side of the bed, and his chest tightened at the thought.

The sound of clinking pots and pans coming from the kitchen caused Mason’s ears to perk up and led him in that direction.

As Mason rounded the corner, he found you, with your back facing him, standing in front of the oven. Your hair, falling across your shoulders, still held some of the curl that you had done for the event the night prior. Mason’s heart clenched at the sight of you in his shirt and a pair of his sweatpants.

A few pans and bowls were scattered across the stovetop and counters, and Mason recognized all of the components of the hearty breakfast you used to make when both of you had the day off. The combination of smells was so specific, and the déjà vu nearly made him dizzy.

You turned around, reaching for a bowl on the counter and jumped slightly when you saw Mason there.

“Sorry,” he breathed, still at a bit of a loss for words. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.”

You just gave him a small smile and a short “s’okay” as you turned back to the stove. “Sorry if I woke you.” Your voice sounded so small—Mason hated it. He hated the tension that hung in the air between the two of you. He hated the fact that you had nearly become strangers to each other.

In the hours that you had spent, lying awake with your thoughts running wild in Mason’s bed, you had resolved to avoid complicating things further than they already had been. Things were awkward enough between the two of you after Mason had graciously come to the rescue, despite the ending of your relationship, and you were determined to make it home without making it worse.

You owed it to yourself— your feelings for Mason were still there, hidden just beneath the surface. But you refused to put yourself out there and put your heart through that pain again.

You wished you had it in you to be cold with him, completely cutting off any chance of rekindling something between the two of you— any risk of getting your hopes up. But you knew Mason, and you knew that he often wore his heart on his sleeve, and you couldn’t bring yourself to hurt him like that, either.

But despite your resolve and determination, the sorrow-filled gaze in Mason’s eyes had already begun to pierce through the armor that you had put around your heart.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Mason slipped into one of the chairs on the opposite side of the island countertop. His eyes followed you as you finished preparing the last of the breakfast. You dished out two plates— a portion for yourself and another, larger portion for Mason.

“You didn’t have to do all this, you know?” Mason spoke softly as you set the plate in front of him.

You shrugged, standing on the opposite side of the island from him as you stared down at your own plate. “It’s the least I could do. It’s your food anyway,” you mumbled, poking at your eggs with a fork, suddenly feeling too sick to eat anything.

“Well, thank you, Y/N,” Mason said, earnestly. “I really appreciate it.”

Mason couldn’t help but feel discouraged by your stony demeanor. He had hoped that after the night prior, the two of you might be on the right path to sorting things out between you, but now he wasn’t so sure.

He kept stealing quick glances at you as he ate, savoring every delicious bite. But he could tell how uneasy you felt as you stood there, tucking your hair behind your ear as you took small bites from your plate.

The tension was thick as the two of you ate in silence, neither one sure how to even begin the conversation. Did you talk about last night, or leave the topic untouched?

The longer the silence stretched between the two of you, the heavier the weight on your heart grew. As much as you had tried not to get your hopes up, and as many times as you told yourself that your relationship with Mason was well and truly over, a small part of you had still hoped that he would say something this morning— anything, really. That small part of you wanted to believe that this chance encounter was the key—a sign that the two of you needed to find your way back to each other.

But despite it all, the spark that you had hoped was still there seemed to have been snuffed out.

You kept your eyes glued to your plate, afraid that Mason would see them shining with tears and start asking questions. You didn’t want him to think you were pathetic— needing him to rescue you the night before and now here, standing in his kitchen, crying because he didn’t want you back.

You took a breath and steeled yourself to pack up your things from his room and get the fastest Uber back home you could manage.

Swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat, you scraped the last of your food into the trashcan, no longer able to stomach another bite, and placed the empty dish in the sink. You left the kitchen as quickly as you could, trying to hide your face from Mason as the first tears fell.

Mason was taken by surprise at your sudden rush to leave the room, the noise a stark contrast to the silence that had hung thick in the air. He watched your back as you walked out without so much as a glance in his direction.

His stomach sank. He had hoped, after lying awake all night thinking of you, that you had been cooking breakfast for him as a sort of sign—a signal that you wanted to talk things over again and revisit the topic of him and you. But the unpleasant aura that had remained between the two of you while you ate had gotten you no closer to that conversation.

Maybe he had read too far into things. Maybe the breakfast had just been a ‘thank you’ for driving you back to Manchester last night. Maybe he had pushed too far and inviting you to stay at his was too much, too soon.

Mason pushed his plate away from him, dropping his head into his hands and huffing a sigh as he felt his eyes burn with tears that surprised him. He hadn’t realized just how much the last 24 hours had gotten his hopes up for reigniting a relationship with you until you seemed to have walked away from it altogether.

It was almost like he could feel his heart breaking all over again.

But no, Mason resolved. He refused to let you walk away from him again, not until he had fully expressed to you how deeply he missed you, how much he still cared for you.

With renewed determination, Mason stood from his chair and nearly ran to his bedroom.

Standing outside of his own bedroom door, Mason hesitated for a moment, again overthinking his decision to confront the issue head-on.

But that didn’t last for more than a second before he was tapping his knuckles gently on the door three times.

“You can come in,” he heard your small voice.

When he opened the door, slowly, he found you just returning from the bathroom, several of your own items in hand. As you attempted to collect all of your things, Mason didn’t miss the tear you tried to inconspicuously wipe from your cheek or the soft sniffle you tried to hide with a cough. His heart softened— seeing you cry had always been one of the things he hated most.

“I have an Uber on the way. Should be here any minute. I don’t want to ask you to drive me again,” you spoke hurriedly, as if overcompensating for your fragile state by talking too much. “I can, um, just wash these clothes and drop them off sometime. I really-“

You were cut off when you turned to walk around to the other side of the bed and instead, ran straight into Mason’s chest.

He steadied you with a hand on each of your arms. He held an unreadable expression on his face, and you knew there was no hiding the tear streaks on your cheeks now. However, Mason’s eyes shone with as he looked down at you.

It was silent for several seconds until Mason spoke in a whisper, pleading.

“Don’t go.”

And the silence returned. Your thoughts were spinning a mile a minute. Your mouth dropped open, your brain making its most valiant attempt at forming a response, and yet no words came to you.

Mason took your loss for words as an invitation to continue. “I miss mornings like this. I miss falling asleep with you in my arms and waking up next to you. I miss talking to you at the end of the day,” his lower lip wobbled as he paused to collect himself. “I miss you, Y/N.”

His words pierced right to your heart. Whatever walls you had built to keep him out were nowhere near strong enough and you could already feel them beginning to crumble.

“Letting you walk away was the biggest mistake of my life, and I’ve spent every day since then wishing I could go back and change it all. I would’ve fought harder for you— for us.” Mason pleaded softly. “Seeing you last night made me realize that none of that has gone away, I still feel the way I did before. Please— please tell me you feel it, too.”

The tears poured freely from your eyes now, and there was no holding them back. You rolled your lips into your mouth, attempting to hold in a sob. Mason’s hands left your arms, coming up to cradle your cheeks as you closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. His thumbs swiped at your cheeks, trying to dry your tears.

“I can’t, Mason. W-We can’t,” your voice trembled.

“Why can’t we?” Mason was desperate, resting his forehead against yours. The proximity was making your head spin, the feeling of his breath fanning across your face too familiar, too overwhelming.

“Who’s to say it won’t be the same as the last time?” you cried, finally looking back at him. “I can’t go through that pain, not again.”

“We decide that it’ll be different.” Mason was ready to get on his knees and beg if he had to. “Things will be better this time— I’ll be better.”

He knew that what you had was worth fighting for, and if there was any chance—even a shred of hope—that you would give him another shot, he had to take it.

You looked up into his tear-filled eyes as he whispered, “I just know I can’t lose you, Y/N, not again.”

Like a dam breaking loose, a sob wracked your body at his words. Whatever had been left of the walls you had built up came crashing to the ground. Mason was quick to pull you into his chest, resting his cheek on the top of your head as he rubbed soothing circles into your back.

It was like all of the hurt and emotions from the last eight months tore through you at once. Mason, feeling the way your frame was shaking, held you tightly to him, as if he were the only thing holding you together in that moment. He kissed the top of your head, and you could hear him sniffle, knowing that he was crying, too.

As your cries grew softer and you began to calm down, you clutched Mason’s shirt tightly in your fists, afraid that if you released him, he would disappear.

Mason eventually leaned back to look at you and you lifted your head from where it was buried in his chest. There was the softest hint of a smile on his face as he tried to wipe away the remaining tears.

“I-If we do this…” Mason’s tummy flipped at your words, clinging to the sense of hope that they brought. “If we give this another chance, we have to take it slow.”

Mason nodded quickly, his eyes flicking all over your face for any sign of hesitation. “Anything you need, love. Anything at all.”

Your lower lip wobbled as you took him in. “I’ve missed you so much, Masey.”

Mason pressed his lips firmly to your forehead, his heart soaring at the use of his nickname. “I’m here now, and I’m not leaving— never again.”

You leaned forward, pressing your face into his neck and hugged him again, trying to drink if the feeling of being back in his arms. You let him overwhelm your senses— the feeling of his arms around your body, his comforting scent as you breathed him in, the sound of his heartbeat that calmed you so easily.

“I know we’re taking it slow, but I have a couple more hours until training,” Mason spoke softly as you pulled back, looking up at him. A hopeful smile played on his lips. “Will you stick around? Cancel your Uber. I can take you home on my way.”

“Are you sure?” There was still that shred of lingering doubt, the fear of imposing yourself.

“I’m so sure,” he smiled. “I don’t think i’m ready to let go of you just yet.”

You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped your lips before you whispered a soft “okay.”

Never, when you left for the gala the night before, did you think this was where you would find yourself—back at Mason’s house, as he led you to the couch to cuddle while you talked about what your next steps would be. But as you lay in his arms, admiring the soft scattering of freckles across his cheeks, you felt a piece of your heart that had been missing those last few months begin to heal.

And you couldn’t be more thankful that you had your boy back.

As always, your feedback is greatly appreciated!!! 🤍

tag list:

@hischierswhore @thoseboysinblue @lovelynikol16 @swimmingismywholelife @masonsrem @brasiliangp @neverinadream @lizzypotter14 @notsoattractivearenti @chilwellspulisic @sid-vii @captainpulisic

[sixosix]

can you do an aether x reader lil one shot please!!! my baby gets no love ;( I'm fine with any story or plot but maybe one where they've been travel buddies for a while and his feelings have just been bottled up over time and he just explodes in to a confession and then some cute fluff from there!!!!!!

a/n wc 1.6k there are tears in my eyes as i write this i love aether sonmuch. also sorry if this is all over the place i was trying so hard not to turn it into another 10k word fic…. ft. lyney

aether doesn’t vividly recall the moment his feelings blossomed. there was no pinpointed moment, only all of it growing restless inside him.

he likes to keep his team to four people maximum, oftentimes none at all—just him and paimon to worry about as they move from region to region, friends made yet no proper strings attached. it’s for everyone’s sake, as aether doesn’t plan on staying too long in one place. that’s how it should’ve been.

you appeared one day, demanding to take you in his team. just for liyue and then you can separate ways, you said.

“i’m visiting my awfully quiet lover to break his silence. i need to figure out why i’ve stopped receiving letters,” you explained, blinding him with your bigger-than-life personality.

and because aether is a weak, weak man to people who don’t know how to back down, he agreed, albeit hesitantly. “alright,” he said in defeat. “just liyue?”

“just liyue,” you affirmed, beaming as he’s accepted you probably easier than you expected.

just liyue is a lie, and he should’ve known it the moment he had to confirm it. he didn’t bother with formal introductions and keeping conversations, knowing he wouldn’t see you again anyway. it didn’t help that paimon adores you, expressing her loud disappointment when you have to part ways with them.

paimon floated lower than usual. aether sighed. “should’ve known you’d grow to love someone who spoils you with sweet madame more than me.”

“hmph! y/n’s nicer to paimon than you!”

but he does see you again some time later, facing a large tree, kicking it out of frustration. it’s pouring heavily; your clothes are soaked.

“am i scary?” you asked when aether and paimon approached you, staring ahead, fists trembling.

“what’s wrong?! did something bad happen?” paimon fluttered around you nervously, unsure if she could touch you.

“he’s not dead, at least,” you said bitterly. “just too cowardly to tell me that he doesn’t love me anymore. i suppose it was better breaking up face-to-face than through letters.” you sighed bitterly, shoulders hiked up to your ears as a fresh wave of quiet tears washed over you, muted by the rain. “this is embarrassing, getting dumped because i was too much.”

“it’s not. you came all the way from mondstadt just to see him. didn’t he at least care about that?” aether asked, which might’ve just been his longest sentence yet. why were you out here soaking? if it were him, he wouldn’t have been so rude to leave you astray during a thunderstorm.

“i can’t force him, if he doesn’t want to see me. i’ll be alright, i promise.” you rest your forehead against the bark of the tree, water sliding off your cheeks—aether isn’t sure if it’s the rain or your tears.

he understands, possibly more than anyone.

and aether—still a weak, weak man when it came to people breaking down in front of him, knowing what it’s like to lose someone so dear to you—gently says, “xiangling told us there’s an event holding place here later. you’re coming with us.”

just liyue was already a warning in itself that it would never be just as that.

you weave yourself in his life as if you were always there, fitting in like you haven’t met him and paimon just a few days ago. he tries to convince himself that he’s doing this to cheer you up, but you’ve been making him smile more than they do to you.

he would turn to his side and see you feeding him a chicken-mushroom skewer after a short battle, insisting even when aether says he’s not as injured as you may think. he would turn to his side and see you and paimon laughing over something he missed and find himself grinning as well.

he would turn to his side when you tug on his sleeve, shyly asking if he’s willing to take you to inazuma as well because you didn’t want to stay in liyue if they weren’t here anymore.

“sure,” aether would say. he’s a weak man, and you were holding on to his cape, looking so adorable that aether wanted to melt on the spot. but that’s a normal reaction to cute things, probably.

taking you to inazuma turns into bringing you along to sumeru, then eventually fontaine, until everyone is convinced you’re a staple in aether’s adventures: aether, paimon, and y/n.

this is what it’s like to have a good team, aether persuades himself. a good team, a useful asset, aether reminds himself sternly as you slice a ruin cruiser off of existence with fierce anger in your eyes and a stick of tricolor dango in your mouth. you wave at him after, beaming, and his heart does something weird.

and now, when some of his friends suggest that he lays you off even just for a day so he can have three other people who work together seamlessly with him, he dismisses it quickly—without thinking. he already works best with you by his side. if they want to come along with him, they have to accept they’re coming along with you just as well.

“thanks for letting me join you,” you whisper one night, lying on the grass and watching the stars with him. you turn your head and meet his eyes, smiling softly.

“of course,” aether says. of course, because now he can’t imagine what it’s like to not have you with him. “i’m the only one who can handle how scary you are.”

you scoff, gently punching his arm as he laughs. “shut up, idiot. you know what i mean.”

i know, aether wants to say. but would that be too much? aether doesn’t want you to think he’s trying to replace someone important in your life this quickly.

you are scary. you’re terrifying him with all these unwanted feelings he doesn’t know what to do with. but aether wasn’t lying, either—he can handle fear just as well.

and now, as aether watches lyney grin and kiss the back of your palm, aether’s chest burns with something unpleasant, sitting in his stomach and urging him to take action. a rock under his shoe. he does not like it, not one bit.

“uhh,” paimon shifts nervously mid-air. “paimon thinks you should stop glaring daggers into lyney before he notices.”

“glaring daggers? i’m not glaring daggers,” aether hisses. his fingers are starting to ache with how painfully he’s clutching his sword. “no daggers here…” he curses as he watches you grow increasingly flustered.

the sight startles him. not your expression, not lyney’s clear provocation, but aether’s stance towards it.

“i thought we’re friends with lyney again?” paimon asks, terribly confused.

“the best of friends,” aether says, marching over to the scene. paimon makes a disbelieving noise.

lyney smirks knowingly as aether gently tugs on your arm. “oh,” lyney says, all sly, more of a fox than a cat, “i didn’t know you were already spoken for. i do apologize for the misunderstanding.”

you glance between an amused lyney and an irked aether, dazed. “i’m not…?”

“your jealous boyfriend says otherwise,” lyney snorts as aether bristles.

aether glares heatedly at lyney, even as the latter backs away with a smug grin. “y/n, let’s go. there’s nothing else to do here.” he’s being rude. he doesn’t care. his mind is blank—or maybe it’s running miles per minute, and he struggles to keep up.

and because you always listen to aether, you let him drag you off, nearly failing to wave goodbye to a chuckling lyney. lyney calls for paimon, distracting her as aether continues walking away from the scene.

you turn to aether, barely able to keep up with his hurried steps. “whoa, whoa, hey, aether—aether, are you okay? your face is so red.” you touch his cheek, and he crumbles. “aether.”

he halts, frowning at the ground. frustrated.

“aether, is there something wrong?”

that’s the thing. aether doesn’t know what’s wrong. he was content with watching you from afar—content with your stars slowly aligning with his as he stands back and watches it happen. he was content with not doing anything about it. but not doing anything about it would mean everyone else thinks you haven’t got aether wrapped around your finger.

“sorry,” aether says. to the painful beating of his heart, restless with unexplained fury. “i didn’t—”

“…idiot.” you always tell him that. you’re the only one who calls him that, but he knows that were they to try, he wouldn’t let it slide so easily. “it’s okay to admit you’re jealous. it’s cute.”

it is not lyney’s flirtations that tip aether over; it’s the sweet smile you give him, the gentleness of your gaze, and your face so close to aether’s that you and him share the same breath. what tips him over is all of it crashing down on him, as daunting as a fight, as abrupt as the beat of his heart:

oh. oh. is that it?

aether doesn’t vividly recall the moment you wormed your way in. maybe it was the moment you jumped down from a tree branch and scared the wits out of paimon, only to demand nervously he take you. maybe it was the moment he softens when your shoulders shake and rain pours relentlessly overhead. maybe it was the stab of jealousy seeing someone else try to steal you away from him when you so obviously belong to him as he belongs to you.

it doesn’t matter.

“i want you,” aether says, then blinks when you do a startled take. “no—no. i mean. i… like you. and i want you to stay. here. not with them. not anyone else.”

“stay right in front of you?”

“in front, beside—doesn’t matter.” aether grows weak, limp as he presses his forehead against yours. “i just want you.”

“okay,” you smile, tipping your chin to kiss his cheek. his heart soars. “that’s all i needed to hear.”

[eldritch-spouse]

https://www.tumblr.com/eldritch-spouse/741884957599973376/httpswwwtumblrcomeldritch-spouse741700018004?source=share

I need to know in explicit detail the first time breg allowed this human to collect samples. Also need to know the embarrassing situations they are put in that their coworkers judge them

I honestly love this so much I'm kicking my feet and giggling ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[Fem reader. I kind of rushed this. Doodle at the end.]

TW: Heavy themes of abuse (including mentions of noncon, death and captivity); Dubious consent moments.

" Listen, we just need you to get in there. "

You blink. " ... This can't be serious. Is this a joke? "

The half-fiend woman, superior to you in professional rank, drags a hand across her blonde locks and grimaces. " Look, I know it sounds bad- "

" Of course it does! This was nowhere in the job description- "

Not that the job description was very uh, descriptive, anyway. But any straw will do, anything to cling to a modicum of your dignity as you get told what your next task will be.

She seems to switch through a few different corporate tactics to ease the blow. " Listen, please. We are short-staffed at the moment, and this has been affecting production a lot more than you can imagine. Specimen 197 is a big bread-winner here and we all know he's uncooperative with machinery, going as far as to ruin it constantly, which leads to more expenses- "

She's explaining this to you like you're a particularly slow toddler and you're not amused.

" We have also noted that M197 is clearly attached to you and a bond has been formed, which is why your presence is requested in certain situations, to reduce his stress levels during tasks. This... Is another one of those tasks. We just need you to get a few samples- " She points at the two canisters next to her. " And you can think of it as a way to improve your bond with the specimen even. "

" Ma'am, he's entering a rut. " You pause. " You want me to walk into a male breeder's cell while he's rutting and engage sexually with him? "

She gulps. " For- For strictly professional purposes- "

" I'm not doing this. "

...

" There's a significant monetary bonus if you manage to do it. "

A long, shameful, disgustingly filthy moment of silence unfolds where you internally debate how far you're willing to go for some much needed money.

Too far, apparently.

" ... I'll do it. "

" Great, that's wonderful, we- "

" No cameras in the room. "

She flinches. " But then how are we supposed to know if you're in danger? "

" No cameras, please. "

If you die you die. You don't want footage of you being possibly mauled by a breeder out there...

A begrudging glance is cast towards the canisters sitting innocently on the table.

Grabbing them, you prepare for the shitshow you signed yourself into.

We have him tied up, the techs had informed you, it'll make things easier.

Just hearing them gives you headaches.

Yes, of course, because forcibly restraining the already volatile lifeform will make it cease being hostile. Logical.

A long-suffering sigh exits your lips when you input the code to open 197's cell. It's a code you know by heart now. If not from the regular standard visits, then from the hurried string of numbers your coworkers would scream at you over the radio before getting launched around by a monster several times their size and weight.

It's hard to forget something like that. There are just some faces you never see again.

As soon as the heavily reinforced door hisses open, you're greeted by an immediate build-up of a snarl. As scary as the sound was when you first heart it, and continues to be on an instinctual level, you understand now that it's mostly born out of fear.

Nothing good ever happens when 197 is cuffed and he's right to be frightened.

The moment you step into view and the door slams shut behind you however, he visibly seems to shift gear instantly.

Sitting on the rather uncomfortable tiled ground, specimen 197 has his ankles spread and cuffed to the ground, his wrists joined behind him and his neck nearly choked to the wall. A muzzle prevents the breeder's jaw from elongating as it tends to do when he's threatened. His tail is likewise restrained in two areas. Those cuffs are the best things modern technology can offer, you haven't heard of a single solid monster type that can shatter them. They're likely also tampered with by some more magically-inclined individuals, but you've never been one to dabble in that.

He exhibits the signs you'd expect from any male entering a rut. Excessive sweating, goosebumps, a faster breathing rate, tension, restlessness and a dilated, humid slit. His skin flickers from time to time, signals somewhere between aggression and courtship displays. You would never have associated heat cycles with torture before starting your work here, but seeing the way these monsters are chemically forced into hypersexual, unhealthily exacerbated heats has shown you just how cruelly this biological process can be exploited.

Sometimes they die. A hormonal, frenzied, artificially accelerated metabolism like this is powerful, but it's also very fragile, in a way. Either they're able to maintain their required ridiculous nutrient intake, find a way to preserve as much energy as possible, or simply panic and end up dying from a mixture of stress and lack of sustenance.

Another sigh escapes your lips, you try to clear your head by placing the canisters on the ground.

The breeder in question, who was once nearly pitch black in his effort to intimidate the perceived threat, is now snow white, having registered you as his favorite, the "nice one". 197 shrinks in himself, then begins a litany of keening whines interspersed with specific chirps.

It might be a plea for attention from an already hormone-fried brain, it might also just be a desperate request to be released from his binds.

You're no paragon of morality, but unlike your coworkers, you understand that building a bond with anyone requires depositing some trust in them. And, even if 197 is rutting, you can only continue to build a connection with him if he has a modicum of comfort in this situation. Which is why you steel yourself before moving closer to the specimen in question and inputting the specific combination to unlock all of his cuffs.

The process is timed, giving workers about five or so minutes to leave the cell before the cuffs drop and the monster is freed. It prevents casualties, naturally.

197 tries to thump his tail in appreciation when he realizes what you're doing, quietly rumbling and trying to lean into the small brushes of your fingers as you work.

" There big guy, just give it a second... " You take a few steps back while you wait.

It feels like a small eternity before the restraints begin falling off one by one. First the tail ones, then the muzzle, the neck, the wrists... And the ankles. On that last click, the breeder shrugs everything away and stretches as he stands.

You've studied these monsters and their mannerisms, he's not stretching just to soothe his joints, he's displaying. The exaggerated curve of that spine says it all, you know exactly what reaction he's after. Though, already riled up as he is, you don't think it's a good idea to respond.

In a second, he's closed the distance between the two of you, this near suffocating hovering over your front, hands and arms twitching with the urge to touch you. 197 is not good with boundaries, which was very surprising to you, considering he absolutely detests it when 99% of people touch him.

The 1% being you.

He waits, visibly pained, for the signal.

" You can touch me now. "

And like a sudden wave, 197 nearly crashes onto you, his comparatively massive pale body blanketing over yours as his arms cage your upper body, lifting it along with him. You squealed the first few times, now you know to stay mostly still and lean to the right so he can shove his face in the crook of your neck without bonking his head against yours. Painful.

He takes a couple deep, shameless inhales of your scent. And, if you had to guess, you're probably a bit sweaty from anxiety. Not that he seems to care, 197 actually appears to slow down a little, enjoying the closeness and now familiar odor you possess. His tail coils around your legs and you pat his back when the telltale chirps and trills of elation make it past his throat.

" Yeah, I missed you too buddy. Take a breather. "

This close to the male, you have absolutely no choice but to drown in his musk. 197 can't help it, he's ruttting after all, those pheromones have to come out. Fortunately, as a human, you're not affected by them, though some of your monster coworkers have to wear specific masks when they enter rutting breeder cells. To you, it's just vaguely unpleasant and heavy.

197 would usually give you a bit of room by now, but he doesn't seem interested in that, instead shifting you around so he can smell other parts of your figure, particularly your hair. Your face warms from his excessive body heat and the sensation of being corralled, your protests silenced when a long blue muscle dips to trail from the base of your neck to your jaw and up the side of your face. The movement is quick, and your attempt to reflexively lean away is met with a tighter grasp as he repeats it.

197 has a habit of dulling his teeth to look more humanoid for your comfort, but not today, in the state he is, he likely forgot that detail altogether. This unfortunately means that you feel the scrape of those pointed daggers every time he amorously samples your skin.

" Alright okay, that's enough- "

You butt in when it feels like he's getting a bit too riled up too fast. It's not exactly counter-productive to your task, but letting him get more and more control over the situation will make it difficult to get the samples later. You can't wrangle a breeder in the throes of their rut, you have to do things before that critical stage.

However, the specimen isn't interested in listening to anything you have to say, responding instead to your tone with his own whine and starting to tug at your uniform. That does it. Thoroughly soaked in his drool, you grab onto the breeder's forearms hard.

" 197! " It's not a tone you like to use with any of the breeders here.

He eventually snaps out of his little trance, gulping, steadying himself before frowning and giving you the space you want.

In this barely minute-long episode, 197 has already kicked into high-gear. Breathing accelerated again, open-mouth panting, excessive drool production, somewhat puffed figure and the tips of his twin cocks already poking out of a pelvic pouch that can barely hold them back. He seems to shiver in his own overwhelming arousal, and though this species is known for having its eyes shielded behind a layer of skin on the face, you know he's fixed on you like a famished animal.

Although your cheeks are moments from setting aflame, this isn't exactly a new sight for you. 197 has gotten aroused in your vicinity several times, you've actually lost count. It'd be nonsensical of you to get irritated over such, given that these males are forced into hypersexuality by the concoctions introduced in their organisms. That paired with his fondness for you probably makes it hard for 197 to not get erections constantly. A hug can set him off, even simple closure paired with your scent is enough to do it.

Well. No time to waste.

While he's mildly disoriented, you grab one of the canisters and move towards a corner of the room with a seemingly randomly arranged pile of fabrics. This, as confusing as it may be to some, is a breeder's nest. And in this species of monsters, the males tend to be the ones who arrange spaces for coupling. 197 has expressed clear discontentment with the fabrics given to him during times of rut to fulfill his instinctual needs, but no one here is ever acting with the specimen's best interests in mind. Besides, he piped down when one of the techs had the bright idea of giving him a jacket you forgot in the workplace. It's right there in fact, the gray hue contrating with a mostly white and pale color scheme.

The nest itself is big, if it fits 197 then it definitely fits you too. And, knowing exactly what you're doing, you let him observe you take a step into it and sit down on the middle, empty canister beside you.

Oh boy.

You can practically hear the popcorn crackles in his brain.

The monster trills loudly, proudly, your supposed acceptance of what have amounted to months of unsubtle courtship from his part being finally rewarded. It's a dangerous moment, you're perfectly aware of such, but it's also necessary to get this over with.

197 drops to a creepily nimble crawl across the floor, rapidly posing over your seated form with blue-tinted cheeks and rabid need. Before you can get so much as a word in, he's dropping some of his weight on you, showering you in hasty licks and clumsy kisses again, this time unable to help himself from nipping at your clothes. The coverings visibly bother him, and the male growls quietly before his instincts tug at him again and he's trying to slot himself between your clothed legs. It takes some yelping, and fussy movement from his part, but you eventually rationalize that stressing him out can lead to a violent response right now.

Might as well let him get away with some embarrassing acts.

Hormone-muddled as he is, 197 has only enough of a mind to hold onto you and press two hot lengths against the front of your body. He's already full-mast, the heat and weight of those things dragging across you when he automatically moves his hips is utterly filthy. He groans, probably the first kind of decent friction he's been getting since he entered this phase of his cycle, the softness and smell of his favorite human getting the monster to leak already, lost in his desperate search for a modicum of relief. As gross and ridiculous as it is, at least he's not tugging at your clothes yet.

You can sense his frustration, the frantic way 197 mechanically bucks against you, the pressure he puts in every thrust, the way his claws puncture into your lab coat and he whines low, this noise that turns into a pleased sort of snarl. Overwhelmed, you shiver beneath his figure, glad there are no cameras to see you fluster and shamefully let a rutting monster grind at you.

You dare say you can get into this.

There's something so appealing about having a monster yearn for you so madly that he's driven to this senseless and primitive display, that even so much as humping you could have them blissed out. Your legs quake around his and you feel your pussy throb in response to the muted friction from his lightly barbed cocks. It's not the first time you've wondered about how it would feel... You've always been a monsterfucker at heart, and 197 is a brutally gorgeous specimen. He's always imploring for even a single touch from you, if you spread yourself out you have absolutely no doubt he would ram those alarming inches into you like a wild beast.

Yeah, maybe your coworkers would call you a sickfuck, but it's not like anyone who works here is moderately normal...

It's a secret. One that you're vaguely paranoid might not be so secret anymore, now that you've been entrusted with this.

In your horny little stupor, you make the critical mistake of forgetting that breeders quickly detect arousal in others. And you are probably making a wet spot in your pants as of now.

With a sudden snort of an inhale, he rises like a man possessed to start ripping at the sides of your lab coat, forcefully trying to rip it off even as he's unable to stop rocking his hips. He knows how to unbutton things just fine, but you bet he can't be fucked to think much in this state.

" Hey- Hey, easy, slow down. " You grab onto his wrists, being ignored.

Okay. Time to think this out while you still can. He's going to rip through your clothes if you let him, and that's not just needless damage, it'll put him in control. But being aggressive about getting him to stop isn't ideal with this type of monster, you need something that distracts him too much to realize he's not exactly holding the leash here. Eventually, an idea graces your mind, though it makes you grimace a little.

Already blazing with shame, you carefully edge a hand between you and, with some hesitation, grab one of the twin members pushed against you.

Instant reaction.

The monster halts, as desired, and looks at you almost oddly, but hopefully. The trick is not giving him enough time to think, so you quickly get a feel for what you're working with, and start stroking him generously.

It's not the frenzied, rushed jerking he inflicts on himself when his own libido becomes bothersome, the fisting of a large hand with little focus and care. You handle him as pleasurably as you can manage, using both hands on him and attentively reading his face. 197 pants openly again, glancing vapidly at your small hands while they work him and he fucks into the motions, strings of thick drool falling from his teeth.

" Good...? Yeah? " You ask, gulping.

He falters and gasps, trying to articulate something. " Please. " Gets dragged out, his dick pulsing in your grasp.

You don't quite know what he's begging for, but you assume he's enjoying himself. Watching the neglected length bob uselessly, you take the opportunity to remove your own lab coat, switching hands quickly when necessary. The shirt comes off too, leaving you in your bra and pants.

By the time you glance back at him, the breeder's skin has shifted entirely to black, and he's hypnotized by the new parts of your body revealed to him, the mounds on your chest breeder females don't have but that he somehow finds pleasing to the eye regardless.

You make a lifting motion, trying to get his attention. " Knees. Come on, knees. Let me show you something. "

It takes a hot second, but he computes the request and does as told out of genuine curiosity. You're about to show an already decidedly horny monster the wonders of oral sex, which is likely not the brightest of ideas, but no one's here to judge your poor decisions.

197's girths hover far too close to your face while he waits a tad impatiently. Studying the things you'll be pleasing soon, you nearly pale a couple shades, knowing it'll take some prayer not to end up hurting your jaw. The male has lived in captivity since the day he hatched, you've enjoyed showing him some of the nicer things in life from time to time, this is just another one of them.

Carefully grabbing onto the left one, you glance at 197 as you deliberately slip your tongue out, so he doesn't just assume you're going to try biting his genitals. He tenses, because of course he would, but you take your time, stopping the moment only his tip is inside your mouth. The breeder is a tad confused and quaking slightly with ambiguous anticipation.

Then you suck.

And it clicks instantly.

God, just this little of his length is already forcing you to open wider than you've ever had to with previous partners, still, you strain to take a few more inches down and focus on that part.

The male exhales tremulously, experiencing the feeling for the first time ever, you're certain. 197 has to straighten slightly as the first intense waves of pleasure course through him, and bless the big dorky monster, he has no idea what to do with himself or his arms. As your jaw adjusts, a tad uncomfortably, you start truly gouging how much of him you can handle. Not that much honestly, but it's to be expected. It's already more than enough to please him, if the increasingly louder growled trills are any indication.

Oh, you bet this is the closest thing to heaven for him. His favorite human, with a mouth warmer than he could have ever expected, lips much softer than any of his species', no apex predator teeth to get in the way, and a tongue that although flat and short, can still chase after those wonderfully sensitive spots.

He has exactly zero idea how to react beyond making bestial noises and drooling on his own chest like a vapid animal. The way his cock pulses in your mouth is a tad bothersome to the rhythm you're trying to keep, but you figure you don't have to show-off to someone who's never had oral before, he's already blown away.

Humorously, 197's hands land on your shoulders, and that's the only way he can apparently steady himself while he's sucked off. His spare cock oozes precum that smears onto your bare chest and you half-heartedly pump it when you pop off his other dick.

" Is this okay, hm? " Needless question, really.

The breeder doesn't even make an effort to reply, whining at the loss of friction and edging forward until both his members nudge against your cheek and lips, begging without words to have that bliss again.

Feeling vaguely in control, enough to be playful, you lean away from the one closest to you and take the right one into your mouth, sucking it as far in as you physically can before switching to the other one, all just so you can hear 197 gasp and grunt out moans. His desperation causes him to buck, and as you gag, a little lightbulb fizzles above his head.

Oh.

Oh no.

The next time you try to pull away, his hands rise from your shoulders to the sides of your head. Each dark finger nearly curves over the perimeter of your skull, and you freeze instantly, not wanting him to tighten his grasp by any means. Everything is fine so long as he only holds onto your head this way, gently.

He's the one moving this time, apparently marveling at the sight of his length disappearing past your somewhat swollen, drooled lips. Except, as expected, he's going faster and deeper than you'd like, getting into it enough to trigger harsh flutters in the back of your throat. Your gagging and subsequent reflexive jerks are met with warning rumbles and one of his hands caging you in place by the back of head.

He learns fast, needless to say.

The more he drives into you, the less you can control your saliva, creating gross pops and slurps as you have little choice but to huff through your nose. Merciless, not even the odd cough around his dick will stop him now that he's nearing orgasm, or so you're willing to guess by his franticness.

Eventually, he makes the mistake of shoving his cock far enough that your jaw strains and your stomach flips, a grossly loud hurl being his response. The horrid noise finally jolts him to a still, giving you enough space to pull away and catch some much needed breath, controlling your belly before anything unfortunate happens.

" Fucking Hell! " You groan hoarsely, irritated. " You're hung like a horse, be careful... "

The rutting male's fried brain only understands that you sound wounded, a concerned chirp followed by soothing sloppy laps to your jaw being his response.

Not an ideal development at all, and yet, progress.

197 is usually very violent with the breeders they tired to pair him for mating. Which is to be expected, being the golden goose of the facility comes at a cost- The rush of hormones in his machine of a metabolism doesn't just contribute to more virility than his male peers, it also causes bursts of hyper aggression not easily controlled. And the only socialization this one usually gets is fights with other males who feel threatened by his presence, understand that they are being hurt by techs because they fail to live up to the standard 197 created, that they might be killed for such.

The females, likewise, fear him.

197 is bigger, louder, scarier. He has a reputation amongst the other breeders, and some of them were more likely to try fighting him off during their heats than accept getting sexual with him. This has led to 197 rejecting all breeders regardless of the context, which resulted in many of the paired females being immediately fatally attacked whenever a scheduled session was arranged. Sometimes he would simply slaughter them, other times he would actually instinctually attempt to mate, and end up ignoring cries of distress, nothing but rage and hormones in that brain causing him to end up killing them mid-coitus.

Shitshows, complete shitshows you've had the displeasure of partially witnessing in the past.

Which is why you're so incredibly shocked he stopped when he heard you nearly throw up. Then again, you're no breeder, and you like to think you've created as decent a connection with him as possible. It could be that.

When the monster thinks you've recovered enough, he attempts to get you to sit in the same position from before so things can resume, and if the way he's insistent on keeping a hold of your head is any indication, then he's learned he prefers to take control of this. And you won't be the fool that argues with him in this state.

After licking your lips a few times, hearing his impatient little huffs, you take one of those slicked cocks into your mouth again, letting him build the pace back up. On the one hand, you're glad you don't have to pretend to keep any composure, letting yourself drool as much as possible for the sake of making the process easier, and uncaring of the filthy noises that only seem to make his thighs quake. On the other, you need a solution so he doesn't just peirce past the back of your throat.

So, experimentally, the next time 197 pushes far enough to have your eyes rolling, you get a firm grasp of the base of his tail and tug.

The appendage lifts and his spine curves back in sudden shock. You doubt it's pain that has him straightening like a plank, after all, you know these beings can oftentimes carry their young by the tail, so if it can handle their body weight, then it can handle a yank from a human's hand. It's more so a sort of "freeze reaction", effective in getting the male to pull back even if he grunts in mild agitation.

It's only fair, in your eyes.

The moment you let go, 197 continues to fuck your face as he pleases, moaning and curving over you once more to find his own pleasure, until he drives in too much again and you repeat the gesture. Over and over, so he understands there are limits.

It seems to succeed in getting the message across. If he wants to keep getting sucked off by your hot little mouth, then he needs to be minimally considerate.

This goes on for a while, you're almost proud to feel him eventually actively hold back from going too far. Because that would halt the friction, and judging by the way his tongue lolls out in pleasure, 197 wants to come really bad.

He seems to have enjoyed your antics from before, because the male actively pulls out of your mouth with another lurid pop and positions his spare length against your lips, fucking into you a couple times before switching to the other one, doing this enough times that you honestly struggle to contain some laughter.

His throbbing increases and you know his peak approaches, quickly reaching beside you for the container as fingers race to open it. Your spare hand makes an extra effort to stroke the length 197 can't fit inside you and with as much vigor as possible, you complement his every motion.

The second you back away to breathe, strings of saliva still clinging from your lips to his dicks, offers the monster enough of a nasty view to trigger exactly what you need. 197 snarls at the top of his lungs, rapidly fisting both cocks before you. It's a decidedly disgustingly arousing display that has you staring heatedly, until the first rope of thick pearly cum lands on your cheek.

It jolts you into flustered movement, holding the canister up to the closest of his girths, you try to get as much as possible inside, unable to shield yourself from the rest of his load as it lands on your neck and tits, warm globs marking you in the throes of the specimen's ecstasy.

It's immensely relieving for him, the sighed, low and needy moans that rip out his throat evidence enough that 197 had been pent up for more than a while. And you... You're soaked in warm seed, observing his maddened jerking slow down.

This is your job now.

Personally collecting from the golden goose of the facility. All for a bonus.

Whatever, just don't think about it too much.

Giving into the guilty sense of pride you feel over making 197 stare at the ceiling in total bliss, you lean down to catch the trails dripping down those teal blue lengths, cleaning him. You don't have to, by any means, but you've already sunk so low today, what difference does it make if you let yourself go a little?

The specimen's legs tremble and he glances down at you with this utterly cum-drunk, infatuated smile. Dark, stained digits rise to comb through your hair in some kind of comforting gesture until you eventually pull away and allow the male to recover.

Now, two things.

You need to clean up somehow, you don't want his cum to dry on your skin.

There's also the matter of the second canister, you think while you grab one of the cloths in the breeder's nest to wipe your face and chest on. You probably won't be allowed to leave his cell until they're both full.

Reaching for the one already warm with 197's sample, you seal it tight, the small device in it emitting a faint green light and beeping quietly. The signal that one container has been filled is then sent to whichever tech is keeping track of this particularly... Unique task.

A pang of shame courses through you at the thought of one of your coworkers now knowing that you've made 197 orgasm.

Time to get the other one and hurry this up.

Unfortunately, as soon as you're about to set a foot outside of the nest, a huge black hand captures your leg, and you're possessively tugged back by a disgruntled breeder who barely gives you enough time to scream before he starts shredding the rest of your clothes...

Hours have passed. You're sure of it.

As far as anyone's concerned, your work has been accomplished. Both canisters are practically overflowing with untainted samples, sitting in the corner of the room so that nothing happens to them.

You're naked, sticky and likely to bruise in some areas from 197's lack of strength mediation, but you did it.

At any moment now, coworkers of yours will enter 197's cell, and you know it's going to be a total wreck. Between his likely immediate aggression, the damage they'll cause him and your less than sightly state, it'll be unpleasant.

But you can't bring yourself to care.

Not when a tireless tongue continues to groom your already exhausted form and 197's meaty cock lazily fucks globs of his hot cum back into your puffed pussy while he trills soothingly. His breathing has steadied and his heartbeat slows.

Any moment now, he might fall asleep inside you, enjoying a sweet moment of bliss before you're taken away again.

It's almost cruel.

[cy-cyborg]

Disability Tropes: The Miracle Cure

The miracle cure is a trope with a pretty negative reputation in disability circles, especially online. It describes a scenario in which, a disabled character, through either magic, advanced technology, divine intervention or some combination of the three, has their disability cured throughout the course of the story. Sometimes this is literally, as in the disability is completely and entirely cured with no strings attached. Other times, it looks like giving an amputee character a prosthetic so advanced that it's basically the same as "the real thing" and that they never take off or have any issue with, or giving the character with a spinal injury an implant that bypasses the physical spine's break, or connects to an exoskeleton that allows them to walk again. Sometimes, it can even look like giving a character some kind of magic item or power that negates the effects of the disability, like what I talked about in my post about "the super-crip" trope. Either way though, the effect is the same: The disability is functionally cured and is no longer an "issue" the author or character has to worry about.

But why would this be a bad thing? In a world with magic or super-advanced tech, if you can cure a character's disability, why wouldn't you?

[ID: a screenshot of Roy mustang from Full metal alchemist Brotherhood, a white man with short black hair in a hospital gown. In the corner of the screen is the hand of another person holding a small red gemstone. /End ID]

Well there's a few reasons. First, lets talk about the purely writing related ones. If you've been around the writing or even media critique communities for a bit, you've likely heard people voicing their frustrations with tropes like "The fake-out death" where a character is either implied to have died, but comes back later, or is explicitly shown to be dead and then resurrected. Often when this happens in media, it leaves the audience feeling cheated and like a character's actions and choices don't really matter if even the worst mistakes and consequences can be undone. In the case of the latter situation, where they die and are brought back, it can make the stakes of the whole story feel a lot lower, since even something like death is shown to be reversible, so the audience doesn't really have to worry about anything bad happening to their favourite character, and once you've used this trope one time, people will constantly wonder why you wouldn't use it every time it comes up.

The same is true for "fixing" a character's disability. It sets a precedent that even things as big and life-changing as disability aren't permanent in this setting. We don't have to worry about anything major happening to the characters, there's no risks associated with their actions if it can all be undone, and it will lower the stakes of the story for your audience. Personally, I also feel like it's often used as a cop-out. Like writers wanted to include a major injury the leads to something big like disability for shock value, but weren't sure how to actually deal with it afterwards, so they just made it go away. Even in cases where the character start the story with a disability and are cured, this can still cause issues with your story's stakes, because again, once we've seen you do it once, we know its possible, so we won't feel the need to worry about anything being permanent.

Ok, so that's the purely writing related reasons, but what if that situation doesn't apply to the story you're writing? What if they're "fixed" right at the end, or the way they're cured is really rare, so it can't be used multiple times?

I'm glad you asked, because no, this is far from the only reason to avoid the trope! In my opinion, the more important reason to avoid it is because of how the a lot of the disabled community feels about the miracle cure trope, and the ideas about disability it can perpetuate if you're not very, very careful.

You might have noticed that throughout this post, I've put words like "cured" and "fixed" in quotes, and that's because not every disabled person wants a cure or feels like their ideal to strive for is able-bodied and neurotypical. For many of us, we have come to see our disabilities as part of us, as part of our identities and our sense of self, the same way I, as a queer person might see my queerness as a part of my identity. This is an especially common view among people who were born with their disability or who had them from a young age, since this is all they've ever really known, or who's disability impacts the way they think, perceive and process the world around them, how they communicate with people or in communities who have a long history of forced conformity and erasure such as the autism and deaf communities. Many disabilities have such massive impacts on our lives that we literally wouldn't be who we are today if they were taken away. So often though, when non-disabled people write disabled characters, they assume we'd all take a "cure" in a heart-beat. They assumed we all desire to be just like them again, and this simply isn't the case. Some people absolutely would, and there's nothing wrong with that, but it's not as universal as media representation makes it out to be.

Another reason it's so heavily disliked is because this trope is often used in conjunction with other ableist and harmful tropes or it's used in ways that perpetuate misinformation about living with a disability and it can have ableist implications, even if that's not what the author necessarily intended.

If the miracle cure is used right at the end of the story for example, as a way to give characters a happy ending it can imply that the only way for a disabled character to be happy in the long run, is for them to be "fixed", especially if they were miserable all the way up until that point. If it's used earlier in the story as a way to get said character back into the action, it can also be read as the author thinking that disabled people can't be of use to the plot, and so the only way to keep them around is to "fix" them.

Of course, there's also the fact that some authors and writers will also play up how bad being disabled is in order to show why a cure is justified, playing into the "sad disabled person" trope in the process, which is pretty much what it says on the tin. Don't get me wrong, this isn't to say that being disabled is all easy-breezy, there are never any hard days and you should never show your character struggling, not at all, the "sad disabled person" trope has it's place (even if I personally am not a fan on it), but when both the "sad disabled person" trope and the miracle cure trope are used together, it's not a great look.

This is especially bad when the very thing that cures the disability, or perhaps the quest the heroes need to go on to get it, is shown to be harmful to others or the disabled person themselves. Portraying living with a disability as something so bad that it justifies hurting others, putting others at risk, loosing yourself or killing yourself in order to achieve this cure perpetuates the already harmful idea that disability is a fate worse than death, and anything is justified to avoid it.

I've also noticed the reasons the authors and writers give for wanting to cure their characters are very frequently based on stereotypes, a lack of research in to the actual limits of a person's disability and a lack of understanding. One story I recall reading years ago made sure to tell you how miserable it's main character, a former cyclist, was because he'd been in a car accident where he'd lost his arm, and now couldn't ride bikes anymore, seemingly unaware of the fact arm amputees can, in fact, ride bikes. There are several whole sports centred around it, and even entire companies dedicated to making prosthetic hands specifically for riding bikes. but no, the only way for this to resolve and for him to be happy was to give him his arm back as a magical Christmas miracle! It would be one thing if the story had acknowledged that he'd tried cycling again but just had difficulties with it, or something was stopping him from being able to do it like not being able to wear the required prosthetic or something, but it really did seem as though the author was entirely unaware it was even possible, which is an issue when it's the whole point of your story existing. This happens a lot more often than you'd think, and it's very clear when an author hasn't even bothered to google search if their character would be able to do something before deciding the only solution is to take the disability away.

There's also the frustration that comes from being part of an underrepresented minority, finally seeing a character like you on screen or in a book, only for that representation to be taken away. Disabled people make up roughly 16% of the population (though many estimate these numbers are actually much higher), but only about 2.8% of American TV shows and 4.1% of Australian TV shows feature explicitly disabled characters. In 2019, around 2.3% of films featured disabled characters in a speaking roll, and while it's slowly getting better as time goes on, progress on that front is very slow, which is why its so frustrating when we do see characters like ourselves and so much of their stories focus on wishing to be, trying to become or actually being "cured".

An finally, there's the fact this is just a really common trope. Even if we ignore the issues it can cause with your story's tone and stakes, the harm it can do to the community when not handled with care, the negative perceptions it can perpetuate and everything else. It's just a plain-old overdone trope. It shows up so often that I, and a lot of disabled people, are just getting tired of seeing it. Despite everything I've said, there are valid reasons for people to not want to be disabled, and just like how I made sure to emphasise that not everyone wants a cure, it's important to recognise that not everyone would refuse it either. So long as it's not done in a way that implies it's universal, in theory, depicting someone who would want and accept a cure is totally fine. The issue is though that this trope is so common and so overdone that it's starting to feel like it's all we ever see, especially in genres like sci-fi and fantasy (and also Christmas movies for some reason).

[ID: A Gif of a white man in a top hat nodding his head with the caption "Merry Christmas" down the bottom. /end ID]

Personally, because it's so common, I find even the few examples of the trope used well frustrating, and I honestly feel that it's at the point where it should be avoided entirely where possible.

Ok but Cy, you mentioned there are ways to use this trope well, what are they?

So, like I said, I'm of the opinion that this trope is better off not being in your work at all, but if, for whatever reason, you can't avoid it, or it's use is really that important to the story you want to tell, there are less harmful ways to implement it.

Don't have your only disabled character take the cure

If you really must cure your disabled character's disability, don't make them the only disabled person in the story. Show us another character who, when offered the same cure, chooses not to take it. This at least helps push back a little against the assumption of "of course everyone would want this" that these kinds of stories often imply and doesn't contribute (as much) to disability erasure in the media.

Don't make it a total cure

In real life, there are cures for some disabilities, but they rarely leave no trace. For example, an amputee's limb can sometimes be reattached if it was severed and they received medical treatment fast enough, but it usually results in at least a little nerve damage and difficulties with muscle strength, blood flow or co-ordination in that limb. Often times, these "cures" will fix one issue, but create another. You might not be an amputee anymore, but you're still disabled, just in a different way. You can reflect this in your fictional cures to avoid it feeling like you just wanted to avoid doing the work to write good disabled representation.

Do something interesting with it

I got a comment on my old tumblr or possibly Tik Tok account ages ago talking about their planned use for the miracle cure trope, where their character accepts the cure at the cost of the things that made her life enjoyable post-disability. Prior to accepting the cure, she had found other ways to be independent to some extent and her community and friends helped her bridge the gaps, but they were all taken from her when she was "cured" forcing her into isolation. Kind of like a "be careful what you wish for" sort of thing. The story was meant to be a critique on how society ignores alternative ways of getting the same result and how conforming to other people's ideas of "normal" isn't always what you need to bring you happiness. This was a genuinely interesting way to use the trope I think, and it's a perfect example of taking this trope and twisting it to make an interesting point. If you must use a trope like this, at least use it to say something other than "disability makes me sad so I don't want to think about it too much". Alternatively, on a less serious note, I'm also not entirely opposed to the miracle cure being used for comedy if it fits the tone. The Orville has some issues with it's use of the Miracle Cure trope, but I'd be lying if I said Isaac amputating Gordan's leg as a prank, knowing it could be reversed in a few hours did get a chuckle out of me.

If your villain's motivation is finding a cure for themselves, don't use it as justification for hurting people

Disabled villains need a post all their own honestly, but when a villain's motivation for doing all the terrible things they do is so they don't have to be disabled anymore, it's especially frustrating. Doubly so if the writer's are implying that they're justified in their actions, or at least that their actions are understandable because "who would want to live like that?" Honestly, as a general rule of thumb, avoid making your villains disabled if you aren't disabled yourself (especially if they're your only disabled character), but if they are disabled, don't use the disability as a justification for them hurting people while finding a cure.

So are there any examples currently out there to look at where the trope is used, if not well, at least tolerably?

Yeah, I'd say so, but they're few and far between. Two examples come to mind for me though.

The Dragon Prince:

[ID: A Gif of Ava the Wolf from the Dragon Prince, a light brown, fluffy wolf who is missing her front right leg. /End ID]

The Dragon Prince on Netflix uses the miracle cure twice, but I still really enjoyed the show (at least I did, up until my Netflix subscription ran out, so I've only seen up to season 4). The first time the trope is used in the series, it's actually a fake-out. Two of the main characters, while looking for someone to help them heal the dragon egg they're carrying, encounter a young girl named Ellis and her pet wolf Ava. The two explain their egg is not looking good and they need to find someone to help it, but no one they've found had the knowledge or ability to do anything to help. Ellis says she knows a healer who can help them, and tells them that this healer even restored Ava's amputated leg when she was a pup. When we actually reach this "miracle healer" however, she is revealed to be simply an illusionist. She explains that Ava is still missing her leg, she simply made it look as though she had restored it because Ellis's parents were planning to throw the puppy out, believing it would not survive with its disability and would only be a drain on supplies. This was not actually true and Ava adapted to her amputation very well, she simply needed more time, and hiding her disability and making her appear abled gave her the time she needed to fully recover and adjust. When they return to the healer with the main characters, she removes the illusion and explains why she did it, emphasising that the real problem was never with Ava, but with how people made assumptions about her.

While I do feel it was drawn out a bit too long, I do appreciate the use of the trope as the set up to an overall positive twist. Disability does come with down-sides, it's part of the deal and it would have been nice to see a bit more of that, but for disabilities like amputation in particular, the worst of our problems often come from a lack of adequate support and people's pre-conceived ideas about us, and it was nice to see this reflected, even if it is a little overly simplified.

The second time this trope comes up in the series is when one of the antagonists, Soren, is injured during a fight with a dragon, becoming paralysed from the neck down. His sister, Claudia is absolutely beside herself, believing it was her fault this even happened in the first place, but Soren actually takes his new disability very, very well, explaining that he understands there are things he can't do now, but that there's a lot of things he can still try, that his previous job as a soldier just didn't allow time for. It's possible this reaction was him being in denial but it came across to me as genuine acceptance. He is adamant that he doesn't want a cure right from the beginning because he knows that a cure would come at a cost that he doesn't want his sister to pay, and that he is content and happy with this new direction his life will be going in. Claudia, however, is not content. It had been shown that she was already using dark magic, but this event is what starts her down the path of using it in earnest, disregarding the harm it will cause to those around her. She ignores Soren's wishes, kills several animals in order to fuel the healing spell that will "fix" him, and Soren is pretty clearly shown to be horrified by her actions. What I like about this use of the miracle cure trope is that it touches on something I've seen happen a lot to disabled people in real-life, but that rarely shows up in media - the fact that just because we accept ourselves, our disabilities and our new limits, doesn't mean our friends and family will, unfortunately. In my own life, my mum and dad were always accepting of my disability when I was younger, but as I got older and my support needs changed, my body took longer to heal and I stopped being able to do a lot of things I could when I was little, they had a very hard time coming to terms with it and accepting it. I'm not alone in this either, a lot of disabled people end up cutting contact with friends and family members who refuse to accept the reality of our situations and insist "if we just try harder maybe we won't be so disabled" or "Maybe you will get better if you just do [xyz]". Unfortunately however, some disable people's wishes are ignored completely, like Soren's were. You see this a lot in autistic children who's parents are so desperate to find a cure that they hurt their kids through toxic and dangerous "treatments" or by putting them through abusive therapies that do more harm than good. Claudia has good intentions, but her complete disregard for Soren's decision still harm them both in the long run, leading to the deterioration of their relationship and causing her to spiral down a very dark path.

Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood

[ID: A Gif of Ed from full metal alchemist, a white boy with blond hair, staring angrily at a jar of milk on the table. His brother Al, a sentiant suit of armour, is in the background looking directly at the camera. The caption, spoken by Ed, says "So we meet again you little bastard" /end ID.]

The show does begin with Ed and Al looking for a way to cure their disabilities (which they gave themselves when trying to resurrect their mother as children went horribly wrong). However, when the boys discover that the object needed to do that - a philosopher's stone, can only by made through absolutely abhorrent and despicable means, and using one, likewise, comes at the cost of potentially hundreds or thousands of people's souls, they immediately stop, and shift their focus on finding the stones that had already been made so it can't fall into the wrong hands, and preventing the creation of new ones. The core theme of the show is that everything has a cost, and sometimes the cost is simply too great.

However, right at the end of the show, several characters are healed in a variety of ways. Ed gives up his ability to do alchemy to get his brother's body back, as well as his arm so he can save his friends in the final battle, but neither of the boys come away from this completely "healed". Al's body has not been used since he was a child, and so it is shown he has experienced severe muscular atrophy that will take a long time and a lot of work to recover from, acknowledging that he has a pretty tough road ahead of him. When we see him in the epilogue, he is still on crutches despite this being several months after getting his body back. Likewise Ed is not fully healed, and is still missing one of his legs even if he got his arm back.

The more... interesting use of the trope, however, is in the form of Colonel Mustang who was blinded in the final season. Mustang is shown to take to his blindness pretty well given the circumstances, finding a variety of ways to continue doing his job and reaching his goals. When other characters offer to let him use the philosopher's stone to heal himself however, he takes it, acknowledging that this is a horrible thing to do and that Ed and Al would be extremely disappointed in him if they ever found out. He uses it both to cure his own disability, and to cure another character who was injured earlier in the show. While I'll admit, I did not like this ending, I can at least appreciate that the show made sure to emphasis that a) Mustang was doing fine without the cure, and b) that this was not morally justified. The show spent a very long time drilling into the viewer how morally reprehensible using the stone was, and it didn't try to make an exception for Mustang - you weren't supposed to like that he did that.

When I talk about these tropes, I do try to give them a fair chance and discuss the ways it can potentially work, but I really do want to reiterate that this particular trope really is best avoided. There are ways to make it work, but they will still leave a bad taste in many of your viewer's or reader's mouths and you have to be exceptionally careful with your wording and framing, not just in the scenes where this trope is used, but in the lead up. If you really must use it, I highly recommend getting a few disability sensitivity readers and/or consultants (yes, even if you are disabled yourself) to help you avoid some of the often overlooked pitfalls.

[fuzzyfoe]

One aspect about Littlest Pet Shop that really captivated me as a child when I was a budding furry is the fact that all of the pets were anthropomorphic to the extent that there were no humans and it was just the pets themselves that were running this society for pets, yet at the same time the pets would still just act like pets. It was implied that there were pets who would do things like manufacture food bowls or squeaky toys or scratching posts that would then be sold to other pets, and then those pets would just eat out of their bowl or play with their toys like the kitty or puppy that they were. And this isn't considered weird or anything, despite the fact that they are capable of higher thought all of them take the time to simply just be a kitty or puppy and this is completely normal for them.

This wasn't just about the way we would play with the toys by the way, LPS had schoolastic books and DS games that would show that this is exactly how the LPS world worked. This was canon. There's this series of DS games where the pets all live in their own little town inhabited by only pets and they all own their own houses, yet those houses contain things and furniture that only pet owners would need, and those things are just for the pets to use themselves just like how they use the regular furniture as well. There was a short time where LPS ran an MMO in partnership with EA that was called LPSO, in which there were numerous NPCs who were all cats and dogs and rabbits in the same style that the players were, who all ran their own shops where you could buy things like dog biscuits or feathers on a string which you would need to use to fill up the hunger and happiness meter of the pet you were playing as.

Typically whenever I see the topic of LPS brought up in furry circles, it's in regards to the 2012 cartoon that had Blythe in it where it was this Doctor Dolittle situation where the pets were just treated as only animals and Blythe was the only one who could talk to them, which is a little strange to me considering that what LPS used to be before they added Blythe to it aligns so much more with what furries are all about. Sure the show gave us actual characters that were consistent that we would actually see more than once which is something that earlier LPS media didn't really do, and this let people actually become attached to characters like Zoe and Pepper and Sunil and it's fine if you like that era of LPS because of those characters. And the fact that this show was airing on the same channel that MLP:FiM was as well as during the time when MLP:FiM was at its peak probably has a lot to do with it as well. But I feel like it threw away a big chunk of what made LPS more "furry" and I feel like the discussions we could be having about 2000's-era LPS in regards to it being furry media is really being slept on.

Anyway I really like the idea of being an animal but in like an LPS kind of way. I get to still enjoy all of the good things that come with being sapient while also having the option to simply just be kitty whenever I want. I like having the ability to create things and to learn anything about the world, but sometimes I just wanna be kitty.

[thepersonnamedsam]

Hiii!:)

I was hoping I could request a song prompt for Charles with home by Edith Whiskers if possible?

Take all the time you need btw no rush!

Thank you :)

my home - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: #5 from the songs prompt list with cl16

word count: 1k

warnings: mentions of sex, but nothing further

note: thank you for requesting

masterlist / prompt list / taglist

Alabama, Arkansas, I do love my Ma' and Pa' Not the way that I do love you

He was looking at you from afar, marveling about your beauty. You were truly out of his league. He doesn’t really remember how he first talked to you, but what he remembers is, that you looked so magical. And now three years later, you looked just as magical, if not more. 

He loved you so much, wishing you would have had time to meet his late father. Pascale, his mother loves you, she loves you so much. She loves you like a daughter she never had. That’s what made you special, the love you received from all sides. Taking it all in and reflecting it ten times harder. Everybody loves you for that. Especially Charles. 

Well, holy moly, me oh my, you're the apple of my eye Girl, I've never loved one like you

Time stops when he’s with you. He loves you like nothing else and receiving a love back, he’s never experienced before. It feels like you belong to him, some invisible string attaching you to one another. It’s meant to be. 

Man, oh, man, you're my best friend, I scream it to the nothingness There ain't nothing that I need

You first met Charles at the Italian GP, having just celebrated your bachelor’s degree, your friends and you decided to make a short visit to the paddock of the formula one GP. You didn’t have any passes or anything that could take you in, you and your friends just stood outside the paddock and tried to find a way inside. That’s where he saw you the first time, laughing and giggling with your friends, sneaking around.

He wanted to have you as a friend. You seemed like so much fun, it’s crazy how much like fun you looked. So, with long strides he walked towards your friend group and talked to you. Six months later, you were best friends with the formula one driver and laughing and doing shit together. 

Well, hot and heavy pumpkin pie, chocolate candy, Jesus Christ Ain't nothing please me more than you

And as you two grew much more together, it happened. You two had sex and it was the most that heaven was seen on earth. You two fit like a piece of puzzle. Made for each other and not leaving any space for something or someone else. At first you were scared it would ruin your good friendship, but as you laid there, panting heavily, kind of but also not regretting your choice, he kissed you with his perfect lips and told just how much you mean to him. 

Oh, home, let me come home Home is wherever I'm with you

You moved together 8 months after you confessed your feelings to each other. And Charles always felt special after coming home from a race, because now he had a home to come back to. 

Opening the door and shouting “Honey, I’m home!” was a dream come true for him. He always wished to have someone to come home to after a long week of racing. And now he had you, his home. 

I'll follow you into the park, through the jungle, through the dark Girl, I never loved one like you

You attended as many races as you could, having to work it was difficult to make it possible. That’s why he accompanied you everywhere you went. If you had to work, he would sit in your office working on new strategies for the car. You always went to the gym together, never a time you didn’t. 

Shopping? He was the first one to go with you. Or meeting your friends? He was happy that he could just sit at the table and hold your hand. He went everywhere with you, and you were more than fine with it, because you missed him just as much as he did. 

He loved you like nothing else, and you were sure to show him that you loved him just as much. 

Moats and boats and waterfalls, alleyways and pay phone calls I been everywhere with you

Your favorite thing to do during the breaks was travelling. Having Charles just for yourself and exploring all the beauty nature has to give. You went to the Maldives, Australia, Switzerland, Belgium, Thailand, Bali and many more countries. Seeing him relaxed and bathing in the sun, resting his eyes on the beach or washing his hair under a waterfall, it was perfect. Everything he did was perfect to you. 

We laugh until we think we'll die, barefoot on a summer night Nothing new is sweeter than with you

But what the most perfect thing about your relationship was, was your carelessness; you danced with him in the rain. Walked barefoot down the street in the night just to still feel the warmth of the sun through the street. You laugh together, you cry together, and nothing is sweeter than your relationship with Charles. 

You are his home, and he is yours. Feeling like this is meant to be and hoping it will never end. You and Charles are like a pair of socks, always best as a pair. 

[midnightblues444]

Jaded |

situationship!various x fem!reader

Content warnings: smut and toxic relationship

A/n: Was listening to jaded by drake and thought of this, also been way too busy lately but dont worry things are cominggg

"I miss u"

He stares at the notification intently, after a while he can feel his heart beating steadily again. You haven't spoken in a month or so, mostly because of you, so instead of an apology you decide to text him this shit

Typical

Your relationship was- or is a complicated thing to explain.

It began with a mutual agreement that neither of you are " looking for a relationship at this point" and how you both "just want to keep it casual". To be honest he can't really label what exactly you agreed to, but he just went with it cause the sex is really good.

Usually he's a logical person by nature, never straying from his "no strings attached" rules, he finally crumbled after meeting his match, shreds of logic slipping between those prettily manicured fingers of yours.

You changed everything for him, from how he thought to how he acts. From the first time you fucked, there was something compelling him not to ghost you like the other girls, he was so drawn you, he became whipped.

Your situationship was fun at first, he enjoyed reaping all the rewards of low commitment by having chemistry like no other with you.

That was before jealousy crept in, along with the sudden question of "what are we". That's when the arguments really began. Angry sex, petty acts to make the other jealous, what you had became a mess that you said "you need a break from".

And now youre saying; you miss him

Confusing, that's what this is. He doesn't understand you, he doesn't understand who he is with you, he doesn't understand why he's pulling on his shoes and slipping a condom into his jeans.

When he finds himself at your doorstep he simply knocks, he didnt bother texting back because he knows you well enough. Opening the door, you're half surprised, taking merely a second to process the fact that he was here announced, allowing him in without hesitation.

You hug him, tight. Whispering I missed yous into his chest, he cant help but hug you back wrapping you in his big arms, he missed you too after all. The conversation is a brief breakdown figuring out if you need to be angry at eachother or not. A type of small talk where you both passively check loyalty during your "break" .

He asks you how you've been and hat you been up to fighting the urge to ask who've you been up to, concluding that he doesn't want to fight about it.

He kisses you instead, hot and desperate, big hands tracing the curves of your body. Your hands are in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, you get lost in the familiarity of it all the heat between you getting hotter. He knows your apartment well, never needing to break the kiss while guiding you to the room.

You don't make it all the way to the bed, finding refuge on your dresser. "God I missed you " he says breathless once your shirts gone, pulling down your shorts.

Such a gentlemen, doing all the work for you,

In one motion his shirt is gone, and hes unbuttoned his pants. His focus is directed at your neck, and tits. Bruises and bites begin to decorate your skin. Placing a condom wrapper between his teeth, he starts to release himself from his boxers.

"Need some help there sweets?" you ask sweetly, mischief stretching across your face. He nods, and let's you take the condom out. Touching him teasingly before slipping it on his length,

"Fuck" he whispers watching intently, as you align him with your entrance, slowly sliding in.

You hum at the sensation, deciding to place your hands on his shoulders. Its a gentle harshness he grips your hips with, firmly pulling you close as he begins rythmically rolling into your spot.

His pace harsh as he breathlessly groans into the crook of your neck, the sound of skin clapping fills the room along with your sinful whimpers and his deep groans

Theres no place he'd rather be than inside you is all he thinks

DABI, Hawks, Aizawa, Rindou, Hanma, RAN, Baji, Draken, Suna, Atsumu, Geto, Gojo, sakuna, TOJI , Eren

[crooked-wasteland]

Stolen from @pinkandpurple360 anonymous ask.

"Blitz still has a long way to go with character development”

That's great. I can't wait to never see it.

This was an issue I tried working into my Fizzarolli Dissection but it kept feeling less about the character and more an overarching writing issue, so let's just take it here.

Every bit of character development in the series is inconsistent or entirely spontaneous. Stolas being in love with Blitz seemed like a slow burn until out of nowhere in Ozzie's he is so head over heels for Blitz in specific. Asking why Blitz only now is asking him out "after all this time", like he has been waiting on and expecting it despite that never being a thought towards their dynamic before. Going from being entirely obsessed with their sexual contract and seeing Blitz as a sex object to suddenly wanting cuddles on the couch with no strings attached?

That change was never shown in the series. It was never developed. There is no character growth, they merely are different to suit the new direction to the plot.

So again, I'm so glad Blitz has more character development to go through, can't wait for it all to be implied off screen like every other ounce of character we've been gaslight into believing has "grown".

If you never show it on screen, the dynamic, the relationship, the change, it never happened. Loona at the end of Queen Bee seems to get closer to Blitz but the next time we see her she's trying to assault him. We never saw any moment of change following the end of Queen Bee where we felt her character actually develop. Even after calling Blitz dad in the episode, she ignores him in favor of strangers at the party. She expressed clear disgust with Blitz before leaving with him, and her mild softening towards him at the end could just as easily be seen as nothing at all as it could be a character growth.

However growth requires reinforcement. If you never reinforce that moment meant something, it isn't growth, it's a cheap emotional scene to get a reaction from an audience. A short scene of Loona simply telling Blitz good morning to show some kind of change was all that was needed, but it was not as important to establish change in the characters as it was to have the most cringe scene in existence. Priorities.

One of the biggest issues with the series is how blatant the meta agenda of the writing is. They never allow the space to establish characters or change, instead citing these one off moments as “proof” of story when they do not amount to anything at all. There is unfortunately a distinct difference between a story and a scene, and it is painfully obvious by how Medrano and Nylan utilize these scenes that it is entirely for a superficial effect.

The relationship between Fizzarolli and Blitz similarly is extremely vapid and has no foundation to establish what their dynamic actually was growing up. Additionally, the two scenes of them being younger are fundamentally contradictory. Younger Fizz from The Circus is assertive and confrontational. He threatens to punch Blitz for being annoying and not playing the way he wants to play. He's bossy without necessarily being mean and not only knows he's popular, but also how to utilize it as manipulation, seen in how he draws attention to himself to spare Blitz the embarrassment of his failed joke. This Fizzarolli actually lines up also with the Fizz from Ozzie's. It's hard to claim that Ozzie's Fizz was "just an act" when as a literal child he has all the same traits

Then in the Special he is insecure, timid, has very little self esteem and is an anxious people pleaser with a mousy voice. There is nothing to establish this as the same person at all, and all the narrative context clues around his popularity does not support the direction of change this character has experienced. Fizzarolli has only gotten bigger between being what appears to be six years old and what I can only assume to be thirteen based on his cracking pubescent voice and gangly limbs. All we can go on is context clues and extrapolation, but arguing of a non-existent event that humbled Fizzarolli to this extent, while maintaining his stardom prior to ever meeting Mammon, is founded on nothing, when there is a much simpler answer.

His whole personality has taken a 180 turn for the sole purpose of the episode’s narrative. Fizzarolli being the pathetic whump he is in the episode is not founded anywhere else in the show, but we need that so people feel bad for him. There is no confidence in this writing. It shows that instead of believing the character is likeable as a whole for a complex personality, the only way anyone will like him is if he is just the softest jellybean in the bunch.

It is only this way because it suits the episode right here and now. And when his character changes, it isn't founded on any concrete narrative of growth and actions having consequences, but on what the writers need to get the audience to feel a certain way. So I say it again:

That's nice, I can't wait to never see it.

[princesssmars]

i love your shiv nsfw fic!!! you're so good at writing them, could you write another shiv roy x female reader smut fic? it's so hard finding them these days

no strings

a shiv roy x reader.

your time studying abroad is nearly over, and you luck out with a job working for a luxury boating service. this summer the billionaire roy family is vacationing, and the youngest daughter gives you an exciting proposal.

wc : 1.391

contains : fluff. semi angst. smut. talks of fxfxm threesome. exhibitionism : tom watches you and shiv go at it. oral and penetrative sex (receiving).

a/n : anon why did i literally have a dream with tom and shiv the night you sent this...and you are so right why is the shiv tag so dead omg i came a year after the show ended thinking i’d be fed 💔 also thanks for saying i’m good every time i write smut i laugh bc i’m a big baby.

when you signed up for a summer job, you sure as hell weren't expecting this.

at least you had the excuse of this not being a very croatian or italian custom. coming here to study was something you did on a whim, and wouldnt be the first time you made a crazy decision just because, you still had flashbacks to the time you skinny dipped with people who you had just met at a bar an hour earlier.

thankfully over the years your exploring ways had toned down to a reasonable amount. after all, you couldnt be a luxury stewardess who was always getting in to trouble. the clients did insane background checks, seriously, one old bastard asked what it was like going to such an average kindergarten.

but for now, it was fine. it paid well, you only had to serve rich pricks for a few days at a time, and it was helping pay off your student loans. plus if you bat your eyes at the right people you got a considerable tip.

your coworker and friend, petra, suggested you do a little more for some extra money, but you shrugged it off with a laugh each time. the last thing you wanted was to have some crazy millionaire getting too attached to you and causing trouble in your normal life.

but your final semester has ended, you’ve made plans to move back home to jersey at the end of the summer, and that only leaves you with a few more jobs until you’re done with this job. you tried, you really really tried to keep your wits about you, but one of the clients is contacting you before the family lands to the boat with an offer.

a threesome. with her and her husband. no strings attached.

the service you worked for normally declined telling you the names of who your team will be working for, even going as far as to lock your phones on the boats to make sure you weren’t posting them during their private time.

but even you, now living halfway across the world, knew about this family. the roys, owners of one of the biggest media conglomerates of the past era. it was hard not to see reports in the morning from atn news, or the insane amount of advertising you’d see about their international mediterranean cruises.

(well, after their recent scandal about sexual misconduct in the fucking senate, you had a feeling you wouldn’t be seeing too many ads anymore.)

you were sure it was the daughter of the family calling you, recognizing her voice over the phone and being confirmed when she met up with you before she got on the boat. she was gorgeous and a little scary, enjoying the scent of her perfume when she slides the nda over to you to sign.

it was exciting, working on the boat and seeing her eyes occasionally trailing your figure. maybe it would’ve been more enticing if every time her husband looked at you he didn’t look like one of those hanging cat posters. shame, he was cute.

you’re cleaning up one of the tables after the family had eaten a crazy short dinner. you’re still reeling after witnessing how dysfunctional these people were when your phone buzzes on your pocket, courtesy of shiv pulling a few strings. the text from her is just her cabin number and a time that’s ten minutes ahead. short and to the point.

when you knock on the door you can hear a conversation on the other side come to halt, fast footsteps coming to the door before yanking it open. you’d seen her earlier in the day but got did shiv look gorgeous, ginger hair framing her face as the soft lighting of the room illuminated her bare shoulders.

she’s smiling at you, all sickly sweet as she leads you into the room before locking the door behind you, telling you to just sit on the bed. the bed is large and soft, and your mind wanders about how these people can have whole hotel rooms on the ocean and still be so unhappy when a throat clearing knocks you out of your thoughts, the husband sitting in a chair across the bed to your left. he gives a little smile and a wave and you do it back.

“this is tom. he’s just gonna watch us for a while, ok?” she checks in with you, crossing her legs as she sits next to you, softly moving your hair behind your shoulder. you nod. “good. tel us if you don’t like something.”

you try to nod again but her palm is on your cheek and bringing your face to hers, soft lips kissing you like she’s starving. her tounge is in your mouth, and when you try to move your body to sit on her lap she’s pushing you back, resting your back on the bed. you can faintly hear the fabric of tom’s clothes as he moves on his seat.

she urges your pants down your legs, barely waiting for you to kick off your shoes before she’s rubbing you through your panties, biting and nipping at the skin of your neck as you left out small moans into the air.

“sure you don’t wanna touch her, tom? she’s so soft, so pretty.” she licks a line up your throat and to your mouth, swallowing your moan in her mouth. her husband doesn’t reply and you don’t dwell on it for long. you’ve heard of exhibitionists before, looks like her husband is one of them.

you bite her bottom lip and revel in the groan you feel in her mouth and chest, your own muffled noise escaping when she stuffs a finger inside you. she’s using her thumb to rub at your clip while she thrusts, pulling away from the kiss to look at your face.

it feels good but it’s not enough, which you make clear when you beg her under your breath to give you more of anything. thankfully she doesn’t seem to be in a teasing mood, not thanking any time to push her second finger inside of you.

“oh, fuck-“ your leg kicks out and you fist the sheets as you focus on the pleasure. it’s clear she’s done this before, skilled in the way she hits your g spot at just the right angle and rubs your clit. her head turns to likely look at her husband, while yours flops on the bedsheets.

you’re so distracted you don’t notice them having a small chat, mind on cloud nine. you do notice when she dips her head to kiss your chest that’s exposed after she unbuttoned your shirt, then dips lower, and lower, and lower-

when you feel her mouth circle your clit in your mouth you let out an airy moan, feeling the ball in the pit of your stomach grow. she eats you out just like she kisses you, sloppier than you expected for someone that’s looks as polished as she does. her hands are squishing the fat of your thighs, and when she shakes her head from side to side in your pussy you cum, trying to soundproof your moans into your arms as the other clutches at her head.

she helps ease you down from your high, placing kisses on your clit and your thighs and even cleaning you up with her mouth as you let out fast shaky breaths. you’re given maybe a few minutes of relaxation before she’s tugging your pants back up, buttoning up your shirt before giving a quick pat to the top of your thigh.

“that was fun, huh?”

you laugh, nodding your head since you can’t find the words. you push yourself up on your arms, staring up at the woman above you as she smiles down at you. your eyes drift to her husband who’s still sitting on the armchair, face flushed and taking in quick breaths like he’s the one who just got fucked instead of you.

“yeah, yeah it was fun.”

you collect yourself, fixing up your hair in the mirror on the wall as shiv leads you to the door.

“saw in your file you’re from jersey. maybe we’ll call you sometime once all this shit blows over, yeah?”

this summer couldn’t end fast enough.

[genshinluvr]

At Arm's Length

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: After being forced into a marriage with the twenty-five men— technically, you agreed to it, so you weren't really forced into it, you couldn't help but yearn for a genuine connection with the men. You end up expressing your feelings about your marriage with your twenty-five husbands to Lumine, who is also your sister in law.

Note: Short-ish fic for this week since it's been a hectic week for me ;v; Not really sure how I feel about this fic since I do feel burned out from not only school but from writing fanfics as well 😵‍💫 It's a new quarter for me, and I'm just trying to keep up with school, my readings, and writings. I don't think this would count as angst, but just to be safe, I won't be tagging people that don't want to be tagged in angst or hurt/comfort. Next week's fic might be either Tagic Outcomes or Caught in the Crossfire since it's been a while since I've typed something for those two fics. I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Would marriage count as a warning?

Word Count: 7k

This strange relationship you have with twenty-five men— it’s fake. There are no feelings attached, no physical touch or intimacy. No strings attached, as your world would call it. Usually, relationships that have no strings attached to them would be friends with benefits. You hate the friends-with-benefits title. It sounds depressing to you because it’s a “friendship” between two people where they do everything a typical relationship would have, only there are no romantic feelings involved. 

You have been in that situation before, but it ended fast because you wanted to be more than that, and the person left because you broke the number one rule. Not to catch any feelings, and that is what you did. Oh, what a fool you are. How could you, a hopeless romantic, be in that kind of situation? You didn’t expect to be in an arranged marriage situation with twenty-five men from an open-world game you’ve been obsessed with for quite some time.

A stack of paper is slammed on the table in front of you, pulling you out of your thoughts. You look up at the older woman, who looks like she does not want to show up to work today.

“Please sign your first and last name here, and your… husbands will sign their names after,” the lady instructs, sliding a large stack of paper toward you.

You look at the stack of papers with wide eyes. These are marriage certificates, and you have to sign twenty-five pieces of paper. You turn to look at the twenty-five men standing two feet behind you. Pierro nods as if he’s signaling for you to go ahead and sign the papers. The majority of the men look uninterested, almost bored. 

You swallow the lump in your throat and turn to look at the papers laid out in front of you. Marriage certificate, huh? You will be legally binded to the twenty-five men for who knows how long— perhaps until they all get bored of you and leave you one day without any notice. Just the thought of being abandoned so suddenly makes your heart clench. How did you end up in a situation like this? 

The woman sitting at the front desk clears her throat, raising her eyebrows at you. “Are you going to sign the papers or not?” She asks with an attitude.

Your face heats up with embarrassment while you mutter an apology before grabbing the pen lying beside the stack of papers. You begin to sign your name on the marriage certificates. A marriage certificate is a contract, and contracts can’t be broken unless necessary. Well, at least that’s what you assume. You don’t have much knowledge when it comes to contracts, but a certain former Archon may know a thing or two about contracts. 

After signing all twenty-five marriage certificates, you step to the side and let each man sign their name on the paper. Each paper is a marriage certificate between you and one man. While you’re technically married to twenty-five men at once, the marriage certificate and the government of the men’s respective regions (if they have one) state that you’re married to one man. Though, you have no idea how that’s going to work out since most of these men live in the same region as the other. 

“There. It’s been done,” Xiao says, grabbing your attention.

You watch each man hand their pens over to the lady behind the desk. She takes the pen and begins to put the marriage certificates in a white envelope with gold borders. You walk to the woman, who begins to hand you each envelope. 

You’re not sure how this works or how it’ll work. You weren’t prepared for marriage, nor did you plan on getting married so soon. The stack of envelopes in your arms starts becoming heavy the more the woman stacks one envelope over the other. While the envelope is thick and glossy, holding the stacks in your arms feels like lead. The woman puts one last envelope on the stack and nods.

“You’re all dismissed,” she says.

You and the men walk out of the building without saying a word to each other. I mean, what’s there to say after something like this? These men found you unconscious outside of Dragonspine. When you came to consciousness, you were met with various weapons pointing at your face. It took you a while to reassure them that you’re not a threat— how can you be a threat when you don’t have a vision or any weapons on your person?

Tensions are high, and silence hangs in the air. The tension is so thick you can suffocate in it. The sun is high in the sky, the birds are chirping, and the civilians are going on with their day, unaware of the situation.

You break the silence. “You guys are acting like I’m forcing all of you to marry me when I never brought up that idea. We can go back to the clerk and destroy the certificates if that makes you all happy,” you said.

“There’s no need to go back to the clerk to have the marriage certificates destroyed. What’s done is done, and you cannot break a contract once it's signed by the party involved,” Diluc says.

Archons, you hate this so much. You weren’t the one that brought the idea up to the men. It was them that suggested it for your “protection.” Ever since you revealed to them that you weren’t from their universe, they suggested that you should get married to them so that they can protect you from the Abyss and other potential harms that could come your way. 

Because you know too much about what happened in their world that they’re unaware of, it was best for them to be betrothed to you to protect you and your identity. At least that’s what you were told. Quite frankly, there could be a better alternative. Still, the twenty-five men were adamant about the marriage option, and you weren’t sure why. You didn’t want to start any more issues with them, so you went along with their choice, and now here you are— married to twenty-five men.

A few months go by, and it’s been a few months since you have been “married” to the twenty-five men, and while you’re their significant other, they keep you at arm's length. Everything feels awkward between you and the men. They weren’t cold or rude to you. They didn’t mistreat you or make you feel alienated from the rest. You’re unsure if it’s because of your lack of relationship experience or if it was something else because everything felt awkward.

Since you are legally their partner for however long, the twenty-six of you need to put on a show to prove that your marriage is legitimate and not illegitimate. No matter where you all are, you have to get used to calling each other partners. They’re your husbands, and you are their spouse.

You’re going to be really honest here. It feels like you’re putting more effort into this role than these men are. It almost feels like you’re the only person that is trying to make it work despite how awkward it is. After all, it feels like an arranged marriage because these men don’t have feelings toward you— at least, that’s what you’re assuming. Since you’re not a citizen in Teyvat, you spend your time at the abode, cleaning, cooking, and watering the plants in the backyard because there’s nothing for you to do, really. 

Instead of Thoma cooking food for everyone, you’re the one that does it. Of course, Thoma was opposed to it at first, but you insisted on cooking because they have jobs and duties to tend to, whereas you’re at the estate doing house duties. 

You wake up around close to six in the morning to start your day. While you hated waking up early in the morning, you thought getting up before everyone else would make the men feel relieved in a way. After all, you don’t work or go to school. You could apply to Sumeru Akademiya and be a student there, but it would raise some suspicions, according to Al Haitham and Kaveh. 

You’re not a fan of waking up at an early time, but ever since you and the twenty-five men have signed the marriage contract, you have been making it a habit to get up early in the morning to start your day ahead of everyone’s schedule. You’re standing in the kitchen in your pajamas, packing twenty-five lunches for each man. You made sure to cook their favorite dishes and include some snacks from the regions they’re from. It’s a lot to do, but you’re getting the hang of it.

“And we’re done!” You mutter to yourself, sighing in relief when you wrap the last lunch bag for the last man. 

You yawn and stretch your arms in the air. You lined the lunch bags next to each other, labeling each bag with the men’s names on it so they wouldn’t mix up their lunch bags with someone else’s bags. That would’ve been a disaster if it did happen. You rub your eyes and walk to the stove, cracking eggs into the pan and begin to cook yourself some breakfast. 

The kitchen door creaks open. You turn your head to see Thoma walking into the kitchen dressed for the day but with a bedhead. You crack a smile and look away before Thoma can see it. Thoma hums softly, walking over to where you’re standing.

“Morning, Thoma. I hope you slept well last night,” you said softly, cooking the eggs before you while Thoma dug through the refrigerator for water.

“I slept well. I hope you slept well, too, because it’s almost seven in the morning, and I don’t understand how you’re able to pack everyone's lunch before we all wake up,” Thoma murmurs, leaning against the counter beside you after grabbing a cup of water to drink.

You shrug. “It’s not as easy as I hoped it would be. That’s all I can say. Everyone has their likes and dislikes, and I have to make sure to prepare the ingredients the day prior,” you reply.

You look at the clock hanging on the wall and reach for the spatula. It’s almost time for everyone to get up for work, and Thoma is the only person that is awake. You’re not sure whether it’s because Thoma is used to getting up early ahead of every other man in the estate or if he’s used to waking up early because of his duties at the Kamisato Estate. But either way, you’re happy to have some kind of company, even if it’s short-lived.

“Thoma, it seems like you have yet to fix your bedhead,” the voice of the Kamisato heir breaks the short silence between you and the housekeeper of the Kamisato Estate. 

Thoma laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “I tried to fix it, but there’s no use in getting it down when it’s stubborn,” Thoma sighs in defeat.

You continue to cook your breakfast while Thoma and Ayato hang out in the kitchen, chatting quietly near the island of the kitchen. You grab a plate and scoop the eggs, putting them on the plate while debating whether you should cook some bacon to go with your eggs for breakfast or not. The kitchen door opens once again, and more men walk into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes while muttering under their breaths.

You let out a silent gasp and smack yourself in the forehead, mentally cursing yourself for being forgetful. How could you make lunch for your husbands to take to work when you forget to brew them coffee and tea?! Dammit, dammit, dammit!

“Don’t hit yourself!” Scaramouche grumbles, smacking your hand away from your face with a small scowl on his face.

“Yeah! There’s nothing to beat yourself over. You made us lunch like you promised,” Gorou says, grabbing the small lunch sack from the kitchen island.

You sigh and rub your throbbing temples. “Of course, I would make you all lunch to bring to work with you all, but I forgot to brew coffee and tea for you guys,” you murmur. “Archons, how could I be so stupid and forget that?” 

“You’re not stupid for forgetting to brew tea and coffee for us, [Y/N]. You were occupied with cooking lunch for twenty-five of us. There’s nothing worth beating yourself over,” Dainsleif says, walking over to the coffee pot.

“I’ll do better next time, I promise. My forgetfulness has caused everyone to be late for work,” you mutter, chewing on your bottom lip. 

Childe throws his arms over your shoulders and pats your head. “Late for work? The clock just struck seven! If anything, we’re up pretty early, and we should leave the house not too long from now. Plus, some of us don’t thrive on coffee and tea,” Childe says.

“You do not need to worry about anything. You’re doing fine, and none of us are upset with you just because you forgot about coffee and tea. Plus, you cooked lunch for the twenty-five of us to bring to work. The least we can do is make our coffee and tea,” Al Haitham says, entering the kitchen with a peeved Kaveh following behind.

Kaveh stands beside you, crossing his arms over his chest with his chest puffing out. You look at Kaveh worriedly and lightly tap his arm. Kaveh continues to glare at Al Haitham before looking at you. You freeze for a moment when he looks at you with the same expression on his face. Kaveh notices your change in demeanor before relaxing.

Kaveh pats your head. “Sorry, [Y/N]! That glare wasn’t for you. It’s for that idiot over there with his stupid noise-canceling headphones,” Kaveh says, shooting a glare over at the Acting Grand Sage.

You weren’t sure if Al Haitham didn’t hear what Kaveh said because of his noise-canceling headphones or if he was intentionally ignoring Kaveh’s comment. You smile at Kaveh and pat his arm lightly before continuing what you were doing before the other men entered the kitchen. Once everyone is awake and ready for work, you pass everyone their lunch bags with their names on them. 

You stand by the door of the estate and bid them goodbyes as they walk out the door. Some men pat your head on their way out, and others either give you a hug or squeeze your shoulders. Despite being married to them for a few months, this is the only kind of affection you were getting from the twenty-five men.

Just when Baizhu is about to close the estate’s door, you quickly stop him by grabbing his wrist. Baizhu stops in his tracks and turns to look at you, surprised and confused. You release Baizhu’s wrist and give him a strained smile.

“Remember to take your medication, alright? I know you work at Bubu Pharmacy, and your job is to take care of others and give your patients their medication, but please take care of yourself as well,” you whisper.

Baizhu looks at you with surprise before giving you a warm smile. Baizhu chuckles softly and pats your head, almost ruffling your hair. You laugh quietly and grab Baizhu’s hand, gently squeezing them.

Baizhu nods. “Of course, I’ll take care of myself. I promise,” Baizhu says, making a crossing motion over his chest.

Baizhu leans over you and presses a kiss on your forehead before walking out the door, leaving you at the entrance of the estate, speechless. You touch your forehead, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. You press your lips into a thin line to prevent yourself from smiling widely. You close the estate’s door and lock it.

Before you and the men got married for your safety and to keep Teyvat at peace, they promised to each other and to themselves that they would keep you at arm's length. You’re sweet and down to earth, but because some of them have dangerous professions and you’re not from their world, they wanted to keep this distance between you and them. Your husbands do not hate you, and they’ve made it very clear on multiple occasions.

“If we seem cold toward you, we do not hate you. We don’t hold any disdain toward you, nor do we hold any grudges toward you.” Cyno would say as he is sitting across from you.

You nod and dig your nail into the wrinkly skin of your right ring finger— a bad habit of yours when you were a child that dragged on to your adulthood. You usually dig your nails into the wrinkly skin of your right ring finger when you’re stressed, nervous, or bored. It doesn’t hurt at all, nor could you feel it.

Tighnari clears his throat. “Do you have any other questions?” Tighnari asks, gazing at you curiously. 

You hum to yourself and tap your fingers on your thighs. “I want to know why some of you will be acting cold toward me,” you mutter, puckering your lips.

“To be fair, some of us do it unintentionally,” Albedo interjects.

You couldn’t help but agree with Albedo on that. Some men do come off as standoffish and cold even though they’re not. It’s how they are to people in general, not just you. For example, Xiao is standoffish, but that doesn’t mean he hates you or holds any grudges toward you. If anything, Xiao wanted to distance himself from you because of his karmic debt, and because you’re mortal and don’t have a vision, he doesn’t want to harm you in any way or put you in harm's way. 

“Just don’t do anything reckless that could put you in danger,” Pierro comments, leaning against the wall.

You bite the inside of your cheek. You don’t think you can guarantee that— staying away from danger, you mean. It’s not like you intentionally dive headfirst into danger without warning! You’re getting married to Archons, Harbingers, an Adeptus, a Knight, and many notable figures of Teyvat. There’s bound to be danger in almost every corner now that you’re associated with these men. 

The men stare at you intently while you stare off into space, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. That’s another habit of yours the men noticed almost right off the bat. When you’re deep in thought, you tend to zone out and are not aware of your surroundings. It’s almost like your head is always in the clouds. It’s almost endearing in a way, but your head being in the clouds could also be the reason for your downfall.

“What’s on your mind?” Heizou asks, leaning back in his seat while watching you closely.

You sigh and chuckle to yourself. “I don’t have much going on in my mind, to be really honest. But I do have other questions, but I don’t think any of you are going to give me a clear answer,” you said.

Kazuha sits beside you and gazes at you curiously. You clear your throat and look away, feeling heat slowly creep up your neck. He’s even prettier in person. You wonder if Kazuha knows how pretty he is because he’s breathtaking. Then again, the twenty-four other men are just as stunning as Kazuha. 

“If you want, you can ask us now, and if we know the answer, we’ll tell you. If not, we’ll try to answer it when we have the answers,” Kazuha suggests, giving you a small smile.

You pursed your lips and debated whether you should ask the question. If you were to ask them the question, you worry you might receive the answer you didn’t want to hear. But if you don’t ask the question, you’ll never know what will happen or what to expect. Itto lets out a loud grunt and stands up, stretching his arms out in front of him.

Itto props his hands on his hips and gives you an encouraging smile. “Whatever question you have for us, I think some of us have the answer for it, depending on what it is!” Itto says, tilting his head to the side while gazing at you curiously.

How long will this marriage last? Is what you wanted to ask the men. How long will it last? A few weeks? A few months? A few years, maybe? How long? The time in Teyvat is vastly different from your world, you’re assuming. The days in Teyvat are much faster than the days in your world. You and the men never went out on a date to get to know one another or to form a bond with one another. Would the marriage be convincing because of the lack of bond between the twenty-six of you? Or, well, between you and each man? 

“I don’t know if I want to ask the question,” you mutter shyly.

Venti giggles and trots over to you, throwing his arms around your shoulders and giving you a pat on the head. “It’s okay if you don’t want to ask the question! We won’t pry!” Venti says, releasing you from his hug before walking over to where he was standing previously. 

Zhongli clears his throat. “I would like to remind you all that what we’re all getting into involves a contract. Everyone has to agree to sign this contract mutually. If one person does not agree, then the contract will be invalid,” Zhongli says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Right, you nearly forgot that marriage is a contract with the party involved. It’s not a relationship where people can break up and go their separate ways after. Marriage is a contract, and to get out of marriage is breaking a contract. It’s a long process, and people can’t walk away from it so easily. 

You didn’t remember who proposed the idea of every one of them marrying you to keep you away from danger and to keep your real origins hidden from the rest of Teyvat. It’s strange to you that you have to marry notable figures to keep your identity hidden, even though that’s putting more spotlight and target on you. You don’t mind getting married to twenty-five handsome men but getting married to them so suddenly is something you didn’t expect.

“Are you listening?” Capitano asks gruffly.

You nod mindlessly. “I’m not opposed to continuing this process. I mean, it’s not like I have a choice, really,” you mutter.

“It’s for your safety. If word gets out that you’re not from our universe and you possess the knowledge of Teyvat, you will be hunted down by the Abyss,” Dottore interjects from the corner of the room.

You didn’t realize he was in the same room until now. Now that you think about it, these Harbingers are scattered around the large office inside Dawn Winery. You puckered your lips and leaned back in your seat, crossing your leg over the other. 

You sigh and tilt your head back. “Is the Abyss really a threat to me right now? In case you all have forgotten, you’re all notable figures. Some of you are Harbingers and Knights—”

Diluc makes a disgusted noise.

“Some of you are Adeptis and Archons—”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes and pretends to gag. You stare at Diluc and Scaramouche blankly while the two avoid your eyes. You huff and stand up, propping your hands on your hips. You look at the other men in the room, who gazes at you cluelessly.

Kaeya smiles at you and waves. “Ignore Diluc. He was once a Knight as well, but now he holds a grudge against us,” Kaeya says nonchalantly.

Diluc rolls his eyes in response and glares at Kaeya from the corner of his eyes. You scratch your head, wondering how in the world this marriage is going to work out of some of these men hold grudges against certain groups of people, especially when the others are part of that group.

“So, what do you say? Do you agree to marry all twenty-five of us for your protection? This is also no strings attached, so you can do whatever you want without us controlling you. That applies to us as well.” Pantalone says, holding his hand out toward you.

You sigh for the trillionth time, staring at Pantalone’s hand. No strings attached? How would a marriage work if it’s no strings attached? There are many strings attached to marriages! That only applies if it’s a friends-with-benefits situation, but marriage? Does that even apply to marriages? This got you scratching your head because what?

“I’m not sure what you mean by no strings attached,” you mutter, furrowing your eyebrows. “But yes, I will marry you. All of you. Although I did not think this is how the marriage proposal is going to turn out….” you trailed off, grabbing Pantalone’s hand and shaking his hand.

Childe smirks, cocking an eyebrow at you. “Oh? Did you perhaps want us to dress fancy and make it special?” Childe asks.

“Yes.” you deadpan. “Honestly, if I was dating all of you and this is how you all propose to me, it would’ve been an automatic no,” you add.

“Huh!? Then what should we do to get you to say yes other than making it special?” Itto asks, giving you a look of disbelief.

You hum thoughtfully, tapping on your chin after releasing Pantalone’s hand. “Well, last time I checked, an engagement ring is involved. If we’re going to make this ‘real,’ there needs to be a ring, or else people won’t believe it,” you explain.

“Oh? Do you want us to get you an engagement ring?” Pierro asks, looking at you with an amused look on his face.

You feel your face heat up, and you look away with a “hmph!” The marriage is real, but at the same time, it’s not. Yes, a marriage certificate and license will be signed and given to the twenty-six of you, but this marriage is a loveless marriage. At least, that’s what you assume it’ll be. If you have to marry the twenty-five of them for your safety, you might as well make it convincing, right? Then again, you don’t want them to spend a lot of Mora over a ring.

“Yes, I do. I mean, unless people in Teyvat do it differently,” you mutter, stroking your chin. You shake your head and wave your hand. “You know what? Forget it. It’s not even a real marriage, so why should I want a ring to be involved?” You sigh.

Aether looks at you quizzically. “What do you mean? It is a real marriage,” Aether says.

“Not when the marriage is rushed, and none of you have feelings for me,” you mutter under your breath.

“Either way, the wedding is real because a contract is involved. If it were fake, the marriage license and certificate wouldn’t be signed, and it would’ve been more of a role play,” Tighnari interjects, shrugging his shoulders.

Well, Tighnari’s not wrong about that. Still, the marriage isn’t genuine between you and the twenty-five men. You shouldn’t be complaining when they’re doing it for your safety, but what Pantalone said really bothers you. A marriage that has no strings attached. How would that even work? You get attached easily! 

“[Y/N].”

How would the men react if you told them you wanted the marriage to be real? By that, you mean you wanted them to love you as much as you love them. Is it too early to tell them you love them despite knowing them for only a short amount of time during your stay in Teyvat? I mean, you technically knew them longer than they know you because—

“[Y/N]!”

You feel something smack you in the face. You blink and rub the tip of your nose, looking at the item that fell onto your lap. A bread roll. You clear your throat and grab the bread, glancing up at Lumine, who sighs and props her head up on the table with her arm.

You put the bread roll on the plate, giving Lumine an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Lumine. I didn’t mean to get lost in my thoughts,” you said. “What were you saying?”

Lumine lets out a long sigh and leans back in her seat, staring at you closely while tapping her fingers on her biceps. “I was wondering how your marriage is going with those twenty-five men. Specifically, my twin brother,” Lumine says.

“Oh!” You look at her surprised, reminding Lumine of a startled fox she came across many times while on her and her brother’s exploration around Teyvat. “It’s… uh… it’s going!” You say, giving her a strained smile.

Lumine deadpans. “Listen, [Y/N]... I invited you to lunch at a lovely restaurant in Mondstadt so we can chat and catch up!” She leans on the table and looks at you worriedly. “You stared off into space for a while, and you look very upset, maybe almost annoyed as well,” Lumine says.

You gulp and reach for your teacup, sipping your now cold tea. Have you been spacing out for that long? You didn’t even realize it until Lumine snapped you out of your thoughts. You’re not sure if you should tell Lumine what’s been bothering you. Surely she knows the state of your and the twenty-five men’s marriage, right? Plus, it’s not like Aether would be hiding the truth of his marriage with you.

Lumine chuckles, shaking her head. “You know, when Aether told me he was getting married, I was genuinely shocked. My brother? Getting married? That’s something I never thought would happen.”

“It’s a loveless marriage, though,” you whisper in defeat, slumping forward and resting your chin on the table. “My marriage with these men is loveless. There are no strings attached, which I find odd because there’s no marriage like that! I mean… unless it’s an arranged marriage that is strictly business,” you mutter, pressing your lips into a thin line.

Lumine gives you a sympathetic look, reaching for your hand across the table, and gently squeezes your hand. “Have you expressed your desire of wanting the marriage to be real instead of it being an excuse to protect you and keep you within close range?” Lumine asks, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

You shake your head glumly. 

Lumine looks at you with confusion and tilts her head to the side. “Why not? I mean, marriage involves a lot of communication, right? How would the marriage work out if none of you are communicating about your wants, worries, and desires?” Lumine asks.

“Lumine, these men barely show me affection as my husbands. They talk to me, yes, but it's always awkward between us when we speak,” you say, pulling your hand away from hers before reaching for the bread roll and breaking it apart.

“Sounds like you all need a marriage counselor,” Lumine says nonchalantly, leaning back in her seat with a sigh. “I’m no love expert, but trust me, communicating your wants, needs, desires, and worries will make marriage much easier!” Lumine says.

“The last time I did that, my ex laughed in my face and left me for my ex-best friend,” you deadpan.

Lumine blinks at you and laughs nervously, grabbing her cup of water and taking a sip of it. You lightly slam your head on the wooden table, causing the cutlery to clatter from the impact. You close your eyes and turn your head to the side, staring off into space. 

Even if you were to express your wants, needs, desires, and worries to your husbands, you worry that it’ll drive them away from you. Not only that, but you worry that it’ll make them snap you back into reality— the reality that your marriage with them is loveless. The purpose of the marriage is to protect you and your identity from the people of Teyvat, from the Abyss Order.

While Aether and Lumine aren’t the Abyss Prince and Princess, the Abyss Order is still as active as ever. Heck, they might be out looking for you and either kill you for knowing too much information or, worst case scenario: make you the new ruler of the Abyss. You sit up and prop your head up with your elbow on the table, sighing wistfully.

“I didn’t think I would be thrown into marriage a few weeks after my arrival to Teyvat. Now here I am, a few months later, in a loveless marriage with twenty-five men who are unobtainable due to their status,” you ramble, rubbing your face with a frustrated sigh and tugging at the roots of your hair.

Lumine smacks your hand away from your head with a scolding look. You release your hair and let your hands fall on your lap, poking the inside of your cheek with your tongue. You don’t care that you’re married to the handsome twenty-five men. You care that it’s a loveless marriage that is “no strings attached.”

You close your eyes and tilt your head back, resting it on the top rail. “A hopeless romantic like myself shouldn’t be in a loveless marriage. I try to find hope in the littlest things, only to be disappointed in the end because I have a hard time accepting that none of these men will ever love me,” you let out a shaky sigh. “There are times when I question if I’m worthy of love because of how many people left me heartbroken. Look at me. I’m in a loveless marriage with twenty-five men who keep me at arm's length. They refuse to get close to me or show me affection. I don’t know how much longer I can handle it,” you murmur.

Lumine glances over your shoulders and then back at you, reaching for her fork. It’s supposed to be a day where you and Lumine hang out with each other. You did tell your husbands that you’ll be meeting up with Lumine, and they’re okay with it. Of course, why wouldn’t they? Lumine stares at you intently, biting on the inside of her lips. Your eyebrows are furrowed, Lumine can see the dark circles under your eyes, and the frown on your face has only gotten deeper. Dear Archons, how unhappy are you? You look like you’re barely hanging on. You look defeated and exhausted.

Lumine clears her throat. “I’m sure they show they care about you somehow, correct? You’re married, and while it’s not like any other marriages, I’m sure they show a tiny bit of affection,” Lumine murmurs.

You crack your eyes open and rest your chin on the table. “Even if they did, it’s not enough that is convincing. They have tried to reassure me they don’t intend on being cold toward me, but it’s hard to tell sometimes.”

Lumine raises her eyebrows at you and taps her fingers on the table. “Do you want the marriage to be convincing, or do you want it to be genuine? No offense, but I’m confused about what you want from my brother and your other husbands,” Lumine comments.

You let out a sharp exhale and bury your face in the table. “I want it to be real. The marriage certificate and license are real, yes, but I want….” You trail off, turning your head to the side so your cheek is resting on the wooden table.

“You want….?” Lumine furrows her eyebrows.

You sit up straight and scratch your cheek. “I want them to love and care about me as much as I do for them. Since this marriage is, according to Pantalone, no strings attached, it makes me feel like I’m not meant to be loved even if I do love someone or something. If that makes sense.” You run your fingers through your hair and puff your cheeks out. “That’s all I want. But knowing them, they will never feel the same way, and I need to accept it.”

You stare at Lumine, who looks like she just saw a ghost for the first time. You look at her quizzically while she slowly lifts her hand and points behind you. You freeze and close your eyes, mentally cursing to yourself. You slowly turn in your seat and open your eyes, only to see your beloved husbands standing there with their arms over their chests, looking at you with unreadable expressions on their faces.

“We need to talk,” Diluc says.

Your shoulders slump, and you nod. You get up from your seat and bid Lumine goodbye before walking outside of Mondstadt. Lumine gives Aether a look when he walks past her alongside the other men. The way back to the estate was silent, other than muttering from other men here and there. You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed and ashamed for admitting it out loud. Even if you said it to Lumine, you didn’t expect your husbands to walk up to your table while you were rambling.

Now, you’re sitting on the couch while the men are standing in front of you. You feel like a child getting ready to be scolded by their parents for misbehaving. You feel so small, almost inferior. 

“Can you explain to us what you and Lumine were talking about?” Xiao asks, raising his eyebrows at you.

You purse your lips. “Lumine and I were talking about our,” you gesture to yourself and the twenty-five men in front of you, “marriage, and I was expressing my feelings about the marriage.”

“Care to tell us more about it?” Kaeya asks, sitting across from you.

“Do I need to explain it to you all again? I have a feeling that all of you heard what I said to Lumine before I realized you all heard what I was saying,” you commented.

Gorou nods. “That is true, yes, but we want you to say it to us. We are your husbands, after all.”

Archons, this is embarrassing.

“I…” You sigh, staring off into space.

You can’t say what you said to Lumine earlier today. It’s not like you didn’t want to. It’s because you have a hard time expressing your emotions and saying what’s on your mind. 

You shake your head, burying your face into the palm of your hands. “Sorry, I’m having a hard time.” You whisper.

Aether gives you a sympathetic look. “It’s okay! Take your time!” Aether reassures you, sitting beside you and rubbing your arm.

“We want to let you know that we’re not mad at you for telling Lumine how you feel about the marriage,” Heizou says, sitting on the other side of you, sandwiching you between him and Aether.

You give Aether and Heizou a strained smile before looking down at your hands on your lap.

“I don’t know how you all feel about this marriage, but lately, I feel like you all have been avoiding me. The better way for me to put it is you’re all keeping me at arm’s length, and I feel like I can’t get through the walls you’re all putting up.”

“Like Pantalone said, the marriage is no string attached,” Dottore says passively.

You stand up. “That only works for friends-with-benefits situations. We’re married. Marriage isn’t supposed to be like this unless it’s a business transaction like those arranged marriages, but this isn’t arranged. It’s sudden, and I’m an idiot for thinking I’m strong enough to be in this situation.”

“What are you trying to say exactly?” Capitano asks.

“Am I really that hard to love to the point where you all keep me at arm’s length? If I am, we could just end the marriage and go our separate ways,” you suggest.

Al Haitham shakes his head. “That’s not why we keep you at arm’s length. You’re not hard to love. We do care about you, [Y/N].”

“Then why put a wall between us? I’m doing everything I can to have you all open up to me, but it's futile.” 

Kaveh kneels in front of you and grabs your hand. “We put you at arm’s length because we worry that if we end up developing feelings for you, you will return to your world suddenly. We do care about you, and it’s hard for us to act like we don’t love you. We do, and it’s not easy for either of us to keep this distance.”

“I see where you’re all coming from, but we don’t know when I’ll return to my world. I’ve been in Teyvat for, what, a few months now?” You look at the men quizzically.

“That’s the unfortunate thing. We don’t know how or when you’ll return to your world. It’s a constant guessing game, and falling in love with someone and them disappearing out of thin air without warning is terrifying.” Albedo interjects, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“And so is marrying someone and keeping them at a far distance until they disappear! It’s almost a cruel and unusual punishment.” You retort.

“Would you be okay with us starting all over again?” Kazuha asks.

You press your lips into a thin line and squint at Kazuha. What does he mean by that exactly?

“We want to form a connection with you. While we treated you with respect (and will continue to do so), we want to treat you like our spouse instead of a stranger/roommate.” Scaramouche replies. 

You nod, feeling your face gradually become warm. You continue to keep your lips pressed into a thin line to prevent a big smile from forming on your face. They wanted a fresh start. A start where they treat you like a lover rather than a stranger. You’re okay with that! In fact, you like that idea more than whatever’s been happening for the past few months.

“I like that idea.” You say softly.

Cyno smiles and pats your head. “Good.”

A fresh start with your twenty-five husbands. That’s something you didn’t expect would happen, but you’re not complaining. It’s better than having them keep their distance from you.

Note: I'm thinking about giving Zhongli his own collection of one-shots, but I'm not 100% sure if I should do it. I have a lot of ideas for this man, and I want to make it happen, but I'll have to wait a bit and see how it goes before I make it happen. I might make it happen once my spring quarter is over, but who knows. I was distracted by the new Obey Me game, and I was also farming for Baizhu. That's why the update is a bit late-ish other than me tagging people in this post. To my new and/or returning readers, please keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for my Isekai'd!Reader one-shot series and my overall taglist: @yoru-trash, @kaoyamamegami, @kwelibeeery, @deartoru, @luminarymoonlight, @ins4nebish, @bokuto-kinnie, @exhaustedcommunist, @jadedist, @chalksdreams, @thelost-in-time, @ventisweetheart, @hispasian-otaku, @samarill, @kazuhaprnt, @lunarapple, @heyimkay, @milkpeanuts476, @eliciana, @jjvr4yxc, @sovermike-21-blog, @nightlysunn, @thelovebuggs, @urlocalheizousimp, @sunlightstarr (Accounts that I was unable to tag have been removed. Those who don't want to be tagged in certain stories are not tagged in this particular post. Remember to check your settings if you're allowing people to mention you/tag you in posts or not)

Read more of my works on my Masterlist | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

[snowblossomreads]

Day 23: Under the Tree

Pairing: Severus Snape x Fem!Reader

Summary: Severus comes home to his living room looking much different than he left it thanks to [Y/n].

Tag(s)/Warning(s): fluff!, decorating for loved one, mentions of childhood poverty, kissing, mostly just cuteness

Word Count: 1.3K

A/N: Ekkk I'm posting this kinda late after running aroundish so apologize for anything with wacky grammar or spelling haha! But enjoy this cute little fluff with Snape!

"What in Salazer's name-! [Y/n] what is all of this?"

When Severus had left early that morning to attend to some business, his sitting room was under decorated as it usually was all year round. That meant piles of books were littered here and there and on the shelves that lined the wall. His typewriter sat on a little table with manuscripts he had been working on for a while. And piled high next to it, were more books along with his chair that sat next to the fireplace.

Yet, when he had returned and stepped into the room he was startled when he was met with the sight of a Christmas wonderland. Nothing had technically been moved, but things had been added to the space. 

Take for instance, the strings of garland that hung on all the shelves and across the fireplace with little holly leaves attached to them. There were also four green and silver striped stockings on the mantle of the fireplace, all of them evenly spaced out from one another.

Also, how could he forget about the tree that was half as tall as the bookshelves? Decorated with little colourful lights that twinkled and would slowly change colours, it also had been wrapped in some gaudy tinsel along with tiny ornaments that hung from the ends of different branches. The tree was insanely bright and much more colourful than most things in the house, and under it were a few gifts wrapped neatly. Before he could look for any more changes in the room, [Y/n] appeared in the kitchen doorway with a bright smile and an apron on.

"Severus!" She beamed as she wiped her hands on her apron and made her way to him with a warm smile. "Welcome back! Do you like what I've done with the place?" She asked, turning around to admire her handy work. "I figured since it's our first Christmas together it should be more festive feeling and I just couldn't help myself. I hope I didn't go too overboard though."

She had thought it a shame that they hadn't decorated for Christmas with how close it was and as it got closer it just didn't feel right to not have something festive looking in the house. So when Severus had left that morning, [Y/n] decided that their first Christmas wouldn't be complete without a tree and some decorations.

So she made her way to Hogsmeade and gathered as much decoration as she could find in the short amount of time that she had to pull what she had in mind. The hardest thing was to get a tree sent over quickly and discreetly. Thankfully it was a handy thing to be such a skilled witch as her as with one little wave of a wand, the miniature tree that she had found easily became a midsize one and large enough to fit all the decorations she had bought.

She had furiously decorated the whole room not stopping until everything was done as she wanted to give him a surprise. Once all the decorations were up, she quickly ran to place the presents that they had bought for one another underneath it. Was it a temptation to take a peek at them, absolutely but she didn't!

"I think I did amazing with the time crunch I had, but you're the wizard I need to impress! Soooo how'd you like it?"

"[Y/n] I-." He started, but stopped in mid sentence causing her to look at him and notice the slightly shocked expression on his features.

He didn't quite know what to say. It had been years, since he had seen the room like this. Alive with so much colour and cheer, that when he thought of it, he actually didn't believe that he had ever seen it so full of life.

As a child, when they decorated, and that was if his parents could afford to, they would only usually have a tiny tree that had already lost a lot of it's needles. The lights were not colorful just a bright white with missing bulbs here and there, and there would usually be two or three things under the tree if anything at all.

So to see so much Christmas in his home, had his heart swirling with emotions that he still had a hard time coming to terms with. It all felt so new that all he could do was sit in silence for a moment as he took in what [Y/n] had done for him.

"Severus?" She questioned, unsure if the silence that was between them was good or bad as he had not yet voice an opinion either way.

She had been nervous about her whole decorating scheme and him not answering her made her stomach twist uncomfortably as she thought she had done something wrong.

"Oh gosh I've messed up haven't I? I debated on telling you but I thought it be a fun surprise," you know?" She babbled nervously, wringing her hands on her apron while trying to explain her reasoning. "I know you don't  like your stuff being moved about so I tried to work around it, but I just thought it be nice for a spark of colour to light the place up. Not that I don't like it as it is! It's just-."

She didn't get to finish her rambling explanation because before another word left her lips, Severus had wrapped his arms around her in a hug and his lips were pressed against hers in a gentle yet passionate kiss.

All of the worry she had about overstepping instantly melted like snow on a warm day and she was kissing him back with the same passion. Arms wrapping around his waist to keep her from falling over at how good his lips felt against hers, she couldn't hold in the moan that left her throat as he kissed her over and over until she was breathless from his affection.

"It's beautiful [Y/n]," he husked in that rich baritone of his as he finally pulled away from her lips leaving her a bit light headed. "Absolutely wonderful. A Christmas wonderland is not what I expected when I came but it is wonderful present either way."

His approval had her heart soaring, while also causing her to relax in his hold now that she knew his silence wasn't because he was crossed with her. Letting out a breath of relief, [Y/n] shuffled in his hold so that her back was against his front and she delicately took his hands so that he would lace his fingers across her waist.

Leaning back, they both gazed at the room for a moment, admiring her handy work at making everything so festive in such a short amount of time.

"Well good," she sighed out as his arms tighten their hold against her as he leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "I was scared that you were going to hate it but it makes me feel better that you don't. And also I think the lights on the tree are lovely and I would hate to take them down."

"Mhmm, they are quite lovely, but for what it's worth," he whispered huskily in her ear, a sound that made her shiver in his arms. "I think you are the brightest light in this room and in any other."

His compliment caused an involuntary smile to bloom on her lips as she turned around to face the man she adored so much. A tiny smile was on his thin lips when she looked at him, yet it was his dark eyes that were alight that seemed to tell the story of how happy he was.

"Oh Severus I do love you," she whispered as she went to stroke his cheek, causing his eyes to soften at her.

"And I love you, darling, thank you for this," he responded before leaning down and kissing her once more as they were surrounded in their little wonderland.

[loveburrow]

You’ve Got To Prove It To Me

Trigger Warnings: CNC (I guess?), pushing boundaries a little, throwing up, Joe being possessive/angry

Also just now realizing how long this is… sorry 😭

You and Joe had dated for four months before you decided to end things. His fame was just too much for you. The cameras any time you’d go out. The hate comments after he lost a game. Teenage girls judging your every move on tumblr and reddit. Joe was the love of your life, but you couldn’t be with him. He was a superstar and you were a regular girl who worked a regular job. The toll that those four months took on your mental health was something that would take you twice as long to recover from.

Joe loved you though. In fact, in those few short months he knew you were the love of his life too. You were the first girl he’d ever posted on social media. It was even his idea to hard launch you. He was so proud to be with you. You made him the happiest he had ever been. Joe’s not one to beg so when you told him you wanted to end things he let you go without a fight. He loved you so much that he ultimately wanted to see you be happy but he secretly felt so disrespected. So not good enough. So insecure. So embarrassed. He had everything: money, status, fame, an amazing NFL career, and everything that he had worked so hard for got in the way of the one thing he ever truly wanted. A girl like you to be with him. He would have traded it all for you and he hated that the fame ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him. He gave his full heart to you and you tore it apart. And he wasn’t happy about it.

But little did he know, you were heartbroken as well. So heartbroken that you reconnected with your ex just to feel something. And when all of those old feelings returned, a one night stand turned into a few nights of good old fashioned fucking no strings attached. Somewhere along the way you realized that you deserved more than a situationship. You missed Joe and you wanted him back but you knew he’d never take you. You decided to end things with your ex but not before your planned last night together.

Two months after the breakup when Joe got a random text from you, his heartbeat accelerated. Did you want him back? He sure hoped so but nothing could prepare him for what he saw when he opened the message. There were two photos. A sexy picture of you in beautiful lacy black lingerie and a mirror selfie of you topless. You looked stunning. And Joe was so hopeful until he read the message which said “Excited to see you tonight Hayes.” He blocked your number before throwing his phone at the wall. How dare you.

So a few weeks later when he ran into you at a mutual friend’s wedding, he was pissed. He never wanted to see you again if he couldn’t have you. When you saw that you were seated next to him at the wedding dinner, you couldn’t have been more elated. You planned to tell him how much you missed him, how you were sorry about the breakup, and how you wanted him back if he’d take you. When Joe saw that you were seated next to him at the wedding dinner, he was angry. He was so angry that his face was red as he sat down. Again, you looked stunning. You always did.

“Hey, Joe. How have you been? It’s so good to see you,” you smiled, trying to make a good impression. “I’ve been alright,” he replied, not making eye contact with you. He couldn’t. Your brown eyes had a way of melting him and he didn’t want you have that power over him. Not tonight. “Can we talk outside after this?” you asked kindly. His ears perked up. Did you want him back? “Sure,” he replied trying his best to keep it cool.

After a very awkward dinner, you two stepped outside for some air and a chat. “Joe, to be honest I’ve missed you so much these last few weeks. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me and I want to be your girl again. I’m so sorry for breaking up with you. You didn’t do anything wrong and you didn’t deserve that. You know that having all eyes on me was a lot but I’ll do it if that’s what it takes for us to be together,” you said.

“You know, I always thought you were way too good a girl to ever send nudes to someone. Let alone the first dude who asks,” he stated sternly. “Huh? What are you talking about? I didn’t send nudes to anyone,” you lied. You didn’t know what else to say and you felt embarrassed, realizing what you had done.

“You sent me nudes that were for Hayes after we broke up. So you’re the kind of girl who sends nudes to the first dude who asks. Did you fuck him?” he asked still trying to play it as cool as possible. “Yeah we had sex. I’m so sorry, Joe. It must have been an accident. I didn’t mean for you to ever see those,” you replied.

Joe leaned down closer to your ear and spoke softly but strongly. “(Y/N) I don’t share. You told me your pussy was mine and you gave it to someone else. He can have you,” Joe stated. “Joe, I’m sorry. I was just trying to rebound. You realize that ending things with you hurt me just as bad as it hurt you right?” you replied.

“Really, you had to delete our Instagram pictures after they had been up for weeks and a couple thousand people saw them on your private account. I had to delete them after millions of people saw them. Do you realize how embarrassing that was for me? Remind me never to post a girl on Instagram ever again. You left me lonely. You left me heartbroken. And then you gave your pussy to someone else. And you have the audacity to ask me to be with you again. I’m famous. Dating me comes with all of the things that you knew it would come with the first time so what do you think will be different now?” he asked.

“What’s different now is that I’ve lived life with you and I’ve lived life without you. Life is a beautiful and perfect chaos with you and it’s cloudy and calm and depressing without you. I’m so crazy in love with you, Joe. That never changed and after what went down between me and Hayes, I know it never will. I’ll do anything to be your girl again, Joe. What do you want me to do?” you asked.

No girl was going to embarrass Joe and leave him high and dry like you did and just win him back with a sexy red dress and a smile. He was going to make you earn it. He came closer to you and brushed your hair out of your face with his fingers. He cupped his hand under your chin forcing you to look up at him. “Are you still my good girl?” he asked. You looked him in the eyes and nodded. “Well if I’m going to take you back, you’re going to have to prove it to me okay?” he replied. You nodded again. “Meet me in room 617 at midnight. Wear something that shows me how much you love me.” he commanded before heading back inside.

At midnight on the dot, you knocked on his door wearing a lacy white lingerie set that Joe had bought you a while back. You had packed it hoping you’d end up in this situation. Joe opened the door and immediately took off the oversized t-shirt you were wearing along with your bra and panties and you two wanted no time getting started with a steamy make out session. His kisses were desperate and needy and aggressive. He’d been missing you and he thought he’d never get to kiss you again. But he also felt played by you. Since when does a girl think she can just break up with Joe Burrow? He had to show you who’s boss and he had to make sure you knew whose girl you were.

He sat down on the bed, his back against the headboard with you straddling his lap. You placed both hands on his cheeks and looked longingly into his baby blue eyes. You knew how possessive he was. You knew that if another guy looked in your direction for too long he had a problem. You knew that hooking up with another guy was like driving a knife right through Joe’s chest again and again and again. You never meant for him to find out but now that he knew, you felt awful. His eyes looked so hurt and betrayed.

“Your pussy isn’t mine anymore. You gave it away so you’re gonna have to give me something else that I can have,” Joe stated. “You can have any part of me, Joe. What part of me do you want? ” you replied. “You’re gonna have to give me your throat, okay?” he responded.

You were never the best at blowjobs and that’s something that you opened up to Joe about when you were together. Months ago, you told Joe how blowjobs always made you feel so vulnerable and used. It wasn’t your greatest strength as a girlfriend and one of your previous boyfriends wasn’t kind about it. You knew that Joe was testing you. He wanted to see how far you’d be willing to go for him. He had to make sure you’d do things for him that you wouldn’t do for any other guy. He’s possessive like that. He has to have a piece of you that no one else has. You could look in his eyes and listen to the tone of his voice and know that he was going to push you. But if that’s what it took to be Joe’s girl then he could push as far as he wanted. “It’s yours Joe,” you said.

“Has anyone ever been deep in your throat before?” he asked still holding eye contact with you. You looked so stunning in that set that he’d bought you. “I’ve blowed my boyfriends in the past. I told you that before,” you answered. “Has anyone been deep down your throat before? Have you even taken anyone’s cock all the way down?” he clarified. “No never,” you responded, starting to feel a bit anxious about what he wanted you to do.

“Okay that’s what you’re gonna have to do for me baby. You’re gonna have to give me your throat. You’re gonna have to take my cock all the way down, deeper than you’ve taken anyone else. I want the part of your throat that no one’s ever had and no one else will ever have but me if you run off again,” Joe explained. “Joe, I’m not going to run off again. I don’t know if I can do that. You know my gag reflex is so bad. I hate gagging,” you replied concerned about his request.

“If you want to be mine again you have to show me that you’re a good girl. And that you’re submissive like you’re supposed to be. And that you know who’s in control in this relationship,” he stated, clearly still hurt by you having the audacity to put on the pants in the relationship and break his heart.

“Joe, I don’t think it’s going to work. Like anatomically,” you said, the anxiety really starting to fill your chest. You were a very petite girl. 5’4 and thin. In fact, when you were together half of the comments you’d get were about you and Joey’s size difference. “If you’re my good girl, it’ll go down,” he replied. He could see the look of concern on your face. He knew what he was doing. He wanted you back but not before he punished you for leaving him. No one gets to treat Joe Burrow that way.

“How about we start with just my fingers? Would that be okay?” he asked. Joe loved you and even though he loves to act hard, he didn’t really want to hurt you. He just wanted to push your limits a bit and make you think about what you had done. “Yeah we can do that,” you hesitantly replied. “Before we do this, you know how much I love you right?” he asked tucking your hair behind your ears, your legs still on either side of this body, your breasts still dangerously close to his face. “I know, Joe,” you responded. “Good. You know how much I respect you right?” he asked. You nodded. “Good. So before we get started I need you to promise me that you won’t let me cross any boundaries that you have okay? Don’t let me hurt you. If it gets to be too much or you’re too uncomfortable you have to let me know. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to have a little fun,” he explained.

“Okay I’ll let you know,” you said, your responses to his questions becoming shorter the more nervous you were feeling. “If it gets to be too much just flick me twice and I’ll stop whatever I’m doing right then and there okay? Promise me you won’t be scared to tap out,” he said. “I promise, Joe,” you replied.

With that, he had you turn around so you were sitting on his lap with your back against his chest, his back still against the headboard of the bed. “Go ahead and rest your head back on my shoulder baby. Just relax,” he instructed and you did as you were told.

“I’m just going to start with two fingers okay? If that’s too much let me know,” he said before giving you a tender loving kiss on the cheek. “Go ahead and open your mouth up for me. Stick out your tongue. Good girl,” he said as you followed his commands. He slowly ran two long fingers down the back of your mouth. You gagged. You hated gagging so your natural reflex was to grab Joe’s hand and pull it out of your mouth.

“You’ve got to let me in there baby. You’re gonna gag. It’s okay. It’s just your body’s natural reaction but you’re safe. I’m not going to let you choke. Do you trust me?” he asked. You trusted him so you nodded your head.

“Open up your mouth for me baby. Just relax. It’s okay if you gag,” he reassured. You did as you were told and Joe slid his two fingers toward the back of your mouth again. You gagged and Joe said “good girl,” before sliding his fingers deeper. You gagged again and Joe said “good girl” again before sliding his fingers in even further. This time your gags were mixed with coughing as your body tried to expel him. To your body, his fingers weren’t where they were supposed to be. Joe’s dick was getting harder with every sign of your discomfort. He held his fingers right where they were as you continued to cough and gag. “That’s it baby. I know baby. That’s pretty intense huh. Atta girl. Atta girl,” he praised you as you started to writhe in his lap, his fingers still pressing on a horrible spot in your throat. Finally you grabbed his hand again, pulling his fingers out of your mouth. He responded by giving you another kiss on the cheek. “Good job baby. Are you alright?” he checked in. You nodded but were feeling worried. How were you supposed to do this with something as big as Joe’s penis? You just knew that he was going to break you.

“Are you okay to keep going?” he asked. You said yes even though you were scared of what was to come. “That’s my good girl. Now we’re going to do what we just did but I’m going to push my cock down instead of my fingers. Is that okay?” he asked, making sure he had your consent. You said yes and his face lit up. He was so excited to get to use your throat. Partially because he’d always fantasized about you deepthroating him and partially because he knew you wouldn’t enjoy it. “Alright so I’m going to give you a little bit of control and let you pick the position since you’re being so good. Do you want to sit on your knees against the wall over there or do you want to lay on your back on the edge of the bed?” he offered. You had never tried to deepthroat before so you really didn’t know what to decide. You chose to play it safe and stick to the position that you give blows in. “I’ll get on my knees for you daddy,” you replied before kneeling down on the floor with your back to the wall. “Daddy? You’re really trying to get back on my good side huh,” he laughed. He loved to be called daddy back when you two were together.

“I’m going to put my hand back here behind your head to give you some support okay? You’re gonna have to open up as big as you can for me baby. Stick your tongue out. Just relax. Good girl,” Joe said as he placed one hand on the back of your head and used the other hand to guide his penis into your mouth. He went devastatingly slow, wanting you to feel the anticipation of how deep he was getting. Around four inches in, you started to gag. “Atta girl,” Joe praised continuing to push deeper until he hit a point where he couldn’t push down anymore. Your throat was too tight and your body wouldn’t let him down any further. Your body really wasn’t happy and you were gagging pretty badly. Instead of removing his penis from your mouth, he watched you gag and choke from above, loving the sound. You placed your hands on his thighs and pushed away from him but you were against a wall so there was really nowhere to escape. “That’s not the safeword baby,” Joe responded with a devious smirk on his face. He tried again to push deeper but your body wouldn’t let him and you couldn’t breathe. You continued to gag and choke. You felt scared so you started hitting his thighs. He only laughed. “Do you remember the safeword angel?” he asked starting to get only a little bit concerned.

He loved being in control like this. He wanted to push your limits and that’s exactly what he was doing. He looked down at you gagging and choking with tears streaming down your face and snot running from your nose. What a mess you were for him. What a mess you were for him and only for him. He pulled out a little but still kept his penis in your mouth, giving you a bit of a break but still causing you to gag. “Look at me baby. Do you remember the safeword?” he asked again. You looked up at him and made eye contact and shook your head no. He immediately pulled out and you gasped for air, heaving.

“My good girl never did have a good memory huh,” he joked still standing over you as you sat on the floor on your hands and knees, eyes watering and breathing heavily. He knelt down in front of you and tried to make eye contact with you, but you couldn’t stop looking at the ground. “Are you okay?” he asked. You didn’t respond. You just felt shitty. You wanted so badly to be Joe’s girl again but at what cost. You knew him so you knew that he wanted to get back at you for leaving him but this was a lot. This was really ínstense. When you didn’t respond, he quickly embraced you, pulling you tightly to his chest as you started to cry. “Shhh. Shhh. It’s okay my girl. It’s okay. You did so good for me baby. You did so good,” he praised you, holding you tightly and stroking his fingers through your hair. “Just breathe. Just breathe. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Good girl,” he calmed you. This was the Joe you were in love with. The Joe who was a safe place for you. The Joe who was always there to comfort you.

“Did I push you too far?” he asked. “Joe, I can’t do what you want me to do. It won’t go down,” you sniffled as he wiped the tears from your eyes. “It’ll go down baby. You just have to be a good girl and open up your pretty throat for me okay? You just have to relax and let me down there,” he reassured. “When you’ve caught your breath we can try again but you have to be a good girl for it to go down,” he stated. You wanted nothing more than to please him. You wanted nothing more than to be Joey’s good girl again. So you wiped your tears, got back on your knees, and said “I’m ready. Let’s try again.”

“That’s my girl. Sit up tall and proud for me baby. You have a beautiful chest. You should be so proud of it,” he instructed. You straightened your back and looked up at him. “There’s my girl. You should always be so proud of how sexy you are,” he complimented causing you to smile softly. It is pretty cool that the actual sexiest man on earth thinks that you’re sexy too. “Alright open your mouth, stick out your tongue, relax your throat. We’re gonna get it down this time but you’ve got to work with me,” he said before you did as you were told. He slid his cock into your mouth very slowly, paying close attention to your body language. He didn’t want to upset you. He only wanted to push you to a place that only he could push. It was an ego thing. Again, around four inches in you started to gag and you placed your hands on his thighs again, pushing hard. “Remember the safeword is flicking my leg two times baby. What you’re doing isn’t the safeword so I’m going to keep going,” he said, pushing down again on the spot that he couldn’t get past the first time. “Open your throat up baby. You have to let me down there if you want to me by girl,” he reminded as he attempted to push down your throat again.

You just couldn’t relax. And you didn’t understand how to “open your throat up.” All you could do was continue to push hard on his thighs and choke as he continued to push against the spot that was giving him trouble again and again and again. He had no remorse. He was getting off on the way you were struggling with him in your throat. His dick was so big that you physically couldn’t take it all. He was causing your body so much stress. And he loved every second of it. He continued to fuck your throat harder as you pushed against him with all of your strength. “Stop fighting with me. You’re only making it worse for yourself,” he said as he fucked your throat harder and faster. You continued to gag and started to feel your dinner coming up. You looked up at him in distress and moaned “mmm” with your hand on your stomach, trying to communicate that you were going to be sick. “Is that upsetting your stomach baby?” he asked smirking down at you. You looked up at him and nodded in between strokes and gags. “It’s okay baby. That’s just your body’s reaction,” he replied unconcerned. You couldn’t breathe again and started to cry. He was going to make you throw up wasn’t he. He wanted to punish you that badly. When he saw you start to cry and shake below him he pulled out. “Joe, I’m gonna be sick,” you exclaimed getting up to go to the bathroom.

“No (y/n). Get back on your knees. You’re not going to throw up,” he stated. “Yes I am, Joe,” you replied looking at him with concern. “My good girl isn’t going to throw up right now. She’s going to get back on her knees and we’re going to try this one last time. We’re going to try to get it to go down and if it doesn’t go then I’ll just have to take your sexy ass. How’s that sound?” he asked. He knew that you hated anal even more than you hated blowjobs. You felt trapped. You didn’t want him in your throat again and you didn’t want to leave his hotel room single. You just wanted Joe. You didn’t want what he wanted to do to you. You started to break down. You got on the floor on your knees again and cried. This was just too intense.

“I can’t do it, Joe. It won’t go down. I don’t know how to open up for you. I’m trying so hard,” you cried on the floor as he kneeled down to hold you to his chest again. “I know that you can do it baby. I believe in you. You’ve just got to relax,” he said. “We’re only going to try one last time okay? You know the safeword. Don’t be scared to use it if you need to,” he reminded you.

Again, you wiped your tears and kneeled down in front of Joe in all of his height and glory. He was so beautiful. You opened your mouth up for him and Joe entered you yet again, reaching the spot that he couldn’t get past causing you to gag. “Just relax baby. Just relax. Open up big for me. Big. Big. Big. As big as you can. There you go. There you go. That’s my good girl. That’s my good girl. A little more to go. A little more to go. You’ve got to take this last inch. You’re almost done baby. You’re almost done. That’s my girl. That’s my girl. That’s my good girl. Just stay there baby. Hold it down right there,” he talked you through as he was finally able to push himself all the way down your throat, your lips against his pelvis and balls. He watched you from above as you gagged and choked and cried the whole way down, pushing against him with your hands on his thighs yet again. He made you hold that position, his cock all the way down your throat for what felt like an eternity as you continued to choke and try to cough him up. He loved watching you struggle and writhe below him. He loved that he had the power to do that to your body. Only he had the power to do that to your body.

You placed a hand on your stomach and looked up at him your eyes pleading for him to release you as you could feel the vomit coming up. “Throw up all over my cock baby. I’m all yours and you’re all mine,” he instructed as he gently pumped his cock in and out of the deepest part of your throat. You hated every second of it. It was the worst feeling you had ever felt. Your body hated him being that deep in you. Your body wanted nothing more than to get him out. And it was so hard to fight your body’s natural responses to what he was doing. You had no choice but to vomit on him while he held his cock at the deepest part of your throat. “That’s a good girl. Make a mess on me baby. Good. Go ahead and empty your stomach on me baby. Good girl. Get it all out. You have me baby. You would do anything for me huh. I love you,” he said as you emptied your dinner all over his cock and the floor. You felt embarrassed and ashamed. He wanted to punish you and he had done it. You flicked his thigh twice and he immediately pulled out, knelt down in front of you and gave you sweet kisses all over your head. “I knew you could do it baby. I don’t ever want to hear you say you can’t do something again. You did so good for me. Your throat was good to me. So warm and tight. That’s my good girl,” he spoke, trying to comfort you. You had done it. You had won Joey back. You were his girl again… so you thought.

“Now you just have to do that one more time with no hands. Don’t touch me. Keep your hands off of me and just fully submit to me okay? And then we’ll be all done,” Joe explained. You wanted to cry again. You already did what he wanted and now he wanted more. He had already made a mess of you and he wanted to do it again. But you wanted nothing more than to be his girl so you replied, “Joe do you promise this is the last one that I have to do?” “Yes, baby if you do this one really well with no hands then we’ll be all done,” he reassured. “Okay Joe. I love you,” you said before kneeling in front of him yet again and opening up your mouth.

“You’ve got to open up as wide as you can baby. Good girl. Relax. Relax. Relax. Relax. Take it down. Take it down. All the way. More. More. More. A little bit more. Let me push the rest down baby, you’re so close to being done. Relax. Be a good girl for me. You’re so close baby. Almost done. Almost done. Good girl. Atta girl. I knew you could do it. Stay right there. Hold it. Hold it. Hold it. Hold it. Hold it. We’re gonna hold it down there until I feel like you’ve learned your lesson,” he narrated. He pushed down with even less ease this time as your body was so tense at this point in the night. Once he got to that troublesome spot he had to push hard and of course it triggered your gag reflex again. It was so uncomfortable and your body tried to cough him up but there was no use. He fought against you and pushed himself all the way down again despite you clearly suffering below him. You just wanted to be finished so you didn’t fight him. You focused really hard on holding your hands behind your back and submitting to whatever he wanted to do to your body. You coughed and choked and gagged but you didn’t touch him and at that point you had earned him back. You proved to him that you would do anything for him and he could have any and every part of you that he wanted. You were Joey’s good girl.

You sat there with your lips on his pelvis and his cock stretching your throat out for what felt like forever. You became desperate for him to pull out but you didn’t want him to ask you to do this again. You wanted to fully satisfy him this time. “That’s my good girl you’re taking that Iike a champ. My strong girl. Keep holding it. Keep holding it. Keep holding it. Keep holding it,” he spoke, loving the sound of you choking. You began to cry and shake still holding your hands behind your back. “I’m gonna count down from ten okay and then I’ll pull out. 10…9…8…,” you started to hit his thighs, trying to tap out but forgetting your safe word again. He was counting so incredibly slowly. “7…6…,” he started to pump in and out of the deepest part of your throat again, making sure to enjoy the last of what he was getting you to do. “5…4… don’t touch me or we’ll have to start over” he reminded causing you to stop hitting him and to hold your hands behind your back again as you choked. “3…2…,” he began to face fuck you hard. You let out a soft scream (since you had a cock down your throat there wasn’t much else you could do to cope with the stress that Joey was putting your body through). He spent about a minute face fucking you until he was satisfied and felt like you had learned that no one breaks up with Joe Burrow. “1,” he ended the countdown and pulled out.

He picked you up and placed you on the bed before grabbing a towel from the bathroom to clean you up with. He gently wiped away all of the fluids that had come out of you (the tears, the snot, the saliva, the vomit) and gave you sweet kisses all over your body before climbing into bed to cuddle with you. “That’s my good girl. I love you so much. I didn’t push too far did I?” he asked. “No, Joey. I would do anything for you,” you replied. “A few paparazzi pictures and hate comments on instagram are gonna be a breeze now huh?” he chucked. You laughed as well. “I would do anything for you Joey,” you replied, smiling. “That’s my girl. I’m so proud that you’re my girl,” he said giving you soft kisses on the cheek and gently rubbing your stomach. “So will you put me back on your instagram?” you giggled. “Hell no,” he laughed.

[the-wip-project]

SloMo WriNo: The Writing Habit

You’re going to get tired of hearing me say this, but when it comes to finishing your writing (or getting pretty much any long term project accomplished) habit is everything.

A solid writing habit will get you through those days when writing feels boring, when you’re tired, uninspired, lost. Habit is the magic that makes the writing train go— more often than most people want to admit.

That said, establishing a new habit can be fiendishly difficult— especially if you have a neurodivergent brain. (This is coming from personal experience, as someone who took literal years to establish the habit of brushing my teeth before bed. (I still frequently have agonies about washing my face at the same time.))

So. How to establish a solid writing habit?

Step one is finding the time.

Your writing does not require large blocks of time. You can write productively in as little as fifteen minutes a day (yes, really!) but the only way that gets accomplished is by making it fast and simple to get into your writing headspace.

How though?

By making it a routine at a similar time and place each day, by creating rituals that cue you that it’s writing time, or by attaching your writing to another established habit. Ideally your writing habit will combine all three.

Yes, flexibility is important, because every routine has variations in it, so being able to write even when you don’t have everything just right is important. But if in the past you’ve struggled to keep writing as a consistent part of your life, then creating a routine is the best first step to creating a habit.

Connecting your writing to another, enjoyable habit is good first step. Writing while you take your morning coffee break, or during your headphones on commute time, or along side your lunchtime treat might be all you need to create a positive association. You want writing time to be something you look forward to, not dread.

By keeping the session short (Somehow setting a timer for a number less than thirty makes even the most scary tasks feel approachable for me.) and adding something pleasant and relaxing to the mix you can start to build that positivity. I think this is why so many writers like to write with a cup of tea, or in coffee shops. Adding a delicious beverage habit cues your mind that this is writing time, and what’s more, that writing is a pleasant time taken just for one’s self.

It also makes a huge difference to write at a time when your brain feels good.

I have tried writing later in the evening, and every moment feels like work. My brain is tired, and all I want to do is relax, not think. It feels like I’ve already used up all my energy and motivation.

Instead I like to wake early to write. This might sound like torture for all you night owls, but for me, (and plenty of other people) writing has become a keystone to healthy morning habits. Knowing that I’m going to wake by 5am in order to write is an incentive for me to be in bed by 9:30, (instead of staying up late to doom scroll, eat junk food and make other poor decisions) which helps me wake up with the right level of brain activity to write, which then makes me energetic enough to head out on my morning run directly after writing. Which means all the ideas from my writing session float around in my head in a pleasant soup, distracting me from the monotony of feet hitting ground. It’s a string of positive associations that keeps me happy and healthy.

For you the opposite might be true. Perhaps you find yourself in a peaceful writerly head space after the rest of your household is asleep, or while taking a break at work or school. The key is to find a time and/or place that’s low friction, when the obstacles to writing are less, when getting to your keyboard (or notebook if you’re old-school) feels less like work and maybe even like a reward, and then build out other positive associations around it.

If you’re used to viewing writing as something painful and difficult this might seem alien to you. So let me just add this: your words are not worth more because you were miserable when writing them. It’s not only okay to enjoy your writing time, it’s preferable. Sure you’ll connect a bit less to the writing is misery memes, but it’s worth it, I promise!

So, here is your assignment for the week: Take a look at your schedule and figure out what times might be convenient for regularly scheduled writing. And then try them out and see if you can find a time and place where writing feels good. You might have to move some other activities around to find that sweet spot, (like me, moving my bed time to allow morning writing time) and expect some stalls, some fails and lack of consistency. It’s not going to feel good all the time immediately, and you will need to will power your way through at times. But overall, once you can start forming that positive habit, the writing will become far easier to get to. And much more enjoyable when you do.

—Maree

Subscribe to my substack to make sure you don't miss a post, chat with me on the WIP Project discord, and tag any posts you make about the challenge with #slomowrino if you want me to see them!

[scrollonso]

Only — Fraul

Franco’s phone buzzed in his pocket just as he finished laughing at something Alex had said, his cheeks still flushed from the joke.

He casually pulled it out, glancing at the screen, but his smile quickly faded as he saw the message waiting for him, a photo of him and Alex together earlier in the day attached to it.

Bebito: Ok go fuck Alex then.

Franco’s heart stuttered. He blinked, reading the message again, hoping he had misread. He hadn't expected this reaction, not from Paul, not over something so small. The disbelief settled into something heavier as he scrolled up briefly, trying to see if there had been anything in their recent messages that could have sparked this. But there was nothing.

Another message appeared before he could even begin to think of a response.

Bebito: You want a tall, lanky man now?

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, struggling to find the right words. Paul was rarely like this. Sure, he could be protective, intense even, but he was usually so secure, so grounded. Yet every once in a while, that fierce insecurity would rear its head, and it was always so raw, so unexpected. Franco knew from experience how difficult it could be to calm Paul down once he got this way, but he also knew that ignoring it would only make things worse.

And just as he finally thought of a way to start, another notification lit up his screen.

Babito: I could lift both you and Alex.

Franco sighed, rubbing his temple as the tension began to build in his chest. Paul was muscular and strong, always quick to remind Franco just how capable he was of protecting the people he cared about. There was a certain fierceness in him that Franco adored, a passion that made him feel safe and cared for. But Paul’s jealousy — when it did flare up — was something else entirely. It was intense, like everything else about him, and it never failed to blindside Franco.

Just as Franco thought the string of messages was over, another one popped up, and his eyes widened.

Bebito: He can’t fuck you as good as I do.

Franco nearly choked, heat rushing to his face, and he stole a quick glance at Alex, who was still chuckling over something on his own phone — probably messaging Franky, who Paul had forgotten about for some reason — oblivious to the texts lighting up Franco’s screen. But the knot of tension in Franco’s chest tightened as he reread Paul’s message. He knew his boyfriend’s possessive side well, but this was on another level.

A simple media day had turned into a jealous showdown, and Franco could practically feel Paul’s grip tightening from miles away. Paul was reminding him — claiming him, really — and Franco knew the tone all too well. The guy wasn’t hurt; he was staking his territory. And as much as Franco found it intense, he also knew it wasn’t going to stop until he said something to shut it down.

“Alright, enough,” Franco muttered to himself, exasperated, as he typed, hoping a simple response would ease things before it spiraled.

Pisikene: Paul, stop. It’s nothing like that.

He watched the “typing…” bubble appear instantly, and Franco braced himself. Paul was confident, unapologetically so, and the man had a habit of making sure Franco — and anyone else within earshot — knew exactly who he belonged to. There was a possessiveness in Paul that Franco usually found flattering, thrilling even, but in moments like this, he knew he had to play his words carefully.

With a quick breath, he added another line, hoping it would bring Paul back down to earth.

Pisikene: Only you know how to make me beg.

And that seemed to work, Paul dropping it for the time being — at least until media day had finished.

“Okay,” Franco says the second they step into the loft, “now will you tell me what all this is about?”

“What all what is about?” Paul asks, crowding Franco up against the door as he speaks. Their bags drop to the ground. Paul braces one arm on the door next to Franco's face, flexing to show off his muscles in the short-sleeved shirt he’s wearing, and uses the other to ruck up Franco's shirt. He ducks his head down to Franco's neck and begins to suck a bruise into his skin.

Franco gasps, a mix of surprise and pleasure spilling from his lips as Paul's mouth works its magic on his neck.

“Paulito, wait—” but the words are more breathless than halting, an invitation wrapped in caution. Paul can read the tones of his voice effortlessly by now, has them memorised like he’s learned his favourite songs by heart. This isn’t a genuine plea to wait, and so Paul feels no need to honour it the way he otherwise would.

Paul grins against Franco's skin, feeling the way his boyfriend’s pulse races beneath his lips.

“Wait? Why would I want to do that?” He pulls back just enough to meet Franco's eyes, the playful glint in his gaze dancing with mischief. “I just want to show my boyfriend a good time, that’s all.”

Franco rolls his eyes playfully, though Paul can see the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

“Is that all? This has nothing to do with a certain conversation we had today, then?”

Paul crowds up against Franco even closer, wedging a thigh between Franco's legs.

“No,” he says, rolling his hips. “Why would a random conversation even matter? Or some stupid guy who couldn’t back off of you? That’s not important.”

“I mean, I agree,” Franco says, dick rapidly hardening against Paul's leg, “but you seem pretty worked up about it. Alex is harmless, you know that, right?”

“Stop saying his name,” Paul says, well aware that his voice comes out like a growl. He swoops in and claims Franco's lips in a passionate kiss to ensure there’s no more sassing.

Franco kisses him back, that familiar warmth flooding between them, making Paul's frustration dissolve with every sweep of their tongues. It's intoxicating, the way Franco leans into him, the way his hands find their way to Paul's hair, pulling him closer still.

“You know,” Franco murmurs against Paul's lips, breath hitching as Paul's hands roam over his sides, “jealousy can be pretty sexy sometimes.”

“Really?” Paul asks, feigning innocence, though he feels a rush of excitement at the thought. “So you’re saying I should keep making a scene whenever some Rossi wannabe gets too close?”

Franco laughs, a genuine sound that sends sparks racing through Paul's veins.

“Only if it ends like this.” He tugs at Paul's shirt, pushing it up just enough to expose more skin. His fingers dance over Paul's stomach in a teasing manner that makes Paul shiver involuntarily.

“Oh, it’s not ending like this.” Paul grinds his hips against Franco one last time, both of them groaning at the touch against their straining erections. “Bedroom. Now.”

“Yes, sir,” Franco says jokingly, rolling his eyes before following Paul, who has his hand fisted in Franco's shirt.

Once down the hall and in front of the bed, they make quick work of shedding their clothes. Paul pushes Franco down onto the bed. He guides his hands up to the headboard, the little railing that’s perfect for holding onto during sex.

“What are you doing?” Franco laughs, the sound playful but edged with something deeper, something that sets Paul's heart racing. Fuck, he loves his boyfriend.

His boyfriend. Nobody else’s. Just his, and his alone.

“Just making sure you remember who you belong to,” Paul replies, his voice low and teasing as he hovers above Franco. The contrast of their bodies, skin against skin, ignites a fire that flares in the pit of his stomach.

Franco bites his lip, that wicked grin resurfacing as he glances up at Paul. He’s sprawled on the bed, tousled hair framing his handsome face, lips slightly swollen from their earlier kisses. It’s a look that drives Paul wild.

“Oh really? And how do you plan on reminding me?”

Paul leans in closer, their faces inches apart, and whispers, “just like this, by showing you just how good I can make you feel.” He slides his hands down Franco's arms to grasp his hips, anchoring him to the bed.

“Yeah?” Franco's voice comes out breathlessly. His hips jerk up,  as if to escape Paul's hold, but then relent, falling back against the pillows. “Like- like this?”

“Exactly like this.” Paul leans down to steal another kiss.

No, steal isn’t the right word. You can’t steal what’s already yours. 

Paul takes another kiss. 

As their mouths move together, Paul's hands explore every inch of Franco's body, fingertips trailing down his sides and across the familiar curves of his hips. He grins when Franco arches into him, a silent plea for more.

Usually, Paul would draw it out, wait until Franco is dripping with sweat and precome and absolutely begging for his release. He’s too pent up for that now, though. It’s gonna be a quick one.

Paul leans away and reaches for the lube on the nightstand. He settles on the bed between Franco's legs, spreading the lube on his fingers and pushing Franco's legs apart. They fall open obediently.

Paul doesn’t waste any time, sliding a slick finger into Franco. Franco arches into him, letting out a soft moan that sends shivers down Paul's spine. It doesn’t take much for Paul to think that Franco is ready for another finger, so he adds it, scissoring them to stretch Franco open. He’s so responsive, moaning and writhing against Paul's touch.

“More,” Franco gasps as he reaches down to stroke himself. Paul can’t resist taking over for him, wrapping his hand around Franco's cock and stroking in time with his fingers inside him.

Franco's hips thrust up into Paul's hand, seeking more friction. Paul obliges by adding a third finger and picking up the pace. He leans in to kiss Franco deeply, swallowing every moan and whimper that escapes his lips.

“Please,” Franco whimpers when they break for air. “I need you.”

That’s all the invitation Paul needs. He lines himself up and slowly pushes inside of Franco, savouring the feeling of being buried deep within him. They both let out a sigh of satisfaction as they find their rhythm together.

They move together in perfect harmony, their bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. It feels like coming home every time they make love, despite how many times they’ve done this before.

Yeah, this feels right. Paul and Franco. Not Franco and fucking Alex.

“You look so good for me,” Paul pants. “Fuck, you always looks so good. It’s infuriating, cause everyone sees it. Sees you. It drives me crazy.”

“I don’t care about anyone else.” Franco lets go of the headboard to place a hand around his dick, stroking it in time to Paul's thrusts.

“You’re damn right, you don’t.” Paul pushes one of Franco's legs up further. Franco takes the hint and wraps his other hand around it, keeping himself in place. The new angle causes Paul to slide in right against Franco's prostate. “Cause you belong to me , Franco. Not to anyone else.”

Franco groans, head thrown back.

“God, yes,” Franco breathes, his voice thick with need, the words dripping with a desperation that sends a rush of possessive pride surging through Paul. He loves that he gets to make Franco feel this good, that he���s the only one who has the privilege of seeing him this way. “ 'm all yours. Always have been.”

Paul feels his heart swell at the affirmation, their bodies moving in a passionate rhythm. Every thrust is a claim, every gasp from Franco ignites a fire within him, stoking the flames of something deeper than just lust. It’s love, it’s trust, it’s intimacy. It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

“Say it again,” Paul urges, anchoring himself over Franco, his muscles taut and glistening with sweat. He watches Franco's face contort in pleasure as he drives deeper, pushing them both closer to their peaks. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“Yours,” Franco gasps. “Only yours.”

“Good,” Paul growls.

“Paul,” Franco's voice takes on a higher, slightly desperate pitch, one Paul knows all too well. “Paul, I’m getting close.

Paul shifts his body weight to his legs and one arm. He uses his free hand to bat away at Franco's hand, the one that’s stroking himself, and wraps his own palm against Franco's dick. Suddenly, he’s struck by the urge to be the sole cause of Franco's pleasure. To own it, even.

“Let me do it,” he says. “I’m making you feel good. Just me. All me, all mine.”

“Fuck.” Franco writhes on the mattress, as if his body is unsure if he wants to sink into it or float upwards. His newly freed hand finds purchase in the rumbled bedsheet, clinging on.

“That’s it,” Paul says, thrusting into Franco with a brutal pace, “come for me, Franco. Only for me.”

“For you,” Franco pants, “only for you.”

“You’re mine.”

“All yours,” Franco agrees, “ fuck , please.”

“Say it again.” 

“Yours, I’m yours, Paul, I’m gonna-”

“Come for me,” Paul urges, grinding against Franco's prostate unforgivingly. Franco whines, a tell-tale sign that he’s close. “All mine, come for me, give me your orgasm, come, Franco.”

Amidst Paul's mindless chatter, Franco's orgasm overtakes them both. He arches his back, clenching down on Paul as he comes. White strips paint his chest, spilling between their bodies.

It sets Paul off too, the look of pure pleasure that’s overtaking Franco. He buries himself deep inside of Franco and hides his face in his neck.

When they’re both shivering and oversensitive, Paul collapses on top of Franco, their chests heaving as they catch their breath. He nuzzles his face into the crook of Paul's neck, inhaling the familiar scent of sweat and sex. He presses a kiss to Franco's skin, feeling him shiver at the contact.

“Fuck,” Paul mutters, still coming down from his high. “That was…”

“Amazing,” Franco finishes for him, running his fingers through Paul's hair. “As always.”

Paul lifts himself up to look into Franco's eyes, cupping his face in his hands.

“I love you.”

Franco smiles, that soft smile that makes Paul's heart skip a beat.

“I love you too.”

They share a lingering kiss before Paul untangles himself. As much as he loves basking in the afterglow, he also knows that they are mere minutes away from feeling all gross and sticky. He steps into the bathroom and wets a washcloth, returning to clean up Franco with gentle, loving touches. He wipes himself down as well, then tosses the washcloth at the laundry basket — it lands perfectly in the middle, point for Paul — and then climbs back into the bed.

Paul settles on his back, letting Franco curl into his side. Paul's arms wrap around Franco and Franco's head settles on his chest. It’s safe and warm and everything Paul could ever have asked for.

“I’m sorry I got so possessive earlier,” Paul says after a few moments of comfortable silence. “It’s just- seeing you with someone else…”

Franco runs his hand soothingly up and down Paul's bare chest. It ends up on Paul's shoulder, a comforting pressure. 

“I know, Paul. But you don’t have to worry about that. I’m yours and yours alone.”

Paul ducks his head, cheeks burning.

“I’m glad you’re mine,” he whispers into Franco's hair.

Franco nuzzles further into Paul.

“Of course I’m yours,” he replies. He presses a kiss to Paul's chest, wherever he can reach. Franco loves those kinds of touches. Sweet and tender, but also achingly casual. Just about touch and love and closeness. “All yours, Paul. Nobody else’s. And definitely not Alex's.”

“Alex who?” Paul says, blinking sleepily. 

Franco chuckles. 

“Exactly, corazón. He doesn’t matter. For me, there’s only you.”

“And only you,” Paul replies, before sleep takes them both. 

It’s only them. No Alex, no others. Nobody else.

Just them.