#but longer than wee this time

[sunnibits]

just gals being pals 💖💙

(calling this one now before the episode comes out)

[peemil]

considering [REDACTED] is what got me into evangelion i feel like it's only fair for code geass to lead me down the rabbit hole of typography

[a-b-riddle]

141 who don’t know they are fucking with a reformed maneater

Price: Tries to pull the “just wait” card. Just wait until the next mission to make things official. Just wait until he gets back before you break things. Just wait until the holidays are over to meet his family. Just wait until he’s ready to retire before settling down. You liked him enough to hold out, but enough was enough. Which is when he tries to stop you from leaving with your duffle bag of clothes, insisting your jumping the gun in wanting to move in with him after almost a year together you turn and face him. Your tone sharp. “I'm not asking for too much I'm just asking the wrong person.”

Kyle: he’s a pretty boy and he fucking knows it. But damn when he wants to try and be a fuck boy too? You need to take him down a peg. He may have looks but he’s still the shortest of the 141. You eye him up and down before grabbing your bag. “You’re cute, but you’re not tall enough to be acting like this.”

Soap: Loves to play games. Which is why he thinks it’s hilarious when you’re meeting his friends for the first time to take the absolute piss and make a joke out of it. He’s crude and crass. Nothing like the man who begged on his knees just for the chance to lick your pussy. “Dinnae get upset. Just havin’ a wee bit of fun.” You sigh mumbling loud enough for him to hear “the one time I don’t go for looks and this fuckin’ happens.”

Ghost: Simon who bails on your date last minute, choosing to get shitfaced with the boys rather than take a pretty little bird like you out. He’s surprised to find you had texted him back with an ‘okay’ and not losing your shit or trying to guilt trip him. What he is surprised about is you turning him down when he tries to come over. He knew you’d be miffed about him not taking you out so when he tried to arrange something, you turn him down again. He tells you not to be mad. Shit came up. Your response? “I’m not mad. I’m just no longer interested.”

[heich0e]

iwaizumi got a lower back tattoo on his 21st birthday.

if you showed one hundred people in the street a photo of 30-year-old hajime, and then surveyed them as to whether or not they think he has a lower back tattoo, it's unlikely more than one of them would say yes—and even the one who did probably just misheard the question. it's as unbelievable a thought as any, and still somehow it's true.

he was 21, legally drunk for the first time in america, and hanamaki and matsukawa had finally come to california to visit him to mark the occasion. it was kind of a stupid trip, they realized afterwards, because issei and hiro were still only 20 and couldn't even go out to the bars near UC irvine that all of iwa's college friends were inviting him out to for the first time.

but he didn't mind.

he bought them beer and sugary canned cocktails from the convenience store near campus using the birthday money his nanay sent him, silently repenting in his mind as the store clerk in the polyester vest rang the expensive purchase through. then they all got drunk in iwa's tiny student apartment while they played video games, called oikawa, and eventually wandered out into the warm california night in search of food.

the details beyond that are fuzzy, but the lines inked into the little space at the bottom of hajime's spine are not—even after nine whole years.

most people have no idea about the tattoo—and hajime has gone to great lengths to keep it that way. he wears a compression t-shirt at the gym so there's no risk of it riding up and accidentally revealing it. he orders patches to conceal it on the rare occasion he goes to onsens. he never showers with the athletes at work, always either opting to shower at home, shower after the team, or use the staff facilities when available.

but in spite of all of that, he's not embarrassed of it.

he doesn't even really regret it.

it's just not anybody else's business.

the ink on his skin is a secret kept between him, matsukawa, hanamaki, the guy who tattooed him, and oikawa who was screaming on facetime in the background while it happened.

and now you, too.

your hand snakes up the back of hajime's sweatshirt as he stands at the stove preparing breakfast, cool fingertips tracing the curls of ink even without seeing them—having long mapped them to memory. hajime suppresses a shiver, not expecting the contact, as you crowd yourself closer to his back and lean your weight against him.

"i was trying not to wake you," he says quietly, the hand not holding the chopsticks he's flipping his omelette with reaching behind him in search of you.

"you didn't," you murmur into his back, catching his seeking hand in yours and twining your fingers together. "smelled food."

hajime laughs to himself, his eyes crinkling. he squeezes your fingers tightly as his heart thuds in his chest.

underneath his sweatshirt, your nails rake lightly against his skin.

"shouldn't i be making your breakfast?"

hajime transfers his omelette to the plate waiting beside the stove, flicking off the burner and then turning to face you. he wraps his arms around you and holds you properly now, your face burrowing into the collar of his hoodie the way you always do, his nose brushing your temple.

"wanted to let you sleep a bit longer," hajime grunts out, his cheeks burning a bit hot—still shy, sometimes, even after so much time has passed. "thought you might be tired after..."

you snort, your head popping up to look at him. "after you fucked me within an inch of my life into the wee hours of the morning?"

the fire burning under hajime's skin grows even hotter. he splutters a little, and struggles to meet your gaze.

"i'm not tired," you whisper, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. the incorrigible one he fell in love with. "we were celebrating, after all."

hajime's eyes are burning a little bit, to complement the stinging in his cheeks. you lift your hand up to his face so you can feel the heat of his skin, and he rests his own hand—larger, more calloused than your own—to rest overtop of it. he looks at you, and sees happiness reflected back at him in your gaze. so fathomless he thinks he could drown in it.

hajime turns his face into your touch, and his eyes flutter closed as he noses against your palm.

he presses a kiss there. soft. adoring.

then another, just slightly higher, to the ring he put on your finger the night before.

he peeks at you again, that same heat in his cheeks, though not nearly as unbearable.

he's got another secret he doesn't regret now, one just as permanent as the ink in his skin, but this one won't stay hidden long. eventually he'll call his parents, and his nanay will probably get teary. then he'll tell his friends, who will put his mother's tears to shame. he'll leave the tattoo artist out of it this time, though—wherever that guy is now.

"happy birthday, hajime," you whisper to him with a smile he can't help but return.

he might keep this secret between the two of you today, though. just for a little while longer.

it'll be his gift to himself.

[wistfulnightingale]

The Night That Changed an Angel (or, why does Aziraphale still wear that shabby vest?)

Mini-Meta Musing (#4)

I've been brooding for a long time about, of all things, Aziraphale's worn velvet vest and the long cream jacket he's kept in "tip top condition for over 180 years now." I love the sweet familiarity, but this is the same angel who popped across the Channel and almost lost his fluffy-topped head in 1793 for dressing like an aristocrat.

"I have standards!"

He's the height of elegance, extravagance even. A dandy. We've seen the same at the Globe Theater 1601, Edinburgh 1827, and even as a Knight of the Round Table in 527 Essex, where he's wearing a glorious pelt across his shoulders! However, sometime after Edinburgh 1827, Aziraphale's stylish extravagance ends. He adopts the dress of distinguished but modest gentility. No seamstresses strain their eyes for days hand stitching ruffles and trims for him any longer. When we next see him in 1862, his clothing is refined, simple, and serviceable. It becomes his uniform, with only minor replacements. Why? What happened to change him?

Edinburgh 1827 happened. And his encounter with tragedy ran over his sensibilities like a locomotive.

Aziraphale had, we were told, saved his earnings over time and had bought land, invested wisely, and became quite well off. He used real money, not miracles, to build the bookshop, paying the builders well and taking care of bills honestly. He built himself up to a more than comfortable lifestyle, from nearly nothing. And his clothes are real, not miracled from nothingness like Crowley's. (source: original showrunner)

Aziraphale's wealth allows him to afford luxurious tailoring and fancy shoes and ruffles and trims. He'll certainly pay the cobblers and tailors and seamstresses well for their labors. It will be a substantial expense for the era. (The linked post gives a wonderful perspective on 1793 lifestyles and costs.)

https://agoodflyting.tumblr.com/post/753227014283083776/why-aziraphales-white-satin-pumps-are-ridiculous

The angel's Edinburgh multilayered and trimmed top coat, soft leather gloves, matching scarf, jacquard vest, silk cravat, etc., look entirely out of place in the back alleys where the poor huddle. Walking the clean, gas-lit avenues with Crowley and Elspeth, Aziraphale is oblivious to the privilege he has in this world.

As he strolls along in philosophical banter with Crowley about the "blessing" of poverty, the angel spouts trite pontifications created by the rich to justify poverty. He genuinely believes Elspeth has more opportunities for goodness.  After all, look at Wee Morag.  He respects her goodness tremendously.  It proves to him his “rightness.”  And so he sabotages Elspeth’s attempt to sell the body she dug up in her attempt to support Wee Morag.  Dalrymple gets no body, Elspeth gets no money, and Aziraphale believes he’s saving her soul.

It’s a poignant moment, though, when Aziraphale cradles the jar containing a tumor from a seven year old child who died because there wasn’t enough medical knowledge to save him.  Turning point number one.  It becomes Real, not a philosophical debate.  Selling stolen bodies puts good in the world.  He’s all for it now, and goes back to encourage Elspeth.  Good heavens, he’s even willing to help this time!

But, as we know, it all goes wrong.  Wee Morag is shot by a grave gun, and dies of her injuries.  Elspeth steals laudanum, and plans suicide.  Crowley drinks the laudanum, saves her in a compassionate Scottish frenzy, and is stolen away by hell because of his kindness.   And it is All. Aziriphale’s. Fault.

Turning point number two.  Another watershed moment where Aziraphale’s world changes again.

One of Crowley’s last earthly acts, before getting plunged into hell, is to have Aziraphale give Elspeth all of his pocket money.  What is pocket money to the angel is a fortune to her, one that can set her up for a better life.  I have no doubt that in the aftermath of the traumas of that night, missing and worrying about Crowley, Aziraphale thinks about all of this.  He considers all of the money he casually spends on fine clothing and expensive tailoring.  He wonders how many lives could change if that money was better spent on helping to relieve the poverty that surrounds him.  He wants to help, and to try to make amends for the harm he caused.  What would Crowley do, if he were free to be kind? And so Aziraphale changes.

I’d love to know the story of how it all played out.  Did he sell his fine clothing and donate the proceeds?  Did he become involved in charitable foundations?  Did he buy the clothing of a simple gentleman and decide to preserve it, however worn it became, as a reminder to himself of his past blindness and vanity?  We see in Season 1 how important it is to him to preserve that coat. (Sure, it's also a fantastic opportunity to flirt and flutter those angelic eyelashes... But, nonetheless!)

By Season 2, the angel who took too long justifying a life-saving miracle for Wee Morag, and who hesitated to give Elspeth his 90 Guineas, willingly and freely gave Maggie forgiveness for thousands of pounds of debt. I'd love to know what else he's done over the last 180+ years!

Whatever happened, it began that night in a graveyard.

[ghcstao3]

since they started dating, ghost had said he would quit smoking. and to his credit, for the most part, he has.

but soap can tell when ghost has a bad night. worse than the typical insomnia, the trudging through paperwork through the wee hours instead of sleeping, the running until too exhausted to push any further.

he can tell by the way ghost crawls into bed at a late hour, tense and stiff as a board. by the way he burrows beneath the covers and clings onto soap like a lifeline. by the way his breathing is ragged and never quite evens out, even if he manages a light sleep.

by the unmistakeable smell of cigarette smoke.

and it breaks soap’s heart, knowing all that he can do is lay with ghost, and try to comfort him to the best of his abilities. that all he can do is hold on tight and promise to never let go.

(it would take a few years to realize, but as time goes on these occurrences would become less and less, until soap eventually notices that he no longer finds himself having to clean the cloying scent from their bed sheets. he does not celebrate this loudly, though he does make sure to hug ghost for an extra long while the next time soap sees him.)

[bunnys-kisses]

carnations

toto wolff

cw: smut/pwp, romantic, babies & kids, wife!reader, age gap (20s/50s), gentle sex, missionary, pregnancy, body worship

this bunny eats comments & reblogs! feed the rabbit!

tulips (max verstappen) - roses (charles leclerc) (nov. 3) - sunflowers (lando norris) (nov. 3)

exhaustion was normal after having a baby, babies were fussy little creatures who were learning every day about the big wide world. you understood, but that didn't mean that you weren't tired.

thankfully for the off season, you had your husband at home most nights and he was more than happy to look after your son, tano. he felt like he missed enough after only being with you for a week after you had him. toto felt like he needed to make up for lost time.

you woke up to the sound of the baby monitor going off, your son getting fussy in the early hours. he had been up a few hours earlier, but before you could even raise your head from the pillow you felt toto's hand on you.

"i've got it." he said softly before you put head back down on the pillow.

being in bed felt wrong knowing that toto was up with your son. you knew he was capable of taking care of him, but you didn't want to feel useless. so, you got yourself up and headed towards the kitchen. and the sight of your husband almost made your throat grow dry. he was standing there, with tano in the crook of his arm while he got used warm water to heat up the breast milk that was in the fridge in a bottle.

"Ich weiß, ich weiß. Du wirst bald essen." he said softly, your son was getting impatient with no being able to eat asap. toto looked down at tano and then to the bottle under the water.

you could see your husband's strong back with his sweatpants low on his hips. he was much older than you, but he was doting. he was a caring man who made sure that his wife and son had everything they needed. that meant getting up in the wee hours to take care of tano. you were his family and he loved you both dearly.

it also didn't hurt that he looked very handsome. even now with greying hair, he was perfect. it made something swim in your gut, the same lingering feeling that got you pregnant. your husband was very handsome.

you leaned up against the door way with your arms crossed. you yawned loudly which got your husband's attention. he looked over and gestured quietly for you to come closer. you helped him by finishing up warming the bottle before handing it to toto to feed your son. at the dining table near the kitchen, toto fed tano gently. you yawned into your fist.

"you should go back to bed, my love. i can handle it."

you shook your head, "no, no. we spent too much apart. the bedroom feels like miles away." you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes.

toto shifted himself on the wooden chair and carefully watched his son. tano was a lot like toto already. even at a little over seven months old. you could see it when the baby scrunched his little face and how clingy he was with you already. he was a real wolff already. matched with the dark hair of his father and his nose. it was cute.

"i love you." toto said.

"i love you too. even though your stupid tall genes made me carry a huge baby." you pointed a finger at him recalling your pregnancy with tano.

99th percentile and sympathy glances from the nurses when you went into labor. didn't help that tano was stubborn like his father too and i took longer than you hoped.

toto smiled as he took the bottle away from his son's lips, "and you did it so beautifully. look at our son."

you smiled at him. damn you, toto wolff, for making you feel something warm in your gut. to see him across from you with your son in his arms. shirtless with his chest hair on display. he held love in his eyes for you. your wild wolf.

"he looks a lot like you."

he smiled, "he has you smile, those knowing eyes. he always looks so curious. but, what he lacks in physical attributes from you. he will make up in personality. your kindness, your smarts, the beauty of your heart. i bet he will take in strays just like you."

you chuckled a little. you didn't know if he meant the two cats your brought home once or himself. regardless you blushed under his comments.

with tano eventually back in his crib, you got back into bed with toto. but something pooled in your gut under the exhaustion. your leg hooked over toto's middle and his face in your hands.

he smiled a little into the kiss before he pulled away and looked at you, "i think it's a little late for that, schatzi."

you shrugged, "it's been a while since we... ya know. with everything going on." you wrapped an arm around him. with formula one, tano, and everything else going on, you had little time to be intimate with your husband.

he kissed the apple of your cheek, your skin was warmed under his lips. he then started to pull at the shirt you wore to bed. he was greeted to the sight of your soft body. his breath was caught in his throat for a moment.

curves like aphrodite yet the strength of artemis to carry his son for nine months. you had a slight softness in your middle and it made him lick his lips. he had seen you naked since you had tano. but, to see it so close up. to feel your warmth on your skin.

you tried to cover up yourself with your hands but toto pinned your wrists to the bed over your head. his gaze was heated and it made you squirm. you said, "toto, don't stare."

he replied, "how can i not? not when i am looking at the most beautiful woman in the world."

"i still need to lose the baby weight."

he got closer to you, his chest against yours. his cock straining in his sweatpants. he then held your hips with both hands, "no, no. you look perfect like this." he then kissed you on the lips for a moment before he pulled away and got between your legs with his sweatpants kicked off to the end of the bed. his leaky cock stood at full attention.

"please, honey."

he rubbed his cock up against your achy slit. it had been so long since you two were intimate. while he worshiped your body at every moment during your pregnancy, it was nothing like feeling the closeness to your husband.

"you're beautiful." he said as he slipped his cock into you. so soft and perfect for him. it made a shiver run through his body as he took you by the hips and started to move against you.

"you're making me blush, toto."

"good, i want to have you blushing for the rest of my days. you always feel so nice when you have heat in your cheeks. you are the most beautiful woman i've ever laid eyes on. from the day we got married until now. and forever more." thrusting against you was euphoria for him.

he remembered your wedding day, he remembered how beautiful you looked for him. he felt like he didn't need to say any vows, it was plainly obvious that he wanted to marry you. his almost missed his cue to kiss you at the end because how entranced he was by you. he remembered when you gave birth to tano. and he did anything he could for you, even at the your grumpiest (which he understood). you had been everything for him. you had given him something he never thought he could have.

and as he palmed your breasts and kissed across your skin, he promised that he'd be the perfect husband for you. you deserve it. you and tano deserve the best toto wolff could offer. and sometimes that meant making gentle love to his beloved wife. his personal heaven.

you two kissed, pressed chest to chest now. your legs around his waist as you moved together. it felt good being with him. the pleasure was a throb in his chest and a cloud in your head.

you both needed to feel close to one another. to be in each other's embrace. after so long, to be next to your husband in such an intimate state felt so good. his kisses trailed across your skin.

his words were loose and with such affection. his phrases in german held the same affection as the ones in english. he tried to come up with every word he could think of to tell you that he loved you.

you kissed him once more and you met his pace. the two of you moved together on the bed. you held onto him, feeling the closeness to your beloved husband.

"i am lucky." he said, "most men would kill for the chance to be with you. you've only become more beautiful." he said which made you blush a little more.

you tried to look away but he pulled you with a searing kiss once more. there was an inferno in your gut. you were lucky to have him too, someone who treated you with such kindness and respect. who loved you very deeply.

"i love you."

"i love you too." he said as he cupped your face with a sweet devotion.

he continued to rut against you. you clenched your legs around his waist as he moved. his pace was gentle or at least more gentle than what you usually got involved with prior to pregnancy. you had firm memories of toto going to town on you in the back of his car. he groaned when you gripped onto his shoulders, your pretty short nails dug into his skin as you felt orgasm come over you.

you let out a pretty moan and your husband sealed it with a kiss as he lifted your hips a little higher to get at the best ankle. he kissed your lips tightly and gave it a few more heavy thrusts of his hips. his tip kissed the back of your pussy before he spilled his seed into you.

when the kiss was broken, he slowed to a still and panted heavily. he made a bit of a face and rubbed his hip. you gave a small chuckle and said, "old man." but then yelped when he gave your pussy and tender slap.

"i can still keep up with you, schatzi."

you raised an eyebrow as you continued to breathe heavily. you raked your nails down the hair on his chest. you asked curiously.

"then i'll find a million ways to keep that hungry cunt of yours busy." as he looked down at you. your husband may be the sweetest father, and a doting husband. but when it was you two alone in the bedroom, you remembered why you once called him the vienna stallion.

you were firmly reminded of it come morning, when toto's cum was plastered to your pussy lips.

-

a month later you got the ire of your doctor when you sat in her office and she looked at your blood work. you were only pregnant eight months ago, and now you were pregnant again.

"I suggest after this mrs. wolff that you go on a form of birth control." the doctor looked at your charts, "accidents this close together can cause problems long term. i suggest forms of family planning. having your husband working overseas most of the year doesn't seem to working." her words made you ears burn.

toto held tano in his arms and looked away to chuckle slightly, but it was cut off by the doctor's voice.

"either that or your husband should look into options as well. there's a clinic in the west end that'll happily give him a vasectomy." she said which made toto grimace.

you both looked a little ashamed. you were two for two in accidentally having children. most usually got more careful after the first, but now you were expecting another child right after tano. the baby squirmed a little bit in his father's arms and you felt embarrassed as your doctor talked about options for family planning after your second child. you were married! but, the heat still flooded your cheeks. you thought about the night with your husband. and what started out as a reintroduction to each other's bodies after months apart had become an expansion to your little family. <3

[wandasaura]

SONG IN THE CAR

summary — wanda just wants to check that you’re not lying, but you can only keep yourself together for so long before you beg natasha to fuck you in the car

warning(s) — established relationship, married wandanat, dom/sub dynamics, mommy kink, daddy kink, subspace, public play, inspection kink, butt plugs, packing, strap-on usage, mentions of edging, mentions of spanking, doggy style, car sex, semi-public sex, degradation, praise, dumbification, mentions of free use, finger sucking, oral fixation, men/minors dni

authors note — i’m not even going to apologize for what this turned into because once i started i just kept adding the most unhinged things. as always, this doesn’t need to be read with the yail series but it might make more sense if it is. the ending is a wee bit rushed but i wanted to get this out for you, so i hope you enjoy!

you are in love

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff ✧

A strangled whine falls off the tip of your tongue when Wanda trails her fingers across the small of your back. The interior of the store is cold, the electric hum of an air conditioning unit almost as loud as the music that plays through speakers hidden within different vents around the clothing store. You can’t even fathom what business Wanda and Natasha have being in a shop that’s blasting brain melting pop tracks, but they dragged you inside at the first sight of the large LED letters out front. 

You’ve lost sight of Natasha, the Russian made a dramatic show of escaping toward the back wall merely seconds after Wanda dragged you over to look at a rack of denim shorts. The store was geared more toward a generation around your age, the elements of both boho aesthetic and minimalism felt almost too trendy to be authentic, but if you weren’t so… overwhelmed, to put it sweetly, you would’ve vocalized just how much you liked the style of clothes that sat folded precisely on the shelves surrounding you. 

Wanda’s hand lingered on the small of your back for longer than an appropriate second. Despite the cold store that threatened to erase all memories of the sweltering heat outside, the Sokovian’s hands were the perfect cross between just barely warm and unacceptably frigid. The longer they sat on the exposed skin of your back – the baby tee Natasha had picked out for you to wear hugging your ribs tightly and subsequently allowing both her and Wanda access to your sensitive spine – the harder it became to not envision them falling lower and lower until they found a place between your thighs for the second time that day. 

You weren’t looking at Wanda, intentionally avoiding her strong stare and focusing intensely on the white shelves that adorned the walls. You didn’t need to glance at her to feel the devilish smirk that rested across the very lips that had wrapped around your clit and left you needy only a handful of hours earlier to know that it was there and obnoxious. Natasha had kissed her in the car and claimed smugly that Wanda’s tongue still tasted of you, but neither had offered any assistance in relieving the sticky situation between your thighs. 

 When Wanda’s question went unanswered a second time, the question being if you liked anything in particular around the store, a perfectly sculpted brow rose in your direction and the attention you’d been putting on the racks of clothing became a fascination of the past. A slender finger cradled your jaw, cold against your flushed skin but not icy enough to flinch away from instinctively. The subtle gesture had forced your eyes away from the t-shirts and baby-tees you’d been meticulously staring at, and rather onto a set of twinkling green eyes. Wanda’s lips were still curved upward into a smirk, but they twinged with something dangerous as she set her gaze on your dilated pupils and permanently pink cheeks. 

“Mommy asked you a question, milaya. What’s got you so distracted?” Wanda pouts, her lips teasing and thin as they purse in an attempt to ward off a sickening grin of mischief that she wore mere seconds beforehand. She knows exactly what’s distracting you, she’d been the one to suggest this little game when Natasha decided she wanted to go shopping, but still she feigns innocence as you come undone in a disgusting public mall. 

Despite having an answer on the tip of your tongue, you can’t find the courage to share it with Wanda. There shouldn’t be any reason for you to vocalize your feelings when she’s already aware, despite her trying to break you down time and time again. Instead, you settle for something simple, and certain enough to wind her up a good deal. “Nothing.” The word doesn’t roll off your tongue as easily as you would’ve liked. It’s choppy and cuts like a dagger, but it sits lightly in the air between both of your warm bodies as Wanda takes the time to process what you’ve just said. Or rather, how you’ve just blatantly lied to her. 

“Oh, nothing’s distracting you, baby?” Wanda coos, her head tilting ever so slightly to the side as her eyes threaten to unravel the web of lies you're spinning. You don’t even have a chance to answer before she’s gripping your jaw, the pad of her thumb pressing into the hollow of your cheek while her pointer fingers sentence the other side of your face to the same fate. Her grip is tight, controlling, but not harsh enough to actually hurt. She’s mastered the art of grabbing you in a way that stuns you into submissive silence, and though you’re in public where anyone can see, she doesn’t seem to mind holding all the cards in her one-handed grip.  “So if Mommy put her hand in those pretty panties you’ve got on, she wouldn’t find a sticky mess?” 

There are two choices here, you can either deny the accusation and save a sliver of your dignity that’s waning fast as the day progresses, or you can agree with her accusation and hope that your honesty satisfies her need to be right in this moment; either choice will lead to her hand in your panties, you’re not dumb enough to believe that she’ll drop the act when you’re already this far in, but there’s still defiance burning in your belly that deceives you enough to believe you’ll walk away with the upperhand. Hastily, not thinking much of the consequences, your head shakes from side to side in the negative. You’ve decided to save yourself the embarrassment of admitting that your panties are absolutely drenched by no fault of your own, it’s entirely her fault and she knows that. The movement is little, restrained to small jerks due to the hand on your jaw, but Wanda feels it, and she quirks an eyebrow. “I need words.” She tightens her grip, forces your lips to pucker and your cheeks to ache from how her fingers sit flush against your teeth. 

“N-No.” It takes all of your strength to answer her, and even still all of your mustered up courage leaves a fierce blush sinking into the apples of your cheeks and across the tips of your ears, but a fire lights in Wanda’s eyes at your prolonged battle to remain coherent. You’ve been fighting her on decisions all day, trying to keep your head above the surface and your thoughts clear, but there’s only so much clarity in a moment like this. Nobody can blame you for falling beneath the thumb of the hottest lawyer in the world when you’re quite literally putty in her hands. 

“Oh, well then I guess you won’t mind if I check for myself, will you, detka?” You’d discussed this new kink a week ago. You’d agreed to what she called inspections with no hesitancy, though a healthy bit of embarrassment at the prospect of her being able to feel your sopping cunt whenever she pleased, but you’d agreed and even anticipated the moment she decided to put your agreement to good use. You hadn’t expected her to be so bold as to cash in on your agreement in one of the most densely populated shopping malls in the state of New Jersey, but there was no getting around it now. Still, your eyes fluttered away from hers, anxiously scrounging the small boutique style store for other customers or cameras.

Your eyes only found two figures, and one was distinctly Natasha who had styled her red hair in dutch braids before you left the house. For a second, you wondered if this had been the plan all along; to get you into a store where nobody else dared to shop because of the steep prices and violate you into submission, though you wouldn’t technically call Wanda’s premistion a violation, but… still. The only employee that stood on the floor was a smaller woman with silky chestnut hair, and she occupied a space next to Natasha against the far back wall as the two engaged in a conversation that looked to be revolving around a red bikini top your girlfriend held up to her chest. It complemented her hair nicely, would do absolute wonders for her boobs, but she had no real interest in the article if the pinch between her brows was evidence enough. 

Despite the reassurances you found, you met Wanda’s gaze again and choked out a strangled whisper, “Somebody’s going to see.” The blush on your cheeks was sheerly a factor of your mortification, but Wanda seemed to crave to deepen the sharp color on your face as the hand not gripping your face began its ascent toward your core. The flowy white skirt Natasha had picked out for you allowed her access without a fuss, and when her fingers tickled the sensitive interior of your thighs, you couldn’t help but instinctively part your legs for Wanda’s quest. 

“Shh,” The Sokovian shushed you sweetly, her hand loosening its grip on your jaw but never falling away fully. Her eyes searched yours, practically looking through you as she assured that you were okay to continue, anticipating the moment the safeword fell off your lips and all of her movements stopped. You’d never stop adoring her caution in moments like these. “Let Mommy do the thinking, sweetheart. Little girls don’t need to be worrying about anything other than their Mommy.” Her words fell onto you thickly, and a pout pulled at your lips as they sunk in. That submissive headspace all three of you adored was creeping up on you slowly, and her infantilizing words merely accelerated the process as you blinked at her slowly. 

The hand on your thigh brushed across your mound tauntingly slow, and for a second, you’d forgotten that you weren’t going to receive anything from her touch when it finally came. There would be no pleasure to spiral through your core when her fingers found a home beneath the drenched material of your panties. All that would come from her touch was embarrassment and more frustration. You gasped when Wanda’s ring trailed down the warm skin of your cunt, tracing a path downward until it fell onto your clit almost perfectly. Your hips startled at the cold sensation, but Wanda merely shushed you as the tips of her fingers sought out the source of your arousal. She hummed inquisitively, the pad of her finger pressing against your sopping entrance for merely a moment before it was gone and she was trailing strings of your wetness back up to your clit. 

“You’re so wet, utenok. No wonder you’re having such a hard time listening to Mommy. I bet it’s so hard to think when your pretty little pussy is just crying for attention.” Wanda mused mockingly, the pads of her fingers circling your clit that throbbed and ached for actual relief, but the pleasure never came. As quickly as her hand had dipped into your underwear and sought out your intimacy, they’d fallen away and resettled on your hips. The sticky thinness of your arousal smeared against your exposed skin kissed beautifully from the summer sun, and you knew she had every intention of making you walk through the mall with a patch of glimmering dampness adorning your body that you’d never have the courage to explain if someone questioned it. A deep blush settled across your cheeks, but Wanda wasn’t finished yet. Before you could reach out to her and tangle your fingers into the softness of her t-shirt, she was spinning you around and forcing your back against her chest. “Mommy’s not finished yet. Be a good girl and stay quiet while she checks something.” 

You’d almost had the chance to question her intentions before the words were stolen from between your bitten lips and the softest gasp of pleasure fell from you instead. Wanda’s fingers, still glistening with your arousal, had found a home beneath your skirt and against the base of the plug nestled deep within your ass. You’d only started trying the plugs out a couple weeks ago, but in that span of less than fourteen days they’d become something you adored and hated equally. The deep pleasure that came from constantly feeling full was insatiable and you craved it whenever Natasha pulled it out too soon, but you’ve grown to hate how every soft step shifted it against you perfectly, and especially how no matter which position you attempted to sit in it presses deeper and deeper into you without remorse. Wanda’s fingers circle the crimson red jewel framed between the globes of your ass, cheeks still pink from a spanking you’d received yesterday. The touch is soft, gentle, caring even, but when you think she’s about to pull away and end her little experiment, she taps harshly on the center plug twice, sending sparks of pleasure through your body and into your already fuzzy head. 

“So full for Mommy. Those panties are absolutely ruied, moya lyubov’.” Wanda pulls her hand out of your panties, spinning you back around in her arms and cradling you close to her chest as you shake and try to comprehend the fact that for right now, that simple touch was all you’d be getting. You’d think she almost felt an ounce of sympathy for your desperate form if she wasn’t wearing such a cocky smirk. “You’re being such a good girl, detka. Maybe we should keep you like this, huh? All full and eager to be fucked. Daddy could just bend you over anywhere and you’d take it, wouldn’t you?” Wanda preened into your ear, her words thick with lust and traces of an accent you’ve begun to memorize. You’re not sure whether to nod your head and agree, because it’s true, you’d let Natasha fuck you anywhere she wanted to right now, you’re not oblivious to the fact that she’s packing your favorite strap beneath those denim shorts adorning her toned legs, or to shake your head and beg for her to not let that happen. You’re not sure you’ll be able to survive in this state for another couple hours, let alone for however long they deem acceptable. “Huh, answer Mommy, baby. Do you want Mommy to keep you like this forever? Want to be ready to use whenever Mommy and Daddy feel the need to take you?” 

“I-I want you, Mommy.” You pleaded, shaking your head frantically at the suggestion that rolls off of Wanda’s lips like its been imprinted onto the tip of her tongue for decades. The Sokovian smirks, drawing you in closer to her chest and letting her forehead rest against yours, her deep sage eyes peering into your soul with how intensely she stares down at you. 

“You have me, baby.” She soothed your downturned lips with a gentle kiss, her touch soft and smooth yet harboring a lingerance of artificial strawberry chapstick if you thought about her taste long enough. The embrace was fleeting, entirely too short, but it had your head spinning when she pulled away and greeted Natasha who you hadn’t even noticed had come up beside you. “Come on,” Wanda patted your ass deliberately, jostling the plug just softly enough to have you hyper aware of its presence but not earning pleasure. “we still have a couple of stores to hit.” 

“I was thinking we stop by that store you like, ducky. We can see if they have any of those little pins you were talking about?” Natasha places a firm hand on your back, her eyes kind but tinted with lust that has settled deep within her stare permanently since Wanda wiggled the plug between your cheeks. There’s a hint of knowingness in her smile, an indication that she knows perfectly well what had just happened between you and her wife. 

The proposition of spending another handful of hours surrounded by incompetent strangers with no regard for others and continuous sounds that blended into static chatter didn’t sound appealing, but unless you called red, they weren’t taking you home. Reluctantly, you took Natasha’s hand, allowing the lawyer to lead you out of the boutique and toward a store much more your style. Wanda’s hand stayed firm on the small of your back as Natasha took the lead, but your focus had fallen beneath the waves as you surrendered to them entirely. 

-

A desperate whine slipped past your lips as Wanda pulled you into her chest, toned arms still warm from the sun wrapping tightly around your torso and keeping you still. The dressing room was saturated in gold plated decor and embellishments, illuminated by a chandelier framed with dazzling crystals worth more than your entire college education. Natasha had dragged the both of you into the high-end designer store with the hopes of them having their new summer collection, and much to your annoyance, they did. The bold colored suits were a powerful statement, she’d look absolutely delectable in them, but that was exactly what you were worried about. The thought of her in a suit so expensive and sleek sent tingles through your belly that couldn’t just be ignored, especially not with your already existing desperation. Wanda wasn’t blind to your frustration, and she smirked wickedly down at you the second Natasha had slipped behind the heavy fitting room door. 

“Shh, Mommy just wants to check.” She whispered against the shell of your ear, a cold hand trailing up the inside of your thigh that is absolutely drenched with arousal. Your eyes burn into hers as you both become controlled by lust, already blown pupils somehow finding additional blackness to manipulate until the color in Wanda’s eyes is entirely vacant. Your bottom lip is bitten and quivering as you feel her fingers start to massage your slick coated folds, a shaky breath at the back of your throat desperate to be unleashed. “Oh, you’re so wet sweetheart. Did Mommy do this to you?” 

You nod shortly at her question, aware of how close the tips of her cold fingers are coming to your clit every time she strokes the length of your folds, but each time they never brush against your stiff and throbbing nerve, merely coming close enough to tease before they’re gone. She circles your entrance repetitively, pressing against it only to pull away seconds later and trail her fingers back down toward the plug, but she never fully grazes that either. She’s content to keep playing with your body like a toy in the middle of the fitting room, her lewd actions have entirely drowned out the sounds of Natasha throwing different articles of clothes around in the dressing room just a few feet behind you, your focus entirely on her and the sensations she’s provoking cautiously. 

“Oh she did? Mommy did this? What a little slut, getting so worked up and Mommy’s not even touching you fully. You’re so easy, dorogaya” Wanda continues to tease condescendingly, giving you not a single second of relief as she digs her fingers harder into your cunt on the last swipe across your panties before she’s hooking her fingers into the waistband and tugging them down. 

Your eyes go wide as you look up at her fully, your shoulders tensing as she keeps tugging the soiled garment down your thighs. “W-What are you doing?” Your skirt is short, it’s flowy and it’s thin but that was Natasha’s entire goal when she dressed you that morning. You know that despite the length every intimate part of your body is covered, but you weren’t prepared to challenge the wind once you stepped outside again. 

“Color?” Wanda stops her movements, her voice soft and kind as she keeps her eyes on you. Everything before this point had been a discussion that you’d had time to prepare yourself for, but this was unplanned and admittedly terrifying, and yet your belly clenched at the prospect of her undressing you in a public space and forcing you to walk around with no barrier to catch your arousal. 

“G-Green.” You mumbled back at her once you’d taken a second to collect your thoughts and swallow your shock. Wanda nodded curtly before she slipped right back into her role, eyes hard and jaw clenched as she continued pulling your panties down before tapping your thigh in a silent demand for you to step out of them. 

“Then stop talking and let Mommy do what she wants.”  Her voice was hard, leaving no space for you to argue, but you weren’t going to. You stepped out of your panties with a gentle wince, feeling their dampness against your shins before the sensation was gone entirely and Wanda was holding them up to the light to inspect. Your cheeks flushed in humiliation, watching her fingers swipe across the soaked material before she hummed and folded them up, shoving them into her back pocket like they were just a piece of paper she’d found on the ground. “Good girl.” 

You bristled beneath her praise, but your attention drifted away from her when you heard the door unlock and Natasha’s soft footsteps came stepping out slowly. There was no question about whether she had heard the entire exchange, but you had no time to pay attention to her cheeks flush with need as you drank in the sight of her in a hundred thousand dollar suit. If your eyes weren’t already blown wide with lust, they certainly were now as you gawked at her defined biceps and breasts, the suit drowning some of her more prominent features but highly accentuating others. A rippled whine fell off your tongue as your eyes memorized the sight, but so badly you wanted to rip it off her body and drag her home to appreciate her fully. 

“P-Please.” You just barely got the plea off of your lips as Wanda sparked up a conversation with her wife, commenting on the fit of the suit before she began her shower of compliments and praise. You’d gone ignored, or maybe they just hadn’t heard you, whatever the reason for their silence toward you, it only frustrated you further. “Daddy please!” You tried again, eyes wet and pleading as you held onto the little attention Natasha was providing you as her eyes danced away from Wanda’s and found yours beneath the bright LED lights. 

“Shh.” Wanda scolded, a finger coming up to sit on your lips as she turned her head to glare at you. It wasn’t intentional, but your lips had done it anyway. The second her finger, still soft from your arousal, brushed against your lips, you’d let your tongue poke out and lick at her finger, able to identify the traces of you that clung to her skin despite how she’d wiped her fingers clean on your outer thigh. Your lips wrapped around the digit, suckling and biting sweetly as the blanket over your mind became thicker and warmer. Wanda didn’t stop you, merely returned her attention to Natasha before the Russian nodded and disappeared back into the fitting room, hopefully changing back into her own clothes. “Mommy needs that back, little one.” Wanda said softly, gently easing her finger from between your lips when it became apparent that you weren’t going to relinquish it yourself. A pitiful whine came falling off the tip of your tongue when she pulled it away, but she merely smiled sweetly and kissed the top of your head. “Come on, Daddy’s gonna check out and then we’re going to go home.” 

You shook your head, absolutely appalled at the suggestion that you’d have to wait until you arrived home to get what you wanted. The mall wasn’t far, but an hour was a long time for someone who had been teased and dragged along relentlessly since the sun had first kissed the gravel paths that weaved and winded through Westview. 

“No?” Wanda furrowed her brows, looking down at you with nothing but softness in her still black and lust filled stare. She’d dropped the condescending tone, abandoned the fleeting touches and teasing, but the only thing that would fully cure the arousal in her eyes was getting a taste of your sweet pussy. 

The words felt heavy on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t last another hour without release, and so they found their way off of your lips before you could panic about the implications of your request, “Fuck me now.” 

Wanda’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but that look of shock that claimed her strong features had quickly become something sinister as she stepped closer to you, invading your personal space and allowed you the slightest tinge of her perfume as her chest came flush with yours and she let a single finger tilt your head upward to meet her heavy stare. “Yeah? You want your Daddy to put that strap to use and treat you like a filthy little slut where anyone can hear you crying out in pleasure? You want an audience, moya utenok?” 

A whimper filled the dressing room as your thighs pressed together, your lack of panties leaving the rush of arousal to drip nowhere by your thighs as you writhed beneath Wanda. A soft nod came next, and Wanda smirked proudly, mimicking your gesture before she stepped away entirely and turned her attention back to Natasha who had only just left the dressing room with the suit thrown over her forearm. 

“Hurry up, moya lyubov’. The little slut wants her Daddy to fuck her and who am I to say no to that?” Wanda taunted, grabbing your hand and leading you back out into the store, letting Natasha check out in peace as she occupied you with whispered promises of how the Russian was going to absolutely ruin you where anyone was around to watch. 

-

The only saving grace about Natasha’s car were the tinted windows that blocked out the eyes of anyone who dared to even get close to the Stingray. The seat was drenched in your arousal, thighs spread wide as you occupied almost the entire strip of leather. She’d need to clean the seats thoroughly when you got home, but for right now, neither of you cared. Your hands sunk into the cushioned row of seats as you pressed your ass out further, back arched and muscles strained as you dropped your forehead onto the window and watched with slitted eyes as your breath fogged up the glass. Wanda watched from the passenger seat, green eyes trained on your desperate form that reflected off the rearview mirror pointed downward. Natasha was pressed up against the door, shorts unzipped and hanging loosely over her hip bones as the strap stood at full attention, no longer confined beneath the stiff denim. 

Your skirt was bunched up around your hips, ass and thighs already red from various hits and spanks that the Russian had laid upon your ivory skin. She’d yet to touch you, but each hit that rocked the plug in your ass sent you reeling closer and closer to ultimate pleasure. All you could make out was white spots as they danced along your vision and intercepted the view of strangers and cars wrecking havoc in the parking lot around you. Even when a middle aged man and his wife had gotten close to the car, shopping bags in each of their hands that you could only assume was a pending return, you hadn’t focused much on what they could see from the outside. Your focus was entirely on Natasha, and yet the lawyer hadn’t done anything since bending you over. 

“D-Daddy please! I need you so bad! Please!” You cried out in desperation, back arching further as your nipples grazed the seats, your ass grinding against the strap that she refused to shove into you just yet. What she was waiting for, you didn’t know, but every agonizing second that passed was becoming longer and longer as you waited for relief to wash over you fully. Only she could get you to that point, and yet no matter how much you pleaded with her she didn’t cave. “P-Please!” A strangled cry slipped past your lips when her hand found your ass and her thumb pressed firmly on the jeweled plug nestled between your cheeks. 

“Shh.” The Russian coos. It’s the first sound that’s come to fill the car that wasn’t your own since she had aggressively shoved you into the backseat, and you greedily drink in the unspoken promise that what you want is coming soon. You have no time to prepare yourself for the intrusion of her strap as it slips between your folds and finds a home within your cunt in seconds, but you gasp so sweetly that Natasha doesn’t stop to give you a moment to adjust to the wide girth that’s splitting you open. You’ve wanted this for hours, she’s in no mood to drag your pleasure out any further, having already tested her own patience as she waited for Wanda’s silent permission to begin. You’d been oblivious to the curt nod that was given by the Sokovian, but as much as the game was in Natasha’s hands now, Wanda still held all the cards. “Do you feel that, malyshka? Feel Daddy’s cock splitting you open? Filling this slutty little pussy where anyone can see if they come close enough. I bet you’re so full. This pretty little plug has been driving you crazy all day, hasn’t it? Mommy picked out such a pretty color for you.” As the words drive you farther and farther into pleasure and submission, Natasha’s thumb presses against the plug and sends your mind spiraling downward into a sea of static energy. There’s a thick ringing in your ears that forces your mind to go blank, your hips that had been stuttering against her quick thrusts stilling as you surrendered your body to her control, willing to take whatever she gave you in this very moment. 

Natasha’s thrusts only grow faster as your moans and whines become softer and sweeter, desperation not only evident in the way your arousal soaks your thighs and the seats, but in the pitch of your moans as they fill the car and ricochet off the windows. You don’t have it in you to feel embarrassed by how loud you’re being, your only focus is taking the pleasure and not letting it slip away again. A broken cry leaves your lips as Natasha’s hand finds your clit, thumb rubbing circles on the sensitive nub as she winds you tighter and tighter. Her own thrusts are becoming choppy and quick, groans of pleasure harmonizing with yours until the entire car is just an explicit symphony of intimacy. Wanda’s eyes haven’t left you once, but you can’t see her with the way you’re bent and arched over. Natasha can, and she curses beautiful in Russian as she gives you the green light to let go. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Cum for me. Cum on Daddy’s strap.” She encourages gently, her thrusts growing harsher as she chases her own pleasure and orgasms with a delicate moan, though it's quickly drowned out by your own sobs and cries of bliss as you writhe beneath her heavy hands and let the coil snap in your belly. Your body shakes in the aftermath, arms giving out on you as you crash against the leather seats and subsequently pull your cunt off of her strap, the glistening material catching rays of sunlight before she quickly tucks it back into her shorts and zips them up. “You did so good for us, malyshka. So so good.” Natasha kisses the bottom of your spine, her fingers working on the plug in your ass simultaneously. Wanda maneuvered herself in the passenger seat, her hand reaching out to just barely brush against your upper back as well. “Relax for me, angel. Let Daddy take this plug out and then we’ll go home.” She talks you through the process, but nothing prepares you for how empty you feel when the metal is no longer flush against your walls keeping you full. A strangled whimper falls off your lips before it’s gently drowned out by shushing and shuffling. Natasha, unwilling to let you go through aftercare in a crowded parking lot all twisted up, opens the door and steps out of the car, nodding for Wanda to occupy a seat in the back beside you. “Mommy’s gonna sit back here with you, and Daddy’s gonna take us home. Just let go, honey. It’s all okay.” 

It doesn’t take longer than five minutes for Wanda to be sat beside you, your body curled up into her chest and void of a seatbelt. Typically she’d scold you for such a behavior, but all she does now is hold you tighter and kiss your head, promising that you’ll be home soon and there will be plenty of cuddles and kisses all wrapped up beneath the heavy blankets on the bed.

[lovelookspretty]

hi can you make a one shot about meankook!reader bullying sofia for being a pogue just because sofia is dating rafe? and rafe confronting meankook!reader but all the reader did was to cry because she's still not over rafe (rafe and the reader had a past 😞💨)

french 75

rafe cameron x meankook!reader

warning: ruthie i fear .

authors note: hi so idk if u wanted them to get together, AND I LOVE SOFIAS CHARACTER but we’re using the “theyre not even really official and sofias so nice that she’ll probably just let this pass if rafe was still in love with his ex” excuse 😭

you've been feeling out of place lately. it's not like you haven't tried to move on, but it’s hard when the people you used to spend every day with are still around, circling like ghosts of a life you’re no longer part of.

you and rafe broke things off six months ago, and since then, everything’s been awkward. you still hang out with sarah, mostly because she doesn’t make things weird. topper and kelce are around too, and sometimes topper’s new girlfriend ruthie tags along. but there’s this unspoken tension whenever you’re all together—like they’re waiting for you to crack, or maybe you’re waiting for it.

the hardest part isn’t the breakup itself. you’re used to that; breakups are part of life. no, the hardest part is seeing rafe with sofia.

you heard about her weeks ago, whispers on the island, but it wasn’t real until you saw them together. inseparable. she’s always there now, tucked into his side like she belongs there, like that used to be you. and no matter how much time passes, seeing your ex with someone else just . . . stings. like you’re stuck, still standing where you were when things ended, while rafe's already miles ahead, moving on with his life.

you haven’t even thought about getting with anyone new lately, and apparently, that’s concerning to ruthie. you’re sitting at the country club bar, arms stretched out across the table and your forehead pressed to the surface.

it’s a slow afternoon, topper and kelce are leaning against the railing a few feet away, deep in conversation. ruthie’s beside you, eyeing you with this weird mix of disgust and amusement, like you're some kind of charity case she’s fascinated by.

“seriously? you haven't hooked up with anyone in the last month?” ruthie asks, her voice dripping with disbelief.

you can feel her staring at you, judging you, and you groan, burying your face in the table as if that might make her stop.

“two months?” she presses, raising an eyebrow.

“four,” you murmur, still not lifting your head. you can practically feel her eyes widen.

“god,” ruthie mutters under her breath, like you’re some tragic, pitiful thing. she leans back in her chair, crossing her arms and making a face like she’s disgusted by the mere thought of it. you finally sit up, tired eyes meeting hers with a sharp look.

“okay, can you just drop it, ruthie?” you snap, though it comes out louder than you wanted it to. you rub your temples, feeling the headache creeping in. “i’m getting a fucking migraine talking to you.”

ruthie blinks, like she’s taken aback, before her eyes narrow and her lips press into a thin line. she throws her hands up, palms facing you in a mock surrender. “whatever,” she mutters, scoffing as she stands. she’s muttering something under her breath before she struts off toward topper and kelce, leaving you alone at the table.

eventually, topper catches your eye from where he’s standing, mid-conversation. he doesn’t say anything, just watches you for a moment before leaving them behind and walking over to where you’re still slumped in your chair.

there’s a quiet, unspoken kindness in the way he looks at you, a soft spot he’s always had for you, even if he doesn’t always say it outright.

“did ruthie piss you off?” he asks, voice low and casual as he leans on the back of your chair.

you make a face. “she’s just annoying,” you mutter, sitting up straighter in your chair. “i don’t get why everyone still cares. it’s been weeks since rafe and sofia started whatever they’re doing, and months since we broke up. i just want people to shut up about it already.”

topper presses his lips together, looking down but still watching you with a sideways glance, that familiar expression that says ‘are you done yet?’ he doesn’t even have to say anything.

you stare at him for a moment, realizing just how much of a buzzkill you’ve been today. not that ruthie doesn’t deserve it—she’s always been the annoying one, poking at you like you’re some project she’s trying to fix. but still . . . maybe you went too far. your eyes flick over to her standing with kelce, hands on her hips, still talking animatedly like nothing happened.

apologize? you think for a second but dismiss it. no, she’ll live.

“you want a drink?” topper asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. “on me.”

you look up at him and just nod, too drained to argue or offer any witty remarks. topper gives a small nod back, tilting his head toward the bar in a way that tells you to ‘come on.’

you push yourself up from the table, rubbing the back of your head. “thanks,” you murmur as you follow him to the bar.

you approach the counter, scanning the drink options in your head even though you know what you want already. “a french 75?” you say almost immediately.

topper’s already placing cash on the counter, giving you a nod before turning and heading back to the others. you watch him walk off, then turn back to face the bartender, but the guy is sliding topper’s money over to himself and calling over his shoulder for someone else to handle your drink, like he’s too busy.

you wait, your eyes drifting across the room, taking in the familiar faces. your friends are just off to the side, still talking, but when you face forward again, you see someone else working on your drink. a girl, back turned to you, quickly mixing things with slightly impressive speed. you tap your fingers against the counter, trying to fill the silence while you wait.

it doesn’t take long. quicker than you expected, the girl is already turning around, glass in hand. “french 75,” she says, placing the drink on the counter—until her eyes meet yours, and her expression freezes. the glass hovers in her hand for a moment as if she’s debating whether to set it down or not. her face pales, and you realize why.

sofia.

your jaw clenches instinctively, and you just stare at her. her presence alone irritates you, but seeing her behind the bar, handing you a drink, like this is normal, like everything is fine? it’s suffocating.

kelce is the first to realize what’s going on. “oh, shit,” you hear him mutter, raising a fist to his mouth in a mix of surprise and awkward amusement. he taps topper on the shoulder to get his attention, and soon enough, topper and ruthie are glancing over, realizing who he’s staring at. they shuffle over to a nearby table, clearly coming closer to stand by you, or maybe just to watch the drama unfold.

you don’t break eye contact with sofia, letting your gaze slowly trail down, taking her in from head to toe with a grimace, like you’re trying to figure out how someone like her even fits into your world, let alone into rafe’s life. sofia purses her lips, setting the glass on the counter with a sharp clink, avoiding your gaze now.

without a word, you grab the glass and turn on your heel, walking over to where your friends have settled at the new table. they’re all looking at you, like they’ve already seen everything that happened and are just waiting for your reaction.

you sit down with a huff, glancing at them with a raised eyebrow. “why are we sitting here?” you ask, your voice low and laced with annoyance. it’s too close—too close to the front counter, too close to her.

ruthie just shrugs, but she’s looking past you at the bar with a little too much interest. you roll your eyes and take a sip of your drink, trying to ignore the knot twisting tighter in your chest.

ruthie leans forward, her arms crossed on the table, a glint of mischief in her eyes as she glances between you and the bar. you can almost see the gears turning in her head. “so, what’s it like,” she asks, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “watching your ex play house with someone so . . . beneath him?”

you sit there, caught off guard for a moment. topper’s eyes widen slightly, and he shoots ruthie a look, clearly knowing she’s trying to stir the pot.

the truth is, you hate how rafe looks with sofia. it’s not like you can admit that out loud, but now, with ruthie pushing you, it feels like the perfect opportunity to let it out. you don’t even know what comes over you.

you take a deep breath, your leg bouncing under the table, a small smile creeping onto your lips as you respond, “i’ll just say, she can play house all she wants. it’s not like she’s getting a permanent role.”

you notice topper staring at you, disbelief etched across his face. you say it so low and calculated, causing ruthie and kelce to snicker.

“he’s just keeping her around because she’s easy, she’s a pogue,” you continue. “no effort, no expectations. it’s not like she has anything to offer except, what, pouring drinks? fuckin’ classy.”

ruthie jumps in, her voice light but laced with sarcasm, “i almost feel bad for her. almost. but she’ll figure it out when he’s done playing.” she leans back, a mocking expression plastered on her face. “imagine being the girl who bartends at her boyfriend’s parties . . . awkward.”

it’s toxic, sure, but right now, it’s all you’ve got. the laughter and banter dull the sting of seeing rafe with sofia, if only for a little while. you lean back in your chair, your smirk lingering as you watch the laughter between your friends, even if a part of you knows it won’t last.

“hey,” you hear someone murmur behind you, and your stomach drops.

just from that, you know that it’s unmistakably rafe’s voice, smooth and casual, but with an edge that sends a shiver down your spine. you whip around in your chair, dread pooling in your gut as you see him standing there, a bag in his hands—most likely sofia’s. he must’ve walked up from downstairs, just in time to catch the tail end of your conversation.

rafe’s gaze is locked onto sofia. the way they look at each other that makes your blood boil. you literally feel like flipping tables right now.

behind you, ruthie’s laughter cuts through the tension, but you can hear topper nudging her to shut up.

you face forward and close your mouth, focusing on tracing the bottom of your glass, pretending to be absorbed in your drink as the conversation flows at the table, about other things.

a few moments pass, and you hear footsteps approaching from behind. curiosity pulls you in, and you tilt your head just enough to catch a glimpse of rafe as he approaches.

his hand barely brushes your shoulder. you instinctively glance over your shoulder, ready to tell him to back off, but the look in his eyes is different. “can i talk to you?” he asks.

anxiety twists in your stomach, but you mask it, meeting his gaze. you give ruthie a quick look—a silent plea for backup or perhaps a warning—but you know she’s not going to say anything. she’s too wrapped up in her own amusement, still chuckling at the earlier jab about sofia.

before you join him, you tilt your head back and quickly down the rest of your drink, earning a snort from kelce. you stand up, heart pounding in your chest as you face rafe. he stands tall. behind him, you catch sofia’s eyes again. she’s watching you, and you can see the faint flicker of concern in her expression. it’s irritating and satisfying all at once.

“let’s go,” rafe says, his voice low, and he turns to walk away, prompting you to follow him. you take a deep breath, stealing one last glance at your friends, who exchange looks before you slip out of their sight.

he leads you downstairs and out of the building. the chatter and laughter from the downstairs restaurant fade behind you. you can feel rafe’s anger practically radiating off him.

he spins around to face you, eyes blazing. “what the hell was that all about?” his voice is low but intense. “is this the new game you’re playing? you think talking shit about sofia is going to make you look good?”

the offense courses through you like a wave, your jaw clenching at his accusation. “you’re kidding, right?” you shoot back. “you’re the one who moved on like it was nothing. do you really expect me to sit here and pretend it’s fine? to just be okay with you and your new girlfriend flaunting it in everyone’s face?”

rafe’s eyes narrow, his frustration deepening. “look, i get that you’re feeling some type of way, but doing that with our friends of all people isn’t going to change anything between us.”

you furrow your eyebrows. “i don’t know what you want me to say. you want me to be happy for you? it’s not that simple,” you retort. “it’s a joke that you think i’m going to sit here and pretend i’m okay with everything while you’re acting like you didn’t just move on in record time.”

his expression hardens, and you can see the muscles in his jaw flex as he fights for control. “you don’t get it, do you?” he says, stepping closer. “this isn’t about you. it’s about sofia and me. if you really cared, you’d respect that.”

“respect?” you scoff. “you want respect after everything? you think just because you’re with her, everything should be okay? you’re so self-absorbed that you can’t even see how messed up this is for me.”

rafe shakes his head, “and you think this is easy for me? watching you act like a child while i’m trying to move on? it’s not just about you anymore, y/n. you’re not the only one who’s hurting.”

his words hit harder than you expect, a punch to the gut that leaves you momentarily speechless. you take a breath, trying to compose yourself. “then why don’t you act like it? you’re so busy playing house with sofia that you don’t even care how it looks from my side. it’s like you don’t give a damn about what we had.”

“what we had is over!” rafe snaps, and you take a small step back. “you need to let it go. it’s not my fault you can’t handle seeing me with someone else. you’re the one making this harder than it needs to be.”

he takes a step back this time, and you can see the hurt lingering just below the surface. his voice cuts through the air, “you have no business being in this. sofia isn’t even my girlfriend, and it’s been six months. you need to let go of whatever this is.”

“so what? just because you say it’s over, i’m supposed to be fine? you moved on so fast, rafe. how can you just act like it’s nothing?”

he rolls his eyes. “you’re the one making this a problem. i saw you with that guy a few months back. so don’t act like you’re sitting here heartbroken. you’re clearly over me!”

the breath catches in your throat, anger twisting into something deeper, more painful. “that was the first and last time i was even with anyone since we broke up, rafe! i didn’t want to be with him! i was just trying to get over you, to stop feeling like this.” your voice shakes as you speak, you’re crumbling in front of him.

“then why are you acting like this?” he demands.

you can’t hold it in any longer. “because i’m not over you!” you scream, the words ripping from your throat with a desperation that leaves you breathless. rafe blinks at you in stunned silence, his expression shifting from anger to something softer, almost vulnerable.

your walls finally come crashing down, and you feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. it’s humiliating to admit it all. “i’ve been a bitch because i’m not . . . over you, rafe. and i don’t think i ever have been.” the admission slips from your lips, and you can see the surprise flicker across his face. “and everyone keeps talking to me, asking about you, and then all the stuff about sofia when people started seeing you guys around the island . . . it’s just exhausting! i’m tired, rafe. i’m so tired.”

a tear spills down your cheek. you wipe it away angrily, frustrated with yourself for showing weakness. rafe steps closer, his expression softening, but the distance between you still feels vast.

“you think i don’t care?” he says quietly, the anger draining from his tone. the silence hangs heavy between you, your breaths coming in shaky intervals as he processes your words. “y/n,” he starts, but you can’t hold back any longer.

“it’s just . . . it’s so hard to watch you move on with someone who feels like a shadow of what we had,” you mumble. “every time i see you with sofia, it’s like a knife twisting in my chest. and i know i shouldn’t feel this way. i know i should be happy for you, and i am, but i don’t know how to move on when you’re still so present in my life, even when you’re not really in it. and it makes me feel pathetic. i thought i was strong enough to handle it, but every time i think i’m over you, it just hits me all over again. like i’m right back at square one, and i don’t know how to let go.”

your voice cracks on that last word, and suddenly the dam breaks. you don’t mean to, but everything comes rushing out. “i’m fucking mad at you. i’m mad at myself. i hate that i still care about you. i hate that i can’t even walk into a room without wondering if you’ll be there, or hear your name without feeling like someone just punched me in the gut.” the tears start streaming down your face, and you wipe at them furiously, embarrassed to be falling apart in front of him like this.

rafe just stands there, watching you with an intensity that makes your chest ache even more. “and sofia,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper now, “god, i hate her. i hate her. but not because of who she is. because she’s with you. because she’s standing where i used to stand, and i don’t know how to deal with that. i don’t know how to stop feeling like i’ve been replaced.”

you let out a shaky breath, trying to pull yourself together, but the tears keep falling. “i don’t know how to let go of you, rafe. i don’t think i ever learned how.”

for a moment, rafe doesn’t say anything, and you’re terrified that you’ve just completely exposed yourself, that you’ve made a fool of yourself

“rafe,” you whisper, feeling exposed, vulnerable. “i’m sorry.”

he steps forward again, and before you can say anything else, he cups your face in his large hands. “what the hell is wrong with you?” you breathe, staring into his eyes before gazing at his lips like they’re a threat. “get off of me.”

he keeps his hands cupping your face, his thumb coming up to brush any wetness away from underneath your eyes, his voice low, “y’know, i’ve missed you, y/n. more than you know.”

you blink up at him in shock, your tears momentarily forgotten.

“i don’t wanna keep pretending. i don’t wanna keep fighting this,” he murmurs, and in a heartbeat, his lips are on yours.

the kiss is slow at first, hesitant, like he’s testing the waters, unsure if this is what you want. but the second your lips meet his, everything else fades away, a rush of emotions flooding in. it’s as if all the anger, sadness, and longing come crashing together, igniting something inside you that you thought had flickered out.

his hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss, and you feel yourself melting into him, like this is the only thing that’s made sense in a long time.

you kiss him back with equal fervor, pouring everything into it—months of heartache, yearning, and unfulfilled desire. your hands find their way to his collar, gripping it tightly as you lose yourself in the moment.

the world blurs around you, and all you can focus on is him—the way his lips move against yours, the warmth of his hand on your skin, the way your heart is pounding so hard you can barely breathe. it’s the first time you’ve kissed him since the breakup, and it’s everything. too much, too fast, but exactly what you’ve both been craving. he tastes like everything you’ve missed, and the warmth of his body against yours feels like coming home.

when you finally pull back, both of you breathless, your foreheads rest against each other, eyes locked. his thumb moves, brushing lightly against your bottom lip, and your heart skips a beat. “french 75,” he whispers, like he’s tasted something familiar.

he knows. of course, he knows. he always knew your favorite drink. he can taste it on your tongue. you can’t help it—your lips twitch into a small smile, despite the tears still clinging to your lashes.

erm guys was that lowkey fastpaced as fuck.

[tradgedyinwaves]

First Choice - Part 4

Part Four of this Poly141! x fat!reader tw: social anxiety, self-doubt, drinking, more touchy-touchy, reader thinks about sexual acts

In celebration of 200 followers, this part has way more than 650 words. More like 1600. :)

Conversation flowed easily with them despite their sole focus being on you. At some point, Kyle’s hand had drifted onto your thigh, fingers pressing into the flesh gently. John’s arm had slipped from the back of the booth and now rested around your shoulders. You couldn’t be sure, but it seemed Johnny couldn’t keep his feet still and kept tapping yours under the table. The only one who couldn’t seem to relax was Ghost, sitting almost across from you. 

His eyes never left you and he mainly seemed to communicate in grunts. At least, he was drinking this time, his glass now empty of his own whiskey. You were careful not to drink too much, not wanting to embarrass yourself in front of these beautiful men. But it didn’t keep you from relaxing and feeling the warmth of the two next to you. 

Pulling out your phone, you checked the time and groaned. “I really should be going. It’s been great,” you announce, looking to Kyle to move so you could slide out from the booth. “Aw come on. We’re having so much fun. Just a wee longer?” Johnny asks and you turn to him, finding yourself giving in almost immediately. Damn the puppy dog eyes. 

“Only a bit longer,” you concede and relax back into the seat. This time when Kyle’s hand lands on your thigh, it’s higher and the heat is searing through your jeans. You let out a soft sound, biting your lip as his hand starts slowly caressing your thigh up and down. He’s not even looking at you when you look up, already deep in conversation with Johnny about some sports game you had no clue about. 

John’s arm settled back over your shoulders, pulling you slightly closer so his hand hovers over your breast and you can feel the hair of his arm on your bare collarbone. Your breasts jiggle slightly with your laugh when Johnny makes a joke and you don’t miss the way his pupils dilate ever so slightly before darting back up to your face. He, at least, has the decency to blush, the faint pink color tinging his cheeks. 

When the crowd in the bar starts to thin out and you realize even your friends have left for the night, you’re yawning in your seat and now leaned completely against John with his thick arm draped over your shoulders. Kyle’s hand is now tucked between your thick thighs, the side pressed as tightly to your core as he can get it and you hope to whatever higher powers that be that he couldn’t feel the radiating heat or the damp spot that had soaked into your panties. 

“Okay, okay. I really do need to go now. My friends aren’t even here anymore and that’s saying something,” you chirp, suddenly very awake and aware that you’re in an almost empty bar with four men you’d only met that night. They all look at you like they’d rather eat sawdust than let you go and you feel a warmth creep over you. 

“Ahw, bonnie, we couldn’t let you go home on your own. Let us take you home,” Johnny chimes in, soft smile and kind eyes that hold a hint of something else in them. You swallow, looking between each of them. Your gaze lingers on Ghost for a while, noticing the man’s eyes had almost never left you.

“Yeah, alright. Let’s go. It’s not a far walk,” you reply, biting your lip at the reckless decision. These men could be serial killers and you were just inviting them to know exactly where you live. “Why don’t you let Johnny and Ghost take you home? Kyle and I can follow in our truck so they’re not stuck walking back here,” John offers, a warm smile curling up the thick mustache. 

At this point, you’re ready for bed and just want to get home. “Sounds good to me,” you reply though the words are manipulated by a yawn. All of you shuffle out of the round booth, both Kyle and John kissing the top of your head like they’d known you for years before disappearing out the door. You wrap your jacket around you again, pulling the zipper together over your belly and getting a little frustrated when it gets caught up on your shirt. 

“Lemme,” Ghost grumbled, stepping up to you and taking hold of the jammed zipper. It’s the first time he’s spoken all night and it almost stuns you how deep and growly it is. Your breath hitches as he grabs the zipper, yanking on it and subsequently making your breasts bounce as he accidentally pushes against them. He gets it undone and you mutter a bashful ‘thanks’ before turning on your heel as you finish zipping it up to your throat.

You know they’re meant to be escorting you home, but you’re out the door so fast the two men have to jog to catch up. Johnny’s arm wraps around your waist, fingers pressing into the pudge of your stomach in a way that makes you want to shrivel up. You don’t like anyone touching your stomach, but you’re warring with yourself on whether or not to move his hand, to show that kind of discomfort in front of these men. 

You choose to do so anyway, wrapping your fingers around his and lifting his arm up over your head and ducking under it, dropping it at his side. Johnny looks down at you with a furrowed brow. “Don’ like it when people touch you, do you?” he asks as he shoves his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t look bothered that you’d removed his arm, but your anxiety rears its ugly head and makes you worried you’d offended him. 

“It’s not that I don’t like being touched. It-It’s…complicated. I-I don’t want to talk about it,” you manage to stammer out before picking up your speed. It’s not like you’re going to shake off your two guard dogs whose legs are easily longer than yours by several inches, but you take off anyways. 

When your building finally comes into view, you slow your pace and breathe a soft sigh of relief. Your bed was so close, just a few more yards and you could get rid of the guard dogs and curl up in bed. “Well, this is me. Thanks for bringing me home. I really appreciate it.” You were grateful that they’d walked you home. It wasn’t safe this time of night to be wandering around in this part of town. 

“We’re walking you to your door, bonnie. Wouldn’t want someone to snatch you up between here and there,” Johnny stated, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. You wanted nothing more than to sink into the scent of him, warm and tingly to the nose like oranges and nutmeg, but you shook your head and backed up to the door of your building. “There’s really no need. My neighbors are great.” Lie. Absolute fucking lie. Nestor at the end of the hall on the first floor would, no questions asked, rip you from the hallway if he saw you alone. A chill went down your spine and you conceded the moment you looked into Ghost’s eyes. You didn’t have a choice if they were escorting you all the way up. 

You turned and opened the door to the building, looking down the hall to make sure Nestor was in his apartment before slipping in and letting the boys in behind you. You headed to the elevator and punched the up arrow, biting your lip as you tried not to wither under the intense stare of the man in the mask. The elevator had been the selling point for you. It was the only place within your budget that had an elevator and you weren’t about to walk up five flights of stairs multiple times a day. 

The lift dinged and you stepped inside, Ghost and Johnny slipping in behind you just to stand with their bodies pressed against your back. Unintentionally, you leaned into them before your eyes widened at your own movement and you straightened so your body pulled away slightly.

The doors dinged and opened allowing you to step out onto your floor. You headed to your unit, digging for your keys in your purse. With a ‘aha!’, you pulled them out and shoved the key into the doorknob, unlocking it. “Would you guys like to come in? I might have some whiskey left?” you offer, turning to look at them. You didn’t know why you were inviting them in, but the sense of safety you had around them had you desperate for them to stay. 

“Sure, lemme text Price and Kyle where to come. Go on in, Si-Ghost. I’ll come in in a minute,” Johnny stated, already pulling his phone out and going to stand next to the window at the end of the hall. You opened the door and allowed Ghost in, leaving it unlocked so the others could join once they arrived. 

Heading into your kitchen, you stood up on your tippy toes, reaching up so you could pull out five of your good glasses. You were looking for the last one, but it was just out of your reach. Suddenly, you felt what could only be Ghost against your back, pressing you against the counter as he leaned over you to grab the glass. 

The heat of him against your back has your thighs clenching together while you watch his thick digits wrap around the glass and you wonder briefly what they’d feel like inside you. He takes a step back once he has the cup and holds it out to you. 

You turn back to him while trying to fight off the blush coloring your cheeks. You murmur a thanks and wrap your own fingers around the glass. 

Of course, that would be when the other three burst loudly through the door.

I wasn't intending for this to become a whole story, but it's really stuck with me over the last week or so.

<- Part Three Part Five ->

[fyodior]

⌕ pairing: dad alpha!toji fushiguro x daughter omega!reader

⌕ warnings: BLOODCEST, reader goes into heat, piv sex, use of dad/daddy/papa, kind of subspace-ish but just bc of heat, knotting, toji is guilty as hell, a/b/o stuff like pheromones/scent/slick, toji is a dominant alpha, crying. dead dove do not eat! MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED

⌕ word count: 2.7k

MORE A/B/O-TOBER HERE!

This was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime. You and your beloved father had planned this vacation months ago, with the hopes of finally having a full two weeks of father-daughter alone time you two had so desperately been craving recently. Between both of your demanding jobs, respective social lives, and other various responsibilities, you barely even got to see each other anymore, outside of when you both came home at night. It had been a rule that you were to eat dinner together every night, and you had upheld that for a long time, but it had gotten to the point where it was no longer feasible.

So, the solution to missing each other? A two weeklong trip to the beach town of your dreams, at an all-inclusive resort that your wonderful dad had spent months saving every last cent to pay for. He had said it wasn’t right to force his beautiful daughter to pay even a single dime for this trip. It was his gift to you. Your gift to him? Just your presence and love.

To be quite honest, you and your dad had a… less than conventional relationship. Your friends found it odd that you still lived with him even though you were plenty financially stable enough to go out into the world on your own, and would surely have much more freedom in doing so. But you just couldn’t leave your beloved dad. Not when he loved you the way he did, cherished you and pampered and spoiled you at every turn. Who in their right mind would ever give that up? Certainly not you. You made it a point to never mention to others that you still slept in his bed every night, put to sleep by his strong arms wrapped tightly around you as you breathed in each other’s familiar scents.

When planning the vacation, you had made sure to schedule it in a timeframe where you would not be in your heat. They had always been fairly regular, so you had just done the math and planned it for when you’d be in the clear. Toji was more than happy to do so, as he wanted you to enjoy this trip completely uninhibited, especially from something so debilitating as a heat. Toji himself wasn’t too worried – in his older age, his ruts had slowed down pretty significantly, and even then, they weren’t ever severe enough to truly hinder his day-to-day life too much.

To say the vacation was much needed would be a vast understatement. The stress of busy lives had melted off both of your shoulders as you basked in the sun on white sand beaches, calmed by the sound of the waves lapping against the shore and sipping fruity cocktails served in coconuts. At night you’d go out dancing, grinding against each other in a drunken haze amongst people who didn’t know your familial relations. Sure, the age difference was apparent, but they didn’t know Toji was your dad. It was so freeing. And if he had kissed you soft and sweet on the dance floor? That secret would go with you to your graves.

Of course, with your luck, the magic couldn’t last forever. In the afternoon of the fifth day, you had started to feel… odd. Twitchy. A little foggy. Your skin felt hotter than normal, but you chalked it up to too much time in the tropical sun. The strange tingling between your legs was just because of… something. Whatever. Nothing was to ruin the vacation of your dreams, so you’ll ignore, ignore, ignore. No need to pay attention to such silly things.

Until it got worse. You had uncharacteristically asked Toji not to cuddle you to sleep that night, which he found profoundly odd, but your skin felt like it was on fire. The thought of anyone else touching you, even your dad, sounded like hell.

And then… even worse. In the wee hours of the night, you woke up gasping and whining. You felt hot all over, a sheen of sweat coating your body. Everything ached, your head felt fuzzy and sharp at the same time, and you could barely breathe. The worst, though? You were so painfully horny, your cunt throbbing and leaking, it was pure misery. There was no denying it anymore – you were in heat. Immediately, you began to panic. This was not supposed to happen.

The only thing you could think to do in your haze was shake the man next to you awake.

“Dad, daddy, please wake up,” you whined, shaking him by his arm.

“Wha- what it is it, sweetheart? Everything okay?” Toji mumbled gruffly, eyes still closed and clearly still mostly asleep.

“I’m in heat.”You could barely get the words out, speaking suddenly feeling impossible.

That woke him up quickly, lurching up. What? W-what do you mean?”

“Heat,” you repeated. “I-I’m in heat,” you damn near cried.

The heat pooling between your legs was getting more unbearable by the second, groaning as you cupped your hand over your throbbing pussy.

“Why? How? We-we planned around it!” he stuttered, staring at you with wide eyes. It was unmistakable, the presentation – despite never seeing you in one for long, he had witnessed the beginning phase of it multiple times.

What really tipped him off, though was your scent. The whole suite reeked of your sickly-sweet scent, pheromones emanating off your shivering body in droves. To say Toji wasn’t affected by it would be a lie. In fact, he scooted back in the bed to try and escape the potent yet divine odor, but there truly was no escape.

Toji wants to panic, unsure of what to do in this shocking moment, but it’s clear you’d beaten him to it. Hyperventilating and scratching at your skin, the panic of an incident so interruptive really settling in. He had to comfort you, and fast.

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, calm down,” he attempts, gathering you in a tight hug to try and soothe you. “It’s okay, I promise. Daddy’s here.” That was the problem. Only daddy was here – no heat partner in sight. While you had no real partner, you had a few alpha friends who didn’t mind helping you out during your heats to ease the pain. Of course, those same friends were a plane ride away, and it’s not like you could ask the alpha next door if they could knot you.

As his eyes trailed down your body, he gulped when he saw the crotch of your sleep shorts was soaked in slick. Fuck.

Fat crocodile tears ran down your burning cheeks as you sobbed in his arms, and all Toji could do was hug you close and rock you side to side. With you so close to him, he had no choice but to inhale your bleeding scent, and he wishes he could rip his nose off. This is not good.

Resigning himself to the situation at hand, Toji sighed. There’s only one way out of this – unless he just locked you in the suite to suffer through your miserable heat alone.

“Calm down, baby, daddy’s gonna help you, okay? Daddy will help you.”

“R-really?” you sniffled, pulling back to look your dad in the eyes, gauging his sincerity.

“Of course, baby. Daddy’s gonna make you feel all better, okay? No need to worry anymore.”

Saying that Toji had never had thoughts like these about you before would be far, far, from the truth. In fact, he’d lost count of the times he’d jerked off in the shower to the thought of burying his cock so deep inside you, you couldn’t breathe, but he always watched the cum swirl down the drain in shame. And you, the same. Your fingers never felt as good as you’d imagined Toji’s would. Even though you were closer than the average father-daughter duo, the two of you had never crossed that line. At least, not yet.

But now, your brain was so addled by this primal state that the implications of what your father was promising you meant nothing. All you could think about was relief.

Toji gulped. There’s no going back now.

“Lay on your back, baby.”

You quickly do as your told, movements far from graceful as you fell from his arms and stumbled back on the bed. Maybe he could just get away with a quick fingering – maybe that would put you back to sleep for now.

Slithering a hand down your sleep shorts, Toji shivered when he felt how soaking wet you were. Pressing the tip of his ring finger just at the rim of your hole had you whimpering, head falling back against the pillow and gripping his arm tight.

“More, please,” you groaned, eyes screwed shut.

“Okay, sweetheart.”

His ring finger slipped into your hole with shocking ease, absolutely no resistance. Clearly your body was well beyond desperate. The gasp and groan you let out was one of pure desperation and distress. The thick finger inside you surely felt nice, but it was still only one – you needed much more.

“More, more,” you whined, gripping his wrist and attempting to force him further inside you.

Toji’s heart pounded in his chest, dread filling his entire body and chilling his blood as the realization that his fingers would almost certainly not be enough. Even worse, the lethal combination of your scent, slick, and whines sent blood rushing south. Fuck.

A second finger dipped inside you, and he began slowly pumping them in and out of your hole, scissoring his fingers apart in a hopeless attempt filling you up enough to beget enough relief. It was simply futile.

Whines and whimpers filled the suite as you bore down on his fingers, taking it into your own hands to push him further inside you. The arousal churning through your veins was intolerable and it just wasn’t enough.

Throwing your arms around his neck, you yanked him towards you, making him stumble and almost collapse on top of you. Hot, frantic breaths fanned across his face as you pressed your forehead against his, involuntary guttural groans escaping your throat.

“Dad, please,” you begged. “P-put it in.”

His heart stopped, blood running cold at your desperate request. Once you crossed that line, you could never go back. Hearing your pained moans though, was addling Toji’s judgement.

“Honey, I…” he started, fingers still pumping in and out of you in hopes of keeping you slightly satiated. “I don’t know…”

Toji fought hard to maintain his composure, but the fact of the matter was, he was still an alpha - and a dominant one at that. Though middle age had relieved him of some of the more undesirable, undeniable traits of such a label, he was only human. One could only fight biology and primal instinct for so long.

“Fuck it.”

Pulling away his fingers despite your protests, he roughly yanked off your shorts and panties, flinging them off the side of the bed before throwing your legs over his shoulders. Tugging his boxers down just enough to pull out his aching cock, wasting no time at all as he forcefully thrusts into you, bottoming out immediately. Your cries were almost certainly loud enough to be heard outside your room, but neither of you could give less of a fuck.

Guttural groans tumbled out of Toji’s mouth as he basks in the feeling of your tight, wet heat clenching hard around his length, thrashing underneath him. Despite his considerable endowment, you had not a single complaint, your pussy clearly frantic to be filled.

“Daddy!” you cried out, throwing your arms around his neck and panting deeply, chest heaving.

“It’s okay sweetheart,” Toji assured, resting his forehead against yours. “Dad’s got you. It’ll be okay.”

It’s not long before he’s building up a considerable rhythm, fucking you hard and deep as you keened underneath him with a constant stream of whimpers and cries. The wet, sticky sound of skin on skin was sweet music to Toji’s ears, encouraging him to pick up the pace – something you were more than happy about.

The primal alpha instincts in him had him digging his nose deep into your neck just over your scent gland, huffing your potent scent like the sweetest drug, soaking up your pheromones that emanated from you. He wasn’t even aware of the way his own pheromones had mixed with yours, the musky odor clouding your senses. It was like you were made just for him, and he just for you. Your pheromones swirled together and encased the both of you in a blissful bubble of primitive desire and ecstasy.

The sex was messy, sloppy, and uncoordinated, having lost any sort of real rhythm in favor of frantically rutting into you, heavy balls slapping against your ass with every desperate thrust. A tiny voice in the back of Toji’s head, what was left of his rational mind, wondered if maybe your heat had catapulted him into rut, but that was no concern to him in the moment.

All you needed, all he wanted was to satiate your burning desire and arousal, to curb your instinctual need to fuck and be fucked, if only for a little bit.

Wanting to feel you deeper, Toji leaned forward to press your knees to your shoulders, allowing him to bury himself deep in your pussy, his tip kissing your cervix. So caught up in the ecstasy, a familiar yet bygone word escaped your lips.

“Papa!” you exclaimed, throwing your head back and gasping.

Papa. A term you had given up well over a decade ago, indicative of how far gone you were. How you had reverted to nothing but pure instinct, recognizing the man fucking you as what he once, and always would be, to you.

Toji almost came right on the spot. A strangled moan came from his throat, his arousal increasing tenfold.

“Say it again,” he demanded, voice deep and gruff.

There was no need to tell you twice. “Papa! Papa! Papa!” you chanted like a perverted spell, entirely unaware of what you were saying, much less the implications.

And Toji does something he swore he wouldn’t do – without halting his movements, he cupped your cheek and crashed his lips against yours. It was messy, all teeth and tongue and spit, but he could no longer keep himself from kissing his sweet, sweet daughter.

“Papa’s got you, baby,” Toji mutters against your lips, punctuating his words with hard thrusts. “Papa’s gonna make you feel so much better.”

The overstimulation of pheromones, messy kisses, and the hardest fuck you’ve ever had, had you hurtling closer and closer to what you so badly needed.

“Gonna come,” you whined, gripping his cheeks and pulling him in for a sloppy kiss.

That had Toji’s heart racing even faster, scared he’d go into cardiac arrest at this point.

“Come for me, baby,” he encourages, kissing you back. “Come for Papa.”

Your next words yet again brutally took him by surprise.

“Knot me, daddy, please.”

Fuck. How is he supposed to deny that?

As your own orgasm crashed over you like a suffocating wave, screams and moans piercing Toji’s ears, he continued to fuck into your oversensitive pussy deeper and deeper until he began to feel the familiar swelling at the base of his cock. And soon enough, he’s damn near howling as he spills hot, sticky cum into your welcoming cunt, balls spasming as they empty themselves inside you. Neither of you were in the right mind to reckon with the potential consequences of that.

Toji’s thick knot had swelled to full size, stretching to a point that had you whimpering, hugging your dad close.

“Hurts Papa, it hurts,” you whined, tears gathering in your glossy eyes.

Toji quickly kisses the tears away, cradling you as best he could. “I know, sweetheart, I know. It’ll go down soon, okay? And we can get some rest, you and me.”

The alpha was far from prepared for how many more of his knots were in your future.

[thewritetofreespeech]

pairing: Aemond x Reader

summary: your husband leaves for a hunting trip, but before he leaves he provides you with a gift to keep your fealty secure.

tags: heterosexual sex (m/f), chastity belt [fictional c. belt usage, don't come for me], oral (female receiving), cowgirl, aemond is a meanie to his wife, but also a sweetie, mentions of the other members of the Green but not present.

-------------------------------⚔️--------------------------------

The bells seemed to have not stopped ringing for days now.

First, to herald the new prince, Maelor, into the world. Then to call his father home.

Aegon had overheard of the Baratheon tradition of going hunting before the birth of a child. Claiming a new stag and presenting the pelt to the mother, which he thought was a splendid tradition. The hunting, not the presents for the mother; although any excuse to get out of the castle was Aegon’s ultimate goal. He assembled some of the finest hunters he could find, or at least on such short notice, and sped off into some forest while his wife labored through the end of her pregnancy and had her toil finally ended in the wee hours of the morning.

You were happy for Helaena. To have her child here & health and her agony ended. But also, selfishly, that your own agony might be ended too.

Your husband had gone with hers. Aegon insisted that family should be involved in this new process he was creating, and made his brother come with him for the hunt. Aemond did not fight him too hard. He too would look for any excuse to leave the castle, particularly when his half-sister & her family were around, and enjoyed hunting like any man of arms might when the opportunity struck.

However, before the princes left your husband presented you with a gift that had turned your ill-planned parting into a tortuous affair.

“I still don’t see why any of this is necessary.”

Aemond paid you little mind as he fastened the last strap and locked it. Admiring his work as he sat back on his heels. “I feel that my fidelity is being called into question.”

“It is not your fidelity, dearest one.” He told you. Standing to his full height above you as he slipped the key into his pocket. “A beautiful woman, alone, for some days’ time without her husband. I am protecting you from those less virtuous than you.”

You frown and drop your skirts. “Oh please.” As if anyone would dare touch you, or even glance in your direction too long, with Aemond the Fierce as your husband. Even before your marriage he had managed to scare off any suitor or admirer that came near. Deciding that you would be his and he would not have competition on the matter. His jealousy had not gotten any better since you were married, but luckily you found it endearing; in an odd, Targaryen ‘take no prisoner’ kind of a way. “I will be with your sister most of the time anyway whilst you are gone. Unless you think her a threat now?”

Aemond smirked. “I don’t know. Helaena does have a weakness for the oddest, cutest things.” He leaned in to give you a kiss, which you return despite your sulking pout.

“How am I to relieve myself with this thing?”

“There is a small hole.”

“Charming.”

“The point is that you, nor anyone else, can relieve you.” His hand came up to cup your cheek. “Not until I get back.”

You frown at Aemond again. Once again feeling your fidelity was being called into question, but now also your virtue. “Please. You think I am some nymph unable to curb my baser instincts while my husband is away? That the moment you leave I’ll just start humping the couches like a dog.” The prince scoffed. Amused by your joke. “I will be fine Aemond. I am sure I can last a week without ‘relief’ as you put it.”

“See that you do.” He gave you another kiss. Longer this time and you kiss him back properly, without the pout, as you realize this was your goodbye kiss. “Tell Helaena to push out that babe sooner rather than later. I’d hate to have to miss you by the time it’s all said and done.”

That had been a tenday ago, and you had been eating your words since the sixth.

At first, it was fine. You were indeed busy tending to Helaena. Keeping her comfortable. Keeping her entertained. You had not yet known the joy of being with child, but from where you were sitting across from her it seemed not to bring the joy often described. Your situation did not get problematic until night fall.

Alone in your bed, you had trouble falling asleep that first night without Aemond beside you. His gentle breathing not at your back. Had your bed always been this big? The second night sleep came a little easier, though you still missed your husband. By the third night, you really missed him. You suddenly realized that since your marriage not more than three days had gone by without Aemond sliding to your side of the bed to lay with you. He was not the braggart like his brother or other more crude lords at court, but he was quite the vivacious lover; when properly motivated by affection and praise.

Now alone, you were suddenly aware of your body and how much it had changed since being with Aemond. How, in a way, he had conditioned you for him. Before it would have been no problem for you to go without such pleasures, but now you seem unable to make it not 3 days without touch. Coupled with the fact that you couldn’t do anything about it with the damned belt on you were all the more frustrated in your situation and desired nothing more than for Aemond to come home.

You watched as the gates opened and Aegon’s party rode in. The horses galloping to a halt before the procession stage. No dragons this time. Aegon said it would take the sport out of.

The newly anointed father leapt from his horse and bounded up the steps of the small stage to Helaena. His eyes & smile bright as he looked on his newest son, Aegon took Maelor from her arms gently to hold him for the first time. It was all rather endearing.

Your attention turned from the happy scene to the steps again as they creak under foot. Aemond’s tall, lean frame now in full view. You find it difficult to breathe all of a sudden. As if your chastity belt was suddenly wrapped all the way around you like a corset. You grip the arms of your chair tight to stay strong and stay still. Aware that you were still in public and in front of your family after all.

“Look brother! Look at my new son!” The second prince walked over to his brother to look upon their newest addition. Giving his new nephew the smallest hint of a smile as he looked down at him. Your core quaked violently.

“Congratulations brother. Well done, Helaena.” The princess smiled shyly at her brother, and their mother seemed pleased for once at this happy moment.

Aemond snapped and made some sort of gesture at a servant, who scurried up the steps and handed him some ivory pelts from a chest that Aemond then gave to Helaena. Foxes, perhaps. Or maybe rabbits. You couldn’t be sure which as your sister-in-law gushed over their softness and color while you smiled & nodded along. Your mind completely focused on Aemond. He was so close now. You could practically smell him. The iron. The leather. The sweat & sun from riding back this afternoon. You have to swallow to keep the drool pooling in your mouth from leaking out. You had to get out of here. You had to get out of this…thing!

“If you’ll excuse me, I must wash the road off and rest in a proper bed if I am expected to entertain later.” Aemond’s voice cut through your thoughts. As if he heard you.

“You do not wish to stay and see the babe?” Aegon asked. Holding his new son up with a look of ‘what could be better than this?’. You could think of a few things, but as a lady you held your tongue.

“He’s not going anywhere, is he?” Aemond jest. To which his mother rolled her eyes and he kissed Helaena on the cheek. “I will see him at the feast, I’m sure.” He turned and finally looked at you. You felt your heart stop and your skirts grow moist before he offered his hand to you. “Come wife.”

You take his hand, digits trembling almost as much as that first time you took it, and stand. You kiss Helaena’s cheek on the other side, wishing her congratulations again, before Aemond lead you off the stage and into the palace. Luckily, by fate or design, the procession meeting ground was near your apartments. So it was a quick walk before you were at your door. They open for you, and Aemond only let out a stern “get out” to the servants, who only have mere seconds to flurry away before you were on each other. Your lips crashing against Aemond’s along with the rest of your body as you back him into a corner against the door like you felt you had been backed into all week.

“Get this fucking thing off me.”

“My, my, such language.” Aemond was grinning maliciously, but pridefully, down at you. “I leave for just a week and my sweet wife’s lips turn into that of a Braavosi sailor.” You gasp, nearly pant, as Aemond brushed his thumb over your bottom lip. Seeming fascinated by them. As if they were some intricate puzzle for him. “Did you miss me, issa jorrāelagon?”

You whimper as the High Valyrian rolls off Aemond’s tongue. Your thighs shivering as at the thought of it and those delicious purrs between them again. “Yes. I did.”

He seemed pleased. “I missed you too.” He kissed you again. Slower, sweeter, deeper this time, rather than tongue & teeth. It was a good thing Aemond’s arms were securely wrapped around you as his kiss made you swoon. “I would think of you every night.” His lips brush against your lips, your cheek, your chin. His hands caressing you softly everywhere as you stared dimly up at Aemond. Drunk from him. “While Aegon and his pack rutted with their camp followers, I would go to my tent and think of you. Stroke my cock along with your key around my neck, think of you waiting for me, until I could no longer take it anymore.”

You whimper & whine at Aemond’s words. A part of you elated to have that effect on your husband, but part of you also extremely jealous. You had been forced to wait while he had not. That seemed entirely unfair and should be corrected immediately.

“Aemond…please. I’m tired of waiting. Please take this off me so I can be your wife again.”

Your prince smiled at you. Pressing you back now as you kiss this time towards the bed. You had intentionally worn the simplest dress you had to the arrival. Beautiful in design and beadwork, but nowhere near the detailing of lacings and ties most of court lady fashion had. All with the intention of Aemond being able to get it off you quickly, which he succeeded at, and lay you on the bed. “Hells. You look radiant.”

“Aemond please…” You beg again. Bosom heaving. Your skin on fire at even the briefest touch of his fingertips against your calf. Tingling in your nakedness in front of him, save for this accursed belt.

He took pity on you it seemed and opened his vest with a few quick snaps. Producing the key from around his neck. He still kept it there, it seemed. Aemond gave you a long look, as if holding on to this final, torturing moment with some perverse pleasure at your suffering, before he undid the lock and helped you out of your ties.

You moan, loudly, with your head tilted back as it finally came off. Release from the belt was almost as pleasurable as the full release you were surely about to receive. Your skin able to breathe fully. Your limbs one with themselves again. It was enough to make your head spin, only to be brought back to you when you felt Aemond spread your thighs and kneel before you.

“A-Aemond! Wait! I haven’t washed properly in---mph!” He doesn’t seem to care.

Though you had bathed regularly since your parting, the belt made it difficult to clean yourself fully. Trust in this, you had tried. Every angle. Every side. Every idea imaginable to get around this accursed thing, but to no avail. Aemond seemed unbothered by this as he devoured your cunt like a starved man. That skilled Valyrian silver teasing your clit. Making you squirm on the bed, to the point that Aemond had to hold your thighs apart to the point of bruises. Gods, you hoped for bruises. The shift from no attention to this sudden onslaught was enough to drive you to madness. Overstimulated, you cum quickly with a sharp cry. “Oh Gods…..!”

Aemond doesn’t leave you until your walls stop quaking around him, then he lifted slowly from between your legs. “Still sweet as ever, issa jorrāelagon.”

The prince stripped out of his clothes with a speed you did not think possible of their usually intricate clothing. You bit your lip. Core throbbing even though you had just climaxed at the sight of your husband. Lean form. Alabaster skin. Pure white save for the hard, blushing cock pointed out at you. “Aemond…”

He chuckled. Probably finding your lust blown eyes and subconscious spreading of your legs for him amusing. “So needy.” He was enjoying this. Enjoying tormenting you with his fine figure and devilish smirk. People often whispered about how cruel Aemond was. You never believed them. But perhaps you would have to amend your thinking on the topic as it was cruel to have him on offer now and still make you wait.

He crawled on to the bed and on top of you. Your lungs filling with air and releasing in a sigh as you feel his weight on top of you. How you had missed even this part. To be close to your prince. To have his presence mix with yours. Not just the sex, but the intimacy was something Aemond had trained your body to as well. You hope to never be parted from it again.

“I’m rather tired from the journey.” He whispered to you. Panick welling up in you as he stroked your hair & cheek sweetly. He wasn’t going to stop, was he? You would punch him in that beautiful face if he stopped now! No a judicator in the land would convict you. “So, you will have to do all the work this time, sweet one.”

He gripped your hips then and flipped you over. You yip at the sudden change in equilibrium, but then moan as you felt his hardness brush against your sex. The length of it perfectly aligned to slide between your folds. By fate or design you could not be sure, but what you were sure of was that you needed it inside you.

“Take from me what you want, issa jorrāelagon. Let me see your rapture now that I am home. You deserve it.”

You whine at Aemond’s words and kiss him desperately. As a thank you? Just the burning need to touch him?

You lift up and line his cock up properly with your entrance. The wetness from your sex and anticipation allowing him to slide in easily, and you moan like a whore at the feeling of him inside you again. “You have to move, issa jorrāelagon.” Aemond reminded you. His tone sweet and teasing. This spell he had on you working over your mind as you are unable to think, just obey, and start to move your hips.

Aemond watched you from below. His eye and sapphire fixed solely on you as you writhed in pleasure on top of him. Every bit the nymph you claimed not to be just a short while ago as your body and mind were lost to you in the sole pursuit of pleasure.

“Aemond..! Aemond…! So good!”

“I know, my love.” He must be close. The grit of his teeth, and the fact that he used your nickname in common instead of High Valyrian, his tell. “I’m close. Just a bit more.” You weren’t sure if you could last that long as you were suddenly bursting all around. Body shaking. Gasping for air. Luckily, it seemed just enough for Aemond and his hips arched up to push deeper inside you as he spilled his seed.

You collapse on top of your husband. Sweaty, wanton, spent. Aemond, for his part, seemed to catch his breath rather quickly and flipped you back over. “What are you doing?”

“Truly you did not think that would be the only time I had you.” You cry out when Aemond thrust his still hard cock into your sensitive sex. “We have near a week to make up for.”

It was much later in the afternoon by the time Aemond felt he had properly ‘balanced the scales’. Your body was exhausted, but content. Laying with your husband in the afterglow, and your ruined bed, a tonic for your soul you didn’t know you needed. “I have a gift for you.”

“Another one?” You tease your prince, who smiled and untangled himself from you to go over to a chest you hadn’t realized was in the room. You recognize it though as the chest the servant had brought to Aemond at his command when he presented the pelts to his sister.

“I caught this one when I was out on my own. Aegon & his troupe were off to the east with their wine and crossbows. I went west, as no quarry would come with their revelry. Seemed only fitting that since I found it on my own, my wife should have it.”

It was a pelt of pure onyx. Soft, but not nearly as soft as what Helaena had gotten earlier. This was the pelt of a beast, not prey. “Aemond, it’s beautiful.” Your fingers sift through the fine hairs. Feeling the power of its former master almost transfer into your fingers. “Thank you.”

“I am glad you like it. Perhaps I shall have to find you a new one, in nine months.” You glance over at Aemond out of the corner of your eye. Quick to understand his meaning. Quick to realize that Aemond wants his own son now that he’s seen Aegon with his second.

“Perhaps.” Time would only tell. You move your beautiful new fur to the side and crawl into Aemond’s waiting lap. “But if you leave me here for a week while I suffer alone, I will kill you. Do you hear me?”

Aemond laughed in the face of his own danger. “No. I would never leave you. This tryst was amusing, but I will be damned before I follow a Baratheon’s tradition before our own.” He lifted your hand and kissed it softly. “Our kin will have dragon eggs in their beds, not pelts.”

“Good.” You agreed and kissed him fully.

You make love again. Slowly, intimately this time. The kind of joining you both hope brings children. You would have to bathe and get dressed for the welcoming feast later that evening. Aegon’s welcome home and Maelor’s official presentation, along with all the spoils the men had caught on their hunt. But for now, it would just be you and Aemond. Enjoying each other and being back in one another’s arms.

Your last present though mysteriously vanishes. You have no idea where the belt went to, or what was done with it. Aemond had no answers. But you have a sinking suspicion it was moved somewhere for safe keeping; lest you find it and burn it, as was your threat long after.

[izels-writing]

j. potter — 5 times james showed you he loved you + the 1st time he said it

Pairing: james potter x childhood best friend!fem!reader

Summary: james is in love with you, as you are with him.

Warnings: longer than usual, FLUFFF, a bit specific (y/n have a big family and nut allergy), a break up (not james ), confession scene is bad but i feel that’s what childhood best friend love confession would look like😭, ALSO I USED A LITTLE DIALOGUE FROM GILMORE GIRLS AND B99 BC I JUST HAD TO OKAY IT WAS FUNNY

a/n: i tried so hard with this one, pls tell me if u like it! it’s a bit different than my usual writing

august 12th, 1969:

"what're you two doing?" euphemia potter asked, a small smile gracing her lips as she noticed you and james sat across each other on his bedroom floor.

you placed your piece down, grinning at james' utter disappointment as you took his piece in the process. he groaned.

"we're playing muggle chess," he told his mother. "and y/n's beating me!"

you smiled. "i told him it wasn't as easy as he thought!" you countered, noticing euphemia's chuckle.

"well, it's getting late you two," she said. "i don't suppose you two expect to be up until the wee hours playing this game," though she tried to be stern, you and james knew how incapable she was when it came to the two of you.

"mum! we're nine now! can't we just have a little bit longer? nine o'clock it too early," james complained. "how about ten thirty?"

euphemia crossed her arms in thought. "how about ten o'clock?"

"ten-twenty," james countered.

"ten-fifteen," euphemia concluded, "take it or leave it,"

"we'll take it!" you exclaimed. james nodded in agreement, though, he always agreed with whatever you said.

you supposed that was part of the best friends thing.

you and james had been best friends since you were five years old, when your parents inherited the house next door to his—which was a blessing given the large family you had. three brothers, two sisters, and you—making a total of six kids. your three bedroom apartment wasn't cutting it anymore at that point.

so, to escape your loud and obnoxious family, you often spent all of your time at the potters. it helped that you and james didn't go to school, given euphemia taught you at home. out of all of your siblings, only you and two of your brothers had inherited magic. whereas the rest of them had to attend muggle school, you, james, and your two brothers were homeschooled by euphemia.

and everyone knew since the day you moved in, you and james were inseparable.

"alright then, either of you fancy a snack?" euphemia asked. "i don't want either of you eating too late,"

"no, thank you, mrs. potter," you replied with a small smile.

"yeah, we're okay mum, thank you," james added.

"of course," euphemia grinned. she eerily looked like a girl version of james when she did grinned, you supposed that's why you found her so comforting. "and y/n, dear, how many times have i told you to call me mia?"

you smiled sheepishly. "i'm sorry, i can't,"

and truthfully, as much as you tried, it felt way to disrespectful to call her by her name and not mrs. potter.

"yeah," james snickered, "she's got this weird compulsion where she has to be perfect and respectful all the time," james taunted.

"shut up," you laughed, shoving james gently.

"alright, well, ten-fifteen...alright?" she looked at you both warningly.

"yes ma'am," you and james chorused, but as soon as she left, you two burst into a fit of laughter.

even if lights were out by ten-fifteen, you two would still be awake all hours of the night laughing and talking about seemingly nothing.

you let him play his turn, smiling as he made a rookie mistake. you quickly showed him how bad his mistake was.

"y/n!" he groaned.

"face it, potter," you sighed. "i'm just better..."

he rolled his eyes and shoved the pillow in his lap at your face. you, being you, caught it with a laugh and threw it aside. analyzing the board as he went to make his next move.

he'd never admit he let you win just so he could see the smile on your face when you did.

——

march 15th, 1996:

"stop painting her nails and help me find an outfit!" sirius exclaimed. "moony won't wait forever!"

james looked up from your hand as you both turned to look at sirius. though he'd never admit it aloud, james loved painting your nails ever since you forced him to do it the first time because your hands were too shaky.

"red shirt, leather jacket, and..." you squinted before turning to james to let him decide what pants your lovesick friend should wear.

"black jeans," he decided. you nodded in agreement.

"thank you, mr. and mrs. potter," sirius sighed, pulling out the exact clothes you two had picked out. "finally you pay attention to me,"

his nickname for you both made you shift slightly, as it always did. not that either of them noticed.

"don't be dramatic, sirius," you replied, rolling your eyes. "painting nails is tedious work,"

"you're tedious work," sirius grumbled, quickly changing. the boys had no qualms changing in front of you despite the fact that you were a girl, they'd known you as long as they'd known james—given you were a package deal when you got to hogwarts.

"how are you two planning to spend the afternoon?" he asked, making conversation as he finished up his eyeliner.

"napping," you replied. you had pulled the longest study session ever last night, and still had to wake up in time for classes. to say you were tired was an understatement.

james didn't like naps as much as you, but he laid with you until you fell asleep because he was so warm. you practically forced him to.

"cuddle session?" sirius asked, ruffling his hair in style.

"that's the one," james replied, finishing your last nail.

"it never ceases to amaze me how close you two are without being in love," sirius chuckled before slipping on his shoes. "anyway, bye...don't wait up for me and moony," he winked before closing the door behind him.

he wasn't entirely truthful. sirius knew about your long haboured crush in james since your third year of hogwarts. at first, you were convinced it was just teen hormones and it'd wear off.

it did not.

if anything, it got worse ever since then. you couldn't be near the boy without smiling and you certainly spent most of your time with him if not with mary or the other boys you two had befriended. he just understood you, he was your person.

the worst part was that you knew he didn't feel the same. you'd known since your first year about his undying love for lily evans, which had progressed so much more over the years.

you supposed you'd get over it eventually.

you scoffed. "look at him, flaunting what we don't have—remus,"

"i know, the utter torture knowing remus will never be ours," he sighed sarcastically. you laughed,

he lied down, arm behind his head which flexed all the right muscles. meanwhile you blew at your nails to make them dry faster. you marveled at the beautiful pink color, perfectly done by your best friend.

"you can take the girl out of the muggle world, but not the muggle world out of the girl," james teased before grabbing his wand and waving it wordlessly. in an instant, your nails were fully dry.

you scoffed. "please, you love the muggle world,"

he grinned. "yeah, i do," he shrugged.

you lied beside him, curling up into him to wrap your arms around his waist and your legs around his hips. it wasn't always the most comfortable position for him, but he put up with it for you, unbeknownst to you. you lied your head on his shoulder, breathing in his aromatic cologne.

you never understood why you tortured yourself like this. you knew these moments would just make you fall harder for him, but you couldn't help yourself. even if he'd never be your boyfriend, at least you had him in your life.

"alright, see you in two hours," you mumbled, adjusting your head comfortably.

"i'll be here," he sighed in fake annoyance. "waiting..."

"shut up," you muttered sleepily.

a few movements later, he smiled softly as you began to snore quietly. he kissed your head ever so softly, as to not wake you, pushing hair out of your face.

he really did hate naps.

but not the ones with you.

——

september 22nd, 1974:

the five of you sat in the greats hall, piling your plates as everyone chattered during their dinner. you laughed at whatever sirius said, waiting for remus to let go of the spoon for the macaroni bowl.

"pads, wipe your mouth," james scolded, handing the friend in question a cloth. sirius rolled his eyes and grabbed it, wiping his mouth aggressively.

"happy?" the grey-eyed got asked in feign annoyance.

you laughed as james rolled his eyes and nodded.

"y/n, do you want some?" peter asked, showing you a plate of fruit bars with nuts in it.

"do you want her to die?!" james exclaimed, though it was drowned out by the loudness of the great hall.

you, sirius, and remus exchanged looks. james took all of you guys' allergies seriously, but for some reason, with yours he became scandalized. you took a deep breath, sending an apologetic look toward peter.

james scoffed. "does she look like snivellus to you?"

peter blinked at him.

"does she?" james demanded. the four of you didn't know whether he was genuinely being serious.

"no...?" peter replied.

"then why are you trying to poison her?!" he snapped.

peter sighed, remembering your allergy suddenly. "i'm sorry, y/n," he said. "i forgot,"

"it's okay," you replied with a small smile.

james glared at peter.

"what?!" peter exclaimed. "i said sorry! it's not like i shoved it down her throat!"

"shame on you, wormy," he shook his head.

"james, believe it or not," you said. "i'm a big girl, i can just tell peter no when he offers,"

"it's about principle, y/n!" he replied.

"and you call yourself one of her best friends," james scoffed, shaking his head at peter again.

"james, if you don't stop, i'll put normal milk in your cereal, you lactose-intolerant freak," peter threatened.

remus sighed. "one peaceful dinner, it's all i ask," he grumbled. sirius rubbed his arm comfortingly.

you laughed loudly, making the other four turn to you. quickly, the rest of them broke and laughter filled the table. quickly, remus, sirius, and peter resumed their own conversation—leaving you to talk to james.

"thanks for remembering, it's very kind of you," you admitted to him lowly. "even though you're such a drama queen about it," you taunted.

"of course, i actually know you," he whispered back. "not like these posers,"

you laughed, shoving him playfully. "you're such a loser,"

"takes one to know one," he fired back.

you rolled your eyes and joined in the conversation in front of you, grabbing a cookie and breaking it in half. without breaking your conversation, you handed one half to james and began to eat the other.

he smiled at you and ate his half.

of course he remembered everything about you. how could he not? you were going to be in his life for the rest of it. that he was sure of.

——

june 12th, 1975:

you sniffled, wiping your nose on a tissue as you went through your various polaroids. your boyfriend, well ex-boyfriend now, had broken up with you a couple hours ago. as much as you tried not to cry over a boy, especially one that wasn't your best friend, you couldn't help but feel hurt nonetheless.

you liked him. and he just made a bet to date you for five months.

mary, marlene, emmeline, and lily had tried to comfort you but to no avail. you asked them to leave you be and they complied, silently agreeing to get the one person who they all knew could comfort you.

you held back a sob, cutting up the pictures and discarding them in the dorm trash. god, you felt pathetic. he wasn't worth it. but it still hurt.

a knock at the door caught your attention.

"come in," you sniffled, thinking it was one of the girls trying to get to your shared room that you selfishly kicked them out of. you hated crying in front of people.

a tall, lean raven-headed boy entered the room. he held a box of tissues and a buttload of snacks. he set everything down on your desk, eyes scanning you sadly.

"he dated me on a bet, james," you sniffled as your voice wavered slightly. "he broke up with me this morning,"

you met his eyes, seeing how worried he looked, and got shoved your face into your hands—a quiet sob escaping your lips, muffled by your hands.

"i'm so sorry, love," he mumbled, sitting in front of you to pull you into a hug. you hugged him back tightly, crying quietly into his shoulder. you felt terrible for his tear-stained shoulder, but the tears wouldn't stop.

you just felt so pathetic and used. how could you fall for it so easily? but you suppose if there was anyone you could be vulnerable with, it was your best friend in the entire world.

"why didn't he like me?" you mumbled tearfully.

"because he's an idiot," james replied, holding you tightly. "because he doesn't know what a great girl is even if it slapped him in the face,"

you let go. "how could i be so stupid? i mean i should've known! in all my five years at hogwarts, no boy has ever asked me out... i should've trusted my gut," you shook your head disappointedly.

"you're not stupid," james assured you. "he is, don't get it twisted. you liked him, there's nothing wrong with that, he just happened to be a prat,"

you frowned. "i suppose. but i mean i should've known..."

james cupped your face, looking into your eyes. "listen to me, y/n," he said seriously. "you are the most beautiful girl i know, you're smart and kind and funny and understanding...i could go on and on. he lost a great girl and he will pay for it for the rest of his life, do not feel pathetic and upset over some stupid bloke—got me?"

you let a smile grace your face. "you think i'm beautiful?"

he huffed and let go of your face, though you could see his playful expression. "is that really the only thing you got from that?"

you shook your head. "no, i heard you loud and clear," you admitted with a small smile. "thank you, j, you're the ultimate best friend,"

he grinned. "i know, it's a talent,"

you rolled your eyes. without you having to say anything, he grabbed the snacks and began to open them up for you, the both of you beginning to eat from the packages of snacks.

"am i more beautiful than farrah fawcett?" you asked teasingly.

"don't push your luck," he huffed.

you let out a melodic laugh and instantly, a smile spread across james' face. that's all he wanted, was to make you laugh.

the very next week, your ex boyfriend ended up in the hospital wing after a few humiliating yet harmless hexes being cast on him. unfortunately, all four marauders received detention for something they had very obviously done.

james didn't care. he'd go through millions of detentions if it meant protecting you.

——

may 27th, 1976:

a thousand used tissues and a finished vial of cold medicine later, you had only gotten through the first five chapters of your potions book. despite your efforts, you hadn’t made much progress in the years worth of material you were set to cover. exams were in two weeks and you were much more behind than you had realized. you had no time to recover, not when o.w.l’s determined what classes you received next year.

your eyes drooped as you turned the page, leaning your head in your hand tiredly. you weren’t even sure you were retaining anything anymore, just studying so you could say you had done it.

lily and mary had left you some time ago, tired themselves. they had begged you and pleaded for you to join them in your dorm, so you could sleep off the medicine. you were the only one sick—just your luck.

you refused and moreover, begun to ignore them. they didn’t take it personally, they knew how you could get around exam time. they muttered that they’d come back to check on you soon. that had been four hours ago, and you were happy that they seemingly weren’t going to come back any time soon.

a loud clatter across the library made you sit up from your medicine-potion-induced trance. your eyes opened wider, scanning the dark library for any movement. madam pince had left two hours ago, given the library had closed and she had no idea you were back here.

“hello?” you whispered, mentally cursing yourself for the stupid mistake. if there was someone here, like a teacher, you surely had just given yourself away.

thankfully for you, it wasn’t a teacher or staff member. instead, it was your best friend.

“y/n? what’re you doing here? it’s twelve-a.m.!” james whispered loudly, moving the books that had blocked your view effortlessly. he kneeled by you on the chair, your body relaxing as you realized it was him.

“baking a cake,” you replied sarcastically. “what does it look like i’m doing, potter?”

“first of all, you know last names hurt me,” james replied. “secondly, you look like shit,”

he felt your forehead. “and you feel like shit,”

“wow, you sure know how to charm a lady, james,” you replied with a playfully eye roll. “don’t worry, i’m on my way back to the dorms, just twenty more minutes,”

james gave you a deadpan look. “mary and lily told me you said that four hours ago,”

so that’s who revealed your location. the traitors.

“james, i have to study! i can’t just not pass my potions o.w.l’s?” you replied.

james sat on the chair diagonal to you, looking at your very obviously sick form. it had to be some strain of the summer flu, given remus had gotten it just a week prior.

“to quote my mother, you have to sleep—it’s what keeps you beautiful,” he tried persuasively. you were not nothing if not vain.

you scoffed. “who’s gonna cares about beauty if i fail my finals?!”

“your future husband?” james tried.

“i won’t be marrying anyone that vain,” you concluded.

“that should make me feel better,” he replied. “but you working yourself to death does not,”

“okay, you can study for twenty more minutes,” he sighed after a moment of you staring at each other. “i’ll go make you a tea and wait with you to make sure you actually come to bed,”

you rolled your eyes and waved him off, returning to your potions textbook in no time. james quickly ambled out of the library and made his way to the kitchen.

thankfully for him, filch was on leave for a few days, not that anyone knew that. he had walked into a particularly nasty prank by james and sirius, leaving him stuck in the hospital wing for a few days. all the staff elected to not tell students, in hopes it’d scare them into not sneaking out at night.

james quickly made his way back to the kitchen, asked the house elves for a tea, and began making his way back. it was in a tiny coffee to go cup—why the house elves had them, james had no idea, but it certainly made his life easier.

he couldn’t have been gone more than a ten minutes, but as james got back, he quickly noticed the angle of the light from your wand was not the same as it had been when he left. james quietly made his way over and smiled warmly at the sight.

there you were, head lying on the table, hands tucked into your sweatshirt in attempts to be warm. you were sound asleep, the potion having finally caught up to you. granted, james was just glad the amount you had drank hadn’t killed you—as he was sure it wasn’t safe at all to finish a vial in one day.

he walked over and summoned a blanket with the flick of his wand, allowing for his hand to catch it immediately. he placed the tea down on the table. then, he pushed the hair out of your face and draped the cover over you, kissing your head gently as he had felt you do to him so many times.

he wrapped it around you and with one swift motion, he wrapped an arm around your knees and another around your neck—cradling you close to his chest. you woke for a moment, brief and unaware, to wrap your arms around his neck. he tried to fight the nerves that twisted in his stomach at your touch.

and all the way from the library to the common room, james held you tight and carried you all the way back, careful not to wake you. you were burning up, but other than that, you looked comfortable. much more comfortable than before.

the fat lady, without a word, swung open when she saw james and he safely brought you inside—laying you down on the couch. you stirred a bit and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“thanks, j,” you whispered.

“of course,” he grinned, sitting beside you, moving your legs on his lap. “now get some sleep, i’ll wait here with you,”

“you’re a good best friend,” you mumbled through a yawn.

james smiled and kissed his fingers, gently placing them on your head. you smiled happily and fell asleep in no time.

he only wished that one day he’d be more than just your best friend.

——

october 11th, 1977:

you sat in front of james on his bed, finishing up an essay you two had worked on together. the entire day, no—the entire week, he’d been acting strange. james was usually strange, but not this strange. he had been gentler and his face would burn up whenever sirius mentioned his little nickname for both of you.

it was beginning to scare you. what if he was becoming uncomfortable with the jokes? the nicknames? what if he had a girlfriend and he didn’t know how to tell you that your relationship with each other would have to change? how would you even react to that?

you looked up at him, noticing the boy wringing his hands. despite this, you said nothing. maybe you could live in denial just a little longer.

“i have something to tell you,” james spoke suddenly.

you looked up, eying him carefully. “what’s up, j?”

james’ face flushed a light pink as he looked up at you sincerely. he swallowed thickly. for a moment, he stared at you. you both just looked into each others eyes and you were unsure what to do next. he’d never been this serious with you.

“you alrig—“

“i love you,” he blurted. “as more than a best friend,”

you would like to say that what you did next was completely intentional, but it wasn’t. as a matter of fact, you weren’t quite sure where it came from.

THUD!

you covered your mouth, looking in shock as james landed on the ground. he wasn’t terribly hurt, just shocked. you were shocked as well.

“that is…not what i expected,” james muttered, standing up and sitting in front of you again.

“what was that for?” he asked.

“i dunno…” you mumbled. “i panicked, i didn’t know what to say…”

james softened his gaze at you and a smile curled onto his lips. soon enough, you began to smile too. and then you both burst into laughter. after you both sobered up, you smiled at him.

“i love you too, as more than a best friend,” you finally replied. it felt like a weight lifted off your shoulders—you finally confesses your biggest secret to james. “just so you know,”

he smiled. “i’m glad to hear that,”

“wow, what a loser,” you commented playfully. “usually this is the scene where the guy kisses the girl,”

he grinned. “really? sort of like this?”

he pulled you in, your lips touching quickly. if this is what heaven felt like, you understood why everyone wanted to go so bad. you pulled him closer, refusing to break the kiss.

you broke apart finally. “yeah…like that,” you grinned.

“will you…?” james stumbled on his words.

you grinned, knowing him perfectly enough to know exactly what he’s asking. “yes, james, i will be your girlfriend,” you replied happily.

he smiled, pulling you in again.

he’d finally confessed it.

bonus;

“what’re you two doing?” you grinned, leaning against the doorway of your son harry’s room.

he threw down a card, glaring at ginny as she placed down her own card with a smirk.

“we’re playing uno,” ginny replied with a smile. “ron didn’t want to play so harry and i decided to go against each other,”

“how is it a muggle game and she’s beating me?! she’s never even played before!” harry exclaimed.

“you underestimate weasley’s,” ginny grinned. “we’re not as ignorant as you think,”

“well, it’s getting late you two,” you commented, glancing at the clock in harry’s room. “i don’t suppose you two plan on playing until the wee hours,”

“mum! we’re thirteen now!” harry groaned. “we can stay up a little later than nine-thirty, right?”

ginny nodded and shrugged. “i mean i’m twelve, but still…”

you sighed in feign annoyance. “fine, ten-fifteen, and then ginny will go sleep in your sisters room and you and ron will have to go to bed—sound good, you two?”

“but—“ harry began.

you smirked. your son—ever the clone of james potter, your husband. “let me rephrase, ten-fifteen, take it or leave it,”

“we’ll take it!” ginny replied quickly.

“yeah, we will,” harry smiled, glancing at ginny with a little glint in his eyes. you and james knew full well the future of harry and ginny’s relationship, even if no one else did.

“good, ten-fifteen,” you said warningly before making your way downstairs.

james lounged on the couch, clicking through tv channels. you curled up beside him.

“they’re doing the thing,” you commented, knowing james would know exactly what you meant.

“remember when we were that young and in love?” james grinned.

“aren’t we still young and in love?” you teased.

“not that young anymore, but in love? yes,” he replied with a smirk. you rolled your eyes and kissed his cheek, wrapping your arms around his chest and draping your legs across his lap.

“i’m glad it’s ginny, she’s a bold little lady,” your husband grinned. “just the other day, she defended your son against this kid at the little league quidditch try-outs, even punched his nose,”

“i know, harry came home and told me all about it,” you grinned. “all impressed and admiring, even ron saw how in love he looked,”

“well, we potter men love ballsy ladies,” james joked.

you rolled your eyes. “don’t i know it…”

[botanyshitposts]

ok INCREDIBLY old content originally meant for this blog but in 2018 when i was just a wee lad with a little spinner propeller hat and big rainbow lollipop i went to a carnivorous plant convention in california and met a bunch of people who breed/collect/study these guys. one person was this collector who was slowly working on leaving the hobby or at least no longer growing plants, and he had a bunch of carnivorous plant related files he was charging like 50 cents for or something, and so i came into possession of these, which are examples of the kind of paperwork you have to have done to legally ship/trade endangered species of both plants and animals. functionally very boring paperwork, but something i found like, incredibly fascinating. i blacked out the personal id of the person and then immediately forgot to ever upload them, lmao.

these plants were bred and raised in a greenhouse and sold abroad, not taken from the wild, but because the species are endangered and often protected in their native countries (most of these are nepenthes, asian pitcher plants, a huge family spread throughout oceania and southeast asia), there's a lot more documentation that needs to be done regardless of their origin, both on the end of the seller and on the end of the buyer.

the rabbit hole on carnivorous plant trade is deep and kind of wild. there's plenty of common, non-threatened, greenhouse-grown pitcher plants on the market that people buy all the time, even non-collectors, but there's a whole debate to be had on if it's morally okay to be collecting the more endangered/rare of these plants in the first place. the big argument for breeding is that breeding them in captivity means there's more supply that's not poached from the wild, meaning poachers have less of an incentive to take the risk of taking adult plants from their habitats; from what i've heard, sometimes countries will issue permits for breeders to collect some wild seeds just to create a non-wild breeding pool to drive down the price. predictably, however, you also get people who are very much willing to pay a lot of money to get as rare of a plant as possible.

anyone familiar with the allure valuable plants have had over people throughout history can imagine the rest, but here's an article about a guy who started buying poached plants to enrich his private nepenthes collection, who then got busted by a fish and wildlife service agent embedded in his carvirorous plant circle. the plants this guy was buying were being sold to him without any CITES paperwork or declarations like the ones above; it was literally just a guy in indonesia taking rare plants from the woods around where he lived, selling them over facebook marketplace and ebay, and mailing them overseas as an undeclared 'gift' to get around customs. frighteningly small steps to take on all sides, to be honest.

(also, fun fact: another example of carnivorous plants that get poached are wild venus fly traps, which are only native to north and south carolina in the US. from what i understand it's a mix of people who genuinely did not know it's a native species and people who really are just going out into the woods and digging up plants to sell online. sometimes poaching is closer to home than you'd think!)

anyway. wild and interesting times in the land of plants recovered from a hard drive lmao

[gremlingottoosilly]

Normal People Things (dark!141 x fem!Reader)

Soap drags you to his place to meet with his lieutenant. It goes as smoothly as you can imagine. AO3 CW and tags: Non-con, poly, group sex, size kink, daddy kink, power imbalance, kidnapping, dead dove do not eat, forced orgasms, praise, humiliation

The ride is short – shorter than you anticipated. You don’t know if you wanted it to be longer if you needed more time to sort out the thoughts flying in your head – you feel numb, empty, hollow, all of those stupid words for stupid expressions because nothing can quite describe the dread settling in your stomach. 

Your throat burns, your makeup is ruined, you are shaking like a kitten left under a rain – you listen to some light music, something you could hear in the car of a guy you’d probably be interested in. Classic rock, some melodic sensations, if you squint and cover your mouth, you can almost relax and stop the desire to puke. You felt mostly sober when the Scot was pushing his dick in your mouth, the horror of the situation forcing your mind to clear up a little – but now it’s foggy again, blurry and messy every time you open your eyes just to see the same man on the front seat, smiling every time he catches you looking at him through the mirror. 

He broke your phone, obviously – snatched it from your hands and broke it in two with horrifying ease. He kissed you after this, cold lips on your forehead. You were crying, or so you think – you were crying this whole ordeal, your face feeling wet and burning as he was fucking laughing, trying to get you to talk to him. You wouldn’t, even if your throat weren’t hoarse and hurting from the fucking he gave you. 

“Want to grab somethin’ to eat, bonnie? I know a bloody lovely place, eh?”

You didn’t respond, the thought of taking something from a guy who eligibly kidnapped you made you sick. Besides, it’s not like food will do you any good – your stomach is spinning from a combination of fear and alcohol, and even though you’d love to ruin this pretty car, you don’t want to evocate even more negative feelings from its owner. He hasn’t hurt you too much yet – no bruises, no broken bones or blood, and you don’t want to provoke him further. 

“Don’t cry so much, I didn’t even fucked ye. I’ll get ye off later, aye?” 

You don’t want him to ever touch you again – despite that disgusting, burning feeling on your panties, the way your little cunt is fucking soaked because his voice is gruff, his face is pretty, and he almost touched you in a way that wasn’t making you sick – it all dropped now, thankfully, your mind is reminded of just how horrible he really is. “Just sit yer wee arse here, lassie. Lt and I will take care of ye” You almost fell asleep when he finally stopped in front of…a building. You don’t know what you were expecting – an evil lair, maybe some grimy base where monsters like him are being made. Not a rather normal apartment building, maybe a bit too scary and dark for your liking – you probably wouldn’t want to live here or even be around this place at night, but, ultimately, it doesn’t look like an evil base. 

This only makes your condition worse – you start sobbing again, useless and pathetic begging as the Scot drags you out of the car, supporting your wobbly legs and making sure you won’t fall down to the ground as he gently caresses your body. He is too fucking soft, too gentle – even his grip on your wrists isn’t bruising, he has one hand on your waist, gently pushing you towards the building. 

***

Ghost wasn’t expecting guests today. He just got out of another deployment, a few days from the previous mission, ready to get back any time if it weren’t for the fact they all deserved a little retreat – yet, he was planning to go with alcohol, maybe some lowly jerk-off sessions with Johnny and shitton of cigarettes to pass the day. What he wasn’t expecting is his sergeant spamming the 141 group chat – shitty idea, really, too much liability and security problems, despite all the measures Price took to encrypt everything – with pictures of cute, crying girl being all adorable, scared and fucking defenseless. 

No one in 141 is a good person – it comes with the job, really, if you’re willing to be a good guy with a gun, there will always be a moment when the lines become blurred. Dragging a civilian girl to their damp apartment isn’t a life-or-death decision made in the field, but they all deserve a bit of sweetness after a mission, right? 

They can be good for you. Simon isn’t sure there is anything in his heart that can still be declared as soft and fuzzy feelings, but he is willing to try and find it, even if for a night. They won’t be letting you go, obviously, Lasswell won’t cover their sorry asses in case you’re getting out with a marvelous surviving story, so you all would have a lot of time to get to know each other. 

— Thought you’d bring food, Johnny. 

— I did. Not my fault they gave up sweets as freebies. 

— How is she? 

— Quiet. Our lassie is a smart girl, eh? Didn’t even fight too much. 

— Fuckin’ hell. Thought they stopped making those a while ago. 

— Good thing I found her, aye? 

Ghost stands at the door of their shared apartment, staring at adorable scared you. You’re shaking in his sergeant’s hands, poor thing, too fucking terrified to even run – you have mascara smeared all over your face, drool and cum on your lips, and he drags a finger to your mouth, wiping it all away. 

You instinctively suck on his finger, the natural obedience coming with a very simple “please, don’t hurt me” plea – and he fucking knows you will be so good for them. He is dragging you inside, allowing Soap to push the takeout bag on the small table in the kitchen while Simon is dealing with all of those silly clothes you’re wrapped in. 

You beg him to stop, but, at this point, even you don’t think he will. All ounces of hope were destroyed already. You aren’t sure what you want anymore – maybe you want to just lay down and sleep, hoping that they will stop tormenting you. The ache between your legs only grows stronger when Ghost drags you to the bedroom, his strong, bulky hands holding you so perfectly – so firmly, you can’t even wish to move away. 

The mattress creaks under the combined weight of your bodies. You roll to the side immediately, your brain is foggy from alcohol again – you don’t even register his rough, firm hands as he is slowly dragging the ruined dress from your body, revealing the underwear you spend so much time choosing and buying. You liked the combination – you wanted to wear something nice today, even if no one would have seen it. 

Now you have this horrifying man in a skull balaclava and harsh hands tugging on the straps of your bra. You sob, head spinning and vomit picking in your throat. The man puts a hand between your shoulder blades, just enough pressure to make you grounded – to remind you that there is no way out, even in your mind. 

— Calm down, love. Won’t hurt ya. 

You choke on a laugh – they are literally going to fucking assault you, you were already forced to suck on Soap’s dick, and yet, this man is playing gentleman with you while undressing you at the same time. You cry again, your tears met with a soft hand on your cheek – checking on you. 

God, you want to drown in this affection, no matter how artificial it is. 

— L…let me go, please. I won’t tell anyone. 

— Too late for that, eh? Johnny don’t have any bloody manners. 

Scot screams from the kitchen, making you wince from the sound. 

“Bloody hell, Lt, I ken ye were fine with draggin’ our lassie here a minute ago!“ You sobs intensify, and you never felt more fragile than before – just one loud sound is enough to break you. The British guy drags you into an uncomfortably tight embrace almost immediately – you’d say you’re almost thankful for the moment of affection, but he snaps your bra a second later. 

— Sorry, love. Will buy you a new one. 

His fingertips are rough on your skin, a contrast that sends shivers down your spine. You whine, feeling stranded like this – feeling like you’re going to be fucking sick from the moisture in your panties. You hate yourself for being this touch starved, but the man is as rough as he is mysterious – and by the look of his figure, perfectly sculpted hands, and a healthy amount of tummy that doesn’t make him look any less intimidating, he might be up to your tastes. It's too bad you don’t have a choice anyway. 

— Don’t touch me. 

— Can’t help it. You’re pretty. 

You feel like you are going to have a fucking panic attack. This is too much – you feel sick, you feel mortified, you are getting your hands out of his hold with the power of surprise and dragging them closer to your mouth, trying to contain the involuntary bile collecting in your throat. You gag, finally feeling all the alcohol you took, getting back to bite you in the ass. 

Before you could say or try anything else, before you could even be bent over, trying to calm yourself down before you dirty everything in this fine-looking bedroom, Brit already dragged you to the bathroom, allowing you to look at the tile floor and white ceramics while you were vomiting your guts, cum, and anxiety out of your stomach. 

It took you a few minutes before you could get anything out – and another few while you were just holding the toilet seat, not even caring about how unsanitary it was. You feel like you’re going to die, the throbbing in your head only intensifying as you could almost feel dropping out of conscience. God, you will never drink again – even though it’s a promise that will break you right after you break it. 

— Bloody hell, love. Easy. Easy. 

— F…fuck you. 

— You will, love. Promise. 

The skull mask guy was rubbing your back the whole time, a motion you didn’t expect from a kidnapper, rapist and a fucking arsehole. He gently took your hair out of the way, he slowly rubbed calming gestures in your aching muscles, and you leaned into his touch, your state was finally reaching the breaking point – you were longing for the soft touch of your captor, not even caring that he is just as awful as his friends, rummaging through various bags somewhere in the other room. 

You cry, the depths of the situation finally getting to you – and he drags you into a tight hug after wiping your mouth with a paper towel, throwing it away before you could feel sick from the smell again. 

He talks you through it with his grovely voice and deep accent, and you can’t help but lean in and listen. 

— Calm down. Can’t have you panicking on my cock. 

— D…don’t touch me. Please. 

— You need this, love. We’re not the worst people who could have picked ya up. 

— You’re a bunch of fucking ra…

He stops you immediately – holds your hand, and drags you back to the bedroom almost too rough, dropping you to the bed before you can manage to scramble your legs and writhe away from his touch. You sob again, crying even more – you don’t have makeup now. Thankfully, everything was mostly wiped out by the paper towels and a mix of your tears, but you still feel horrible. Laying on the soft bed in your soaked panties made you feel like a slut, and this is not the feeling you were expecting out of this night. You just fucking wanted to go home and sleep the alcohol out, not…this. 

— We’ll take care of you. Be a good girl for us, and I will make Johnny pay for not getting you off, eh? 

You can hear the Scot again, emerging from the kitchen in an apron – to your surprise. He looks too domestic, too clean, his hair is a bit disheveled after your little attempt at breaking out, and you can see the resemblance between him and a very, very sad and polite dog. If he had a tail, it would be curled between his knees, a look of genuine guilt almost making you believe that he wanted to apologize for being so forceful. 

— Steamin’ Jesus, I tried to be a gentleman. Didn’t want to scare our lassie too much. 

— She’s shivering. Poor girl, was Johnny this scary? 

— It’s yer mask. Wee things always scared of those. 

They both laugh, clearly not taking your tears seriously. You curl into the bed, trying to protect your exposed breasts and midriff as much as possible. You don’t want to be touched, you feel dirty and used already, but their attentive gaze is making your skin burn and crawl from the feelings you never thought you knew before. It’s a horrible situation, but somehow, you are almost flattered because of how affectionate they both look for someone as insignificant as you. 

Maybe, it’s your brain trying to protect itself from further trauma. Maybe, if you’d lie to yourself long enough, you could pretend you want this. 

Ghost looks at you, drinking the drowning panic in your eyes. You’re so pretty, so helpless, he doesn’t even want to think of what could happen to you if Johnny weren’t here to pick you up. You’d be murdered in cold blood, left laying on the side of the street after a group of some perverts would be done with you. You don’t deserve to be treated like this, you deserve a proper help and calmness of living with them – and he knows that once he is done with bringing his first orgasm with your body, you will learn to love it too. Maybe not at first, but the seeds would be there. 

He tries to be on his best behavior as he slowly drags his body between your legs, catching your ankles once you tried to kick him. You’re like a kitten, growling and hissing, clawing on his hands like it didn’t turn him on even more – he pins you under his weight easily, enjoying the audience of Soap already palming himself through his pants. Fucking pervert – he already came in your mouth not so long ago, but the lieutenant knows that given a chance, his sergeant will break this girl for another three rounds in a row. They can’t have that, right? 

— Calm, love. Don’t make it harder for yourself. 

— Stop…please, just…god, wait, I…

It’s such empty words, he knows you can’t calm yourself down – you’re a pretty girl, really, you’re cute and adorable, and you don’t deserve his firm hand taking off your lace panties, but he knows that you will love it after a few more times. You’re dripping already, a combination of manhandling and previous foreplay making you adorably weak for them. 

— Will make you nice and wet, yeah? Such a pretty cunt, bound to give it a taste. 

— W..wait, please, don’t, really, j…just let me…

— Quiet, love. You’ll fuckin’ love it. 

Ghost drags his fingers straight into your folds, spreading them as quickly as possible. He would love to give you more time to adjust, but he was hard ever since Johnny made that goddamn call, and patience isn’t his best quality when on leave – he needs you in all ways you can handle. On your back, preferably, he wants to see that pretty face of yours when he will bottom himself in your cunt and make you squeal. Maybe play with your ass for a little – if you’re going to be the team’s favorite girl, they need all of your holes ready to be used. 

You squeak from surprise when he drags his mask on the upper half of his face, revealing his mouth. Clean-shaved chin, a bit of uneven blonde stubble, strong jawline – he smirks because he knows he is quite the opposite of ugly, that even after all the burns and scars, he is still that rugged type of handsome that ladies in pubs just love to touch. He wonders if you’re more of a typical pretty boy type – he wonders if you’d like Gaz as much as you love Simon. And you fucking adore him by the sight of your wet pussy almost dripping on his tongue. 

You beg him to stop when he slides his tongue in, the feeling of his harsh fingers stretching you only making everything hotter, less bearable. You don’t want to like it, but he is handsome and strong, he is whispering sweet compliments into your pussy, sliding sloppy kisses all over your folds, not forgetting to pay attention to your throbbing clit. 

“Such a pretty cunt for us. What was the last time she got so much attention?” 

He kisses you down there sloppily, adding another finger almost immediately to really make you feel that burn. You’re crying from stimulation, it’s been a while since the last time you had anything so heated – you just want him to stop, to proceed, to let you go, and also to never stop kissing your pussy and collecting all the juice that’s been flowing from you. You make the bedsheets under your ass wet, and Ghost just can’t help but stretch you a bit more, enjoying the sound of your confused, almost pained squeals. 

“Stop crying, love. I could have taken your arse instead.”

He can only imagine how adorable you’d look, crying from his cock in your plump rear. He is by no means small, and the thought of tearing your pretty arse just a little, making you cry from being filled so much, makes him even harder. He needs to be patient, can’t break your rear before Captain gets here – but god, isn’t patience the hardest virtue. 

“S’good for me. Sorry, love, can’t wait much longer. Got a bloody lovely cunt f’ me” 

You cry even harder when Ghost finally slides his cock in you – one harsh thrust, the sound of his hips slapping against yours, is enough to make you sick again. You’re stretched, dripping wet, it wouldn’t hurt if only he had a normal-sized cock, not the fucking monstrosity he is showing in your underprepared pussy. Nothing would prepare you for this – he started moving immediately, with little regard for your comfort. The niceties he was whispering were falling on deaf ears as he slammed inside of you over and over again. 

You feel sick. 

— Fuck. S’ tight for me. 

You’re clenching around his dick, not allowing him to pull back. Such a pretty girl, he doesn’t know what he would do without that feeling – he wants to fucking devour you whole, to have you laid out for him so prettily. He bottoms finally, stretching you beyond any man could – you feel him somewhere deep, near your cervix, hitting your sensitive walls while all you can do is cry for him to stop tormenting you like this. You can only squeal under him, for him, he is hitting all of your special spots at the same time, and you don’t know if you could really handle him like this. 

His hand lands on your folds, playing with your clit – only making you more and more wet with each second, you almost feel like you are passing the breaking point already. He is stronger than you want him to be, and you feel like he is going to fucking break you, every attempt of squirming from under him is met with a fierce grip on your waist, dragging you back where you belong – moaning and crying on his cock. 

The intrusion stopped being painful after a few minutes, you’re open enough to allow his cock to slide in and out easily. He bites your neck, munching on sensitive flesh like he is going to rip a chuck off you, leaving marks as if he were a wild dog. You moan under him, the feeling of his teeth on your skin isn’t exactly horrible – but not too enjoyable either. 

You squirm softly, hoping he would at least cum soon. 

— That’s right. Dumb civvie girls should just relax for the ride. 

— N…not dumb. I’m not dumb. 

— Only a dumb girl like you would get in Johnny’s hands. S’ry, love, but you really are dumb. 

— I’m…

— It’s alright. We like dumb girls. 

He moans in your ear, biting your earlobe, engaging in a sloppy kiss that allows you to taste your pleasure on his lips. You hate every second, you want to loathe every inch of his body, but his hand is moving faster and faster, steady rhythm that makes you see stars every time he plunges his cock inside – and, oh god, you can’t help but feel your pussy throbbing around him, the tight knot in your lower tummy getting warmer and warmer as his movements steadily brings you to an orgasm. 

It hits you too fast to be prepared for – just a few minutes later, you’re panting under him, mouth open agape as he slides his cock even faster, abusing your poor, sensitive cunt. You’re milking him for cum, not even caring that you are not on the pill – you just concentrate on the head of his cock hitting your G-spot in the most perfect of timings and his rough fingertips caressing your clit in a way that makes you go wild. 

You cum with a cry, soft, squeaky sobs escaping your lips as you hiccup and moan, pressing your hips against his in an attempt to become as close as possible. You feel his hot cum filling you up, a slight bulge in your lower tummy becoming even more prominent. 

Ghost kisses you on the forehead as he slowly emerges from you, hissing as your tight walls refuse to let him go. You’re so fucking perfect, all flushed and panting heavily, neck covered in bite marks and outline of his bruises forming on your waist. 

He pats your pussy a few times, making you shiver from the feeling. 

— Such a pretty girl. Lay here, your cunt is goin’ to be a bit more visitors today. 

He smiles, kissing you on the lips again – you whimper, curling on the bed, feeling the hot cum dripping from your exhausted, sore pussy. You feel his hand affectionately patting your head as if you were a cat, and he hums in approval when you instinctively lean towards his hand, getting as much affection as you possibly can. He brings you a pillow and drags your head so it would rest more comfortably – and you already feel extremely tired, your eyes closing. 

You’re almost ready to sleep when you feel the Scot sliding in bed with you, slowly spreading your legs.

[persicipen]

₊ ˙ ⊹ . 𝓟𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆. KAMISATO AYATO ₊ ˙ ⊹ .

ৎ୭ — · · 2.1k ノ fem reader — distracting him from work in a certain way ノ petnames — dear . wife . darling ノ implied breeding kink . fucking against the wall ノ teasing and flirting . established relationship . marriage

When he sees you in his office room this late, he knows his frustrations with endless paperwork finally end as the long-awaited — and, what is wee embarrassing to admit, long-forgotten — break came to visit. Break, albeit used to describe many situations and events, in this particular case means you, his most beautiful wife. Ayato’s favourite type of break.

“It’s late, my dear,” he says, tone playful. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping already?”

Your fingers graze against his temple in a caring manner, and he purrs with satisfaction, allowing you to sit right beside him near the low table.

“I wanted to see you. It’s so cold in bed without you…” Your hand slowly slides from his temples to the nape, feeling your husband tremble ever so slightly at your meek touch. The warm pads of your fingertips trail across his shoulders and the area where the neck meets the broad back, resting for a bit and then gently rubbing circles against it, working through the layers of expensive garments. You don’t say anything for a few long minutes — rather, you’re fully immersed in taking care of his stiff muscles.

“Judging by the warmth of your palms, perhaps your claim is not entirely true, hm? Leaving your cosy bedding just to visit me in nothing but a flimsy robe? I sense an intrigue rather than a genuine concern.” Ayato’s hands grab yours before they escape anywhere else. He gives your knuckle a quick peck. Only once, unimpeachable, and he does this every single time you crave some intimacy after what seemed like eternity without him.

Frankly, you do not appreciate it. A pout forms immediately on your lips. They feel lonely, unkissed.

“Spare me a moment or two.” You wrap around his neck, burying your face in the curve of his shoulder and inhaling the intoxicating scent. Camellia flowers and cherry blossoms — a fragrance almost too sweet and innocent for a man such as Lord Kamisato. “I love you so much that I don’t know what to do with myself anymore if you’re not near me.”

What could have been better than enjoying all those delectable noises reserved only for him? A solid offer. No wonder you two are together, one always outsmarting another, always trying to bargain a better deal, be it a kiss, a hug, or an indecent touch during a walk in nature where even butterflies can’t seem to find a way to your secret place.

Insufferable are his thoughts now that you’ve inflicted this venom of lust into his system. If anything, the first dosage was administered long before this evening and had gone untreated due to your husband’s own unwillingness to firmly stop himself from overworking.

Ayato must say that it takes both more patience and determination than usual to fight off your beauty. The purple of his eyes never loses its enticing luster — a mystery worthy of thousands of poems dedicated solely to you. Why should he torture himself any longer while you’re within his reach, offering yourself so obediently?

“My sweet wife is already going for the kill.” His arms encircle your waist in one fluid motion. As expected, he grins to himself, feeling you shiver with excitement against his chest, gaze wandering between your parted lips and star-stricken eyes. “If your request wasn’t so very irresistible, then maybe… Oh well.”

None of you waste any more time, shamefully clawing at each other’s garments just to open them enough to continue making out. You cling to his nape as he puts one hand beneath your ass to hoist you up in order to carry you closer to him.

Every breath burns his throat until he presses you onto the nearest wall — away from the main corridor and prying ears of curious servants, which is unfortunate since he has planned something particularly scandalous involving said corridor. This one he will remember for another occasion, that is. Nothing lost. It does not matter anyway — whatever idea would’ve come to his head can be used tomorrow, a day after tomorrow, anytime, provided that the opportunity arises once again.

Ayato allows himself a brief evaluation of his abandoned tasks before getting down to business. A mere moment later, he’s fucking you relentlessly against the wooden column, your hair tangled with the surface and messy behind your head. With a warm hand on your cheek, it contrasts with the cool breeze coming through the window.

Debauched noises escape your throat without regard to decency, like waterfalls running dry after a hot summer, until there is nothing left but a silent heap of exhales.

Still starving for attention, deprived of everything your beloved husband has been reluctant to provide these past evenings, even the most minuscule gestures spark flames below your navel.

Supposedly, getting so easily wet could be considered unwelcome, always messing up your underwear, but in the company of your adored man, it’s perfect. It’s foolishly easy to slip past the entrance of your pussy and force it to catch every tiny shift of his shaft.

The quick work on your clothes made you too flustered to act before you could even explain your presence here in more detail. With an arm sneaking around your waist, he pulls you closer with a goal to slip his painfully hard cock deeper into your sodden cunt.

Alongside the kiss pressed to your forehead, his mouth lingers there for a brief moment, humming praises against your sweaty skin.

“Is this exactly what you wanted?”

“I love you.” You pant in desperation, fisting at the back of Ayato’s embroidered suit. A string of needy whines flows from your tongue in rapid succession while his lips pepper kisses over your jawline, up and down and across your heated skin until they land on the juncture of your neck, eliciting a small gasp as a reward.

“Aren’t you the most precious one? You should be aware that your words are more dangerous to my heart than any blade or poison.” The Commissioner lets his guard down, a ripple of relief and solace washing over him in the loving warmth of your closeness, and he leans into the embrace while holding you as careful as one holds an ancient vase.

“Hmm, isn’t that adorable that even you have a soft spot?” Your giggle turns into a wanton yelp as he manhandles you to fit against his lean body like a missing puzzle piece.

“Only because I adore you so dearly, I will allow myself to pause the work of utmost importance.” His fingers are brushing against the soft material of your night robe, creeping under the fabric to keep your thigh high enough for him to push his pelvis right against your clit. “It’s not as important as you, I have to admit.”

He kisses your cheek, and his lips travel down your jawline, the feather-like pecks on the side of your collarbone, and you can’t help the content sigh that escapes your mouth. His breath is ticklish, and when his teeth gently nibble the delicate skin, the gasp that follows makes him chuckle, his pace not slowing down.

“If my darling is not silent,” Ayato whispers, his hot breath fanning against your ear, “the servants may notice something unusual is happening in my private quarters.”

As if it would not rouse is excitement…

Such a threat is empty, just a fickle of a joke to raise your pulse before his pace returns to the previous rhythm. The mischievous sparkle in his eyes betrays his amusement, knowing that he will most likely fuck you dumb until you whimper out his name pleadingly, for he does not care if others hear how much of a perfect lover he is. Those working under him are long adjusted to the questionable ways of their Lord’s doings.

You can’t deny the effect it has on you, though. Especially with his hand moving to your mouth, covering it completely to muffle any delicious mewls slipping down your tongue.

“Bite it, if you have to.”

A rush of heat engulfs the pit of your stomach, your cunt squeezing his shaft hungrily. He doesn’t slow down — no, quite the opposite, as if motivated by the shame that strikes your silhouette. His thrusts are steady and merciless, and you are glad that the column is keeping you upright; otherwise, you’d collapse into his arms like a lithe rag doll.

It works like a charm on you. Heavy weight of his words, a need for control in every little detail, always caring, always considerate towards you. Although there are times where your husband will bend to your will and please you thoroughly, there are also moments like these when he won’t give you a chance to think straight, all because of such a simple reason.

He adores you to the point of addiction.

And now he wishes to enjoy you to the fullest without further pauses, reducing his duties to mere distractions that otherwise would stop him from revelling in your body.

No longer form a coherent sentence, you accept the mind-numbing sensation of his cockhead hitting the deepest spots simultaneously with his fingers rubbing at your wet, puffy clit. The tension in your core is threatening to snap at any moment, your juices soaking his length as your pussy greedily milks his shaft with each and every snap of his hips into your pliant body.

Even with limbs unable to muster out any strength to cuddle to your husband, the feeling of your hole gripping him like a vice rewiring Ayato’s mind into a mush, a delirious haze of lust. He removes his hand from your mouth, cupping your face and wiping the drool that is trickling down your chin, his thumb gently caressing the damp skin.

Dark lavender eyes follow sparkles dimming in your fluttering gaze as you try your best to not fall into bliss and close your lids. His forehead rests against yours, his breathing heavy and shallow, his lips dangerously close, and the Commissioner swallows at the familiar heat pooling in his abdomen.

“Just like this, dear,” he says softly, his voice trembling and strained. “Just a bit more.”

With a shaky sigh, he shoves his mouth against yours in a sloppy kiss to avoid any loud noise to escape him, savouring the flavour of your tongue as if you were the finest dessert prepared solely for his appetite.

Despite being unsure if you could truly make it last until your husband finds relief as well, you fight for balance on your shaking thighs while even a portion of your weight feels too much to bear on your wobbly knees. His cock swells, the pressure coiling and tightening from the inside of his balls as the release hits him like a tidal wave. As soon as his essence souses the walls of your womb white, you sob and join him in the moment of sweetest carnal satisfaction.

The sudden contractions of your cunt bring you both to the sweetest peak of pleasure, all too intense to not slump down the polished floors in a puddle of fine silk stained with your mixed essences.

Although Kamisato Ayato is the epitome of politeness and strict discipline, there is no way to deny the truth that he might turn the world upside down just to rest between the thighs of his darling wife.

The delirious euphoria comes to an end when he slips himself out of your snug cunt, soft and worn, satisfied but also amused upon noticing that some of his cum already leaked out of your hole. A pity, such a waste that his seed is seeping through the slippery gash. Maybe the idea of making you pregnant will stay with him until the next close encounter, then.

There is nothing left of composure that usually defines him as the leader of the Yashiro Commission. Instead, the sight is almost unnerving compared to his usual image. Clothes crumpled and skewed, hair ruffled atop his sheen forehead, and the pink blush adorning his cheeks. Perhaps you did him some good tonight after all, clearing his mind and relaxing the muscles tense from sitting still for hours. There are plenty of tasks left to be done — he won’t sleep even after exhausting himself — but perhaps now he’s willing to consider joining you in bed for the rest of the night.

As if hearing your thoughts, he chuckles breathlessly, scooping you up in his embrace without worrying about cleaning the mess just yet.

“There are several things I’d rather do instead of dealing with t-those reports right now...”

“Do I r-really have to coerce my beloved husband into sleeping together?”

“Obviously, no. It’s only a matter of fact that I forget about the passage of time until you have to visit my office. But wasn’t it just as sweet?” His teeth nibble at your earlobe before he laughs under his breath again.