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cleo-fox · 4 months ago

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As the Clock Strikes Midnight - Part VII

Series Masterlist Chapter Summary: In which your patience is finally rewarded. Chapter Warnings: Sex, p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink. Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

Getting through the next day is a challenge, to say the very least.

Your day typically includes a fair number of mindless tasks–peeling pounds of potatoes, kneading bread dough, scrubbing pots and pans, and so on. Normally, you don’t mind it; normally, it’s an opportunity for your mind to wander, a way to distract yourself from the neverending drudgery.

Today is a different story. Today, the only destination for your wandering mind is what awaits you at the end of the day. And what awaits you at the end of the day, well…those sorts of thoughts tend to leave you flustered and checking the time.

The others, thankfully, are too preoccupied with their own tasks to pay you much mind, which feels like a small blessing—you couldn’t even begin to come up with a believable excuse for your inattention.

You’ve taken care to maintain a sort of playful distance from Loki as a matter of protection—the more detached you appear, the less likely you are to be hurt when this ends. Not that you’re having any feelings you need to protect yourself from, of course—this is just a precaution. The practical part of you knows that you should probably wait a little after dark before making your way to his chambers. Unfortunately, the part of you that has been anticipating this all day (to say nothing of the last three) is not particularly inclined to listen to practical advice; consequently it is barely dark when you arrive at his chamber doors.

He notices. Of course.

“You’re awfully early,” he says as he lets you in, not bothering to hide his smirk.

“Yesterday you scolded me for being late. Today I am too early,” you say, arching an eyebrow at him. “Perhaps the problem is that you are too particular, your highness.”

“An artful deflection,” he says, taking your hand and leading you to the bedroom. “There’s no shame in admitting you couldn’t wait for me to ravish you.”

A huff of a laugh escapes your lips and you give him a look. “That’s awfully bold of you.”

You say this largely to bait him and he gives you a catlike smile as you come to a stop in the bedroom. He looks you up and down and wets his lips. “I suspect I’ll find you slick and aching under your skirts.”

He’s right, though you don’t intend to admit it. You simply raise your eyebrow and he smiles like he knows exactly what you’re hiding. Bastard.

“And similarly—” his voice drops as he guides your hand to the front of his trousers, “I’ve been contending with this for much of the day.”

His cock is hard and straining against the material of his trousers, which only fans the ache between your thighs.

“Oh.” You wish you had something clever to say, but lust has made your brain pleasantly foggy. You run your hand along the length of him and he watches you with hooded eyes, the slight intake of breath his only tell. You move to undo his trousers and his fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling your hand away.

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” he says. “I want to take my time with you.”

As much as you want him to finally, finally take you, the thought of him taking his time is also wildly appealing. His eyes remain hooded as he trails his fingertips down the curve of your jaw, across your lips, along the column of your throat and down to your collarbones. His touch is light and reverent, like he wants to know every part of you and commit it to memory. It’s entirely chaste, but still somehow erotic and you can’t hide the way that you tremble in the wake of his gentle caress.

His fingertips trail down your sternum, skimming along your ribcage, then down the sides of your waist to your hips. He pauses for a moment before reversing his course. He does this several times before your resolve begins to waver.

“Loki.” Your voice is a strained whisper.

He brushes his lips against your forehead, his fingertips still following that light and teasing path. You tilt your head up in the hope that he’ll kiss you; instead, his lips ghost against yours, pulling away before you can draw him deeper.

His light touches and barely there kisses are inspiring a specific sort of madness in you, one that feels particularly unbearable after three days of waiting. After another brief pass of your lips, it’s enough to override your remaining shred of pride and self-control.

“Kiss me,” you breathe.

The flash of a wicked smile makes you wonder if this was merely another ploy to make you admit to wanting him, but the thought is fleeting and dissipates completely when he finally brings his lips to yours.

This is different from the other times he’s kissed you—it’s deeper, more searching, hungry. You wind your arms around his neck, twining your fingers in his hair and pressing yourself against him. His hands slide along your hips to the buttons at the back of your dress, nimbly slipping them free, trailing his fingertips down your spine as he goes. You release your hold on his hair to help him pull your dress off, leaving it to pool on the floor at your feet. Your hands slide to his tunic, tugging insistently at the fabric until he obliges you and breaks away long enough to pull it up and over his head. Your shift and undergarments are next to go, joining the other clothes on the floor in quick succession.

He pulls you back to him and the heat of his bare chest pressing against yours feels so good that you almost don’t notice that he’s walking you backwards toward the bed until you feel the mattress brush against the backs of your legs.

“On the bed,” he says roughly. His voice is commanding and stern and it goes straight to your aching cunt.

You slide onto the bed, relishing the feel of silk against your bare skin, your eyes locked on Loki as he starts removing his trousers. He looks like something out of a figure drawing, all lean muscles and understated strength. Your eyes drop to his cock as he removes his trousers. He is achingly hard, the tip flushed. You can feel yourself tense in delicious anticipation of what he will feel like buried to the hilt inside of you.

Your gaze trails back up to his face and you find that he is looking at you with the same sort of appraising, lustful look. His gaze roams over your breasts and down to your hips and back again before he finally meets your eyes.

“You look so pretty in my bed,” he says. “Even better than I imagined.”

“Were you not paying attention? I’ve been in your bed these past few nights,” you say.

“Not like this,” he says. “Not bare and waiting for me to fuck you into the mattress.”

You shiver, but you manage a sardonic smile. “To be clear, I wanted that last night and the two nights before. You simply chose to be a tease about it.”

“Trust me, darling,” he says, his gaze dark and hungry, “I’m about to make it up to you.”

You lick your lips and smirk. “Prove it to me, then.”

He allows himself one wicked grin before he crawls up the bed on top of you, looking as intent and hungry as a caged panther stalking its next meal.

You inhale sharply at the first brush of his bare skin against yours. He lowers himself on top of you, his cock resting hard and heavy against your stomach. You’re fairly certain you’ve never wanted him as much as you do right now. He leans in and kisses you deeply, his fingertips stroking along the curve of your jaw and the column of your throat before wandering lower to cup and caress your breasts.

You wrap your legs around his waist, arching against him and trying to angle your hips so that his cock rubs against you. His right hand trails down your body, pausing briefly at your hip to hold you in place.

“So eager, so slick,” he purrs. He kisses you again and you feel him take his cock in his hand and drag it in a slow circuit from your clit to your entrance and back again. You moan into his mouth and he chuckles. “It takes so little to soften that sharp tongue.”

You arch your back and press your breasts against his chest, your hands twining in his hair. He strokes his cock along you again, like he’s getting ready to fuck you properly and put an end to your aching need. You rock your hips forward, trying to encourage him.

But the moment you feel him smile against your mouth, you want to kick yourself. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

And indeed, he begins kissing a leisurely path down your neck mere seconds later.

“Loki,” you groan as he begins slowly easing his way down your body.

“I need to get you ready for me, darling,” he murmurs, sliding his tongue over the curve of your right breast.

“I’ve been ready for the last three d—”

You gasp as his teeth lightly graze your nipple, his tongue darting out to sweep over the sensitive skin before drawing it gently into his mouth and sucking as his hand cups your other breast, fingers gently rolling and pinching your nipple until it becomes pebbled and hard.

“I do so enjoy quieting that wicked tongue,” he murmurs.

You open your mouth to say something, but Loki is quicker, sucking your nipple back into his mouth, teasing it mercilessly with his teeth while his hand redoubles its efforts with your other breast. Your complaint fades away into a whimper that would be embarrassing if you had the capacity to care about anything beyond his mouth and hands. Your hands tangle in his hair, your hips rocking fruitlessly as you try to find friction that evades you as he lavishes attention on your breasts.

No amount of pleading seems to persuade him to go any faster, but eventually, he begins slowly kissing his way down your body, trailing his lips along your ribs, then down your stomach and to your hips. He looks up at you from in between your spread legs and you swear you can feel your arousal practically dripping out of you when he gives you that hungry smile.

He brings a single forefinger to the very top of your slit, his gaze locked on your face. Your breath hitches.

His finger skims but does not part your folds. It’s a soft, barely there touch that makes your aching cunt clench tightly around nothing. He takes his hand away and brings his face closer and for a moment, you think he’s finally going to give you some relief, but instead, he repeats that same feather light gesture with his lips, lightly pressing closed mouth kisses along the very edge of your slit.

He looks up at you, his eyes hooded and hazy with lust, though not so hazy that you think he’s lost any amount of control. He didn’t even really touch you, but you can still see a faint glint of moisture on his lips from how wet you are.

He licks his lips and your resolve breaks, abruptly and completely.

“Loki, please.”

He draws back slightly, his fingertips grazing your folds as he parts you gently, staring greedily at your exposed cunt.

“Look at you,” he breathes, his voice a low, dark purr. “Absolutely soaked and begging for me.”

You whimper.

“Such a pretty, needy cunt.” He licks his lips again and looks back up at you. “Shall I taste you, or do you want my fingers?”

Whatever shred of pride you still possess has long since vanished, your entire focus zeroing in on the throbbing ache between your legs. “Both,” you say, without a thought.

He raises an eyebrow, but there’s a spark of delight in his eyes. “Greedy girl. Do you think you deserve it? You’ve been awfully pert.”

“Loki, please,” you whimper. “I need you.”

“You need me?” he says, his lips curling into a teasing smirk. “Darling, you have me, I’m right here.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” you say.

“And what did you mean?” His voice is low, the warm exhale of his breath lightly brushing against your folds.

He’s played this game before, making you say exactly what it is that you want, no matter how filthy or indecent it may be. The prideful part of you isn’t fond of letting him win, but this is largely overshadowed by the desire that’s coiling like a snake in your belly and making you desperate.

You lick your lips. “I want you to put your mouth on me. I want to come for you.”

This particular turn of phrase seems to stir something in him—he gives you a wicked smile that is almost feral, his eyes darkening with lust. Slowly, he lowers his lips to just above your clit, pressing another chaste kiss against you, drawing forth another whimper from your lips.

“Say my name,” he breathes against your cunt.

“Loki, please.”

You can feel him smile just before the warm blade of his tongue presses forward, parting your folds in one long stroke.

You are so slick and sensitive and his mouth is so warm and perfect that for a moment, all you can do is moan as his tongue lightly brushes against your clit. He seems determined to continue things on his terms, working at a slow, leisurely pace that is enough to nudge you closer, but not quite enough to pull you over the edge. After a few minutes of just his tongue, he slides one finger inside of you, curling it so that it brushes ever so slightly against that soft, tender spot that can so easily unravel you. It’s not enough to make you see stars, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch and your hands tangle in his hair to pull him closer. He chuckles against you, but does not change his pace.

Just when you think you may start to go mad with wanting, a second finger joins the first, his fingers drawing sparks from where they graze against that spot inside you.

“Loki.”

His tongue flattens against your clit and his fingers curl just a little bit more.

You are panting, your heels digging into his back as he draws you closer to the starry oblivion that you’ve been thinking about all day. You are a mess of half whimpered pleas and breathy moans as he keeps you balanced on the edge, his fingers gradually curling more to rub that aching spot inside you as his tongue works your clit. The knot in your hips is impossibly tight, the heat in your belly smoldering. Distantly, you wonder how much more of this you can take.

He sucks your clit gently into his mouth as his fingers simultaneously hit that spot in just the right way and all at once, the heat and ache inside of you reaches its peak and breaks like a wave on the shore and you utterly unravel.

At first, you can’t even make a noise—all of your energy and focus is zeroed in on the way that your muscles are spasming and releasing and everything feels so good. But then that next wave pulls an obscene moan from deep in your chest and your fingers grip his hair so tightly that you think it might actually hurt, but he merely purrs against you as his tongue continues to stroke your clit.

You’re not sure how he manages to draw it out for so long, but it seems to last forever, every part of you fizzing like you’re filled with champagne and stardust. Eventually, the tingling pleasure of the aftershocks blurs into your second orgasm, stealing your breath and bending your body upwards like a bow pulled taut as you moan Loki’s name like a prayer.

He doesn’t stop, though—not until he draws a third one from you, making you cry out so loudly you almost expect half the palace to come running.

He finally lifts his head as you come down from your high, his lips and chin coated in the evidence of your arousal as he gives you a ravenous smile. “You taste so sweet when you come,” he says. “I could stay between your legs for days.”

Just the thought of that makes you shiver and his smile widens. You reach for him, arms trembling and you’re a little surprised when he obliges, crawling up your body and into your arms with little more than a pleased smirk. Your arms wind around him as he settles on top of you, his cock pressing enticingly against your stomach. He kisses you and you melt, your hands moving again to tangle in his hair.

“Please,” you breathe when he brings his lips to your earlobe, gently worrying it between his teeth, “don’t make me wait any longer. I need you so badly.”

His hand slides down your thigh, hitching your leg up over his hip. “You’ve had my mouth and my fingers and now you want my cock?” he says, pressing a kiss just behind your ear.

“Yes.” There’s no point in denying it, not when he’s felt how wet you are, not when he’s so close to finally taking you, not when you still want him so badly you ache.

“Hmm.” He shifts slightly so that his hips align with yours, dragging his cock along your sopping cunt until his full length is covered in your slickness. He frowns thoughtfully, like he’s genuinely weighing whether you want him, whether you’re ready, though that mischievous glint in his eye is a dead giveaway of his true intentions.

You decide to try flattery once more. “Please, Loki. I need you.”

You can feel him, hot and hard, poised at your entrance. When he doesn’t immediately push forward, you are not surprised to find him smirking down at you. And as much as you need him, as desperate as you feel, you can’t help but scowl at him.

“Must you always be an insufferable tease?” you say.

“I’m merely savoring the moment,” he says, though the spark in his eyes says otherwise.

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure.”

“There’s a lot to savor.” He presses his hips forward ever so slightly and you gasp as the tip of his cock slides into you. “That right there,” he says huskily. “That lovely little sigh.”

You try and thrust your hips forward, but he’s got you pinned against the mattress. “Loki,” you whine.

“Be good.” He creeps forward another inch and his eyes close, his breath hitching. “Norns, you’re tight.”

This gives you an idea and you intentionally clench your muscles around him. He’s not expecting that and he groans, his teasing expression yielding for a moment to a pure, unguarded pleasure. His eyes refocus and he grins at you. “Vixen,” he says.

“Stop teasing and fuck me properly,” you say.

“Ah, but you make such pretty sounds for me when I tease you,” he says, pressing forward another inch. A breathy whine escapes from your lungs before you can stop it and he indulges in a catlike grin. “Just like that.”

“Loki.”

“Yes, darling?” He says this with a smirk, like he still has the upper hand.

“Fuck me. Please.”

“Such filth coming out of that pretty mouth,” he says, his hips pressing forward another inch. You tense your muscles again and his groan is delicious. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say.

“Filthy girl.” But at last there’s a crack in his impeccable composure and he slides forward those last few inches.

Your head tips back and you moan as his hips finally press flush against you. You knew he was big, but you still weren’t entirely prepared for how full you would feel, how he seems to press against every sensitive part of your cunt. His fingers and mouth were incredible but his cock may very well send you to another plane of existence entirely.

You are so distracted by how good he feels that you’re almost taken aback when he begins to move. He feels so good when he’s seated fully inside of you, but when he’s moving—when he’s moving, it steals your breath away and sends sparks shooting all over your body, even at the slow teasing pace that he’s currently employing to try and drive you wild.

It’s so good. It’s so good and you don’t want it to end, but after so many days of teasing and the three orgasms he’s drawn from you tonight, you can feel your end quickly approaching, inevitable as thunder after lightning. You try to fight it off, wanting to make this last as long as possible.

“You’re holding back,” he says as you struggle to keep yourself on the edge. “I want to feel you come.”

“Don’t want it to end,” you manage to gasp.

To your surprise, he gives a low chuckle. “If you think I’ll be done fucking your exquisite cunt so soon, you are quite mistaken.” His eyes darken as he gives a particularly sensual thrust that makes you keen. “Now be a good girl and come on my cock.”

You try to hold back even so, but it’s no use: his words speak to some hungry, feral part of you and your orgasm overtakes you, sudden and swift as a riptide pulling you under. His pace never falters, his hips continuing to move in steady, powerful thrusts as you shudder around him. You ache for him even as he fills you, his cock rubbing against all the sensitive places deep inside you and drawing out a raw, primal pleasure that makes you cling to him, your fingernails painting long scratches down his back.

You expect your orgasm to drive him quickly to his own end, despite his assertion otherwise. His eyes flutter shut when you come and he allows himself a soft groan, but his pace remains steady and even as he fucks you through your orgasm. As you tremble through the aftershocks, he offers you a rather wicked grin and leans in to kiss you.

“You’re going to do that again for me,” he says against your lips. His husky voice alone is enough to make you shiver.

“Do you think you can manage it, your highness?” The effect of this retort is immediately ruined by the obscene moan that falls unbidden from your lips as he pulls your right leg up higher and presses even deeper inside of you, his hand sliding between your bodies to find your clit.

“Your mouth says one thing, but your cunt—” He punctuates this with a rough thrust that makes you keen, “—says something else entirely. I can feel you fluttering around me.”

You whimper as his too clever fingers stroke your sensitive clit and slow, deep thrusts drive you closer and closer to the edge.

“Yes,” he breathes, his gaze intent on your face. “Give into it. Let me feel you.”

Your back arches and your nails dig into his shoulders. It’s only a matter of time, a few more thrusts. His eyes glitter like he knows this. His fingers press against your clit.

“Come for me,” he says and you do without hesitation, careening headfirst into another starry euphoria. Your cries mingle with a low groan from him, but his pace never falters as you tremble around the thick girth of his cock.

His cool facade is starting to falter, if the desperate way that he kisses you is any indication. His fingers leave your clit so he can shift his position above you, putting his weight on his elbows to drive himself even deeper inside of you. His pace is still slow and steady, but there’s a slight wildness in his movements that makes you arch up into him. His hands roam your body, gripping your hips, kneading and squeezing your breasts. His mouth covers yours, his teeth nipping at your lower lip, his tongue sliding in and out of your mouth in the same rhythm as his cock sliding in and out of your cunt. He overwhelms your senses in the best way possible and all you can do is wrap yourself around him and meet the maddening rock of his hips with your own.

He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. His eyes are slightly unfocused in a way that makes you ache because you immediately know he’s close—and the fact that he’s close because of you is incredibly arousing.

“I’m going to come inside you,” he says, his voice rough. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” you breathe, tensing around him.

“You’re going to come with me,” he says, and despite the wanting in his voice and the desperate hunger in his eyes, his tone is still commanding and sure in a way that makes you shiver in anticipation.

And despite the fact that he’s already made you come so many times already, you know that he’s right.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” he says, somehow managing another one of those wicked grins that goes straight to your cunt. “You’re going to come on my cock like a good girl while I spill myself in your tight, wet cunt.”

“Yes.” Your brain works in fits and starts now as he takes you higher and higher. Yes. Yes. More. Please. More. Please. Yes…

He grinds his hips into you, his pubic bone pressing against your clit in a way that makes you see stars.

“Come with me.”

Bliss overtakes you and you come hard, only this time, it’s different because this time Loki is cursing and moaning with you and shuddering through his own orgasm and that alone seems to extend yours as he spills himself deep inside you. His thrusts become erratic and slow until he finally stills, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

The weight of him is comforting and solid, anchoring you as you slowly regain control of your senses. You can’t help but feel a small flash of pride over the way his breath is still a little ragged against your neck, how he stays pressed inside you, how you can feel his heart pounding hard.

After a few minutes, he lifts his head. You expect him to set about the business of cleaning up, but instead, he kisses you. It’s surprisingly tender and slow, especially for a tryst that you fully expect he’ll end tonight. Now that he’s had you, surely there are others who will occupy his attention.

The thought makes you a little sad, though you don’t like admitting it.

He pulls back slightly after a moment. “I believe I’ve properly atoned for teasing you these last few days,” he says with a lazy smirk.

You raise an eyebrow. “There was an awful lot of teasing, your highness.”

He grins. “I suppose I’ll have to try harder tomorrow.”

It’s probably not a good idea to continue this, but it’s more difficult to keep yourself from smiling as he kisses you again.

Next chapter

#loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut #loki laufeyson smut #loki fanfiction #as the clock strikes midnight

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 22 days ago

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🎃 Kinktober 2024: Ruined

Ruined: You ask your long time family friend, Hob Gadling, in helping you find a suitable husband during your first season out as a debutant. It should have gone perfectly, you get a good husband, Hob doesn’t get hounded by eligible ladies… Naturally, it all falls apart.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Material, Regency Era.

To Note: Hob Gadling x AFAB!Reader

Prompt: First Time

Word Count: ~8.9k

You step into the grand ballroom, the hum of chatter and the rustle of gowns surrounding you like a warm embrace. Chandeliers drip with crystal, casting a soft glow over the crowd.

The Earl's ball is in full swing, debutantes and their chaperones fluttering about like colorful butterflies. You scan the room, searching for a suitable match. The pressure of finding a husband weighs heavily on your shoulders, but you straighten your back and lift your chin. Tonight could be the night.

A group of young ladies, all giggles and whispers, huddles near a marble column. Their eyes flicker over to you, assessing your gown—a pale silk that surprisingly complements your complexion. One of them breaks away from the group and approaches you.

"Lady Y/L/N, isn't it?" Her voice carries the lilting accent of nobility. "I'm Lady Emily Cartwright. We've heard much about you."

You smile politely. "All good things, I hope."

Emily chuckles, her eyes twinkling. "Indeed. Have you met many of the eligible bachelors yet?"

"Not yet," you admit, glancing around.

She leans in closer. "I must introduce you to Lord Henry Fitzwilliam. Quite a catch, if I may say so."

Before you can respond, she takes your arm and guides you through the throng. You pass clusters of guests—some dancing, others engaged in spirited conversation. The scent of roses and beeswax fills the air.

Lord Fitzwilliam stands near a grand piano, his dark hair swept back with precision. He laughs at something one of his companions says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. When he sees you approaching, he straightens and inclines his head.

"Lord Fitzwilliam," Emily says with a knowing smile, "this is Lady Y/L/N."

He takes your hand and bows slightly. "A pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine," you reply.

"Are you enjoying the ball?" he asks, releasing your hand but holding your gaze.

"It is quite splendid," you say. "The Earl has outdone himself."

He nods in agreement. "His gatherings are always impressive."

Emily excuses herself with a mischievous wink, leaving you alone with Lord Fitzwilliam.

"So," he says, stepping closer to be heard over the music, "what brings you to our fair city? If I am not mistaken your family usually remains away from the chatter of crowds."

"My family thought it was time I entered society," you reply honestly and with a gentle smile. "and I find myself wishing to start my own family before I grow to old to be desirable."

Lord Fitzwilliam's gaze sharpens, his eyes flicking over you with calculated interest. "Tell me, Lady Y/L/N," he begins, his voice smooth yet clinical, "what are your thoughts on the responsibilities of a wife in our society?"

You draw a breath, steadying yourself. "I believe a wife should support her husband, manage the household, and uphold the family's reputation," you say, choosing your words carefully.

He nods approvingly. "And your skills in running a household? Are they well-honed?"

"Yes," you reply. "I've been trained in all the necessary duties—overseeing servants, managing finances, and ensuring the smooth operation of a home."

"Excellent." He pauses, as if ticking off a mental checklist. "And what of children? How many do you envision having?"

You swallow your distaste for his directness. "I would be happy to have as many children as God grants us."

Lord Fitzwilliam arches an eyebrow. "A pious answer," he comments. "Do you have any particular views on their education?"

"Education is vital," you say firmly. "Both in academic subjects and in learning proper manners and conduct. Education, after all, does dictate society."

He nods again, seemingly satisfied with your answers so far. "And how do you feel about social engagements? Balls, dinners, gatherings of this nature?"

"I enjoy them," you lie smoothly. In truth, the endless rounds of social events often feel more like a chore than a pleasure. You'd rather be reading or spending time with Hob, something your father greatly disapproves of.

"Good," he says curtly. "A wife must be able to navigate society's currents with grace."

His relentless questioning grates on your nerves, but you maintain your composure. He is scrutinizing you as if assessing livestock at market—an insufferable approach to what should be an introduction.

"And your family," he continues without missing a beat, "are they supportive of your endeavors to marry?"

"Very much so," you answer.

"Your dowry?" His eyes narrow slightly.

"It is substantial enough to ensure my future husband's comfort," you respond, keeping your tone neutral.

Lord Fitzwilliam leans back slightly, studying you for a moment longer. The scrutiny makes your skin prickle. "Well," he says finally, "you seem to meet the necessary criteria."

You force a smile. "I'm pleased to hear that, my lord.”

"Indeed." His tone remains impersonal.

The orchestra strikes up a new waltz and Lord Fitzwilliam extends his hand to you with an air of expectation. "Shall we dance?" You bite your tongue as you force a smile and accept his hand.

You manage to slip away from Lord Fitzwilliam as the waltz ends, offering a polite curtsy before disappearing into the crowd. You weave through clusters of guests, keeping an eye out for potential matches while also plotting your escape. Finally, you spot a side door leading to the garden and make your way toward it, slipping outside into the cool night air.

The garden is a welcome reprieve from the stifling ballroom. Moonlight bathes the neatly trimmed hedges and flowerbeds in a silvery glow. You take a deep breath, savoring the scent of blooming roses mingled with the crisp night air.

"Escaping already?" Hob's voice breaks through the quiet.

You turn to find him leaning casually against a marble statue, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. Your heart aches in your chest from how handsome he is. You clear that thought as he pushes off and saunters over to you, his grin widening.

"You looked absolutely miserable on the dance floor," he remarks, folding his arms across his chest.

"Lord Fitzwilliam is entirely insufferable," you confess, letting out a weary sigh. "He interrogated me as if I were applying to be his wife. Or perhaps a sow?”

Hob chuckles, shaking his head. "I'm not surprised. The man has all the charm of a brick wall."

"He's already on my mental no list," you say firmly, leaning against the balustrade and gazing out at the garden.

"Good riddance," Hob replies, standing beside you. "You deserve better than someone who sees you as a checklist."

You smile at his words, grateful for his presence. Hob has always had a way of making you feel understood and valued—a stark contrast to the endless parade of suitors who only see your dowry and connections.

"I wish finding a husband didn't feel like such a chore," you admit quietly.

"It shouldn't be," Hob agrees, his tone gentle but resolute. "You should marry someone who appreciates you for who you are."

You turn to look at him, searching his face for any hint of jest. But Hob's expression is sincere, his eyes warm with empathy. It pains you to hear that from him of all people, but you force those emotions down and force a smile.

"Thank you," you say softly.

"Always," he replies with a wink. "Now, shall I endeavor to help you find a more suitable husband than Lord Brick?"

You laugh, the sound echoing softly in the garden. "I would be eternally grateful for your assistance, Hob."

"Of course," he replies, his tone shifting to one of mock seriousness. "But I must warn you, my matchmaking skills are untested."

"How reassuring," you tease, feeling lighter than you have all evening.

Hob steps closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Let's start with a simple question: what are you truly looking for in a husband?"

You ponder for a moment, considering your words carefully. "Someone who respects me and values my opinions. Someone who sees me as an equal partner, not just an ornament or a means to an end."

He nods thoughtfully. "A reasonable request. And what about love? Does that factor into your equation?"

"Love would be ideal," you admit, your voice softening. "But in our world, it often seems like a luxury rather than a necessity."

"Perhaps," Hob muses, "but it's not impossible." He looks at you with a knowing glint in his eyes.

You feel a pang of longing at his words but push it aside. "So, do you have anyone in mind?" you ask, trying to keep the conversation light.

Hob grins. "Well, there is one gentleman I think might be suitable."

Your curiosity piques. "And who might that be?"

He leans in closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Lord Marcus Fairfax. He's recently returned from abroad and has been making quite an impression."

"I've heard of him," you say, intrigued. "But I've yet to meet him."

Hob's grin widens. "Then it seems I have my first task as your matchmaker."

You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "Thank you, Hob. I appreciate your help more than you know."

"Anything for you," he says sincerely.

Before you can respond, the sound of approaching footsteps catches your attention. You turn to see Emily emerging from the shadows of the garden.

"There you are!" she exclaims with relief. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

You offer her a polite smile. "Just needed some fresh air."

Emily nods understandingly before her gaze shifts to Hob. "And who might this be?" she asks with a curious tilt of her head.

"This is Lord Robert Gadling," you introduce him smoothly. “A long time family friend of the Y/L/N’s.”

"A pleasure to officially meet you, Lady Cartwright," Hob says with a charming smile and a slight bow.

"The pleasure is mine," she replies with a gracious nod before turning back to you. "Lord Fitzwilliam was quite dismayed when he couldn't find you after the dance."

"I'm sure he was," you mutter under your breath.

Emily chuckles softly. "I wouldn't worry too much about him." She glances between you and Hob before adding, "I see you've found better company anyway."

You exchange a knowing look with Hob and smile warmly at Emily's observation.

"It seems so," you agree.

The three of you stand in comfortable silence for a moment before Emily speaks again.

"Shall we return to the ballroom? The next dance is about to begin."

As you consider whether to rejoin the throng inside, Hob smoothly interjects before Emily can lobby further for your return to the ballroom.

"Apologies, Lady Cartwright," he says with a disarming grin, "but I have already secured Lady Y/L/N for the next dance."

Emily's eyebrows arch in surprise, but she quickly recovers, offering a gracious smile. "Of course, Lord Gadling. I wouldn't dream of intruding upon your plans."

With a nod, she takes her leave, disappearing back through the French doors and into the swirl of silk and jewels within. You turn to Hob, eyes wide with a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

"What are you doing?" you whisper as he offers his arm. Your mother will disapprove of this! The corners of his mouth twitch with suppressed laughter.

"Part of the plan," he murmurs back, leading you toward the temporary dance floor set up on the stone terrace.

"Plan?" you echo, allowing yourself to be guided into the world of waltzing couples under the stars.

Hob pulls you a touch closer than strictly proper, his voice low and teasing. "Men always want what they can't have. If they think I'm trying to court you, it will only increase your desirability. Don’t you know that I’ve been the most eligible bachelor the last few years?”

You feel a flush creep across your cheeks at the thought, but there's a certain logic to his words. "So, this is a ruse?" you ask, trying to maintain a sense of decorum as you glide across the ground in sync with him.

"A ruse that serves us both," he confirms, his gaze locked on yours. "You become the sought-after belle, and I... well, I get to dance with the most intriguing woman at the ball. And one who's company I actually enjoy…"

You can't help but laugh, the warmth of his compliment mingling with the cool night air. "And what happens when they realize it's all a charade?"

Hob's smile doesn't waver. "By then, you'll have your pick of suitors, and I'll be off to my next adventure. Free from preying mama’s.”

The thought of Hob leaving for another adventure—as he often does—causes a pang deep within, but you push it aside. This was the dynamic between you two, a dance of friendship and shared secrets, a bond that transcended the societal expectations placed upon you both. A forbidden love you try so hard to bury deep in your heart.

As the music swells around you, you find yourself lost in the rhythm and the steady, comforting presence of your friend. For a moment, the pressure of finding a suitable husband fades into the background, replaced by the simple joy of the dance.

You lean into the charade, letting yourself revel in the attention and the whispers that begin to circulate among the onlookers. Hob was right; his attentions have cast you in an entirely new light. Yet you find yourself not as excited about your prospects as you hoped. You would rather have Hob as a husband than any man in the entire country!

Days turn into weeks, and Hob's charade of courtship continues. At every ball and social gathering, he's by your side, his attentions never wavering. The other suitors take notice, their interest piqued by the mysterious and wealthy Lord Gadling who seems so taken with you. You should be pleased by the increased attention, but it only makes your feelings for Hob more difficult to contain.

One evening, as the two of you walk through a moonlit garden after yet another ball, Hob turns to you with a teasing grin. "I must say, our little ruse is working better than I expected."

You force a smile, trying to match his lighthearted tone. "Yes, it seems to be."

He raises an eyebrow. "Only 'seems'? Have you not noticed the way every eligible bachelor in town is vying for your attention?"

"I have," you admit. "But..."

"But what?" His eyes search your face, genuine concern replacing the teasing glint.

You hesitate, struggling to find the right words without revealing too much. "It's just... it's all so overwhelming. And none of them... none of them feel right."

Hob stops walking and turns to face you fully. "What do you mean?"

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "I mean... I don't feel anything for any of them."

His expression softens, and he takes a step closer. "Feelings can develop over time," he says gently. "Sometimes it takes a while for the heart to catch up."

You look away, unable to meet his eyes. "What if it never does?"

He reaches out and lifts your chin with a finger, forcing you to look at him. "Then they're not the right person for you."

The sincerity in his voice makes your heart ache even more. You want so badly to tell him how you feel, but the fear of ruining what you have holds you back.

"Thank you," you whisper instead.

He smiles softly and drops his hand back to his side. "Always here for you."

The night air grows cooler as the two of you continue walking in silence, each lost in your own thoughts. You wonder how long you can keep up this charade before your feelings become too much to bear.

Days later at another ball, Hob is once again at your side as suitors hover nearby, watching with envy as he spins you around the dance floor. His touch is familiar now—comforting yet bittersweet because it can never be more than this. Yet everyone who gazes at you believes that you and Hob are indeed in love.

During a brief break from dancing, he leads you to a secluded corner of the ballroom where he pulls out a flask and offers it to you with a conspiratorial wink.

"To surviving another evening of societal nonsense," he says with a chuckle.

You take a sip and laugh softly. "To surviving indeed."

As he takes a drink himself, he glances around at the other guests before leaning in closer to whisper in your ear. "If I didn't know any better," he says softly, "I'd think some of these gentlemen are plotting my demise just to get closer to you."

You can't help but smile at his playful tone despite the turmoil inside you. Being this close to him—feeling his breath on your skin—is both exhilarating and torturous.

"They wouldn't dare," you reply with a smirk. "Your flirting game is far superior."

He laughs quietly and pulls back slightly but remains close enough that your shoulders brush against each other. Then his laughter fades as he catches your gaze, his eyes lingering a moment longer than usual. You can almost see the internal struggle etched in the tight line of his jaw, the way his breath hitches just slightly when your shoulders brush. He’s trying so hard to maintain his composure, but you can sense the turmoil beneath the surface.

"You're thinking about it again, aren't you?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. You don't need to elaborate; he knows exactly what you mean.

Hob's eyes flicker with a mix of surprise and something else—something deeper and more vulnerable. "Thinking about what?"

"Finding me suitable match," you reply, your tone light but your words weighted with unspoken meaning.

He looks away for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. When he meets your gaze again, there's a flicker of pain in those dark eyes. "It's just... I worry that you'll end up with someone who doesn't see you for who you truly are. Or treat you as you deserve."

Your heart skips a beat at his admission. "And who does see me?" The question hangs in the air between you, heavy with implications.

Hob hesitates, his fingers brushing against yours in an almost imperceptible touch. "You deserve someone who sees every part of you—the good and the bad—and loves you all the same."

You feel your breath catch in your throat. His words are so close to what you've been longing to hear from him, yet they remain just out of reach. "Do you really think such a person exists?"

He looks down at your intertwined fingers before meeting your gaze once more. "I do," he says softly, and for a moment, it feels like he's baring his soul to you.

The world around you seems to fade away as you hold each other's gaze. You can see the battle raging within him—the desire to pull you closer and the fear of crossing that invisible line between friendship and something more.

"Hob..." Your voice trembles slightly as you say his name, and he takes a step closer, his resolve wavering. If only you had the courage to tell him how you really feel…. but you don't, and you probably never will. "I'm going to get some lemonade," you spit out the excuse and the before Hob can even blink at your sudden change in conversation you are gliding away.

The ballroom hums with life, the air thick with laughter and the soft strums of violins. You stand amidst it all, feeling the weight of every gaze upon you. Your suitor, Lord Marcus Fairfax, has been at your side all evening, his attentions unwavering and his conversation genuinely engaging.

Hob lounges near the edge of the room, watching with a satisfied smile. He’s proud, and you know he expects tonight to be momentous. His eyes twinkle whenever you glance his way, a silent encouragement shining in them.

Marcus leads you into another dance, his touch light yet assured. The two of you move effortlessly together, and for once, you feel almost at ease. You catch sight of Hob in the corner of your eye—his approving nod and the slight raise of his glass a subtle cheer from the sidelines.

As the music swells to its final notes, Marcus guides you off the dance floor to a quieter part of the ballroom. Your heart pounds with a mix of anticipation and dread. He turns to face you, taking your hands in his.

"Lady Y/L/N," he begins, his voice steady but soft enough that only you can hear him amidst the crowd’s chatter. "These past weeks have been some of the most delightful I've ever known."

You offer a polite smile, feeling your pulse quicken. You know what's coming; everyone does.

Marcus sinks gracefully to one knee before you, his gaze never leaving yours. The ballroom falls silent around you as onlookers turn their attention to this unfolding spectacle.

"Will you do me the honor," he continues, pulling out a small velvet box and opening it to reveal a glittering ring, "of becoming my wife?"

Gasps ripple through the crowd. You can feel hundreds of eyes on you, including Hob's intense gaze from across the room. Marcus’s earnest expression makes it clear that he’s serious—this isn’t just another social formality; he truly wants to marry you.

The ring glitters up at you, but it feels like a weight around your heart. You can't breathe. Panic bubbles up inside, threatening to spill over.

"I... I need some air," you blurt out, pulling your hands free from Marcus’s grasp.

Without waiting for a response, you turn and rush out of the ballroom. The gasps and murmurs of the crowd follow you, but you don't look back. Your chest tightens with every step as you flee through the manor, your thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and regret.

You pass through corridors and doorways in a blur, your feet moving on instinct rather than conscious thought. The opulent decorations and flickering candlelight become nothing more than a backdrop to your racing pulse.

Finally, you stumble into an empty library, the quiet sanctuary offering a brief respite from the chaos you've left behind. You lean against the door, trying to catch your breath. Your eyes scan the room—rows upon rows of leather-bound books, the faint scent of aged paper and polished wood calming your frantic mind.

You move further into the room, seeking solace among the shelves. Your fingers trail along the spines of the books as you walk, their familiar texture slowly calming your racing heart. The silence here is almost tangible, a stark contrast to the overwhelming noise of the ballroom.

As you reach the center of the library, you pause and take a deep breath, letting the stillness wash over you. For a moment, you're alone with your thoughts—the confusion, the fear, and above all, the undeniable truth that this is not what your heart desires.

You whirl around at the sound of footsteps, your heart pounding. Hob stands in the doorway, his face a mixture of concern and frustration.

"Why did you run?" His voice is a quiet demand, cutting through the stillness of the library.

"I couldn't breathe in there," you reply, your voice trembling with a mix of emotions. "It was too much."

Hob steps closer, his eyes searching yours. "Lord Fairfax is a good man. He'll treat you well."

Your hands ball into fists at your sides. "Is that all you think I deserve? To be treated well?"

He frowns, clearly taken aback by the intensity in your voice. "What else matters? He's respectable, kind, and he adores you. I know he will take care of you."

You shake your head, feeling tears sting your eyes. "I don't want to marry someone just because they're respectable and kind! I want more than that."

Hob's expression hardens. "What more could you possibly want? Stability? Security? Those are luxuries many don't have."

"I want love!" The words burst out of you before you can stop them. Your chest heaves with the force of your emotion. "I want to marry someone I love, not just someone who checks all the right boxes!"

Hob's eyes flash with a mix of anger and something else—something deeper that he tries to mask. "Love isn't always practical. It doesn't always lead to happiness."

"And marrying someone I don't love will?" Your voice rises, echoing off the library walls. "Do you think I can be happy living a lie every day of my life?"

His silence speaks volumes, his jaw clenched tight as he struggles to find a response.

"You know nothing about what I want," you continue, the words spilling out in a rush. "You think you know what's best for me, but you don't understand how it feels to stand there and pretend!"

"Then enlighten me," Hob snaps back, his frustration boiling over. "Tell me what it is that makes you so different from everyone else who's ever had to make a practical choice!"

You take a step closer, your eyes locking onto his with fierce determination. "I love you."

The declaration hangs in the air between you like a charged storm cloud ready to burst. Hob's eyes widen in shock; for once, he’s speechless.

"I love you," you repeat, each word enunciated with raw emotion. The weight of your confession crashes down on both of you, leaving an electrified silence in its wake. "That's why I can't marry him."

The room seems to close in around you, the weight of your confession hanging heavily in the air. Hob's face remains a storm of conflicting emotions—surprise, frustration, and something softer that you can't quite decipher. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but your heart races and a few tears slip from your eyes.

Hob steps forward instinctively, his hand reaching out as if to comfort you, then stopping short. His fingers curl into a fist before dropping back to his side.

"You love me?" His voice is hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

"Yes," you say, voice cracking with the weight of it all. "I want to marry the man who makes me look forward to waking up in the morning. The man who makes my heart skip a beat."

His eyes soften, and for a moment, it feels like he's about to pull you into his arms. The tension between you is palpable, an electric current that draws you closer together. He reaches out again, this time letting his fingers brush against your cheek, wiping away a tear.

"You deserve that," he murmurs, his thumb lingering on your skin. "You deserve someone who makes you feel alive."

You close your eyes at his touch, leaning into the warmth of his hand. "I thought... I hoped that person could be you."

Hob's breath catches in his throat. "Y/N..."

Your name on his lips sends shivers down your spine. You open your eyes to find him looking at you with an intensity that makes your heart ache.

"Say something," you plead softly. "Tell me what you're thinking."

His thumb traces a gentle line along your jaw before he drops his hand reluctantly. "I'm thinking... I'm thinking how much I've tried to deny this."

The words are almost a whisper, but they hit you like a thunderclap. He steps back slightly, putting just enough distance between you that the momentary warmth fades.

"You've always been more than just a friend," he admits, eyes filled with turmoil. "But I didn't want to ruin what we have by wanting more."

"Then don't ruin it," you implore him. "We can have more if we both want it."

Hob looks torn, struggling with emotions he's clearly kept buried for too long. His silence is agonizing as he weighs his next words carefully.

"I want to," he finally says, voice filled with raw honesty. "God help me, I want to."

You take a shaky breath, your heart pounding in your chest. "Then what's holding you back?"

Hob's gaze shifts, his eyes dark and stormy. He looks as if he's battling a tempest within himself, the struggle visible in every tense muscle. His fingers twitch at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching as if trying to find some anchor.

"It's... complicated," he finally manages, voice strained. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You wouldn't," you insist, stepping closer. "Hob, I need to know why you're fighting this so hard."

He closes his eyes briefly, as if summoning the strength to speak. When he opens them again, they're filled with a raw vulnerability you've rarely seen. "I'm scared," he admits. "Scared of losing you. Of losing what we have."

"You are pushing me away because of something that hasn't happened yet?" You exclaim in frustration. "Well I might as well just accept Lord Fairfax's proposal because at this rate I won't ever have a chance to marry the man that I love."

Your words hang in the air, a final declaration that slices through the tension like a knife. You turn to stride past Hob, the urge to escape this suffocating moment overwhelming. But just as you move, his hand shoots out, catching your gloved wrist.

You halt, breath hitching as you look back at him. His grip is firm but gentle, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. For a moment, everything else fades away—the opulent library, the distant murmur of the ballroom, even the turmoil inside you. All that exists is this moment, this connection.

"Hob," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He doesn't respond with words. Instead, he steps closer, pulling you toward him with a tenderness that contrasts sharply with the storm raging in his eyes. Your bodies collide gently, and his arm wrapped around you, drawing you into his chest. The scent of him—warm and familiar—fills your senses.

Before you can process what's happening, his lips capture yours in a kiss that steals your breath away. It's passionate and urgent, yet somehow also soft and romantic. His lips move against yours with a fervor that speaks of years of unspoken longing and hidden desire.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, gripping tightly as if anchoring yourself to this reality. The world tilts on its axis, and you lose yourself in the sensation—the warmth of his embrace, the taste of his kiss, the way he holds you as if you're something precious.

Hob’s kiss deepens, his lips moving with a fervent intensity that leaves you breathless. His hand, still holding your wrist, begins to tug at your glove. The fabric resists for a moment before yielding, slipping off and exposing your bare skin to the cool air of the library.

His fingers, warm and calloused, trace the outline of your palm. The touch sends shivers down your spine, a mix of tenderness and urgency in every movement. He interlaces his fingers with yours, skin to skin for the first time. The sensation is electric, a jolt that seems to connect directly to your heart.

Your other hand finds its way to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer. His body presses against yours, the heat between you rising as the kiss becomes more insistent. It feels as if the world outside has ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you in this moment.

Hob's other hand slides up your back, pulling you tighter against him. His lips leave yours only to trail kisses along your jawline, each one igniting a spark that courses through you. You can feel his breath hot against your skin, his heartbeat matching the frantic rhythm of your own.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his own dark and filled with an emotion so intense it takes your breath away. "I've wanted this for so long," he murmurs against your lips before capturing them once more in a kiss that speaks volumes of his hidden desire.

Your heart pounds as Hob's kisses deepen, his lips moving with an urgency that matches the racing beat in your chest. You're swept up in a whirlwind of sensation, barely able to process anything beyond the way he makes you feel—alive, wanted, loved. His arms wrap around you, strong and sure, and before you know it, he's lifting you off the ground.

You gasp against his mouth as he picks you up effortlessly, his grip firm and secure. Your hands clutch at his shoulders for balance, but there's no fear—only a mix of excitement and desire. The room spins briefly as he carries you across the library, each step resonating with a sense of inevitability.

He sets you down on the edge of a sturdy wooden table, the polished surface cool against your skin even through the layers of your dress. The library's muted light casts soft shadows around you both, creating an intimate cocoon that feels separate from the rest of the world. Hob’s hands never leave your body, always maintaining that vital connection as if afraid to let go.

His lips find yours again, more insistent this time. His kiss is demanding yet tender, a contradiction that sends shivers down your spine. You lean into him, fingers threading through his hair as he presses closer, melding your bodies together. His hands begin to roam—one tangles in your hair while the other slides down to grasp the hem of your dress.

You can feel his fingers tugging at the fabric, hiking up the skirts with deliberate precision. Each bit he lifts exposes more of your legs to the cool air and his burning touch. The sensation is thrilling and unfamiliar, making your pulse race even faster. Your breath hitches in your throat as his hand moves higher, brushing against your thigh with a touch that's both gentle and electrifying.

Hob breaks the kiss just long enough to look into your eyes, his gaze dark with desire. "Is this what you want?" he murmurs, voice rough with emotion.

"Yes," you breathe out without hesitation. You don't fully understand what's happening or where this is leading, but you know one thing for certain—you want more of Hob and everything he makes you feel. "The only man I have ever truly wanted is you. Ruin me Robert Gadling."

Hob’s eyes darken at your words, a flash of something primal sparking in their depths. His grip on your legs tightens, and you can feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of your dress. The library around you fades into a blur, every sense attuned to the man before you.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he breathes against your lips, his voice a mixture of warning and desire.

“Then show me,” you whisper back, leaning into him, your heart pounding in your chest. "Please…"

"As you wish, my lady," Hob purrs, nipping at your lower lip while stroking his thumb along your soft inner thigh.

Your heart races as Hob's fingers continue their exploration, tracing the delicate skin of your inner thigh. There's a new warmth pooling in your belly, a yearning for something you can't quite articulate. Each touch, each caress is a revelation, unveiling sensations you never even knew existed.

You gasp softly as his fingertips graze over the soft fabric of your undergarments, the contact making your body arch involuntarily toward his hand. Your innocence is both a cloak and a currency in this moment; you're utterly inexperienced, yet your reactions are genuine and unguarded, beautiful in their purity.

"Hob," you whisper, your voice trembling with the intensity of the moment. You're not sure what you're asking for, only that you want more of this—more of his touch, more of this feeling of being alive and wanted.

He responds with a soft groan, his lips capturing yours in a fervent kiss that leaves you breathless. His hand moves with more confidence now, his fingers delving beneath the fabric to find the damp curls at the apex of your thighs. The contact is electric, and you can't help the moan that escapes you, the sound muffled by his kiss.

His fingers explore you with a tenderness that brings tears to your eyes. You cling to him, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as he expertly teases and coaxes new sensations from your body. Waves of pleasure ripple through you, each one more intense than the last.

You're dimly aware of the world outside this secluded corner of the library—the murmur of voices in the distance, the soft crackle of the fire—but it all seems so insignificant compared to the tempest raging within you. Hob's touch is your entire universe, each movement a discovery that leaves you gasping for breath.

Your body moves instinctively, arching and bucking against his hand as he continues his sweet torment. You're lost in a sea of new emotions, each wave crashing over you with increasing force. You can feel a tightening in your body, a pressure that's building with every stroke of his fingers.

"Come for me," Hob murmurs against your lips, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. You don't fully understand his words, but you trust him implicitly. You surrender yourself to the rhythm of his touch, letting him guide you through this uncharted territory.

And then, with a finality that leaves you shaking, the pressure breaks. A rush of pleasure courses through you, so intense that it borders on pain. You cry out, your voice echoing off the library walls as your body convulses beneath his touch.

Your body trembles in the aftermath of the storm Hob has unleashed within you. His lips find yours again, soft and reassuring, as you come down from the heights of your first orgasm. The sensation is still rippling through you, a delicious warmth that leaves you feeling both languid and exhilarated.

You cling to him, your fingers tracing the firm lines of his shoulders through the fabric of his coat. The reality of what just happened—of what you just experienced—begins to sink in, and a flush of embarrassment colors your cheeks. You've heard whispers of such things among the other debutantes, but nothing could have prepared you for the reality.

Hob pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours with a tenderness that makes your heart flutter. "There's so much more," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

Curiosity piqued, you gaze up at him, your eyes wide and trusting. "More?" you echo, the word barely more than a whisper.

He chuckles softly, the sound rich and warm in the quiet of the library. His fingers gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering on your skin. "Yes, my dear Y/N," he says, his eyes dark with unspoken promises. "So much more."

As he speaks, his hands move to the fall of his breeches, deftly undoing the buttons with practiced ease. You watch with a mixture of trepidation and fascination, your heart pounding in your chest. You know that what you're about to see—what you're about to experience—is another step into the unknown, a world that's as thrilling as it is terrifying.

His breeches fall away, revealing the hard length of him. You can't help but stare, your innocence leaving you unprepared for the sight. It's both intimidating and fascinating, a part of him you've never seen before. How was it so… erect?

"Hob..." you begin, your voice trailing off as you struggle to find the right words. You're filled with a thousand questions, a thousand uncertainties. But more than anything, you're filled with a deep, abiding trust in the man before you. Where did one put such a part of his body? "Where…?"

His fingers gentle against your cheek, coaxing you to look up at him. "Don't worry," Hob whispers, his voice a soothing balm against your racing thoughts. "I'll be gentle."

His words wrap around you like a comforting embrace, easing some of the tension from your body. You trust him, this man who has been your best friend and confidant for so long. With a nod, you give him silent permission to continue, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and excitement.

Hob's hand moves to the hem of your dress, slowly lifting it to expose your quivering legs. The cool air of the library brushes against your bare skin, making you shiver. His eyes never leave yours, a silent promise of care and tenderness that makes your heart flutter.

He positions himself between your thighs, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the chill that lingers in the air. You feel the blunt pressure of him against your most intimate place, a sensation that is both strange and compelling. That's were it goes?

Hob’s gaze locks onto yours, a silent promise of care and tenderness. "I'll be gentle," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against your racing thoughts.

With slow, deliberate movements, he begins to push inside you. The initial pressure is intense, and you can't help but tense up. A sharp pain follows, making you squirm involuntarily against him. Your body resists, unused to such an intrusion and a whimper slips from your lips.

"Hush," Hob whispers against your lips, his voice filled with reassurance. He kisses you softly, his lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw and then down to your neck. Each kiss is a promise, a silent vow that he will take care of you.

The pain doesn't fade immediately; it lingers as Hob continues his slow advance. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat as you try to ground yourself. The world narrows to the two of you—the heat of his body, the sound of your mingled breaths, the gentle caresses that follow every whisper.

He pauses frequently, allowing you time to adjust to each new sensation. His lips never leave your skin, planting kisses along your jawline and neck in an attempt to soothe you. "You're doing so well," he murmurs between kisses, his voice filled with an almost painful tenderness.

You cling to his words like a lifeline, focusing on the warmth of his breath against your skin and the gentle pressure of his lips. Slowly but surely, the pain begins to ebb away, replaced by a strange fullness that feels both foreign and intimate.

When Hob finally sheaths himself fully within you, he pauses again, giving you time to acclimate to the new sensation. His forehead rests against yours as he breathes deeply, sharing this moment of connection with you.

"Are you alright?" he asks softly, his voice filled with genuine concern.

You nod slightly, still adjusting but feeling more secure in his embrace. "Yes," you whisper back, trusting him completely.

Hob kisses you once more before beginning a slow rhythm that gradually builds in intensity. Each movement is deliberate and measured; he's attuned to every nuance of your body’s responses. And though it takes time for the pleasure to outweigh the initial discomfort, with every stroke and every kiss he brings you closer to understanding this new facet of intimacy between you.

You cling to him, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as he rocks against you. The table beneath you creaks softly with the movement, but you're beyond caring about the noise. The library, once a sanctuary of knowledge and decorum, has transformed into a cocoon of pleasure and discovery.

His lips find yours once more, kissing you deeply as his pace increases. You respond with a fervor that surprises you, your innocence giving way to a passion that matches his own. The sounds of your shared desire fill the room—soft moans, whispered words of encouragement, the rustle of clothing as it shifts and slips with each movement.

You feel a warmth spreading within you, a sensation that's both unfamiliar and utterly captivating. It's as if your very soul is reaching out to his, your bodies joined in the most intimate of dances. The tension inside you builds with each deliberate stroke, a crescendo that's both exhilarating and a little frightening.

Hob’s breath is ragged now, his movements becoming more erratic as he chases his own release. He grunts softly with each thrust, a raw and primal sound that sends shivers down your spine. His hand moves between your bodies, fingers deftly finding that sensitive spot that he teased earlier.

The contact is electric, sending shock waves of pleasure coursing through you. Your body arches off the table, a strangled cry escaping your lips as the sensations threaten to overwhelm you. You're teetering on the edge of something monumental, a precipice that both terrifies and excites you.

With a final, powerful thrust, Hob surges into you one last time. His body shudders against yours, a low groan echoing around the library as he finds his release. You sharply gasp, feeling a rush of warmth fill your body. The feeling of him pulsing inside you triggers your own climax, the walls of your sex convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you.

You cling to each other, bodies slick with sweat and shuddering with the aftershocks of your shared passion. The world outside the library ceases to exist; all that matters is the connection between you and Hob—a connection that has irrevocably altered the course of your life.

As your breathing slowly returns to normal, you become acutely aware of the reality of your situation. You're an unmarried debutante lying wantonly sprawled on a library table with your skirts hiked up and your body still thrumming from the most intimate of acts with Hob's pleasureslowly oozing from your joined bodies. The knowledge of what you've done—what you've allowed—sends a jolt of panic through you. Oh your father was going to kill you. Even if you had desired this!

Panic grips your heart as the reality of your situation crashes over you. You feel Hob shift slightly, his movements careful and measured. He seems to sense your turmoil and immediately cups your cheek, his touch gentle yet firm.

“Y/N, look at me,” Hob’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts, grounding you in the present moment. His eyes, warm and earnest, lock onto yours. “You have nothing to fear.”

“But… my father,” Your voice quivers with uncertainty and fear. The gravity of what just happened looms large in your mind. "He will—"

Hob leans closer, his forehead resting against yours. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll call upon you with a ring,” he promises, his tone unwavering. “I will propose to you.”

You blink at him, disbelieving. “A ring? You’ll propose?”

“There is no one more suited to become my marchioness than you,” he states firmly, his gaze never wavering from yours.

The sincerity in his eyes soothes some of your panic, though doubts still linger at the edges of your mind. “But what if—”

“No ‘what ifs,’” Hob interrupts gently but firmly. “You’re mine now, Y/N, and I intend to make it official.”

His words wrap around you like a comforting blanket, easing the tension from your body. You nod slowly, allowing yourself to believe him.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Hob murmurs, sliding himself gently from your body.

You gasp at the sudden emptiness and and slight sting within your body, you glance down instinctively. Your eyes widen in shock at the sight of blood smeared on both of you. Panic flares anew in your chest. "Oh…"

Hob glances up at your reaction and quickly reassures you. “It’s alright,” he says softly, brushing a soothing hand over your hair. “It’s normal for there to be some blood the first time.”

His calm demeanor helps steady you once more as he carefully helps you off the table. He retrieves a handkerchief from his pocket and begins to clean away the evidence of your shared passion with tender care.

You blink up at Hob, his face still inches from yours, and your breath catches in your throat. "Do you mean it?" Your voice trembles as you ask, your heart pounding in your chest.

His eyes soften, a tender smile playing on his lips. "With all my heart," he whispers, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "There’s no one else I want by my side."

His words sink in slowly, like honey pouring over a scone. You nod, the fear ebbing away under the warmth of his gaze. You cling to his reassurance as he helps you straighten your dress and tidy your hair. Every movement is careful, almost reverent, and it feels as though he's not just tending to your appearance but also to the fragile pieces of your heart.

The library is eerily silent now, the earlier intensity replaced by a hushed calm. The crackling fire casts a warm glow over the room, and you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

Hob’s hand remains gentle on your back as he leads you toward one of the high-backed chairs near the fireplace. He eases you into the seat, his touch never wavering in its tenderness. You watch him move about the room with practiced ease, retrieving a blanket and draping it over your shoulders.

"Remain here, I will not sacrifice your honor any further," Hob tells you, his eyes examining your face for discomfort and further. "You have simply found yourself overwhelmed and feeling poorly."

You nod, trusting him implicitly. The sound of footsteps in the hallway makes both of you tense. Someone is coming. Hob’s expression hardens with resolve. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“I’ll slip out and return to the ballroom,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “You stay here. Someone will find you soon.”

Before you can respond, he presses a quick, reassuring kiss to your forehead and then moves towards the library door with swift, silent steps. You watch as he disappears into the shadows, leaving you alone in the dimly lit room.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you wrap the blanket tighter around yourself, trying to steady your breathing. It is a struggle to ignore the lingering sensations within your body, the dull yet stinging ache between your legs, the flush in your cheeks… the silence of the library feels oppressive now, each tick of the grandfather clock echoing loudly in the stillness.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours. You strain to hear any sounds from outside the library—voices, footsteps, anything that might signal someone’s approach. Your mind races with a thousand thoughts and fears, but you cling to Hob’s promise like a lifeline.

The door creaks open slowly, and you quickly compose yourself, arranging the blanket around your shoulders to appear as though you've been resting. A familiar voice calls out your name softly.

“Lady Y/L/N?”

You look up to see one of the servants peering into the room with concern etched across their face. Relief floods through you as they step inside.

“My Lady,” they say, moving closer and noting your disheveled appearance with a frown. “Are you alright? We’ve been looking for you.”

You nod weakly, offering a small smile to reassure them. “I felt faint and needed a moment alone,” you explain softly, hoping your voice doesn’t betray the tumultuous emotions swirling within you. "This night has been terribly overwhelming."

The servant helps you to your feet, their touch gentle but firm. “Let’s get you back to the ballroom,” they say kindly. "Your father and Lord Fairfax are ever so worried, as are the other guests."

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself as you nod in agreement. Your legs feel weak, but you force yourself to stand tall. You can't let anyone suspect what just transpired. As you step into the hallway, the servant by your side, the grand opulence of the manor greets you once more. The sounds of laughter and music grow louder with each step.

You catch sight of Hob ahead, seamlessly blending into the crowd. He glances your way, and for a fleeting moment, his eyes meet yours. A silent promise lingers in that look before he turns back to engage in conversation with another guest.

“Y/N,” your father's voice booms as he spots you from across the room. He rushes over, his face a mix of relief and concern. “Where have you been? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“I’m sorry, Father,” you reply, your voice steady despite the turmoil within. “I felt faint and needed a moment to collect myself.”

Lord Fairfax appears beside him, his brow furrowed with worry. “Are you alright now?” he asks, his tone gentler than usual.

You nod, offering them both a reassuring smile. “Yes, I’m feeling much better. It was all to overwhelming I do hope you forgive me.”

Your father’s expression softens as he places a hand on your shoulder. “I’m glad to hear that,” he says warmly. “Come, you look awfully flush with pallor my dear. I fear the excitement of this night has been too much for you."

If only he knew.

Date Published: 10/17/24

Last Edit: 10/17/24

Hob Gadling Masterlist

Kinktober 2024

#hob gadling x reader #hob gadling #the sandman x reader #the sandman netflix #the sandman au

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adelaidedrubman · 1 month ago

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KINKTOBER DAY 7: RISKY PLACES for faith x jenna | from prompt list by starsandskies summary: faith and jenna take a break from bliss production — and from lab safety protocol. wordcount: 2.5k notes/warnings: NSFW! in the sense of explicit sexual content and in the sense of OSHA violations. sex in the chem lab. flop styles, it’s a failsex production. shower sex, technically. author is a faith is a pillow princess tease truther. author is a faith is stinky gross truther (/affectionate, horny). potential secondhand embarrassment. you can get a visual on the footwear described for faith here, if you’re so inclined.

“Not at the lab station,” Jenna panted as she caught Faith by the small of her back to interrupt her effort to push herself up by her palms to sit atop the table, gently guiding her down from tiptoes.

“It’s covered in glassware,” she answered to Faith’s drawn out whine of protest, kissing away the matching pout. “And we can’t risk it breaking,” she said softly against the side of her mouth. “Far too great a safety hazard, when…”

Jenna gulped, spell momentarily broken as she recalled a rather unfortunate reality, taking a step back and trailing her gaze down Faith’s shapely legs to her feet.

She nodded in gesture towards the hastily slipped on latex gloves stretched up to her ankles, empty fingers flopping past the length of her toes to create a resemblance to a bizarre pair of bright blue udders — Faith’s latest clever effort to evade Jenna’s strict enforcement of the ‘closed toe footwear must be worn in the lab at all times’ policy.

“... when those would hardly offer much protection from broken glass,” she finished, clearing her throat and lifting her head to put the display out of sight, and hopefully out of mind.

“You make the choice where to take me, then,” Faith replied, tacking an extra trill onto the double entendre. “But you better hurry,” she added in sing-song, tugging playfully at the waistband of Jenna’s slacks.

Jenna hummed in consideration, throwing her head to the side to look over her shoulder at the expanse of the lab as Faith worked unbuckling her belt and pressing kisses to the freshly exposed column of her neck.

The sample storage freezer. No, she wasn’t particularly in the mood for temperature play. She craned her neck further.

The Bliss barrel loading dock. Well, they were safely sealed, but there was always the possibility of a machinery misfire, and the shortcomings in Jenna’s curriculum vitae included not being forklift certified.

The exam table. A perfect option, if only it had been recently sterilized. As it were, moving on.

The safety shower and eyewash station. She smiled.

What better place to safely conduct their impromptu lab hook-up than the safety shower?

“Have a bit of patience, darling,” Jenna chided, snaking a hand up Faith’s skirt and grasping tight onto her ample backside as she turned her in the direction of the shower and began walking them towards it in a sloppy, groping waltz. “It is a virtue.”

“I’m not so interested in virtue right now,” Faith replied, undoing the final buttons of Jenna’s pants — and causing them to pool at her ankles, so that she had to waddle the remaining few steps to the stall.

“Well,” Jenna replied, allowing a second hand to join the first under Faith’s skirt as they reached their destination, one on each cheek to squeeze and spread. “Far be it for me to keep you from pursuing whatever does interest you.”

With that she braced herself and tightened her grip at the top of Faith’s thighs, tensed her muscles to hoist and lift Faith to set atop the basin of the eyewash station — her slender arms trembling and nearly giving out, unable to support the weight with their lack of power — Jenna worked out at the library, as she’d heard the kids say these days, after all.

Still, she somehow managed to lift Faith high enough she could get the rest done herself, doing the kindness of sighing in appreciation as if Jenna had really been the one to earn it. Sighing in that dreamy way that was all warm whispering breezes and perfumed haze settling over the world, that managed to make the space between them airy and bright, yet sticky and dense at the same time. Like a storm settling in.

Faith pushed back the sleeve of Jenna’s lab coat to begin pressing kisses up the length of her inner forearm that carried that same feathery light electric current.

“You know nothing could stop me,” she hummed against the pulse of Jenna’s wrists, followed by her teeth catching the thick rimmed cuff of her protective gloves and pulling to peel the latex from her skin in slow, teasing crawl that caused her skin to pull tight and pimple.

No, Jenna thought as she shivered at the snap of the glove springing fully freed to hang from Faith’s mouth, nothing likely could. Her beguiling little force of nature, her darling little marvel of the universe she could spend an eternity watching in awe.

So engrossing she could barely even think to lecture her about not putting things that might have toxic residue in her mouth.

Instead, she simply brushed a thumb against pink lower lip to pry it from top and knock the glove to the ground, forgotten.

She certainly couldn’t dwell on it as Faith took the thumb into her mouth to teasingly suckle before guiding the hand between her legs and beneath the lace of her underwear.

She glanced to the side and trailed her eyes along the curves of Faith’s legs, briefly considering replicating the gesture to remove the obnoxious sight of the gloves her lover donned on lower extremities — thinking better of it as she glimpsed the flaking brown of dried river mud braceleting her ankle. There was such a thing as too much toxic residue to ignore.

Instead, she focused on slipping her fingers inside Faith and working them to a steady curl-then-stiffen rhythm, delighting in the easy glide they found.

“My, my,” Jenna purred at the trembling ridge of Faith’s jaw. “Someone’s well lubricated.”

She smiled as Faith responded with a hook of her leg around Jenna’s waist to pull her in and a demanding rise in pitch and volume to the melody of breathy moans. Faith was the only woman Jenna had ever been with who never chastised her for the overly clinical dirty talk.

The thought made need assert itself freshly in her body, warmth surging in the pit of her stomach and bubbling upward to flush across her chest, blessedly just as Faith’s fingers began undoing the buttons of her blouse to slip beneath her bra and squeeze a nipple.

“No,” Faith huffed as Jenna shrugged to shuck clothing from her torso completely, pulling the stiff white lapel of her jacket back up to her shoulder and patting it in place. “The lab coat stays on.”

Jenna laughed into their kiss in indulging agreement, rewarding Faith for the flattering flight of fancy by working her fingers harder and faster.

She felt a burn grow in her forearm from the effort as Faith began to flutter and tighten, her own hips rocking in rhythm as she sought the friction of its steady pressure.

She pushed herself further, powering through the pop and crackle of her overworked joints (there had yet to be an invention of medical science to counteract aging past thirty) and losing herself to the sweet chorus it created with Faith’s gasping moans, fading into the background as a low, steady creaking.

It all so paired so perfectly, a subtle slick slap that punctuated every thrust, the ‘oh, oh’ that every cry of her name stuttered into, the throb throb of her pulse in her ears, the creak, creak creak snap —

Thud.

Jenna blinked eyes open to the sight of the glistening pink of her fingers still outstretched in front of her but decided bare of breathtaking blonde sitting atop them.

“Ow!”

Then down to the woman now sprawled on the floor at her feet, face scrunched in pain and hand reached behind her to rub at her tailbone, water pooling beneath her.

Water?

Then up midway to the basin of the eyewash station, now hanging crooked, ripped from the wall from the force of the weight, exposed pipe spewing water where it was once mounted.

“Ah,” Jenna noted thoughtfully, rinsing her fingers under the freely streaming water and reaching and turning to step from the stall and fetch the first-aid kit. “Do you need me to call for medical —”

“No.” Faith cleared her throat, a brief gravel before she smoothed her voice and skirt and rose to her knees, scooting sideways and out of the water of the sprung leak. “Let’s worry about that later. And for now, get back to where we were,” she cooed, reaching palms towards the back of Jenna’s knees and pull her in. “Or better…”

With the ghostly swiftness of a strong wind whistling through a window’s cracks Faith pulled down Jenna’s underwear and slid tongue between her lips, swiping back and forth with just enough pressure to be more satisfying than maddening from the lack of focus. And just as it began to creep into the territory of the former, Faith mercifully ended the torment — a final upward glide to settle tongue pressed against her clit and flex.

Jenna slapped a hand against the concrete wall to steady herself as Faith’s tongue firmed and massaged with an ever increasing force that drew her wound her ever tighter, closing in on release. She careened even faster towards the edge as Faith’s lips pursed, giving a light suck that cause pleasure to spike, and another — drawing so close — and another, and —

Pop.

Not exactly the release Jenna had in mind, as Faith pulled back with a giggle and shuffled to her feet, propping arms atop Jenna’s shoulders.

“But we should finish what we started first, shouldn’t we?” Faith whispered with a devastating drip of venom laced honey, leaning back against the wall and guiding Jenna’s hand back in place between her legs.

She really should have seen that coming, shouldn’t she?

“I do believe teasing is half the fun for you,” Jenna sighed, weary but free of malice as she obligingly began to pump her fingers to build back to the rhythm she’d previously set.

“But only half of it,” Faith replied, raking fingers along Jenna’s scalp to the elastic band tying her hair back and through to pull it loose and allow curls to spring free.

One hand stayed buried in Jenna’s hair as the other roamed her body, ghosting every stray place it could. A brush of fingertips along her collarbone, a fist bunching the sleeve of her lab coat, a teasing caress of her inner thigh.

All that contact disappeared as Faith tossed her head back with a sharp gasp, free hand instead reaching back to the wall to push her forward and into Jenna. Her muscles tensed and writhed in the uneven jerks of a body given over to sheer reflex as it chased release, hand against the wall clenching and unclenching as it crept up and up and up, fingers curling around the handle they finally reached and closing in to grab for purchase, pulling down to — oh no —

A click, and a cascade of water fell from the plastic fan of the showerhead jutting from the wall, causing Faith to turn her head to the side and cough as it poured into her open mouth.

Jenna gave her lover a few slaps on the back to clear her airway as she pulled her to the side and out of the stream’s way.

“Maybe we should go dry off,” she suggested, stroking Faith’s back as she continued coughing in her arms. “There’s some towels in the supply closet, and —”

“No,” Faith interrupted sharply, brow pinching inward and green eyes squinting into a glare. “No,” she repeated softer, dipped back inside and sugar spun and spat out again with a sticky, glaring bright fluff. “This is spontaneous and romantic,” she said, voice ringing high and clear like a bell, but one packed too tight in cushioning to reverberate as she enunciated every word with a pointed care. Oh, she did so love when Faith took that tone with her. “And we are going to enjoy it.”

Before Jenna could mumble an appeasing ‘of course,’ Faith jerked her wrist a bit too roughly to return her hand its place, the force of her leg hooking around her waist to pull her forward causing Jenna to stumble forward.

She kept her balance and caught herself with an elbow against the wall easily enough (another benefit of non-skid shoes to tout to Faith in the afterglow), rather appreciating the support as her tired arm got back to work.

And getting soaked hadn’t made Faith any less, well, soaked — still all depths of slick past dripping blonde curls.

It was a quick build back to where they’d left off, no time at all before Faith’s breaths were uneven with labored heaves of her chest, pink flush creeping up her neck.

And those sounds she made — ever higher in pitch and volume, chiming like a bell indeed, one struck harder and more rapidly with each passing second until it was a continuous, blaring trill.

Wait —

Jenna pulled back from her place nuzzling against Faith’s pulse, ear back from the lips spilling sweet cries to hear the shrill, drawn out siren piercing through the air — just before a fresh drizzle of water fell down from above, this time from the sprinklers fixed to the ceiling.

Jenna belatedly noticed the heat that radiated against her back rather than the front she had pressed against warm body, turning to look behind her.

She was greeted with the sight of hot blue flames reaching up from the matte black surface of the table, trailing gaze further down its length to see the tip over bottle of ethanol laying just where they’d begun their endeavor, having finally crept over to the still lit bunsen burner to fuel and spread its flame.

“I think that’s an official ‘experiment failed’ for today, darling,” Jenna said with a flick of her eyes up towards the flashing light of the blaring fire alarm, removing her hand from between Faith’s legs.

She once again silenced the beginnings of a complaining huff she saw preparing to pass through pouting pink lips with a kiss, weaving her fingers through the spun gold tresses of still soaking hair to tilt her head back. She reached to grip the back of her thigh and raise her leg to prop at her waist one last time as she deepened the kiss, subtly slipping away as she angled her lover back.

“Let’s grab a fire extinguisher and take care of this,” Jenna offered as she pulled away, giving Faith’s leg a parting squeeze. “Then we can take this somewhere a little less… high risk.”

Faith smiled, reaching to the side and pulling down the fire extinguisher to pass to Jenna as she answered in sing-song, “Just don’t be long.”

“I’ll be as efficient as I can,” she answered, taking the item from Faith. “Although…” She smiled, taking a step back before nodding at the floor in gesture towards Faith’s gloved feet. “This probably wouldn’t have happened, if you’d just worn proper footwear.”

Jenna turned and pulled the pin of the fire extinguisher to release a pressurized whoosh that drowned out any responding protest Faith had to offer.

High risk, high reward, Jenna thought to herself as she swept the snow white spray along the length of the ignited lab table, smile widening as she considered. At least if it worked.

Getting Faith to wear shoes in the lab would be better than sex.

#queuing this for while i’m at work so tumblr please don’t let me down (i know you will)#this is based on a joke i told forever ago (and now can’t find) about faith and jenna breaking the lab safety shower #anyways. way to start kinktober! let’s go!#writies and wordies #otp: a neurochemical con job #oc: jenna swann #c: faith seed #nsft #kinktober

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withoutalice · 8 months ago

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You wanted ask drabbles and idk like character limits so could I request a Tarnma fluff drabble?

Tarnma fluffyness <3

Word Count: 880

Warnings: none! just a really sweet date night with some sillies

Pharma had always dreamed of being one of those mecha, you know, the kinds that go to grand theater shows and masquerade balls and galas; he was made to be dramatic. Day in and day out it was logic and procedures and direction. He was a forged medic, very skilled at his craft, but he wanted mystery and allure in his life. At night he was able to listen to music, closing his optics and pretending he was lounging in a velvet VIP theater box seat, high above the commoners while indulging in the sweet arts of performance and entertainment.

Pharma sipped on deep red engex, enjoying the peace of his dark office. It was after hours, all the other medics had gone to their quarters for the night. Soon, he heard those familiar stomping pede-steps approaching. He continued nursing his drink, smirking when Tarn opened his unlocked office door.

“Here for your T-cogs?” Pharma sneered. Tarn cleared his throat.

“Actually, I had another request of you.” Pharma rolled his eyes. Tarn ignored it and continued. “Would you be willing to join me for a night?” Pharma hesitated.

“A night of what?”

“It’d be a surprise…” Pharma cackled.

“Hold on, you think I’d just…go?! With the terrifying leader of the DJD without some sort of plan?”

“I assumed, since you’re a flier frame, that you’d be more inclined to act upon impuls-”

“Of course I’ll go!” He snapped. Pharma muttered under his breath as he finished his drink. “Do I look like a square to you? No? Anyway, what should I bring…” Tarn paused for a minute.

“Nothing, unless you have a favorite accessory or other…polish you like to wear out. I’ll give you a few minutes.”

Pharma just opened a drawer and put on magnetic clips to his audials, and used a pocket polish for the corners of his optics and lips.

“No need, let’s go.”

Once they arrived at the location of Tarn’s choosing, the DJD’s leader’s air completely changed. First, he walked over to the side of the transport to open the door for Pharma. Pharma cautiously stepped out, eyeing Tarn suspiciously. After Pharma stepped out of the vehicle, Tarn took Pharma’s arm and servo, walking along with him, clawing servo on the flier's waist. Pharma blushed.

“I-is this some sort of trick?”

Tarn ignored him. They rounded the street corner, exposing them to a grand old building fit with statue-topped columns. It was obviously a theater hall meant to mimic old Cybertronian life. Pharma turned to Tarn in shock.

“How’d you-”

“I saw your collection of tapes and music, figured this would be something you would enjoy…” Pharma was speechless.

“A-are we going to a real show?” Tarn smiled with his eyes and just continued walking down the street, leading the medic. Tarn picked up their tickets at the entrance; Pharma admired the art around the venue hall.

“You know, I would've put on some better polish on if I'd known.” Pharma jested. Tarn traced the jet’s jawline with a thumb and forefinger admiringly.

“Oh, but I think you always look elegant…natural beauty is very rare.” He blushed again, shaking his helm out of the touch. The DJD leader put his servo guidingly on Pharma’s waist again; he leaned into the hold this time.

Tarn had not only bought them the late night performance tickets, but also seats in the VIP box. Pharma was shocked at how the tank seemed to read his mind, even when he was not around (or, maybe he was…he didn’t dwell on it). Still in awe of the scene, the jet let himself be guided into one of the plush benches, settling into the sound of the orchestra. Tarn watched his face; Pharma’s optics were wide, darting around, studying the architecture and categorizing all the historical pieces and art forms and musical numbers played.

Throughout the show Pharma slowly started to lean into the leader more, but he never looked up at him. Tarn did his best to understand the show, but to be honest it really wasn’t in his style. He’d only planned this just to spend time with the medic.

Of course, on the way back Pharma did his best to explain his analysis of the story and the value of the original writing. Once they were back at Pharma’s work, the leader uncharacteristically made sure he made it inside safely; he waited at the doorstep for an extra moment.

“Sorry, I almost forgot…thank you. I really enjoyed…uh…whatever tonight was.” Pharma said sheepishly, opposite of his passionate rant earlier.

“What do you think it was?” Tarn rumbled. Pharma vented sharply.

“Oh…well. Fine, it was a ‘date’ ok. Are you happy with that?”

The leader nodded slightly. Pharma couldn't tell if he was blushing under the mask or not, but his body-language showed it was likely. The jet gestured to Tarn to come closer. He pulled the other’s helm down by the side of the mask, lifting the bottom just slightly up. He could feel Tarn's venting still when he kissed those scarred lips, even if it was just for a second.

“Goodnight, Tarn.” The tank adjusted his mask, eye’s still wide in surprise at the show of affection. Tarn cleared his vocalizer.

“Yes…goodnight – !”

The door shut loudly in his face.

#alice writes #so apparently i hit save draft instead of post #oops!#anyway this took about half an hour sorry for typos!#tarnma #tarn #pharma #transformers #maccadam

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venstm · 25 days ago

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they snicker, pressing yet another gentle kiss against his jawline before beginning to trail a few down his neck. they glance back up towards him, smirking right before they turn and dig their fangs into his neck in hopes to leave a mark that would last for quite a while . ( hi diluc your situationship likes to bite )

There was no need to disguise the way his breath hitched and yet he felt compelled to, Diluc whose decorum served as an impenetrable buffer between him and the rest of the world was allowing those meticulously woven strands to become loose.

it’s what guides him to incline his head to the side, permitting a pale column of throat for the harbinger to marr and if this is a display of vulnerability, trust or insanity he cannot say for certain. He’s done well until now to steady his erratic heart, to keep his pulse from rising to a cacophony, now, as those sharp canines sink into his skin it all ruptures at once. A hand is woven into their hair, fingers grasping firmly, it wasn’t punitive, no, was it encouragement ? It was such an obscene thing to consider but as his mind is effaced by the lance of pain that shoots up his spine he doesn’t manage to fully restrain a groan before his teeth sink ruthlessly into his bottom lip. He tastes blood, it’s good because he can ground himself there, experience the pain, acknowledge the pain but not permit his mind to get swept up in its surging current. ❝ Childe…❞ a breathless reprimand which holds no weight, loosening his grip but only slightly. ❝ Your teeth..❞ a reminder that Diluc still had to endure a diplomatic conference later in the day that the harbinger was also supposed to be in attendance for. ❝ Not where they will see it.❞

#he is not a snack !!!#❝ ✧ ﹙ ᵈᶦˡᵘᶜ ʳᵃᵍⁿᵛᶦⁿᵈʳ‧ ﹚ ⋆ ⦙ it is a fire that consumes me‚ but I am that fire. ❞#tartagla

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fadedflame · 1 year ago

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Rare-pairs Week: day 2

Summery: Day 2 of the rare-pairs week. Prompt: Trust/Cold. Rupert planned to take a quick evening walk. He planned to relax, enjoy the city lights, take in the unique scenery of Detroit. He didn't plan to encounter the deviant hunter. And he certainly didn't plan to make a connection that would change his life forever.

Part: 2/3

On Ao3 or read below.

Rupert had never been this cold before.

As soon as he had downloaded Connor's system file, it had auto-compressed into a sort of zip file labeled zen.garden.exe. While it hadn’t concerned him at first, the moment he ‘touched’ the file a searing cold shot through him.

He gasped, doubling over and instinctively clutching Connor’s empty body as though it would provide him with any sort of warmth.

This… this was a bad idea.

Besides the unbearable cold, Rupert’s system was overloading. There was just too much data, too much information. His processor was in no way designed for something like this.

But, it wasn’t like he could go back now.

And he wasn't doing any good staying here.

“You said… you said to go to Lieutenant Anderson?” he asked aloud. Deep down, he knew there was no way that Connor could hear him, much less respond, but it somehow felt better to talk to him as though he could.

More like he was actually there

Less like he was holding a corpse.

While he was certain he had downloaded Connor’s code, there really was no way of knowing if he had gotten everything. Even if he did, there was no certainty that the code could be used to save him. All this pain, all the cold… It could be for nothing.

But at least he would have tried.

He suspected that his overloaded system was only going to get worse, so dawdling was only going to hurt him more in the long run.

With more than a little effort, Rupert stood and Connor’s body slid limply to the ground as he guided it gently. As much as he hated to leave him here, he doubted his ability to carry him so far even if he wasn’t in his less than optimal state. His model wasn’t built for strength after all.

As reverently as he could, he managed to tuck the body away in the alley nearby. Even if he couldn’t be repaired, the last thing he wanted was something more to happen to it.

“I’ll make sure someone comes back for you,” he promised the silent file in his mind. “I promise, you… I won’t leave you here.”

A chill ran down his spinal column almost like a response as he painstakingly started his journey towards the DPD.

-o-

“Sir? Are you alright?” the receptionist asked him as soon as he stepped through the doors.

It was certainly a fair question, one that any sane person would ask given his current state. He was shivering, disoriented, and covered in blue blood. If he was being honest, the answer was no, he was far from ok, but he had other priorities.

“Um,” he vocalized, but before Rupert could form any sort of question or answer, the very man he was looking for burst through the entryway doors.

He looked frazzled, worried, tired. Like he should have been to bed hours ago and it was only copious amounts of caffeine keeping him on his feet. His phone was pressed to one ear and he was paying little regard to his surroundings.

"His phone is in his head, he couldn't have lost it," he snapped at whoever was on the other end of the call. “For fuck’s sake, Chris. Of course I’ve tried that, do you think I’m an idiot?”

Lieutenant Anderson paid no attention to Rupert. He was too thoroughly absorbed in his conversation to even notice him it would seem. And, if Rupert wasn't mostly convinced that the issues he was fretting over were about Connor, he likely wouldn't have been inclined to interrupt.

"Lieutenant!" he called, ignoring both the receptionist that was still questioning if he was alright and the way his voice glitched around the word.

He turned to him and for a moment, he worried the man would remember him. Their only previous interaction hadn’t exactly gone well after all and any resentment he had towards Rupert would only get in the way.

Then again, it wasn’t as though he was an uncommon model. He had no reason to think he was the same android that had pushed him off of a roof. It was more likely he was taking in his appearance than judging him on their past.

He didn't want to waste time on that either.

"P-please," he stuttered, hating how it sounded eerily similar to the way Connor had said it to him not long ago. "I need to talk to you."

He glanced at the receptionist and Rupert was sure he was considering pawning him off to her for whatever technical support he needed. "Look, I'm really busy right now. Why don't-"

"It's about Connor," he interrupted.

It was honestly incredible how quickly the Lieutenant's disposition shifted from disinterested to laser-focused. Maybe, if Rupert hadn't been on the verge of falling apart, he might have commented on it.

"What about Connor?" Lieutenant Anderson asked, sounding equal parts hopeful and concerned.

Rupert shivered as another jolt of cold coursed through his system. He wasn't sure where to start. How do you tell someone that a person they care for is dead and at the same time possibly not? It certainly wasn't a conversation for an open lobby, that was for sure. "I'll… it's a lot… can we talk somewhere else?"

“I’m gonna have to call you back,” he said to the man on the phone, hanging up before they could respond. At the same time he nodded for Rupert to follow him into the precinct.

He complied, but every step felt like his joints were shattering. The cold had already numbed his feet and hands, it was a miracle he was still able to stand at all, much less walk.

His audible sigh of relief as he sank into the interrogation room chair must have clued the Lieutenant in on his rough state. “You alright?” he asked rather than questioning him about Connor like he knew he wanted to.

“I’m fine,” Rupert insisted. He really had no way of knowing if he was lying or not. Whatever damage Connor’s files were doing to his system could very well be fatal, but he didn’t have time to worry about that. “I’m just… cold.”

Lieutenant Anderson wasted no time, shrugging off his coat to drape it around Rupert’s shaking shoulders. He appreciated the gesture, but it didn’t help. The cold was inside him, freezing his very core.

The man's hand lingered on his shoulder. It felt hot to the touch, but did nothing to counteract the chill.

“You said you know something about Connor?” he asked, moving on to why they were there.

It wasn’t hard to see the despair on his face, nor did Rupert wonder why it was there. It wouldn’t have taken the average person much to notice how he was covered in blood and correctly assume where it came from and the Lieutenant had built his career on exceptional observational skills.

He knew that whatever news Rupert had for him, it wasn’t going to be good.

So he told him everything.

There was no reason to hold it back or hesitate. It was likely that the sooner a technician looked at him, the more likely it was that they could both survive. Rupert started at the beginning, about Connor finding him, about the case file, about trying to save his code.

About the cold.

The frigid, agonizing, burning cold.

As soon as he finished speaking, it was as though all his energy froze in his tubing. Like whatever androids had as the equivalent of adrenaline had been the only thing keeping him even a little bit warm. He slumped in the chair, no energy to even shiver anymore. Muted voices around him called for a technician and blurred shapes moved in front of his frosted white vision.

“It’s going to be ok, Connor,” he promised through numb lips.

And then, it all faded away to a frigid nothingness.

#dbh hank #hank anderson #rupert travis #dbh rupert #dbh connor #detroit become human #DBH #dbh fanfic #dbhrarepairsweek2023 #connor x rupert

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gudmould · 3 days ago

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What are key points in design of automobile rearview mirror seat mold?

Product structure of automobile rearview mirror seat is relatively complex. When designing mold, we must first analyze product, determine mold structure, glue injection method, etc. Below, taking a set of automobile rearview mirror seats as an example, we will share with you key points of rearview mirror seat mold design. Solution: 1. Product glue injection method: There are many ways to inject…

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#automobile rearview mirror seat mold #front mold slider #inclined guide column #Product structure of automobile rearview mirror seat #rearview mirror seat mold design

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qtoconstrution786 · 8 months ago

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Bridges are marvels of engineering, connecting distant points and facilitating the movement of people and goods. Understanding the intricacies of bridge structure analysis and inclined column calculation is crucial for ensuring their safety and efficiency.

Understanding Bridge Structure Analysis

Bridge structure analysis is the process of assessing the behavior and performance of bridge components under various loading conditions. It involves analyzing the forces, stresses, and deformations experienced by different parts of the bridge to ensure structural integrity and safety. Here's an overview of key aspects:

Types of Bridges

Bridges come in various types, each with its unique structural configuration and load-bearing mechanisms. Common types include:

Beam Bridges: Simplest form, supported by beams or girders spanning between two abutments.

Truss Bridges: Utilize triangular truss elements to distribute loads efficiently.

Arch Bridges: Arch-shaped structures that rely on compression to support weight.

Suspension Bridges: Feature cables suspended from towers, distributing loads to anchorages.

Cable-Stayed Bridges: Cables attached directly to towers, supporting the bridge deck.

Understanding the type of bridge is essential for determining the appropriate analysis methods and considerations.

Load Analysis

Load analysis involves assessing the various forces exerted on a bridge, including dead loads (permanent weight of the structure), live loads (traffic, pedestrians), environmental loads (wind, seismic activity), and dynamic loads (impact from moving loads). By quantifying these forces, engineers can design bridges capable of withstanding anticipated loads without failure.

#foundation #estimating #concrete #construction #civil engineering

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gaugewisdom · 8 months ago

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Understanding the Importance of a Wika Pressure Gauge: A Comprehensive Guide to Manometers

Introduction to manometers and their importance in various industries

In the world of industrial processes, accurate measurement of pressure is crucial for maintaining safety, efficiency, and quality. مانومتر ویکا One of the key instruments used for this purpose is a manometer. A manometer is a device that measures pressure by detecting the height of a liquid column in a U-shaped tube. This comprehensive guide aims to provide you with a deep understanding of manometers, specifically focusing on the importance of a Wika pressure gauge.

Understanding the principles behind a Wika pressure gauge

A Wika pressure gauge is a type of manometer manufactured by Wika Instruments, a leading provider of measurement solutions. The principle behind a Wika pressure gauge lies in the concept of hydrostatic pressure. When a liquid with a known density is subjected to a pressure, it rises in a U-shaped tube. The height of the liquid column is directly proportional to the pressure applied. By calibrating the gauge, precise pressure measurements can be obtained.

Wika pressure gauges are designed with precision and accuracy in mind. They are engineered to provide reliable measurements even in harsh industrial environments. The gauges are constructed using high-quality materials and undergo rigorous testing to ensure their durability and accuracy. By investing in a Wika pressure gauge, you can trust that you are getting a reliable instrument that will meet your pressure measurement needs.

Different types of manometers and their applications

There are several types of manometers available, each with its own unique application. The most common types include U-tube manometers, well manometers, and inclined manometers.

U-tube manometers are the simplest and most widely used type. They consist of a U-shaped tube partially filled with a liquid, such as mercury or water. The pressure is applied to one side of the tube, causing the liquid to rise in the other side. U-tube manometers are commonly used for measuring low to medium pressure differentials.

Well manometers, on the other hand, are used for measuring high pressure differentials. They consist of a vertical column of liquid in a sealed tube, with a pressure port at the bottom. The pressure is applied to the liquid, causing it to rise in the tube. Well manometers are often used in industrial processes where high pressures need to be accurately measured.

Inclined manometers are similar to U-tube manometers, but the tube is inclined at an angle. This allows for a larger measurable range of pressure differentials. Inclined manometers are commonly used in applications where a higher accuracy is required.

The benefits of using a Wika pressure gauge

Using a Wika pressure gauge offers numerous benefits in various industries. Firstly, Wika pressure gauges are known for their accuracy and reliability. They provide precise measurements, ensuring that pressure levels are maintained within the desired range. This is critical for processes that require strict control of pressure, such as in pharmaceutical manufacturing or power plant operations.

Secondly, Wika pressure gauges are designed to withstand harsh environmental conditions. They are built to handle extreme temperatures, pressure fluctuations, and corrosive substances. This makes them suitable for a wide range of industries, including oil and gas, chemical, and food processing.

Another advantage of Wika pressure gauges is their durability. They are constructed using high-quality materials that can withstand the test of time. This means that investing in a Wika pressure gauge will result in a long-lasting instrument that requires minimal maintenance.

How to choose the right manometer for your specific needs

Choosing the right manometer for your specific needs can be a daunting task, considering the variety of options available. However, by considering a few key factors, you can make an informed decision.

Firstly, determine the pressure range you need to measure. Different manometers have different pressure ranges, so it's important to choose one that can accurately measure the pressures you will encounter in your industry.

Secondly, consider the type of fluid you will be measuring. Some manometers are specifically designed for certain types of fluids, such as corrosive liquids or gases. Make sure to select a manometer that is compatible with the fluid you will be working with.

Thirdly, assess the environmental conditions in which the manometer will be used. If you are working in a harsh environment with extreme temperatures or high vibrations, choose a manometer that is built to withstand these conditions.

Lastly, consider the cost and availability of spare parts. It's important to choose a manometer that fits within your budget and has readily available spare parts in case of any maintenance or repairs.

By carefully considering these factors, you can choose the right manometer that will meet your specific needs and provide accurate pressure measurements.

Proper installation and maintenance of a Wika pressure gauge

Proper installation and maintenance of a Wika pressure gauge are essential for accurate and reliable pressure measurements. When installing the gauge, ensure that it is mounted in a location that allows for easy access and visibility. It should also be securely fastened to prevent any movement or vibrations that could affect its accuracy.

Regular calibration is crucial to maintain the accuracy of the pressure gauge. Calibration should be performed by a qualified professional using certified calibration equipment. This will ensure that the gauge is providing accurate readings and that any drift or deviation from the standard is detected and corrected.

In addition to calibration, regular inspections and maintenance should be performed. This includes checking for any signs of damage, such as cracks or leaks, and cleaning the gauge to remove any debris or contaminants that could affect its performance.

Common troubleshooting tips for manometers

Despite their reliability, manometers can sometimes encounter issues that affect their performance. Here are some common troubleshooting tips to help you identify and resolve potential problems:

If the liquid column in the manometer is not moving, check for any blockages or clogs in the pressure lines. Clear any obstructions and ensure that the lines are properly connected.

If the liquid column is fluctuating or unstable, check for any air bubbles or leaks in the system. Air bubbles can disrupt the accuracy of the measurements, while leaks can cause pressure loss. Repair any leaks and remove any air bubbles to restore stability.

If the manometer is providing inconsistent readings, check the calibration. It's possible that the gauge needs to be recalibrated to ensure accurate measurements. Consult the manufacturer's guidelines or seek professional assistance for recalibration.

If the manometer is damaged or shows signs of wear, it may need to be replaced. Continuing to use a damaged manometer can lead to inaccurate measurements and potential safety hazards.

By following these troubleshooting tips, you can quickly identify and resolve issues with your manometer, ensuring accurate pressure measurements and optimal performance.

The role of manometers in ensuring safety and efficiency in industrial processes

Manometers play a crucial role in maintaining safety and efficiency in various industrial processes. Accurate pressure measurements are essential for preventing equipment failures, leaks, and other potential hazards. By monitoring pressure levels, operators can take timely corrective actions to prevent accidents and ensure the smooth operation of the process.

In industries such as oil and gas, chemical, and pharmaceuticals, where high pressures are involved, manometers are particularly critical. They help maintain the integrity of process equipment, ensure the safety of personnel, and prevent environmental contamination.

In addition to safety, manometers also contribute to the efficiency of industrial processes. By accurately measuring pressure, operators can optimize process parameters and reduce energy consumption. This leads to cost savings and improved overall performance.

Industry-specific examples of how manometers are used

Manometers find applications in a wide range of industries, each with its own unique requirements. Here are a few industry-specific examples of how manometers are used:

Oil and Gas: In the oil and gas industry, manometers are used to measure pressure in pipelines, storage tanks, and production facilities. Accurate pressure readings are essential for ensuring the safety and efficiency of operations and preventing costly leaks or equipment failures.

Chemical: In chemical manufacturing, manometers are used to monitor pressure in reactors, distillation columns, and storage vessels. Precise pressure control is crucial for maintaining the desired reaction rates and product quality.

Pharmaceuticals: In pharmaceutical manufacturing, manometers are used to measure pressure in filtration systems, sterilizers, and cleanrooms. Maintaining the proper pressure differentials is essential for preventing contamination and ensuring the quality of pharmaceutical products.

HVAC: In the heating, ventilation, and air conditioning (HVAC) industry, manometers are used to measure air pressure in ductwork and air handling units. Accurate pressure measurements help optimize airflow and ensure proper ventilation in buildings.

These are just a few examples of how manometers are used in different industries. The versatility and reliability of manometers make them indispensable tools for a wide range of applications.

Conclusion: Why investing in a Wika pressure gauge is crucial for your business

Investing in a Wika pressure gauge is a wise decision for any business that relies on accurate pressure measurements. The importance of manometers in maintaining safety, efficiency, and quality in industrial processes cannot be overstated. By choosing a Wika pressure gauge, you can trust that you are getting a high-quality instrument that will provide reliable and accurate measurements.

Whether you are in the oil and gas industry, chemical manufacturing, or any other industry that requires precise pressure control, a Wika pressure gauge will meet your needs. With a wide range of options available, you can choose the right manometer for your specific requirements.

Remember to properly install and maintain your Wika pressure gauge to ensure its optimal performance. Regular calibration, inspections, and maintenance are essential for accurate pressure measurements and long-term reliability.

By understanding the principles behind a Wika pressure gauge, different types of manometers, and their applications, you can make an informed decision and reap the benefits of investing in a reliable pressure measurement instrument. So, take the first step towards safety, efficiency, and quality in your industrial processes by choosing a Wika pressure gauge.

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