#it’s the way I’ve been in a public space so much this week and just thought ‘god it’d be great to set camp up in this corner’

[beta-adjacent]

You know shit’s going down when all you want to do is nest.

[theonottsbxtch]

PRIVATE | LN4

an: requested by @bhuijnbhuijn-blog this was so fun to make! it feels to good to make a smau after a few days of straight writing

fc: random girls on pintrest and isabel larosa

yourusername

liked by yourbestfriend, gracieabrams, ekat19 and 984,284 others

thank you london and thank you to my beloved

*tap to load more comments*

userone: seeing her live changed my brain chemistry

usertwo: oop- the flowers?

userthree: god she is stunning

yourbestfreind: mi amorrrrrr

yourusername: chiquita ���

userfour: beloved??? has our man hater girl got herself a boyfriend

ekat19: hermosa

yourusername: ethan, basta.

userfive: is her beloved carl gallagher?????!??!?!?!?

appartment in monaco

You were perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, barefoot, legs dangling as you watched Lando move around the open kitchen. The soft click of cabinet doors and the muted thud of a cereal box landing on the counter are the only sounds, apart from the faint music playing from your speaker. It was your calm playlist, just background noise, a playlist you curated 100% but one Lando pretended he created to wind you up. He didn’t mind—he hummed along sometimes, absentmindedly, just like now. The late afternoon light filtered through the windows, casting a warm, golden hue over everything, making the moment feel even more private, more intimate.

Lando was shirtless wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. It was a version of him few people ever get to see. No fireproof suit, no helmet. No world watching his every move. Here, in this quiet corner of your shared world, he was just... him. And you loved him like this, more than anything.

As he fumbled with the coffee machine, you leant back on your hands, your fingers curling against the cool granite of the counter. The smell of coffee mingled with the lazy warmth of the afternoon. You were both settled into this comfortable rhythm of being together, the kind of domesticity that felt almost foreign when you thought of your lives outside these walls—your career, his racing, the flashing lights and the fans.

But here, it was different.

You’d been thinking about it for a while now. The thought had been on the tip of your tongue for weeks, and today felt like the right time to broach it. Or maybe it was just that the stillness of this moment made you feel brave. You took a breath, voice soft as you broke the quiet.

“I’ve been thinking…” Your words drift into the space between you, casual but with a certain weight that you know will catch his attention. Lando looked over at you, coffee cup in hand, waiting for you to continue. You smiled, trying to keep it light. “Maybe it’s time we go public… on Instagram.”

He froze for a beat, his eyes locking on yours as if he was trying to read your face, gauge how serious you were. Slowly, he set the cup down on the counter, his brow furrowing in that familiar way that meant he was already thinking too much.

“Public?” he repeated, like he was testing the word, feeling it out. His voice was calm, but you could sense the undertone of concern, the hesitation that came with anything that involves exposing more of your lives to the world outside. “You sure about that?”

You nodded, even though you knew he was not just asking for the sake of it. There was more behind his question than the words. It was not just a simple post to him—it was a line you were crossing, a step into a world he was all too familiar with, and not in a good way.

“I am,” you said softly. “We’ve been so careful, keeping things private, but… I don’t want to hide us anymore. I don’t want to pretend we’re not a part of each other’s lives.” You watched him as you spoke, searching his face for any sign of agreement, but he was still quiet, arms folded across his chest, his gaze drifting somewhere just past you.

Lando shifted his weight, leaning against the counter, his fingers drumming lightly against the granite, a telltale sign that his mind was working through what you’d just said. After a moment, he sighed, running a hand through his curls, the kind of movement that let you know he was trying to choose his words carefully.

“I get it,” he said finally, his voice softer now, but there was still a trace of reluctance. “But… it’s different for you. Your fans, they’re supportive. You’re already used to the attention. My world… it’s not like that. It can get ugly fast. And once we put it out there, it’s out there. We can’t take it back.”

You slid off the counter and moved toward him, your bare feet silent on the floor. Standing in front of him, you reached for his hands, threading your fingers through his. “I know, love. I know how hard it can be for you. But I’m not asking for some big, dramatic reveal. Just something simple. A photo. Something that feels like us, something quiet.”

He looked down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. You could see the conflict in his eyes—the protective instinct he’d always had when it came to the life you’d built together versus the part of him that wanted to trust in your strength, in the fact that you could handle it.

“I don’t want them coming after you,” he said quietly, almost more to himself than to you. “I don’t want you to deal with the kind of hate I get.”

Lifting one hand to his face, cupping his cheek gently, your thumb grazed over his skin. “I’ve been in the public eye for years now. I’ve had my share of negativity, too. But we’ve got each other, right? We can handle it. I can handle it.” You paused, letting your words sink in. “And I’m tired of hiding something that makes me so happy.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment, as if he was trying to imagine what it would be like—the backlash, the media storm. But when he opened them again, there was something softer there, a quiet surrender. He still looked hesitant, but there was an acceptance in his expression now, like maybe, just maybe, he was willing to trust you on this.

“A photo,” he repeated, his voice almost resigned but not unkind. “Something simple.”

You nodded, your smile growing. “Just one.”

He chuckled softly, pulling you into his arms, his chin resting on the top of your head. “You really want this, huh?” His voice was a little lighter now, though you could still feel the weight of the decision lingering between you.

“I do,” you murmured into his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him—clean and warm, like home. “We don’t have to make a big deal out of it. Just something that feels like us. Something honest.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands resting on your waist. “Alright,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “But if it all blows up in our faces, you’re the one dealing with the PR disaster.”

You laughed, the sound soft and full of relief. “Deal. I’ll take full responsibility.” You leant up and kissed him, your lips brushing his with a gentleness that said more than words ever could. “Promise.”

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, quadrant, yourusername and 992,349 others

enjoyed the final show of the break, time for austin

*tap to load more comments*

maxfewtrell: sick hoodie where's it from

landonorris: secret 🤫

userone: he is so HOT

usertwo: my man my man my man

quadrant: that helmet 👌

userthree: why is this man at so many concerts gah damn

userfour: i don't want to sound crazy but...

userfive: LET'S GO LANDO

yourusername:🤘🤘

twitter

yourusername

liked by landonorris, yourbestfriend, ekat19 and 983,428 others

yeah, my boyfriend's pretty cool but he's not as cool as me

*tap to load more comments*

userone: NO WAY

yourusername: YES WAY

usertwo: i did not expect this one icl

userthree: i- speechless

userfour: HER BOYFRIEND IS LANDO NORRIS

yourbestfriend: cutest couple ever

yourusername: te amo

userfive: oh to be yn

landonorris: i love you

yourusername: i love you more

usersix: she's so hot

userseven: defo cooler than lando

ekat19: damn, he stole my bitch

yourusername: ethan.

twitter

appartment in monaco

It had been a few weeks since you had gone public, and the house felt the same. The kitchen still smelt like coffee in the afternoons, and Lando’s laughter still echoed through the rooms. But outside, in the world that wasn’t contained by these walls, things had shifted.

The first few days after you had posted that picture—a simple, candid shot of you two tangled on the couch, laughing at something neither of you can remember now—felt like a blur. Your Instagram blew up instantly, flooded with comments, some gushing, some not so kind. The had media picked it up, headlines spun their usual stories, and of course, his world—Formula 1, with its intense, relentless scrutiny—had its own opinions. Most of it was harmless, but some of it... wasn’t.

Lando was standing in front of the window, staring out at nothing in particular. You could tell from the way his shoulders were tense, from the way his hand kept moving to rub the back of his neck, that something had been weighing on him. He’d been quieter these last few days, not in the way that shut you out, but in the way that let you know he was overthinking, worrying about things he didn’t need to.

You were sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, pretending to scroll through Instagram, but your attention was on him. You watched as he checked his phone again, probably seeing another headline or some new wave of comments. His jaw tightened, and that was when you knew it’s time to say something.

“Lan,” you called out softly, trying to break the tension in the room. “Come over here.”

He hesitated for a second, like he was debating whether to pull you into his worry or let it be, but then he walked over, his feet dragging slightly on the wooden floor. He sank down beside you on the couch, letting out a long, tired breath. His arm came around your shoulders instinctively, pulling you closer, but his mind was clearly somewhere else.

“Talk to me,” you said gently, tilting your head to look up at him.

He didn’t meet your eyes at first, he just stared at the floor. “I’ve been seeing some of the comments,” Lando admitted, his voice low, as if he was trying to keep it casual but couldn’t quite manage it. “There’s a lot of hate. A lot of people saying… awful things. About you, about us.” He paused, running his hand through his hair. “I didn’t want this for you.”

You felt his arm tighten around you, like he was trying to protect you from something that was already out there, something he couldn’t control. It broke your heart a little, the way he carried that weight, like he was responsible for every cruel word thrown your way.

You shifted in his arms, turning to face him, one hand reaching up to touch his cheek. “I know,” you said softly. “But, darling, it’s not getting to me. Not even a little.” You smiled, trying to get him to see the truth in your eyes. “I’ve been in this business long enough to know that people are going to say whatever they want. But they don’t matter. You do.”

He finally looked up at you, his brow furrowed, still sceptical. “But some of it’s brutal,” he insisted, his voice tight. “They’re dragging you through the mud just because we went public. I didn’t want you to deal with this part of my life, the ugly part.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head, and the sound seemed to catch him off guard. “Honestly? I’ve dealt with worse. You should’ve seen the comments I got after that one music video,” you teased lightly, hoping to ease his worry. “But this? This is nothing.”

He didn’t look convinced, but you could see him trying to process what you were saying, like he wanted to believe you but couldn’t quite let go of his own guilt. So, you decided to prove it to him in a way you knew would get through that thick head of his.

With a sly smile, you grabbed your phone and opened Twitter, your fingers moved quickly over the screen as you pulled up your account. He watched you, confused, until you glanced up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked, suspicion lacing his tone.

You bit your lip, pretending to think about it, then you tilted the phone toward him so he could see the tweet you’d just typed out. In bold letters, it read:

"how i sleep knowing i get to sleep with this hunk of a man at night and you don’t "

Below the text was the picture you’d been sitting on for a while—one of him sleeping in the paddock last season.

His eyes widened as he read it, then flicked to the photo. “You’re not serious,” he said, though there’s a laugh hidden in his voice now.

“Oh, I am very serious,” you said, grinning at him as you hovered over the “Tweet” button. “If people want to hate, let them. But I’m going to remind them who I get to come home to every night.”

He stared at you for a second, then shook his head, a small, incredulous smile finally tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

You shrugged, your finger tapping the button before he could say another word. “It’s out there now,” you said, holding up the phone in triumph. “Let them come for me.”

He leant back against the couch, running his hands over his face, but you could see the way his shoulders had finally relaxed, the tension ebbing away. He laughed, a real, genuine laugh, and it warmed you from the inside out. “You’re actually insane,” he said, pulling you into his chest, kissing the top of your head. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

You looked up at him, beaming. “Sweetheart, they can say whatever they want. It doesn’t change anything. I’ve got you, and that’s all that matters.”

For the first time in days, the worry in his eyes faded completely. He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly, his breath warm against your hair. “I love you,” he murmured, the words soft but full of meaning.

“I love you more.”

twitter

yourusername

liked by landonorris, yourbestfriend, oscarpiastri and 984,942

haters gunna hate, anyway check out my new song x

*limited comments*

landonorris: te amo x

yourusername: amore

ekat19: i remember when we used to have matching shirts...

yourusername: ETHAN. BASTA.

yourbestfriend: cuties

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername, mclaren and 984,248 others

i have the coolest girlfriend ever 🤭

*limited comments*

yourusername: simp

landonorris: yeah and what

comment if you want to be tagged in future works x

[breannasfluff]

Ask game- Stranded; Dick Grayson and Danny

“You headed to Gotham, too?” Dick smiles at the only other passenger at the bus station.

The kid grunts and glances at him from the corner of his eye. Rightfully wary. 

“I’m Dick,” he says, undeterred. “Looks like the bus is running late and we’re going to be stuck here a while.”

“Danny,” the kid finally answers. This time he gives Dick a once over, then relaxes slightly. “I’ve already been waiting nearly an hour. It’s freezing. Is the bus normally this delayed?”

“It’s going to Gotham,” Dick says with a shrug. “If a rogue attacked, the schedule gets thrown off.” Maybe he should accept Bruce’s offer of a car so he can drive instead of relying on public transportation. But his apartment doesn’t have parking and even if it did he’d lose the car to thieves in a week tops. “Why are you headed to Gotham?”

“Holiday party. Meeting a friend.” Danny burrows further into his coat like a turtle retreating into its shell. It doesn’t come across unfriendly, just…cold.

Undeterred, Dick continues to prattle on about light topics until he’s drawn Danny into an actual conversation. By the time the bus comes the kid is halfway through a rant about space and a lot more animated. 

They split ways in Gotham. 

“Have fun with your friend! Sorry you’re late for your party.”

Danny shrugs and checks his phone, glaring at the time. “Not much I can do about it. Hopefully they understand. Nice to meet you, Dick! Happy holidays.

“Happy holidays!” Dick waves before turning to walk down the street, pulling out a phone to call Alfred. He’s not waiting for another bus to transfer to Bristol. 

The rogue attack delayed the Wayne holiday party so even though Dick is late, it doesn’t matter. It was only Calendar Man so everyone is still in a good mood. Jason is even there glaring at his phone. 

When the doorbell rings a good 45 minutes later, Dick volonteers to get it. Alfred is busy in the kitchen. Although…who else would be coming over at this time? Gordon, maybe? 

The door swings open to reveal–

“Danny?”

The teen blinks at him, nonplussed. “Dick?”

“Are you stalking me?” Okay, maybe that wasn’t the way to go, but Dick is too surprised to come up with anything else.

Danny gives him a weird look. “How often are you stalked that that’s your first guess?”

“Danny!” Jason appears in the door, shoving Dick to the side. “You made it!”

“Buss was delayed.” With a grin, Danny comes in, giving Jason a hug. “So is this the infamous Dick I’ve heard so much about?”

Little Wing talks about him? Also, Jason has a friend? A…normal friend? His age? Who likes space and isn’t a morally grey ex-con? Dick firms his lip to keep from tearing up. Maybe there’s hope for someone in this family after all. 

“How'd you know?” Jason asks.

“We were stranded waiting for the bus together.”

“Dude. Why didn’t you fly here?”

“No metas in Gotham!” Danny punches Jason’s shoulder.

“Aw, c’mon! You’re only half-dead! That doesn’t count!”

Dick trails after them, hope slipping away. So much for normal friends–this family is doomed.

[thehistoriccemetery]

Companions React to Reader Sitting on Their Lap

It’s another pretty short one this week, as I’ve had terrible Minthara brainrot and I’ve been able to write nothing but filthy smut 😔

Anyway, this one is some family friendly head canons about the ladies with a bonus Dame Aylin and Isobel!

Shadowheart

Shadowheart doesn’t say anything at first, but you do notice her skin get slightly redder, and you watch a tiny smirk grow across her face.

She’s not typically one for public displays of affection, but something about lap sitting is different.

It’s like affection with plausible deniability. What else was I supposed to do? Sit on the floor?

After you’ve done it once, Shadowheart considers the barrier broken and takes every opportunity to sit on your lap.

Sometimes you think she must have a sixth sense that tells her when you sit down, because she simply appears on your lap.

If you cross your legs or do anything else to prevent her sitting in your lap, she gives you a little cough to let you know you should remedy that as soon as possible.

Depending on who’s around, she’ll sometimes lean back against you, pressing her whole body to yours.

She likes it when you wrap your arms around her and rest your head on her shoulder.

While she prefers to be the one sitting on your lap, she’s still more than happy to let you sit on hers.

Lae’zel

The first time you try sitting on her lap, she pushes you off. Why are you sitting on top of her? Weirdo. You roll your eyes and sit on the ground.

But then she decides that it’s weirder you’re sitting on the ground so she gives you her seat.

But then she doesn’t want to stand anymore. Tsk’va. Whatever. Guess she’s gonna have to sit on you.

Lae’zel only ever sits on your lap, never the other way around. She oddly never picks up on any of the possible implications of that.

If anyone calls Lae’zel a bottom she’s gonna throw hands.

She doesn’t lay up against you or anything. To her this move is strictly practical, or at least she acts like it is.

You let her have it. As far as you’re concerned, you have a lovely girlfriend on your lap so you’re not going to complain.

Karlach

The first time you nonchalantly sit down in Karlach’s lap, she’s so chill and unfazed.

At least, that’s the vibe she’s trying to give off. She can be cool about this. So cool.

It’s less than a minute before her body starts to betray her. Her legs bounce up and down excitedly under you. As soon as you turn to face her, her stoic expression cracks into one of pure delight.

After that, Karlach pulls so many tricks to ask you to sit in her lap without actually having to ask.

Oh no! There’s no more chairs! Wherever will you sit? Looks like it’ll just have to be in her lap again. Ignore those broken chairs hidden in the corner, this isn’t about them.

You catch on pretty fast. Only so many chairs can disappear before things start to get suspicious.

You sit yourself on Karlach’s lap, watching the goofy smile grow across her face. “You know you can just ask, right?”

Her skin flushes and she buries her face in your neck. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Unfortunately, she’ll never sit on your lap because she’s too afraid to crush you. Even if you’re bigger than her. You’re too precious to risk it.

Minthara

Minthara is always taking up as much space as she desires in any given situation, so it’s not uncommon that she takes up the space of more than one person.

Luckily she’s always got a place for you to sit, whether that be in between her legs or on them.

She’s never bashful about pulling you into her lap, even when there people are around.

If anything, an audience actually encourages her. You are hers, and that is most clear to everyone when you’re perched on her thigh.

Other times she will be slightly more subtle, tapping her inner thigh in a silent invitation, queuing you to join her.

There are very few scenarios in which Minthara will sit on your lap though. At least, in public.

If you try to get her to sit, she’ll shoot you an “I know that you know this isn’t how this works” look, leaving you to let her take your seat and take your position on her lap.

Jaheira

It really depends on the day with Jaheira.

Most days she going to tell you to get an extra chair. There is no need for you to be sitting in her lap right now.

Sometimes, even if there is no extra chair she would have you sit at her feet in front of her before she let you into her lap.

But on those particularly long and hard days, when you come back looking exhausted and beat, she will allow for some extra tenderness.

She’ll gently guide your head to rest on her shoulder or against her chest and stroke your hair.

If you’re in a more comfortable space she will even slide her hand up under your shirt to rub your back.

More often than not, you fall asleep almost instantly, even if everyone around you is still making a ruckus.

She’s still not going to carry you to bed though. You can walk yourself there.

Dame Aylin x Isobel

Isobel is a princess and Dame Aylin is her throne. It’s more common than not the Isobel is on Aylin’s lap.

For Aylin, it’s like displaying a beautiful trophy. She needs everyone to look at her beautiful girlfriend right now.

The notion makes Isobel blush, but she’s just as proud to have Aylin as Aylin is to have her, so she’ll allow it.

Aylin doesn’t sit on Isobel’s lap, nor would she ever allow her to give up her seat, but Aylin will sit at her feet and gaze up at her with awe and wonder while Isobel smiles down at her and runs her hands through the aasimar’s hair.

And Selune forbid there’s no place for Isobel to sit. Aylin would sooner get down on one knee and let Isobel sit on her leg than leave a tired Isobel to stand.

Aylin’s shoulders are also an acceptable option. She can hoist Isobel up there with ease. She’ll never have to walk for any longer than she wishes.

Granted, it makes them like 10 feet tall, so there’s only a few places it’s applicable before Isobel has to be on alert for low hanging obstacles.

[hazelfoureyes]

The Radio Demon Fucks a Human Sacrifice (epilogue)

Mom gets fitted for dentures next week 🎊 🎉 🦷 💝

Epilogue (Promises)

You had meant it when you said it so long ago. A promise. One you intended to keep

「Warnings/Promises: Alastor x Fem Reader, Valentino x Fem reader (just TRUST ME), nipple chain, Val exists too much, Kaiju cock, pussy wet??, aphrodisiac, Alastor shade, fanatic sinners, misleading porno covers, Angel Dust is perfect as always, blood, stabbing, filming sexy things, Val in a thong, licking, hair pulling, why bad man have big dick, Alastor isn’t horny but he is possessive, pussy in the ether」

Part 1 smut 💦 Part 2 smut 💦 Side Story Part 3 smut 💦 Part 4 smut💦 Epilogue sexual

***Spoiler for people that need Val warnings*** Val dick touches reader pussy. Val explicit scenes are purple. if you skip the purple parts you will still understand the story and still be in the scene, interacting with him. Reminder, reader is there intentionally and consenting.

minors omg look over there! (🏃‍♀️💨Dni)

“I will admit, I was surprised to get your message.” Val exhaled, one hip out as he rest his weight on his right foot. You hadn’t planned on seeing him again, but as you became comfortable in hell you found yourself remembering the promise to yourself. One you made that day you met Alastor. On the floor of that studio. Your eyes scanned the room. The space was different, the set no longer your cursed cabin scene.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You took a deep breath, you’d practiced this, “Well I’ve been in hell for a while now… and I see you everywhere. I’ve been thinking,” your eyes caught on the door you were confident led to the room that held you. To the bed. Another shaky exhale, you never were much of an actress. “I really missed my chance with you. A powerful overlord… a celebrity.”

A dark chuckle from the moth, his ego fluttering, “Ooh, you’re a little celebrity in your own right. My best seller in ages.”

Oh, right. The tape. You hadn’t watched it yet. Alastor set the VHS copy on the bookshelf, an agreement made you could revisit that memory together if you ever wanted to. Not that you hadn’t heard it before. Nearly two years after its release and still people played it in public. Your first visit to Rosie started with you red faced and sputtering, having had someone on the way there thrust a DVD in front of you. 

The stranger asked for an autograph, but as soon as you saw the cover photo the entire thing had been knocked into the street by Alastor’s microphone. He had been trying to shelter you from interacting too much with the movie.

“Was that—is the cover—?” You were frozen as the sinner ran off, mind trying to process the image.

Alastor hummed, “Not what I’d choose, but I signed away all rights when I made the deal. A little misleading of a photo if you ask me.” He watched with glee as a car pulverized the disc and case. 

A blood red demonic seal splattered with a white liquid and a slender hand scraping into the wood.

“But that’s the Vees for you!”

Indeed, that was the Vees. Val gestured at you with his cigarette and its dramatic holder, “Aren’t you still with the radio demon? Not that I care.” He took a few steps towards you, getting you into arm’s reach before grabbing you by the back of the head and pulling you into him, “Just cuz there's a goalie doesn’t mean I can’t score.”

With how your head was angled back as he had your hair tightly wound in his fist you could see the TV. Always Vox News, you assumed. The time was displayed in the corner. “I am but— he doesn’t, ya know… he doesn’t know I’m here. But he’ll be looking for me soon.”

He stared down at you, pupil-less eyes without emotion. Your scalp began to burn and after a few seconds you had to shift your weight to relieve some of the pull. It made your upper stomach rub against his crotch. Not at all your intention. But you knew you’d have to touch him eventually.

“Unfortunately for you, I don’t do shit at anyone else’s speed.” His hand released your hair, “Could be fun though…,” Valentino traced along your jaw with his tongue before squeezing your cheeks in his hand, “fucking Alastor’s woman.”

He was off you as quickly as he had pounced, makeshift jacket swirling behind him as he spun around and walked to the door you’d seen before.

Another glance at the television. You had 10 minutes before Alastor would be calling. A small panic that you didn’t have enough time. 

Alastor rarely called on you, because rarely were you very far away. He didn’t have you on a leash, you just enjoyed his company. You’d scroll on your phone while he worked in his radio station  or read a book while he enjoyed his breakfast in the morning. 

Also, well, going out alone could be intimidating. People swung from two extremes when they saw you— excited fan or terrified sinner. 

The fans knew you were with Alastor. 

The other sinners knew you were with Alastor. 

The DVD incident had spooked you, not helped by the fact it had been your first outing. Alastor had been eager, even if he didn’t say it, to introduce you to the cannibal overlord. 

Having you back in his presence brought a deep seated sense of calm to him, one best compared to the feeling he had when gossiping with Rosie over coffee. Naturally he wanted his closest friend to meet the soul who’d stolen his attention. And Rosie was delighted to meet you, evident with the extravagant tea (and a singular coffee)  she set up and her litany of questions.

But every time she asked something she also seemed to answer it herself.

“Are you happy to be together again in your body?! I’m sure you are.” She offered you a finger you had to decline. 

“I bet you two have been busy.” A wink, “Though you must have been for it to take so long to get down here.”

Alastor shrunk a little as she smacked at his shoulder. You hadn’t seen him allow others to touch him before. Had that been Angel, the second one of his many arms cocked back Alastor would have stepped away or disappeared. Just a hit and you could see how close they were.

You made a point of befriending her, coming often after that initial meeting to her shop for gossip and advice. As time went on, you began to learn about Alastor’s normal. It was nice to have a mutual friend to discuss your worries and ideas with. 

“And oh! That video. Talk about hot under the collar!”, a petite laugh, “Did you see it?” Rosie waited for you to answer this time. When you shook your head no, she waved her hand, “For the best. The climax was totally unwatchable!”

You turned to Alastor, not sure what that meant, but he didn’t meet your gaze and instead slowly blinked out of sync at the bookshelves behind Rosie’s shoulder. 

“Did you know he’s not into all that?” She took a sip, “You better be patient with him ya got it?”

That question caught you off guard. Apparently for him too, Alastor coming back to life at the change of tone, “This isn’t really a tea topic, dear friend.”

Rosie hummed, “Where are my manners! I was just so relieved he didn’t up and leave for another seven years.” 

What’s a scowl shared between friends?

But shared between whatever you and Val were…?

Valentino’s wings unfurled revealing long fishnet covered legs. You watched as he swayed his hips side to side on his way to the bed. The same bed as before. You remembered the shape and purple comforter that you could see down your blindfold.

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting you to already be undressed.” Where were his pants and button up? This was moving faster than you’d anticipated. 

He turned back to you as he plopped down onto the bed, “What I wear isn’t any of your business. Though, speaking of business.” He pointed to the corner, a part of the room you’d never seen before. A camera on a tripod stood there. “Turn it on.”

Your grimace was immediate. “You sure you wanna film this one?”

Impatient, he crossed his legs and leaned back on two hands, “Did you think you could just come in here, ask to fuck me and … what? It’d be all on your terms?”

Yes. 

You’d worn a dress expressly for ease, and slipped off your panties before going to the camera. For some reason you didn’t want that recorded. It seemed embarrassing. More so than what you were about to do.

Val’s turn to gawk, “You’re seriously not planning on staying dressed.”

“What I wear isn’t any of your business.” You opened the view screen and hit record.

His laugh was dark and deep, “Ooh, I forgot how feisty you were. Maybe this can be a recurring thing.”

Ignoring the comment, you tried to take in the details of the room, checking the walls and small bits of furniture. But you were immensely distracted by the moth demon, who had taken to spreading his legs open and running a hand down his barely contained bulge. Tiny, little, itty black thong, fishnets, nipple chain and… well, the hat. 

Two arms pulled you by the waist, hands gripping the flesh of your ass through the dress. 

“Why are you dressed like you’re off to teach Sunday school?” His hands slipped under the fabric and dug into your bare skin. He glanced at the camera and its small monitor to make sure he was in frame.

Your knees were brought to either side of his legs before he began to open his stance wider and wider. The action lowered your center more and more until your naked heat was resting on his package. Things were speeding up, he was moving you around so effortlessly. A problem, an absolute problem.

“Ya know I haven’t had a believable good girl to break in awhile.” His hips rose of the bed suddenly and made you bounce on his growing erection. Val groaned, a sound that made your skin crawl. 

In the reflection of his glasses you saw the white face of a marble clock on the wall behind you. 

“Could we—- can we do this lying down? Missionary? It’s been awhile and I’m feeling insecure.” The thought of the overpowering demon towering on top of you and pinning you down was… a tad terrifying. But you needed to see the clock, you couldn’t keep turning around. 

A brief thought, maybe just turning around on his lap and staying facing away from him would work, but then you remembered the camera. Didn’t need your now-rising dress to give the Vees anything exploitative to keep.

Not that everyone in all nine rings hadn’t already seen you spread open and screaming on camera.

“Actually maybe it’s okay, I can,” turn around? Your suggestion was cut short.

Val lifted you like a toy and flipped around. Your head hit the bed hard, brain jostling in your skull. One hand instinctively came to his chest to keep some distance. “No, I like this better.” A wide grin as he settled between your legs.

You leaned to the right to see the clock past his shoulder. Five minutes.

Why didn’t you wear a watch? Fuck.

He dropped his lower half onto you until his full weight was pressing his half hard cock into your stomach. Your breath tightened, running out of moveable space to expand your lungs and diaphragm.

“I wanna see you squirm.” Pink smoke was blown directly into your face, catching you off guard. But, where was the cigarette? You didn’t see it…

Your muscles went loose, the stress of the moment washing away. Both of your hands came to the center of your chest and pressed down. Security. Readiness.

Four minutes.

Alastor didn’t like you having a phone but he didn’t stop you from owning one. You had assumed you’d be on the set where you knew there would be some way to keep track of the time. Or else you’d have just worn a dress with pockets to carry a cellphone. Maybe set a timer.

You weren’t sure about Alastor’s disdain for tech until you witnessed it yourself. That square headed stalker flitting from screen to screen, riding the wires and the radio waves. He had warned you about the Vees, about Vox in particular. He didn’t have much to say about Velvette, and somehow that was better than the nothing he had to say about Valentino. 

As Val’s tongue slid up your neck, you thought about Angel. A confidant. You wished he had asked Alastor to kill Val, as a thank you for his efforts in reuniting you two. And, now that you remembered, uniting you at all. 

Instead he asked for a bigger room. Large enough for two to comfortably cohabitate.

Alastor maybe couldn’t kill Val, but he could try. When you brought it up with him he was upset. He didn’t like his name being spoken at all unless absolutely necessary 

An inadvertent moan you didn’t realize came from you until Valentino chuckled at the sound.

“Feeling it?” He cooed. You weren’t sure which it he meant. This wasn’t going quite to plan. 

Three minutes.

So much could happen in three minutes. Too much. He slid down his underwear, sitting up and letting you see him in his full glory.

Why did he have to be such a bad man?

Many men who carried big sticks were unkind. Between their legs or between their fingers. 

Alastor was an exception to the rule. 

Things did calm down for Alastor after you returned, eventually. Alastor’s desperate need was soothed with you in hell again. His appetite dying. But he hungered in new ways. Ways you hadn’t anticipated to fill your cup so full. Long and intense kisses where his hands dragged down your body and he sighed into your cheeks. You were often pulled into his side and under his arm when sharing the sofa. Soft pets to your hair as you fell asleep. 

And when you felt the need, and if he wasn’t feeling up to it, he’d lie beside you and whisper into your ear. Talking soft and low about all the ways you stole his heart and mind while his hand pumped those long fingers in and out of your own needy pussy. He’d grin into the nape of your neck when you were incapable of keeping your voice down any longer. A feeling you’d come to need. 

You didn’t need a cock to be full. And by the look of Val’s twitching monster, you’d be broken before he bottomed out.

His thumbs pulled apart your bottom lips, “Ready to spread you open so wide you won’t even feel that lanky fuck in you.” 

His third and fourth hands pushed your thighs open and back, hands you could swear felt familiar. Alastor? Or before him?

You struggled to regain focus, your fingers feeling at your bra.

Two minutes.

Legs suddenly too weak to resist, or perhaps Val too strong. Or, a third option, you weren’t trying so hard. Behind his fingers was left a burn on your skin.

“Closer.” Your lips were tingling, it felt good.

“I need you closer.”

His wide chest grew prideful, “Oh? If you’re looking for love you’re in the wrong bed, princesa.”

“No love. Chest. I can’t reach your chest.” You struggled to sit up, but managed to grab the chain connecting his pierced nipples before falling back into the bed.

A screech, a squeak, “Fuck! Watch how you handle that.” His voice rose several octaves. God, you hated him. 

You gripped the chain tightly, the feeling keeping you a little grounded. “Oops.” A whirlpool was behind your eyes, all five senses mingling and amplifying. This was dangerous. He hadn’t used this aphrodisiac on you before…maybe he had liked how much you thrashed when he tied you up and mocked you.  

His length ran up your core and you jumped. He was so hot. So…. Firm.

No. Too close.

One minute.

You had told Alastor you wouldn’t let it go too far. He said he’d not stop you, because you had said you needed to do it. But you could see the conflict behind his own gaze. What would he do if you returned smelling of Val? Dripping of him? 

Almost. Just a few more seconds. His body rolled into you, rocking you with the motion. Every passing had his cock from slit to balls sliding between your wildly wet folds. 

Timing was key for your safety. Though Alastor had made it clear you could always just bail and wait for his call.

The more Val rubbed and pressed against you you felt your mind melt a little more. Surely it would slip down your spine at this rate. 

A brief worry in the pleasurable fog, what if later on you remembered the pleasure and felt guilty? Guilty to Alastor but most importantly to yourself, for gasping and sighing under the abusive trash that dragged you to hell to begin with.

And what if you didn’t? 

Which was worse?

Which would be easier to live with?

He prodded your inner thigh. He was getting closer and closer to actually entering you.

30 seconds.

“Do you remember my promise?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” His head was hung as he stared between your bodies. He didn’t see you reach between your breasts into your bra and pull out the Carmine angelic dagger Husk had recommended to Alastor. You hadn’t been quiet about your plans.

“Odd, it’s on recording. Maybe you didn’t realize I was talking to you.” As you moved the dagger from your right side to bury it into Valentino’s chest you remembered the man in the woods. The young man at work. Angel. Here you were again. But if this ended the same as the woods, where would you go? Would Alastor be able to reach you?

“My promise to fucking kill you.”

Valentino keeled back, hand raised to slash your throat out when a green light momentarily blinded him. The sound of chains filled the room as you disappeared into nothingness underneath him. He was left slashing at his own duvet while he tried to slow the bleeding.

Alastor caught you as you fell from the portal he summoned you with. Two feet barely touching the floor as he set you in the reading chair in front of his fireplace.

He nodded at the drops of blood staining your cornflower yellow dress, “Was it a success?”

Your body slipped down the chair, dress getting caught in the friction and riding up. He leaned over and tugged it back down to hide your exposed sex.  You were too far gone to feel deja vu.

“No, I think he’s alive. He drugged me with that smoke.” Your legs were spread wide, trying to keep your weight from slipping off the chair. “I was too weak.”

Alastor sat in the chair opposite and took in the scene. Hair messy, legs open, face flush. Bloodied and breathless.

Pride ran a shiver up his spine. His doe’s second murder attempt. While he has despised the idea he couldn’t pretend he didn’t love the initiative. 

“Hey, I know you said you wouldn’t ask.” You crossed your legs at the ankle, which did nothing to stop the way the air that was rising up your dress and cooling your core. “But I didn’t fuck him.”

Alastor shrugged, “As they say, all is fair in love and war. I would understand if you did for the sake of killing him. What’s a little sex if it helps murder?”

Your hand slipped down your chest, a ghostly trail in its wake like your touch had an echo. “What a terrible way to confess you love me.”

A choked cough from the radio demon.

Your eyes slipped close. Relaxed. “I feel good.”

He hummed.

“Not from the stabbing, from the stuff in his smoke. My body is thrumming. Is my heart pounding?” You tried to stand but ended up on your knees, cheek coming to rest on his inner leg. As he leaned forward to let his hand enter your dress and rest above your heart, his face got close to yours.

“It’s frantic.” A low whisper into the shell of your ear. Pulling back he paused at your face to lick an errant drop of blood. “You reek of him.”

“He did lick me a couple times.” You watched Alastor sneer, “And he was naked, like, immediately. Oh! Oh fuck,” your head popped up with a renewed clarity, “He recorded it.”

Alastor stilled, he wasn’t thinking about the recording aspect. He was thinking on your heart, on how flushed your skin was, the sweat dripping down your neck. On the thought of Val’s tongue over your skin. “The medicine— or drug you were exposed to,” a deep breath in, “What does it feel like?”

A topic change you hadn’t expected, your body slouched into his leg, arm over his thigh for support. His eyes on your face as they always were when you were in the room. 

“Like my body is… illuminescent. Every time my clothes or something touches me, my skin lights up and my brain gets so quiet.” His palm stayed on your heart. 

“Hmm,” His hands slipped under your arm, lifting you up. Your feet were entirely off the ground now as he carried you like a dirty cat on its way to the bath. Gently, you were set onto the bed. A lovely juxtaposition.

“Every time I touch where he did, tell me.” Alastor kneeled beside you, deft fingers unbuttoning your dress. A sharp claw popped under the center of your bra and sliced through the fabric.

Your body was humming again, Val’s powerful aphrodisiac lifting up from your senses like dust under heavy footsteps. 

Goosebumps formed up your arms as the back of his fingers traced along the outside of your forearm. As he curved up your shoulder and reached your neck you breathed out a low, “There.”

You watched him lean down, warm lips kissing at your skin. A series of kisses as soft and needy as the ones he often placed on your own mouth. A shudder turned nearly violent as his hot tongue ran up your neck to your jaw.

His nose slid up your cheek, “There.” Kisses to your face, across your nose and to the other side.

He pulled back, eyes lusty and heavy lidded. He didn’t say anything, but his grim smile asked you something. You nodded, running your hands down your chest and to your thighs.

A growl you hadn’t heard in so long rumbled in his chest. He rolled you onto your stomach and pulled the dress off entirely, nails raking along your spine until they dimpled the soft fat of your ass.

“There.”

Alastor straddled you at the back of your knees. You wanted to squirm but your muscles had gone weak again. He nipped at the mounds of flesh, massaging and squeezing after every particularly sharp bite. What little part of your brain could form coherent thoughts was trying to piece together an alarm— his face was so close to your still soaking wet entrance. 

Images bubbled up where words were failing. Val’s large cock head smearing precum up your slit.

His hands roamed down your legs and feet before turning you back to face him. When you could finally see his expression again, you were surprised to see a look he hadn’t given in so long.

Needy. Desperation screamed through knitted brows, hazy eyes, and a weak smile threatening to fall flat.

As his hands slid down your stomach and reached the junction of your thighs, you started to register the little moans you were making.

But it was getting harder to hear past the radio static and pounding heartbeat in your ears.

Soft fingers traveled between your closed thighs, you hesitated before offering what you thought was a quiet, “There.”

You couldn’t hear yourself think let alone speak as the sounds both in and outside your body grew louder with every signal he’d found a new spot to cover up.

His knees pushed open your left thigh, then your right. Lowering himself, he hitched your knees and lied flat on his stomach. A bite to your inner thigh, nearly the back. A suck, sharp and strong, that ended with a pop as he released.

Nose inching closer and closer to your core, Alastor could see your hole clenching. A dribble of the evidence of your arousal being forced out and down the cleft of your ass.

You heard and felt his breathing quicken, when a finger slid down your folds you couldn’t stop the raise of your hips.

“There.”

The lights went out with a pop. Shaky breaths as his tongue swiped from entrance to clit. Lick after lick to your center like he was trying to make you clean again. Another moan you were only sure was yours cut through the now biting static that filled the air around you.

Your mind tried to piece together a sentence, “Crazy stuff… it had me so horny”, your hands ran up your chest without thinking, “I was almost hoping Val would put it in before time was gone.”

The static cut. Not even the sound of the fireplace or the crickets in the swamp portaled into his room were present anymore. 

“Isn’t that insane? Have you ever heard of such a drug?” Your eyes had closed, feeling his breath wafting down your saliva coated lips. “Alastor?”

He was being honest when he said he’d not hold it against you. But he hadn’t even considered a situation where you wanted more to happen. Than had been discussed. The very idea of Valentino mixing with you brought bile to his throat.

The drug was to blame and he could understand that, as a man. But as an overlord, as something more akin to animal in some aspects, he had the clawing urge to reclaim you. To write over even the thought of wanting to feel Valentino.

“My darling little doe, I think you need a reminder of just how much of you I possess. And the parts of me you own in turn.” 

You looked down to see glowing eyes from between your legs, his fingers snapped and while you couldn’t see what was happening past the light of his eyes, you could hear the VHS player click and then a small, “Aunt Sara….” whispered in a familiar voice.  

“I don’t understand what’s happened….”

It took a moment to register it was your own voice you were hearing from the darkness. 

“Aunt Sara isn’t here.” 

Alastor’s acting debut crowing from the old TV beside his bayou door. His eyes shifted with a blink from glowing red to black, just sharp dials visible in the shadow of his face.

“She’s made an exchange, she gets extraordinary power….and I get your soul.”

The prongs of a buck ready to clash over his territory creaked past your open thighs.

“But I want more than that. I need more than that.”

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima a , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon n , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @rubyninja1 , @simphornies

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , , @fizzled-phoenix , @phobophobular , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl

[aestrayla]

cherries or peaches? pt. 2 ft. obey me! datables

summary: do they prefer ass or boobs? ft. obey me! datables x f!reader

cw: HIGHLY suggestive, mdni, fluff??, pet names (sweetheart), fondling, groping, grinding/humping, semi-public but no sex, licking, stripping, MY HUMOUR..

word count: 1.4k

a/n: thank u so much for the love on the first part, im so happy to be able to write these hcs, they’re such a fun idea. i got a bit carried away and some of these turned into half-ish fics but i hope u enjoy this version just as much as the first ♡

haven’t read the first part yet? you can find it here ♡

diavolo loves ass. the end.

just kidding.

ever since arriving in the devildom, student council meetings had always been a bore to you. you were never able to understand the complex topics of the “worldly problems” discussed, which often led to you staring out into space.

but ever since you got close to diavolo, things had changed.

“keep it down, y/n,” diavolo whispered through clenched teeth, as he kept a beaming smile glued to his face.

you let out a peeved groan. how the hell were you supposed to keep quiet when he kept rocking you back and forth on his lap like this?

despite your squirming, his hands never left you as he pushed and kneaded at your ass under the table. his hard-on evident as it ground against your clit, eliciting hushed whimpers from your lips.

in many ways, doing this was beyond worse than just zoning out, one wrong move and the whole student council would probably never look you in the eye again.

to make matters worse, diavolo insisted that meetings can’t start unless you were up here, in his lap, at all times.

“dia, i can’t do this anymore,” you whimpered under your breath.

“it’s almost over soon, sweetheart. just a little longer ‘n then i’ll make you feel good, hm?”

it might not be obvious at first, but barbatos loves boobs.

hearing that he was the “greatest pastry chef in all three worlds” has always been something that intrigued you. it wasn’t until you tried them for yourself that you realised that this statement was far from being a lie.

it was only a few weeks ago that you asked him to teach you a few of his recipes, you had never seen so much delight in his eyes. “oh that would be great, y/n! i’ve always been looking forward to the day you’d ask me so.”

as you slam the door to the oven, a gust of the hot air blows against your face, “how long should these be in the oven for, barbs?”

“thirty minutes should be fine. do you mind adding some of that sugar over there into this bowl?” you set the oven timer to thirty minutes before scurrying over with a measured bowl of sugar, pouring it into the bowl of fresh cream.

“perfect, could you whisk up this cream for me while i go find the vanilla?”

“sure.” he hands you the whisk before poking his nose through the cupboards in search of vanilla.

as you were whisking, you let your mind wander. gosh, i can’t wait to try this when it’s done… but dang i lowkey wonder when he’s gonna let me in his pants already… a few wet splatters across your chest had snapped you back to focus, “oh shit— i spilt it on me!”

the clank of the whisk dropping to the countertop had barbatos rushing towards you.

“oh goodness me, you’ve made a mess!”

“i know… fuck i’m sorry. i’ll just get a tea towel and wipe—”

before you could finish your sentence, barbatos had stopped you. his body crowding up against yours as he leaned in. holding you by your waist, you could feel his kitten licks swipe against your chest, even reaching as far down to the cleavage of your boobs.

you started to feel hot and dazed as the sweet aroma drifted through the kitchen, while he started to suck harshly against your skin, fingers creeping up to caress your boobs. soft pants began to leave your mouth as his tongue worked across your chest, but before it could escalate any further, he had pulled away.

as he stepped back, wiping the corner of his lips, you were left completely flustered, “oh wow, the cream without the vanilla tastes really good, you might just have a talent for baking y/n!”

“uh-huh…” you muttered, staring at him dumb-found and wide-eyed.

simeon is secretly a big fan of boobs, so today was a big treat for him.

it was the weekend, he had scored a pair of free tickets to the amusement park, and of course decided to bring you along. it was a leisurely day however, the rides and attractions he decided to do were almost too tame for your excitement.

dragging him along, you spot an attraction that seemed to catch your eye. handing two tokens to the employee, you quickly rushed into the tank, simeon freezing, clearly stunned and confused about what was about to happen. “hey y/n, what’s going on?!”

taking a seat on the tiny platform you point to the target beside you, “can you hit a bullseye?” you winked.

the employee hands simeon a ball, “you’ve got three tries, buddy.” after a moment of hesitation, he throws the ball, hitting the center of the target with a loud smack.

you let out a small shriek before getting submerged into the tank of water. “oh my— Y/N!” simeon rushes towards the tank, quickly pulling you out from the water. you let out sharp breaths before giggling, “your aim is amazing!”

“is this your idea of fun?!” his hands reach up to hold both sides of your face, turning it from one side to the other. “you’re not hurt are you?”

you smile sweetly, flattered by his concern, “i’m fine simeon, it was fun, really.”

he sighs, “good, alright.” his eyes travel over your body checking for any scrapes before widening at the sight of your chest. the water had soaked your white shirt completely, revealing that you were wearing nothing underneath. your round nipples were perked up from the cold water while your shirt was clinging onto your wet skin.

gasping even louder than before, in a flimsy last-minute attempt to cover you up, he slaps his hands over each of your boobs and although it works in his favour, you couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“don’t laugh y/n! we need to get you a new shirt, or at least a sweater!”

you pull him towards you by his collar, your lips mere inches away from touching, “so are you gonna help me take this one off first?” your purr.

his hands race to cover his reddened face, “w-wait that’s not what i—!” upon realising your boobs are on display again, he slams his hands back over them, “y/n!” he whines.

two hours in, and it was blatantly obvious to solomon that this tutoring session was going nowhere.

you weren’t understanding any terms or concepts of the topic at hand and with a week to go before your final, it seemed like solomon was more worried about this than you were. surely it isn’t because you’re too distracted sitting in his lap, right?

he clears his throat, “how about this…” you slowly lift your head up from the palm of your hands, clearly distressed about your upcoming failure. “for every question you get incorrect, you remove a piece of clothing.”

you raise your brows, intrigued, “and for every question i get right, you remove a piece of clothing?” you stare back at him.

“exactly, and for that answer…” he slowly shrugs off his blazer and places it behind his chair, “i’ll remove this.”

in hopes of this becoming a motivation for you, he began to quiz you with a mini questionnaire. “what are the three ingredients used to make the elixir of cerebral stimulation?”

you internally face palm because you knew jack shit about brewing potions, “uhhh… newt legs, unicorn hair, and frog mucus?”

solomon clears his throat ubruptly. “um, no. the correct answer is powdered unicorn hoof, bittergrass root, and caladrius blood.”

you look down in embarrassment before removing three pieces of clothing. only four minutes in and you’re left in nothing but your underwear and bra.

“last and final question, what covered the devildom when it was first created?”

“…darkness?”

“…unfortunately, that is incorrect. the correct answer is a forest.”

you groan. you haven’t gotten a single question correct and embarrassment was evident as your face was flushed. you turn to face solomon, “at this point, why don’t you choose what i take off?”

your pretty face staring up at him, teary and doe-eyed had him swooning. slowly standing up and pushing your back down onto the table, he stared deliriously at you. papers were scattered everywhere and textbooks were crumpled open. your legs were wrapped around his waist as his hands gently pulled the straps of your bra down your shoulders.

staring at your bare chest he murmurs, “i’m obsessed with these,” before diving straight in.

a/n: haven’t written in about 5 months so excuse how rusty my writing has gotten.. but nonetheless, thanks for reading this far, luv you all ♡

©2024 aestrayla. do not modify, copy, translate or share.

[meyhew]

“WHAT WE MOURN FOR THE DEAD IS THE LOSS OF THEIR HOPES.”

I never thought I’d make this post. Any time I imagined a One Direction member dying, I pictured myself weathered and grey. This was an eventuality that wasn’t supposed to be actualized until the boys and I had lived full lives. To have to come to terms with Liam’s death—his perpetual absence moving forward—in my mid twenties feels absurd. I wrote a long thing the day after I found out, so I’ve already gotten some thoughts out. I’m going to try and keep this short. I likely won’t succeed.

Liam was kind. If he’s remembered for anything, I hope it’s that. I know he helped out with food banks in London during lockdown because there were photos of him packing boxes, but I didn’t know until now how much money he gave them. £80,000 without any publicity. And it wasn’t a one-time donation. He kept working with various orgs to help food insecure people. In the week leading up to that unfortunate Wednesday, he gave away thousands to fundraisers—primarily set up to help people with severe illnesses. He’d been part of Soccer Aid for years. He was involved with anti-bullying campaigns. He worked with Rays of Sunshine to make hundreds of sick children happy. Over the years, he also donated to nonprofits that help children in Gaza and other places. The T-shirt he designed for Choose Love has garnered nearly £200,000; Choose Love has been working with the Palestine Children’s Relief Fund and Medical Aid for Palestinians to provide desperately needed aid in Gaza. Liam understood the value of his wealth, and what his social responsibility was. He did his part to make this world better.

All that without taking into account everything Liam did for us. The youtube videos he started during quarantine because it was a way to distract people, give them something to look forward to. His comedic timing was something special. The discord server where he talked to fans and highlighted their creative endeavors. His livestreams, the endless culture-defining tweets he made. I still see people laughing about his tweets. We all remember Mrs. Horan, yes? I mean, go all the way back to TwitCams. Just google the phrase and one of the first videos you get will be Liam’s. From day one, he took it upon himself to make sure the fans were happy. That we felt seen, heard. And he kept One Direction alive for us, on occasion at a great personal cost. He performed deep cuts we’d never seen sung live, he was always so enthusiastic about everyone else’s projects, he never shied away from talking about the band—because it made us happy. He knew what the band meant to us, the blend of hope and nostalgia many of us clung to, and he held on with us. For us. The masses ridiculed him for his clinginess, and he didn’t let go—for us. I’m sure he knew there are those of us for whom the name One Direction still means everything. And how right he was. Look at the global charts for the past two weeks. We’ve made history again. Because of Liam. He had been the glue holding a lot of the fandom together, whether people realized it or not. He brought us all together again in the most heartbreaking of ways.

One Direction came into my life at a time when I was becoming lonelier by the day. I had moved to a new country two years prior, and I didn’t yet have many friends because I knew only enough English to get by at school. Outside of school, I had no friends. They were all back home in the place I’d left. All I had was my two siblings—and when you’re 13 years old, your 14 yr old sister is hardly the person you want to spend all your time with. I didn’t have space for me, to do and to be something that was just mine.

Then I found 1d through a girl at school and they became that something for me. I bettered my English by watching them talk. I found this community because of them, and I have learned so much from being a part of it. So many wonderful people have touched my life because of them over the years, some I’ve fallen out of touch with and some I hung out with just this month. They—and, by extension, Liam—have made me wealthy in friendship.

Claudia, Ingrid, Mery; Thank you for putting up with my insanely specific demands and making headers for me. Ingrid, you’ve been so patient about teaching me how to gif. Mery, I still have your rec list for learning Spanish saved in my notes app. The TPWK print you gifted me hangs on my wall. Cloudy, do you remember that lineart you made of me? I still have it. You’ve all been so kind to me.

Rafa; You have no idea how much you’ve helped build my confidence as a writer. Lyab is a thing of the past now, but those hours you spent fleshing out the details of that fic are priceless to me. I’d never written anything so ambitious before. And, frankly, I don’t think I would’ve attempted a novel if I hadn’t written a 100k fic—which I couldn’t have done without your encouragement. I think this is my first time telling you I finished the first draft of my novel in September. Thank you <3

Yas; Beloved you are so dear to me. You have shown me such kindness over the years, at times I wondered what I had done to deserve it. Not many people check in with me the way you do. I value your presence in my life beyond words. You have so much love and affection to give, and I’m glad I get to receive so much of it.

If I wrote a personal note to everyone who’s in my life because of Liam we’d be here for hours and hours. Jess, Bella, Alex, Jack, Hayley, Hope, Soni, Kayla, Sara, Arsh, Tina, Ola, Cristal, Kylee, Hana, Ali, Antonise, Clare, Abby, Nina, fnh, mert, people I don’t follow anymore, everyone who’s come into my life because of liam—I love you. Literally every single person I follow should be named here because I wouldn’t even be on this website if it weren’t for 1d. You’re all so special to me.

I still can’t believe Liam is gone. I was at the grocery store and it hit me that it’s real, and I thought, no, there’s no way. It feels so fucking weird having this invisible hole in my life that’s never going to go away. But I’ll always be grateful for everything Liam brought into my life. I know I’ll grow old with a whole bunch of you in my life—I’ve already spent a decade with some of you in my life—and I wish Liam got to grow old and weathered with us all.

This is such an inadequate goodbye. I think I’ll keep coming up with things I wish I could tell Liam, or things I want to say to you all. There’s so much history here, so much to reminisce about. He took a piece of my adolescence with him. I’ll miss him forever. Too many of my memories are intertwined with him and I’ll miss him forever.

Sleep easy, Liam. I hope, in time, you’re remembered for your limitless capacity for love and your desire to do better, be better. You deserved more. 🤍

—————

tagging 1d people here because i know many blogs aren’t active on a regular basis. apologies if i missed someone (i’m sure i did). hugs for everyone

@1dclowns @hrrytomlinson @sandiazucar @fookinfreezin @hoeranghae @wlwmermald @tomlinsun @epubgf @heyangel @fireproofs @90sgrungelouis @lirry @iconichalo @itsnotreal @aquickstart @roguecurls @harryscuddles @hoteyelinerguy @babyy-honey @goldencereza @kindathoughtprovoking @kindofsharethat @fuchsiasea @queerbloodyangel @tofiveohfive @aboutmetamorphosis @wastelandbabyblue @delicatepointofview @twentybiqueen @girlcrushau @chaoticsue @chimnation @akasakasads @icouldbeluckyagain @alloutshirt @half-lightl @halohamilton @willowfey @meltedwings @softandslow @loustyles @onedirectiom @pop-punklouis @pridesobright @finexbright @femstyles @baawree @iamnathanscott @avocadolouie @userautumn @niallerer @itsnothesameasitwas @usignedupforthis @svpportive @svncourt

[jeongharine]

syntax ERROR: the right formula

⚝ wonwoo x reader

⚝ comedy, smut

⚝ notes: you and wonwoo decide to take the thing between you on level two. but no one has to know about it. you would rather die than to have someone figure out about your sexual escapades with the local nerdy fuckboy. it is an ego thing. (part i)

(thanks to everyone who read and liked part one, i’ve never received such an amount of likes for something that i posted <3 i hope you will like this part as well, it is a bit longer but i had a little fun in writing some teasing ooof enjoy it, have a good early summer period and stay safe x)

“can you actually believe that, y/n? he ghosted me for i don’t know three weeks, and then he had the nerve to ask for a tit pic,” nabi sighs, taking a sip from her blue-ish drink.

“you know what? i’m so done with men. all of them. we really ar- are you even listening to me?” 

you are caught off guard by the clicking of her fingers in front of your eyes. truth is, you are only half present, the other half of you is scanning the whole floor, trying to see if there’s a certain someone amongst the agglomeration of bodies. 

“yeah, sure, sorry,” you apologize, leaning your side against the wall. “i was somewhere else for a second. you were saying that he ghosted you?”

“i’m never talking to him again. or any man.” “hm,” you hum, crossing your arms. you actaully don’t know who she is trying to convince at this point, because that must’ve been the fifth time you heard your friend giving you that speech (during that semester alone). 

“really, i don’t know why those guys haven’t been thrown out of the campus yet. they’re a hazard, including your brother from what i’ve heard. sorry. but yeah, they’re a threat to public health,”

you shrug, because honestly you don’t care that much about their business. and that is important to keep it low.

“could be worse, though, i could be one of the poor girls getting fucked by one of them in their spare time,” 

oh. 

you giggle, a little nervous. “yeah, yeah,” you agree, looking back at the mass of students. “yeah, that’d be totally awful.” 

“i couldn’t even count on my fingers the amount of girls that had one night stands with one of them, and somehow proceeded in becoming completely whipped and infatuated, only to be told that they don’t ‘fuck the same person twice’. like… what the fuck is that? who do they think they are? sorry that your brother is involved in this discourse, but he’s kind of a prick,”  

you laugh, noticing the tinge of red that covers her cheeks. “you sound really drunk,” 

“i’m not bullshitting you. they’re pricks and that’s on period,” 

she raises her cup in a silent cheer, and took another sip. “i know you’re not involved in the fuckboy thing that plagues this campus and, honestly, you’re better off that way. but trust me when i say that they aren’t worth the headache,” 

with an inattentive nod, you take another peek at the strangers filling the space near you. “i believe you, don’t worry. i know my thing or two,” 

the worst part? you do. 

and the even worse bit? there are two things wrong with what she has just told you. 

number one: yes, they could be kind of jerks sometimes. but they aren’t completely soulless, at least some of them. they are fun to be around, actually, when picked alone and not in group, or when they are not trying to impress someone into sleeping with them.

number two: they fuck the same person twice, if feeling like it. at least wonwoo. and you know that because you’ve been fucking him on and off for the past five months or so. 

when you first met him, you weren’t exactly after a “secret friends with benefits” relationship. you just needed a math tutor. but long story short, you didn’t expect to fall victim to his charms, melting under his tender kisses, moaning his name as he rolled his hips against you, edging your orgasm for longer than you can hold it. and you surely didn’t expect to like it as much as you do. 

truth is: jeon wonwoo is everything, but he isn’t dumb. he knows that he is attractive and smart as hell - he knows that with his voice so silky and deep just saying the right words is enough to have you in bed with him, and he knows how to use the two things very well. 

apart from also corrupting you in games hours.

also, you are human, alright? and there is something extremely tempting about sleeping with your brother best friend, especially when he keeps coming back to you. it’s only nature to want to feel special every once in a while. 

again: it is an ego thing. 

plus no one ever caught you. not nabi or any of your other friends. as far as you are aware, wonwoo’s group doesn’t know a thing either, which makes you appreciate him even more because you don’t know how hoshi could take this.  

so yeah, he isn’t a total douchebag. he has the most basic sense of loyalty. 

x

with a sigh, you push your body away from the wall, fumbling with your purse. you are praying that- oh there he fucking is. 

the moment that you see wonwoo, sitting on the couch across from you, you forget how to breathe for a moment. 

he looks better than you had anticipated: dressed in all black, with his thighs spread across the seat, ready to be fucked right then and there. his dark long hair is parted in the middle, with a few stubborn strands falling over his angelic features, as his gaze navigates around the room, staring at nothing in particular.

next to him, there is another one of his friends, seokmin, talking about something animatedly but wonwoo is paying no attention. 

his expression is one of irritation, you notice, with his thick eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenching. but when his gaze falls on you, however, wonwoo’s perceived annoyance instantly dissipates. 

you watch as his eyes meet your own, then he trails down your body with desire, stopping around the level of your thighs for a bit longer than you have predicted. 

you know that stare awfully well: it is the same one that he gives you when he sees you around campus, or in the pc-bang when you’re winning or when you actually understand the concepts that he’s teaching you. the silent provocation that tells you, and only you, that he really wants to have some alone time right now. 

a tricky smirk sprouts at the corner of his lips, and he leans back against the couch. you follow his movements as he reaches towards his pocket and extracts his phone, staring at you as he does so. he unlocks it, taking a final glance at your expectant features before he starts to type something.

[00:23] wonu: so glad to see that you came  

[00:23] wonu: will you do me a favour and meet me in the bathroom upstairs? second door to the right ;) 

and what can you do when he’s asking it like this? you take the stairs and you wonder, as you open your way through the crowd of sweaty bodies and spilling drinks, if you aren’t trying too hard to rationalize and catastrophize something that is actually very simple. 

a story with a beginning, a middle part, and a satisfying ending: you two want to fuck each other, you do, then you move right forward. no hidden feelings, no strings attached. that’s it. couldn’t get any better than that. 

but maybe, it isn’t everything about that, and you know it. it is also about overhearing the other girls talking as you make your way upstairs, complaining about how ridiculously hot and pretty he is. it is about having that steamy, trembling secret between the two of you. it is about knowing that yeah, wonwoo is crazy hot and smart and funny and you can have that whenever you want.

x

just like the calm before the storm, there is a moment of quietness and stillness between the instant of when you lock the door, and the one when you see him. 

as you turn around, dwelling in his proximity, you think about a million things at the same time: about teasing him for his location choice, or maybe about how he must’ve been going through a drought, if he has to count on his covert booty call to get laid at a party. 

before you can say anything, wonwoo’s lips are on yours, attacking your mouth in a fervorous kiss. you whimper in surprise as he pushes you against the closed bathroom door, his hands circling your waist as he squeezes your body against his. your purse falls on the ground with a muffled sound, but you barely even notice it. 

it is something else, really. tonight, he’s kissing you as if he physically can’t contain himself long enough to do anything else - as if all that he can think of doing is to feel the heavenly contact of your mouth against his, while your fingers pull strands of his hair.

as he invites his tongue inside your mouth, wonwoo groanes and lowers his hands, squeezing your ass like he is about to lose every last ounce of sanity he has left in him. you sigh as he moves his focus onto your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses. 

“someone’s excited,” you comment, slightly breathless. the only response you get is another groan, and the rolling of his hips against your inner thigh where you can feel his dick, already semi-hard, pressing. 

“couldn’t even bother to take me somewhere else,” 

“i just needed to have you now. have you seen how hot you are?” his voice comes out muffled against your skin, the reverberations of his timbre propagating directly towards your core. 

“i see you’re starting to get more adventurous with this,” you bite down on your lower lip and he sucks your flesh, groping your ass once again. “parties and nights out used to be so off limits to you.” 

wonwoo chuckles against your neck, moving back towards your mouth. he starts making out with you again, his breath hot and heavy against your face, and you start to think how you could very well pass out seen the level of craving building inside of you. 

“i changed my mind.” he speaks as he leans back. 

you smirk at his attitude. “we’ll end up getting caught,” 

“aw, baby,” he pouts, looking at you with artificial pity. “are you afraid your brother is going to find out?”

okay, he can be kind of a prick sometimes. 

“so i can leave, then?” you raise one eyebrow, fingers playing with the hair at the back of his neck. 

“you can, the door is right behind you. you know i’m not one to insist,” wonwoo tells you, quickly losing interest in this part of the conversation. “but something tells me you won’t.” 

you don’t even try to respond, because there is nothing to be said: both of you know what you are doing there, and the idea of walking out is just too ridiculous to consider. 

with a suspire, you watch as wonwoo moves his lips down your chest, stopping at the fabric of your blouse. 

“what if someone hears us?” you suddenly remember, heartbeat quickening at the thought. 

“what is it?” he asks as his fingers work on your buttons, exposing more of your chest. the slow pace of his is going to kill you one of these days. 

“you’re worried that people are going to find out about this? about us? when you’re always begging to be fucked in the room next to your brother’s one or when there’s someone at my dorm?” 

you open your mouth to respond but his chuckle, so deep and melodious, catches you off guard. 

“how scandalous, right? you are not the pure little thing you make yourself to be,” wonwoo continues, finally opening your blouse and fully exposing your bra to him. he hums with delight. “red lace? you really want to tease me,” 

you swallow dry as he takes the blouse off your shoulders and gently places it beside the sink, above a towel. he can be so thoughtful and gentle. 

“wonu, i-“ “you’re such a little brat sometimes, you know that?” he interrupts, eyes following his own movements as his hands circle your body, moving to unclasp your bra. and of course he gets it right on the first try. 

“you came all the way up here just to get fucked, and now you’re worried that people are going to know about it,” you stare him down, a smirk already creeping up in the corner of your lips. 

“how does that make me a brat?” 

he smiles. “don’t try to to play the naive card on me,” another agile movement of his fingers and your bra joins your blouse besides the sink. 

wonwoo sighs deeply at your exposed breasts, trying to imprint that sight into the back of his mind. “pretending as if you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. you can drop the act now, y/n,” “i don’t-“ his mouth attacking you is all that you needed to shut up and let him do what he wants really.

overwhelmed by the sensation, you let out a gasp as his hand squeezes you, playing with you as he moans against your skin. 

“i love it so much,” he hums, moaning at the marvelous sensation of your warm skin against his tongue. you were almost forgetting how much wonwoo aches to play with your tits - not that you are complaining. 

“and i love that it’s all for me,” he breathes out before placing kisses again.

you whimper at the contact, arching your back in a failed attempt to get closer to him. as much as you know he is most likely to just say whatever he thinks would turn you on, wonwoo’s words expand inside your chest, building a heat that seems to suffocate you. even if you know it is bullshit, maybe not all of it, you like to be called his. ego strokes and all of that. 

“wonu…” there is only a thin wooden door separating you two from the outside world, and at the moment you can’t care less if they hear you calling out his name. the guy really does wonders to your anxiety. 

but he also likes to tease you. 

he moves away from your breasts and you almost, almost, cry out in frustration. but wonwoo starts to trace kisses back to your neck, then to your jawline. and you feel like you’re going crazy with all that back and forth.

“i’m not gonna lie, i understand where you’re coming from,” he says. “i like to keep this as a secret too. it’s so hot.” 

you almost forget how to inhale when he aligns his face with yours, placing a peck on your swollen lips. “yeah?” you ask, sounding as if you are in a daydream. 

“yeah,” he agrees, breathless. 

even if wonwoo tries his best to look as if he’s under total control, you know that he can’t keep that front for too long. he is clearly turned on, and the hardness pressing against your thigh is all of the proof that you need. he

even if wonwoo tries his best to look as if he’s under total control, you know that he can’t keep that front for too long. he is clearly turned on, and the hardness pressing against your thigh is all of the proof that you need. he’s close to get too worked up.

“it’s so great to know that i have one of the sexiest nerdy girls on campus just for myself…” his hand trails up your thighs, adventuring in the lands beneath your skirt. “and no one knows.”

you bite your lower lip, anticipating the contact of his hand against your core. “what’s so tempting about it?” you ask. 

he smiles. “ah… many things,”

your stare doesn’t vacillate. “i’d like an example,” 

instead of answering you straight away, wonwoo decides to take his sweet time. he leans his head to the side and kisses you feverishly, growing satisfied with the the small whimpers and breaths that echoes in between your mouths. his hands are all over you: on your ass, your waist, down your thighs and up your hips, where his eyes can not see. you only have your skirt and your panties on, and it is so frustrating to still feel him fully dressed against you. 

at last, he pulls away, placing his forehead against yours. as he speaks, you feel the tingle of his hands as they move towards the hem of your panties. 

“i like seeing you walk around campus, knowing that you’re sore from the night before,” he speaks slowly, his voice in a low vibration against your mouth. “and i know you don’t tell any of your friends about it. about how i fucked you so good that you almost cried,” 

you hum, closing your eyes. “what else?”

much to your dismay, his hands leave your underwear again, coming out to pull you closer. “when you send me those audios late at night,” he’s breathing out hard then, drowning in those lewd memories. “crying out my name… ” he stops and takes a big breath. “how am i supposed to say no to that? so there i go, out the door, telling your brother that i’m going to the library to study, instead of saying that i’m going to see his crazy hot sister and that i’m going to fuck her…” he hesitates. “and i just get this… adrenaline rush because he and my other friends don’t know it’s you.” 

“and how do you know that i like any of it?” you tease. 

wonwoo snickers at your question. both of you know that it is plastered all over your face, but he can keep up with that little teasing if you want to. 

“two reasons,” he says. “first: you do the same to me, or don’t you?” 

“i don’t recall,” you respond, forging innocence. okay, maybe you do like to play the naive part. 

“oh no? what a terrible memory you have, i see why you do badly in exams when you don’t study with me. now, let me remind you,” he places a strand of your hair behind your ear, his words hitting your skin in heated, libidinous waves. wonwoo is so close that you can count his eyelashes if you want to, his torso squeezed so tight against yours that you wonder how you even manage to breathe in this position. 

“it was just last week, babe. you called me to your flat after your roommate had left,” one of his hands goes back to play with the hem of your underwear, fingertips feeling like sparks against your skin. 

“you got so horny with just the thought of having me, isn’t that right?” much to your surprise, your voice comes out a lot more steady than you have expected. “don’t flatter yourself, you don’t know that.”

wonwoo laughs, placing his warm, swollen lips against the skin of your neck. “i don’t,” he agrees, digits pressing against your clothed area. 

you know he feels how wet your panties have become, so there’s no reason to keep that up. regardless, you kind of like it. 

“but i do remember how much you wanted me that night. how many times did i fuck you that night? and you just had to keep quiet, because your neighbours could have been catching something. that was so cute,” 

you sigh, your insides in knots over the tension you are sustaining. you hate him sometimes. hate how good he is. “i wasn’t counting.” 

“i know,” he swiftly pulls the fabric of your underwear to the side. 

“and this right here, this is the second reason. look at this,” his digits move, teasing you and you have to suppress a moan. “you’re always ready. i love that. you’re so good to me.” 

god, you are so close to lose it.

“so quiet all of a sudden,” his nose delicately trails up your neck, his mouth meeting the angle of your jaw in open kisses. in an attempt to ground yourself, your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging through his t-shirt. you can still feel wonwoo’s fingers playing. you hate him. or not. you don’t know. 

“i know i leave you speechless, sometimes, but i wan to hear you too,” 

strong and steady, his other hand meets the curvature of your waist, pressing your body against his.

“nothing? y/n, you’re especially irresistible tonight,” his eyes are somewhat dazed, unfocused and hooded. he appears as if he’s two seconds away from fucking you raw against the wall, and you seriously wouldn’t mind at this point. 

“you know why i called you here?” “because you want to fuck me,” you respond without missing a beat. 

“i do, of course,” he places his forehead against yours, and you whimper. 

“and the best part is that no one will even know it,” he continues. against your best judgement, your knees are getting weaker by the minute, the knot in your abdomen about to untie.

“just you and i. just the two of us will know how much you begged.” 

“wonu,” you call out, hands tangling themselves in the roots of his silky hair. you whisper out his name again, your voice coming out in such a promiscuous tone. 

god, wonwoo loves hearing the effect he has on you. 

x

maybe jeon wonwoo does also have a golden dick. 

above you, he smirks at the sensation of your mouth around his thumb, his other hand coming to place small caresses on your hair. after he removes his thumb from your mouth, you get back to your feet. it swiftly crosses your mind that your legs might give out eventually but, thankfully, they seem a bit more firm than what you have anticipated. 

“better?” you ask. 

“perfect.” wonwoo kisses you, sighing against your mouth. he pulls away gradually, his body still moving a bit slow.

“you always are.” 

“aw, how nice of you,” you smile at his compliment, walking towards your pile of clothes. “always with the compliments.” 

he hums in agreement, watching your naked body - your fingers holding that red bra he adores so much. “do we have any lesson programmed this week?” 

an incredulous laugh ruptures your lips as you clasp your bra behind your back. 

“we just had sex, and you’re already thinking about studying time?” 

he shruggs. “i like to have a schedule,” 

“i don’t actually remember, but we can game at mine wednesday,” your skirt moves up your legs, all the way up to your waistline. from the corner of your eyes, you can see wonwoo fumbling with his own jeans, which he now curses for being inside out. 

“can you pass me some toilet paper?” you ask him, eager to clean the mess between your legs. there’s no way you are going to put your panties back on, even if the thought of going commando isn’t exactly the most welcoming either. 

wonwoo is sitting on the toilet lid, putting his jeans back, and simply nods in agreement before doing so. “i’d like to know, though,” he insists.

you smile, taking a cheeky glance at him. “oh, so you are needy. since when you’re so needy?” 

he groans. “i’m not needy, shut up.” the sound of his zipper closing echoes inside the cubicle. 

“well, you can have this as a memory, if you’d like.” 

you throw your red panties at him, watching as his face grows interested at the piece of cloth in his hands. wonwoo sighs, tugging his t-shirt back inside his pants. 

“you’re killing me,” he complains. “good.” you smile, turning back at him. “how do i look? presentable?” 

he examins you for an instant, taking in the details of your form. “it doesn’t look like you just got fucked, if that’s what you’re asking,” 

“great!” you swirl around, “have a nice night, wonu. and don’t get too excited with the panties,” 

wonwoo gets up and walks closer to you, your underwear safely guarded in his hands. you are positive he’s going to have fun with it later. “you’re going home already?” he asks. 

“yeah, you did a good job at making me tired,” the clicking of the lock is a pleasant reminder that no one tried to open the door during your alone time.

wonwoo chuckles, leaning closer to you and he places a kiss on your forehead. 

“good night, then. thanks for the panties,” you laugh. “you’re welcome.” 

x

the building is glowing in the most diverse colours from the outside, and the sound of the music is like a distant pulse.

you watch, heart clenching inside of your chest, as wonwoo steps out of the front door with hoshi and seokmin - his head hanging low and a smile at the corner of his lips. 

there is a volume in his front pocket, where you are sure he has tugged in your panties.

“i think that we should go home and sleep. but let’s keep this conversation on hold,” wonwoo cuts off the conversation. seokmin, however, isn’t satisfied. 

“you know that i’ll find out eventually,” he says, trying not to trip while walking. 

“i always do. and hoshi knows it well.” 

hoshi laughs, meeting wonwoo’s eyes. on the other side of the street, you and nabi take the opposite direction, having wonwoo to turn his head quickly at you. 

“wonu-yah, i think you should give those lacy panties hanging off your pocket back to my sister tomorrow,”

“what-” “oh fuck!” a tomato red face wonwoo grabs them, while seokmin trips and nearly cries out loud in the middle of the street.

[clockwayswrites]

Like Betta Fish Do - Part 29

WC 2500, Masterpost

A Press of the Button:

An Exclusive Interview with Jason Wayne and Danny Nightingale Following the Infamous New Years Eve Choice

By Clark Kent

“I’m going to throw up.”

I’m sure that I wasn’t supposed to overhear that; it’s not exactly an auspicious start to an interview. Here inside of Wayne Manor’s stately halls the noise of the crowd of press outside of the gate has fallen away and the words from the other side of the door are clear. The voice isn’t one that I recognize, so I place it as the young man at the center of the event: Daniel Nightingale.

“Danny, please, I’ve never liked Daniel,” he’ll introduce himself to me once I’m inside the sitting room. Jason Todd is at his boyfriend’s side, looming like an avenging angel. Or, since we’re in Gotham, a very large bat.

When I was assigned the interview, I hadn’t been sure where it would be held. As readers may know, Jason Todd hasn’t lived at the Manor since his miraculous return from the dead. There were, as he said, too many memories in the Manor for him to return. At the time he had still been struggling to overcome the unfortunate amnesia that he had suffered during his brutal abduction as a teenager.

Whatever trauma is still lingering, it’s clear that both young men are taking comfort being in the manor. The proverbial wagons have been circled inside of the family home. Even cleaned up the sitting room shows signs of a rotation cast of family keeping the pair company: a plethora of blankets, stacked board games, feel-good food, and, of all things, a plush trilobite.

As we take our seats, Danny leans unconsciously into Jason’s space like a flower to the sun. His nerves are clear in the way that his fingers fidget restlessly with the edge of his sleeves. The red sweater is far too large for him and hangs off of one thin shoulder. I have to guess that it’s Jason’s sweater and worn today for comfort. I doubt anyone could blame Danny seeking comfort wherever he can find it.

Less than a week ago Danny was abducted from the Wayne’s New Years Eve party by a Gotham villain known as Two Face. The villain came into being after Harvey Dent, a district attorney in Gotham, was traumatically exposed to a toxic chemical. (More about Two Face can be read in the article ‘A Flip of a Coin’.) Danny had been taken off site while a handful of party goers were strapped to an explosive device.

Presented with the horrifying choice between his boyfriend or his father and youngest brother, Jason had pressed the red button connected to Danny’s trap.

Danny Nightingale had been electrocuted to death.

And survived.

It’s the perfect sort of awful story to capture the attention of the public and press alike, and it’s the reason that I’m at Wayne Manor now.

Hoping to make Danny feel more settled, I start off with some pleasantries before going in with a soft question. How is he doing with all the attention that the event has been getting? It must be overwhelming.

Danny glances towards the front of the house where outside lies the front yard, the protective gate, and the press. “It is. I feel like I’m still getting used to living in a city as big as Gotham, so all of this suddenly… yeah, it’s a lot.”

Danny grew up in a much smaller city in central Illinois called Amity Park. He moved to Gotham in the late summer of last year to continue his education at Gotham University. It’s a change that he describes as good, even as overwhelming as it is.

“Gotham has been surprisingly easy to fall in love with. I can see why Gothamites are so protective of the city,” Danny explains with the first hint of a smile on his face that I’ve seen since I came through the doors.

When I ask him if he hopes to stay in Gotham long term, Danny glances at Jason and blushes faintly. “I’d like to, if I can find work. There’s a lot here worth staying for and the city is just part of that.”

The words cause the first blush I’ve seen on Jason’s cheeks since he was new to the Wayne family and a little overwhelmed himself. Clearly Jason is one of the things worth staying for.

We talk a little about how Danny likes the Wayne family. He admits that he’s still getting to know them. He’d only been introduced to most of the family at the end of last year, right before finals. Already, though, there are stories to be told about board games and good food. Beyond the Waynes, Danny has someone else very important in Gotham.

“Your sister is in town, isn’t she?” I ask. “I imagine having her here during this has been nice.”

“It is. I was actually supposed to go and see her after New Years, but obviously…” Danny clears his throat and Jason takes one of Danny’s hands in his. Danny instantly relaxes into Jason’s side. “But yeah, having her here is really nice.”

“I take it you two are close then?”

“She was my anchor growing up,” Danny says with a little smile that’s tinged with sadness. “I wish she hadn’t had to be. Now that I’m older I know how unfair that was to her, but I’m so lucky that she did. She could so easily resent me for it, but she doesn’t at all. It makes it really easy to love her.”

“Not that it’s hard,” Jason adds with a chuckle. “I think her and Dick have already made an oldest sibling club and Damian thinks both Nightingales hung the moon, I swear.”

“Speaking of Nightingale, that isn’t your original last name, is it?”

It’s been an item of note in the recent write ups on Danny that both of the siblings had changed their last name to Nightingale from their birth name of Fenton. Their parents, doctors both, still go by Fenton. In Gotham, at least, the Doctor Fentons would be described as mad scientists. The so-called ‘ectobiologists’ have made their life a study of ghosts. In Amity Park, ‘the most haunted town in America’, they’re just part of the atmosphere.

Danny sighs and glances away. “No. Jazz and I both changed our last names when we turned eighteen. Jazz had wanted me to change it and go with her when she turned eighteen, but she had this great scholarship for college and she’d taken care of me enough. I couldn’t put that on her too, so I refused to until I was eighteen.”

“So you didn’t actually emancipate yourself?”

“Nope. One day late for that. But I moved out the same day I changed my name.”

“How did your parents take that?”

A wry smile twists Danny’s lips. “They didn’t notice until months later when the lab had gotten too dirty.”

“The lab?”

“It was one of my chores to clean it; another thing that I get was messed up now that I’m older and away from there. We, um, think that it was my exposure to all those chemicals that made me a meta.”

By all accounts, Danny’s meta status is how he survived the electrocution. It’s a label that he looks slightly uncomfortable with.

“It’s not that I mind being a meta,” he’s quick to assure me. “It’s just that… what actually made me one was an accident in the lab. I was electrocuted.” He raises his left arm up. The overly large red sleeve pools down to reveal a branching network of faint silver scars tracing his skin. “It’s hard right now to think back to it, after what happened. I really didn’t know if I would survive… either time. I’m lucky that all I have are scars.”

“But you thought that you might survive.”

“I did,” Danny says with a little shrug. He seems almost at ease with that question, unlike Jason.

Jason has to take a moment to press a kiss to Danny’s temple.

“After the first time I was electrocuted,” Danny explains, “I became a little more resistant to electricity— little shocks and things. It’s not like I ever tested it out with anything big. I guess it was just a feeling I had.”

When I ask Danny if he’s alright to talk about the night of the party he looks stressed by the idea but still gives a little nod. As he points out, it is why I’m there.

“I was getting some fresh air,” Danny explains. He’s picking at the sweater again. “The night was really lovely, but it’s just not the sort of thing I’m used to, you know? So I just wanted a moment to gather myself. I guess… I guess they were already watching me, because they knocked me out before I even really knew they were there.

“I woke up strapped to a metal chair. They’d taken my shoes and socks off. I couldn't understand why, but then,” Danny has to pause here and take a moment. Jason pulls him closer. “Then I noticed that my feet were in water and there was a wire in the water too. The wire wasn’t live but it’s… I mean it wasn’t hard to put it all together.”

“That must have been terrifying.”

“Yeah.” Danny looks over at the windows and the gray winter day beyond them. “I didn’t know who had taken me or why. I could hear some people close, talking about waiting for a signal, but it wasn’t much. When my eyes adjusted I could see a camera on a tripod and a laptop. I didn’t know what was going on, not until it turned on.

“Two Face was on it. I guess you know I’m not a native Gothamite that it took me a moment to recognize him,” Danny said with a weak laugh. “He explained what he was doing.”

I ask Danny what his first thought was when hearing the plan.

“Worry for Jason. Which I know sounds insane, but I guess… I guess I had already accepted the circumstance I was in. I just didn’t want Jason to have to go through that choice.”

“And then Jason was on the screen.”

“Yeah.”

“Jason, what were you feeling at seeing Danny on the television?”

“What do you think?” Jason asks, frustration lacing through his voice. “I was pissed off. I was scared. I was… I hated myself.”

“Why?”

“Because Danny was only in that situation because he was dating a Wayne. Because he was dating me. And there he was, a few seconds from death, bleeding, and… and telling me that he loved me.”

While Danny sounds almost detached talking about it, possibly a coping mechanism, Jason sounds like every wound is still fresh. It paints a terrifying picture of what it’s like to be the one to die versus the one who presses the button.

I turn back to Danny. “You said something to Jason in the video after that. There's been a great deal of debate about your words. Do you feel alright discussing them.”

Danny nods. I read out the quote: You know what you have to do, don’t you?

“Danny, what did you mean?”

“That Jason had to press my button,” Danny says with surprising ease. It’s clear that the order was one that he still stands by.

I ask about that certainty.

Danny gives a little shrug. He tucks himself back further under Jason’s arm, but I'm certain that the move is more for Jason’s comfort. “It was me or a group of other people. That would have been enough. I would never put myself first like that, but then you add in Damian and Bruce being part of that group? I couldn’t ask Jason to choose me over his family and Jason knows I wouldn’t.”

What about the chance of survival?

“Jason and I had talked about my accident before. Death… it’s something we both get, you know? So we both knew that there could be a chance of me surviving, but there was never any guarantee.”

“Are you going on record that you told Jason to press the button, knowing it could kill you?”

“Absolutely.”

And how did that insistence make Jason feel? Right then it seems all Jason can do is curl up around Danny, as if he can shield him from the past.

“Fucking horrible. Danny just looked at the whole situation and made the choice for me. I don’t know, maybe I should think that was freeing, but I still had to press the button.”

I point out that he could have made the other choice and he just shakes his head. “And make Danny live with that? He had made his choice. He didn’t want to trade his life for theirs. I hated it, but what sort of person would I have been if I didn’t let Danny take control of his own life? I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with either choice, so at least… at least I could listen to Danny.”

So Jason had pressed the button, Danny had been electrocuted (he refused to speak on the experience), and Jason had attacked Two Face. The man had ended up with a broken jaw and fractures in the orbital rim. It was while Jason had been sobbing in his father’s arms that they had gotten the word from one of Gotham’s local heroes: Danny was still alive.

“What did I feel? Hope,” Jason said with an almost despairing laugh. “I don’t… hope and I don't do well these days, but I felt hope. I don’t know if I believed it until I was actually holding his hands.”

“I was a little out of it when they got there,” Danny admits, which seems more than fair considering everyone else would have been dead. “But I’m so grateful to Nightwing and the paramedics taking care of me and letting me see Jason before the hospital. I really… I really needed him right then.”

And now?

“I’d like to say that I’m alright, but,” Danny shrugs, “it’s a lot to go through. But I know I’ll be alright. Jason and his family are amazing and I have Jazz here. I’ll keep healing, physically and mentally, and so will Jason. I know the internet has a lot to say about it all, but I think they need to understand that this turned out the best way that it could have.”

Jason kisses Danny’s temple again with a slight smile. He seems to be in agreement with everything his boyfriend said.

“I suppose I have just one more question,” I say after a moment of looking over my notes. “Why do you call Danny ‘fish’?”

I don’t get an answer, but maybe hearing those two able to laugh so soon after such a traumatic event is better than a story.

---

AN: *flops dramatically* darlings, this chapter is finally done! Thank you to @chromatographic and @mokulule for cheer/beta reading for me. This one was really hard to write since it's out of the normal style wise for me, but it felt like the best way to tell the story right there.

I hope you enjoy it!

I no longer tag, you can subscribe at the masterpost!

[redfoxwritesstuff]

AN: Yes, Vexi, I'm issuing challenges- I challenge you to stop licking airport doorknobs so you don't get plague the month of smutmas next year.

Summary: You couldn't stand one patient that always showed up for his annual Physical right on time every year. He was arrogant, cocky and well aware of how handsome he was. Luckily for you, the feeling wasn't mutual.

CW: Smut, dubcon due to nurse x patient power dynamics, unprotected sex, semi public closet sex

Vincent Voxly. 

The name glared up at you from the chart in your hands. He was ever so reliable, attending the clinic for his annual wellness exam on the same day, every year. A man like Vox was reliable in every way, and this was no different. Otherwise, you nearly never saw the man. 

He rarely got sick and even then, it was even less often that he got sick enough to visit the clinic. There were very few things you were thankful for in your job. The sexism and roaming hands of the patients, the disrespect from the doctors, and so many other things did much to steal the joy of seeing lives saved and babies born. 

You knew this appointment was coming every single year. You dreaded it. There was nothing you could do to get the day off. You begged and bartered in a desperate attempt to have the day off work, as you did every year. 

None would take pity on you. The doctors all thought your hate for the man was misplaced. It didn’t help that you were and are a professional. There shouldn’t be a personal distaste for a patient. They were just patients, that’s all. 

Your duty was to care for them. That was all. You didn’t have to like them, to like him, but you did have to get his vitals. 

You told yourself that again and again in the weeks ahead of the appointment. It didn’t matter if you liked the arrogant marketing executive. What mattered was that you got his height, weight, and blood pressure. That was all that mattered. 

So why did you hesitate just inside the doors leading out to the lobby, his chart in hand when it was time to call him back? 

Fucking Voxley. You could see him through the small window on the door, standing at the reception counter. There was no reason for him to be standing there, distracting the front desk girls from their job, but he was. His rich, arrogant laugh carried easily as the girls sitting at the desk all but swooned over his every word. 

Disgusting. 

One deep breath in. You held it and counted down from four, letting the breath out in a slow and steady stream of air. 

“Okay,” you whispered. “I’ve got this.” 

“It’s just another patient,” Dr. Jones said, shaking his head as he walked down the hall. He would never understand, none of the doctors would. 

Squaring your shoulders, you straightened your neck and back, holding yourself tall and strong. You waited one more heartbeat before stepping forward and pushing through the doors. 

“Voxley?” You made a show of looking around the waiting room, as if you didn’t know who your patient was or exactly where he was. “Vincent Voxley?” 

“Aw, Dollface.” Voxley sauntered up to you, as he did every year. “After all these years, I think you know who I am by now.” 

“Follow me.” You turned on your heel and led him into the clinical area. “We’re going to get your height and weight right over here.” 

“Same song and dance,” Voxley said, leaning over your shoulder to talk into your ear, making himself at home in your personal space. “We do this every year, Doll. You can just call me Vox. Don’t you think we’e known eachother long enough by now?”

“Vox, then.” You agreed simply to shut him up. “Empty your pockets here, jacket off, shoes off.” 

“Yep, yeah.” Vox smiled as he slipped his blazer down his arms, taking his little victory as a far larger win than you thought it was. He had been trying for the last three years to get you to call him Vox, the name he used for his performances. It was a name he had picked for himself, though a variation of his surname. 

He was a man who made himself who he was. He was not just his father’s son. He was a man of his own. He was also a man who knew what he wanted. 

You rattled off his height, unchanged from the year before. With a twisted smile, you pointed out the weight he had gained in the last twelve months. 

“It’s muscle,” Vox promised.

“I’m sure,” you smiled sweetly at him. “That’s what every man says.” 

“I’ll show you.” Vox tugged his shirt from where it was tucked into his pants. 

“Sir, this is neither the time nor the place to begin disrobing.” It was a struggle to keep your voice cold and calm. He would not get to you. You were determined that he wouldn’t get to you. 

“Follow me.” The order was issued clear and crisp. Cold, just like everything else you offered Vox. 

“What is your problem with me?” Vox asked as he walked right on your heels to the exam room. 

“Wait here,” you avoided looking at him as he walked into the room. “The doctor will be in shortly. Unfortunately, he is running a bit behind but we’ll certainly try not to keep you waiting for too long.” 

You only relaxed when the door shut behind you. Your part of the visit was done, at least for the time being. Now it was all in Dr. Jones’ hands. You’d at best have to pop into the room a few times to remind Vox that the doctor was running behind and then see him out of the clinic. It was easy. You could do this. 

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the exam room door fail to latch shut as you stepped away. 

Vox watched, eyes cold and calculating as you looked through the supply cart. 

You worked steadily, with a single-minded determination that Vox admired. He had watched you work, year after year, when other nurses came and went. You didn’t like him, though he hadn’t the faintest idea why. He tried to make nice; he tried to make you feel pretty- something you naturally were but seemed disgustingly unaware of. Hell, he had even brought you trinkets and gifts. Nothing softened you to him. 

Today, he broke down and asked you flat out what your issue was when you had the nerve to insinuate he was getting fat. You brushed off the question, not bothering to even dignify him with an answer.

Before he left this clinic, he would have an answer. 

You stepped into the supply closet, pushing your little cart in front of you. Vox was hot on your heels, moving swiftly through the hall. He hadn’t replaced his shoes, not bothering when he’d have to take them off again, anyway. His sock clad feet moved silently through the halls. 

You didn’t think twice when there was a delay in the supply closet door closing behind you. It wasn’t uncommon for two or more nurses to be restocking their carts at any given time. 

It was the sound of the lock clicking that had you turning your head. The door was never locked during business hours. 

Vox stood between you and the locked door, dim closet lights somehow not doing a damn thing to dim the handsome features of his face. The light reflected off his dark hair. The warm light of the bulb struggled, trying to steal the blue tinted shine from the hair and yet somehow not managing. It was such a unique tone of black, one the cameras never seemed to get just right when he was on air. 

“What are you doing in here?” your voice was tight, high. 

“I asked you a question.” Vox stepped closer, driving you back deeper into the closet. “You didn’t answer me.” 

“I’m sorry?” You looked anywhere but at him. “Any questions you have would be a better fit for the doctor. Please, return to the exam room and wait for Dr. Jones.” 

“Dr. Jones won’t be able to tell me what the fuck your problem is with me.” Vox stepped closer. The cart clattered as it hit the back wall. “I’ve tried.” 

“I don’t have a problem with you,” you tried to lie. 

“Yes, you do. Don’t lie to me, Dollface.” The distance between you and Vox as he loomed closer and closer. “Why?” 

“Fine,” you snapped, slamming a pack of bandages down on the cart. “I think you’re arrogant.”

“I’m confident,” Vox challenged. 

“I think you need to be knocked down a peg. Rich men like you get everything handed to you, you take everything.” You ranted, voice growing harder though, not louder. What you were saying would surely get you fired if it left the closet. 

“I’ve worked damn hard for what I’ve got,” Vox was now close enough that you could reach out and touch him.

“Someone needs to teach you a lesson,” you challenged.

“You think so, dollface?” Vox scoffed, body now so close you could smell his cologne. The heat from him radiated out, warming the cool clinic air around him. 

“Yeah, I do.” You looked everywhere but at him. 

“Look at me.” It was his turn to issue orders. You hesitated only to have Vox grab your chin in his fingers and force you to face him. “Do you feel better, telling me what you think?” 

He didn’t sound angry. He didn’t sound like he was going to get you fired. 

“A little,” you admitted, struggling to look away from his bright blue eyes. 

“Good,” Vox whispered, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. 

Lightning ran down your spine, putting every nerve on high alert. You wanted to pull away, but with the cart behind you, there was only so much space between you and him. He wasn’t supposed to kiss you, not after everything you had just said to him.

“I hate you,” you whispered as your heart pounded in your chest. 

“Love and hate walk a thin line,” Vox murmured, hand snaking around your waist to pull you closer. “Lust lives between them.” 

“You’re so fucking arrogant,” you whispered, only to watch his smile grow. 

“Indeed, I am,” Vox said. “But I think part of you likes that. That’s why you still work here. That’s why you don’t plan early enough to not be here every single year to see me. We’ve been doing this song and dance for years, Doll. I think it’s time I thought you a lesson on what you’ve been missing out on, pushing me away all these years.” 

“You make it sound like you think I want you,” you scoffed as he pulled your body to his. 

“You do,” Vox laughed, “Shh, it’s okay. I want you too.” 

“You’re an asshole,” you whispered as your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch. There was no memory of it happening, but your hands were resting against Vox’s chest. Strong muscles flexed under the soft cotton of his shirt as he pulled you closer. 

“I am,” Vox said instead of denying it. “I’m going to teach you how much you like that about me.” 

Vox stepped away, turning your body to face the cart. Large hands ran down your sides, reaching around to run up your front. He eagerly explored your body, ignoring the half-hearted protests as he pressed his front against your back.

“This is not appropriate,” you hissed as Vox grabbed a handful of your breast through your uniform, feeling your heart pounding in your chest. Each gasping breath ran into your chest, expanding it under Vox’s hand. 

“Neither is how you’ve been treating me.” Vox’s voice was hot in your ear, hand running down your side. 

Fingers gripped your hip as he pushed his pelvis into you, forcing you to be aware of the hardness he suffered from. You gasped, a sound so pretty to his ears as he ground his clothed cock against your ass. Each beat of his heart had him throbbing in his pants. 

Fingers moved down your thigh, flexing and bunching the fabric of your uniform, dragging the hem higher and higher. As he worked, his lips placed soft kisses against the back of your neck as he kneaded your breast. 

Before you could gain any semblance of sanity again, his neatly trimmed nails scratched your stocking covered thigh. No longer did the skirt of your nursing dress cover the skin of your thighs. 

“Vox?” You questioned as his fingers spread, palm running higher along your thighs. Long fingers wrapping around your inner thigh. Soft pressure pulled your thighs apart as he pressed his chest into your back, urging you to lean forward. 

“You’re so pretty.” His breath was hot in your ear, palm finding bare skin where the stocking ended high on your thighs. “So kind.” 

Hot fire pooled in your stomach as his hand moved out, running along the gentle curve of your hip as he pushed the skirt of your dress higher and higher, not stopping till it rested on your lower back. 

“Stay just like that for me, won’t you?” 

You didn’t want to listen. This was not some office he owned. It wasn’t a place where he called the shots. He needed to be taught a lesson, taught that he wasn’t in charge here. 

Yet, as the warmth of him left you, your pantie clad ass exposed, body bent slightly over the supply cart, you did as he said. Over your shoulder, your eyes met his. The intensity of the eye contact stole your breath as his belt clattered, hanging limply from his pants. He worked the button free as your breath locked in your lungs. 

The weight of the metal and leather pulled each side of his fly apart as he worked the zipper down. You expected boxers. Underwear. Something. Anything.

More and more skin revealed itself. Vox wore nothing under his pants. You realized that at the same moment, the weight of what you were about to let happen settled in. 

“Vox?” You leaned back, turning your shoulders and twisting your spine to look at him, only to watch as he pulled his cock from his pants, freeing it from the tent he had created. “We shouldn’t-” 

Vox leaned forward, kissing you as he pumped his cock with his fist, ensuring he was hard and ready. Once he was sure he was ready, he returned his attention to you. The weight of his cock rested against your ass as his hand caressed your round cheeks. 

You gasped into the kiss at the firm squeeze of his hand. That was all the opening he needed to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth. The sensual kiss, combined with the forbidden nature of what you were doing, stole the breath from your lungs and made your head spin.

The elastic waistband of your simple, modest panties rolled into the fabric as he worked them down your body. Slick smeared against your thighs as he pulled the wet fabric from where your body had glued it to your folds. 

“You’re so wet,” Vox whispered, letting your panties drop around your ankles. He cupped your folds from behind, hand pressuring you to spread your legs wider for him. It didn’t take much urging at all. 

Your hips rocked as you lifted a foot, stepping outside the ring of your underwear to give him better access. 

“We need to stop this,” you whispered as his fingertips ran over your clit, pleasure blooming with each pass. “This is wrong.” 

“It’s fun to do what’s wrong,” Vox answered, the tip of his burning cock replacing his fingers as he ran it through your folds. “That’s your lesson.”

Your protest died on your lips as he nudged your clit again and again, coating himself in your slick. Your breath came out in soft gasps as he nudged you with each thrust through your folds. The head of his cock caught on your opening, teasing it more and more with each pass. 

“Please, Vox,” you whispered, “I need you.” 

“Yes,” he teased, pressing the head of his cock into your opening, hardly enough to spread over the very tip of his head. “You do need me. Of course you do.” 

“Arrogant asshole,” you moaned the insult as he sank into you. 

Your walls twitched and fluttered, adjusting to the intrusion as he filled you. It felt like he would push forward forever, his length and girth spreading you to your limits when he finally bottomed out. 

He didn’t give you much time at all to adjust to his size. As soon as his hips settled against your ass, he was pulling back. You moaned at the friction, needing the feel if him deep inside you more with each slow thrust. He claimed your body slowly, easily, as you offered no resistance. 

He gripped your hip, blunt nails digging into your skin as his other hand ran up your front. One after one, he worked the buttons at the front of your crisp white dress free, pulling the modest collar open to be anything but. 

He didn’t stop when he could wrap his hand around your throat, though he took a moment to indulge in the feeling. Your body tensed as he flexed his fingers around your neck, gripping his cock. For a moment, he thrust through the tense walls before removing his hand, letting your body relax around him as you gasped for air he hadn’t restricted you from. 

He worked at your dress until he had your bra exposed. That wasn’t enough for him. Your bra was thin, just enough to offer coverage, but he still wanted more. He pushed the band up, only to find it too tight around your ribs. When that failed, he pulled the cups down, folding them under the curve of your breasts. 

Cold clinic air bit at the exposed skin, pebbling your nipples. Vox eagerly indulged in rolling the bud between his fingers, making your body shudder. Moans stuck in your throat, swallowed down by the need to be quiet. 

He pulled your chest down by the nipple, a sharp sensation that had you wanting to cry out and protest. There wasn’t a chance too, as his cock worked harder through your walls. The cart clattered as he pinned you against it with his hips, again and again. 

His pants sank lower around his hips, balls swinging freely to slap your clit with each thrust. No longer could you swallow your moans. They poured from your throat in a stream of hot pleas for more and mercy at the same time. 

“Vox,” you moaned his name, only to have his pace turn harder.

He folded over you, groping around the cart as he sought something, though you couldn’t be bothered to look or ask what. His cock felt so good, reaching parts inside you that had long been neglected. Each thrust into you stroked the fires of pleasure, winding your body tighter around him.

The sharp slapping of his balls against your clit added a bright spart of pleasure, adding more to the fire already burning inside you. Each pinch of his fingers around your nipple added more. 

“Close,” you whimpered, listening to the sound of your bodies coming together again and again, unable to do anything to lesson it. You would be caught, surely. This would be how you would be fired, getting fucked by a patient in the supply closet. 

“Open your mouth,” Vox whispered in your ear. 

“What do-” He stopped your words, shoving a roll of cotton gauze into your mouth, muffling your cries. 

“Good girl,” Vox praised, hand returning to your breast. 

The pace turned harder. The cart clattered loudly as he used it for leverage, folding himself over it. He gripped the handle, pulling the cart to him with each hard thrust. You clung to the cart, unable to even think enough to pull the gauze from your mouth. Each moan was heavy, thick, and muffled. The sounds were for Vox’s ears only. 

“mmuffh.” You couldn’t speak around the fabric, quickly wicking away your saliva. 

“That’s right,” Vox was on a roll now, reveling in every twitch of your walls around his cock. He had your body wound tight, right on the edge as you submitted to him. It took years for him to get here but fuck, he you felt so good wrapped around his cock, clinging to him. 

The sight of your nurse’s uniform, the one that plagued his thoughts for weeks after each appointment, ruffled and pushed up around your waist, was better than he had ever imagined. Your sweet body swallowed his cock again and again in a beautiful show. 

“So fucking pretty like this.” Your walls clamped down, harsh twitches telling him you liked his cocky voice far more than you had ever let on. “Learning your lesson?” 

You moaned, so very close to coming apart at the seams. Vox’s eyes left you for a moment, taking in the shelves of supplies. He had expected to fuck you on the exam table, but damn, the supply closet was just as hot. 

“Going to cum on my cock?” Vox teased, tweaking your nipple harshly as he shifted the angle of his hips, ensuring each slap of his balls hit your clit full on. It took only a handful more thrusts to have your back arching, breast pressed into his hand as you cried out. 

The contractions of your walls around his cock had him moaning, eager for his own finish. He drank up the music of the high-pitched whine, filtered through the gauze in your mouth as your body squelched with his thrusts. Tears ran from wide eyes as he fucked into you again and again, riding the waves of your orgasm to his own completion. 

“Fuck, fuck, Doll.” Vox babbled a string of pet names and praise as his cock exploded inside you, hot ropes of white shooting up into your core. He thrust harshly into your body. Each time his hips met yours, he ground against you with a moan. Only when his cock softened did his shuddering thrusts slow to a stop. 

You lay, breasts pressed against the cold steel of the supply cart as you gasped, struggling to pull enough air into your lungs through your nose. Vox pulled back from you, admiring the way his seed poured from your pink cunt in a white river, gathering, trickling down your thighs. 

“How do you feel, doll?” Vox asked as he straightened his pants, tucking his shirt back in before fastening his belt. 

You mumbled, body shaking as you lay otherwise unmoving. 

“Here, let me help you.” Vox lifted your foot, removing your panties from the floor. He shoved them into his pocket before straightening. Chuckling, he pulled the gauze from your mouth, watching as you weakly gasped for breath. “That good, huh?” 

You moaned, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing you couldn’t feel anything below your knees or that your fingers tingled. 

“Good, good.” Vox tugged your skirt down, though part of him was disappointed to cover the sight of his seed planted in your cunt. He couldn’t leave you like this, though. Once you were gathered in his arms, he worked your bra back over your breasts. You shook in the aftershocks of your orgasm as he buttoned your dress.

“Did you learn your lesson?” Vox asked as the trembling subsided. 

“What lesson?” Your show of defiance had no power over him, no fire in it as you both knew what was leaking from your core. 

“That you belong with me,” Vox teased. “That instead of fighting me, you should let me take you out to dinner, now that you know how good I can fuck.”

“You don’t fuck that well” 

“Sure thing, Dollface.” Vox laughed as he backed toward the closet door, shaking his head as he slipped out into the hall. 

You stood, legs shaking a little at the knees still, only just now starting to look for your discarded panties. Mortification set in as you realized they were nowhere to be found. 

“I hate him,” you whimpered the decree as his seed ran down your thigh, bubbling out of your abused opening. You said you hated him, but your body craved the way he filled you, even as you straightened your dress and threw away the gauze that had functioned as a gag. 

You hated him but… maybe you didn’t. 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[cowboybeepboop]

I'm not too sure if you're still taking requests but I was wondering if you can do a Scott from twisters and a super shy reader one? Like it could be Scott is her boss or something and he notices that she's super timid and shy and takes care of her. It could be fluff or smut but mostly leaning towards smut lol

I absolutely love all your work and you are such a talented writer!

Pairing: Scott Miller x fem! Reader

Genre: Romantic smut with fluff at the end

Word count: 5 k

Warnings: a little bit of roughness, p in v sex, fingering, semi public sex

a/n: Omg, I’m actually so excited you requested this bc I’ve been thinking of writing something similar for a bit. I’m always happy to take requests as well 😝 Also thank you so much! I hope this lives up to what you were expecting <3

You’ve been working at a small publishing company for the past couple months. It’s all been great, aside from the *strange* interest your boss Mr. Miller has taken in you. He seems to thrive on pushing your boundaries and putting you in situations that you would usually try and avoid. But at least he doesn’t yell at you or get on your ass about every small detail like he does with the rest of his crew.

The office buzzed with the usual cacophony of clicking keyboards and hushed conversations, but your desk remained a bubble of relative calm. That was, until James, the office chatterbox, perched himself on the edge of your table, his elbow propping up a paperback novel and his legs swinging carelessly.

He had a way of invading personal spaces without so much as a knock. "Hey, could you just...?" he began, dangling a manuscript in the air expectantly. It was the third time that week he'd asked you to cover for him. His eyes sparkled with the hope that you’d once again take the bait.

Your heart sank, knowing you couldn't refuse him without causing a scene or damaging the precarious office dynamics. But before you could utter a word, Mr. Miller's sharp voice sliced through the air like a hot knife through butter. "James," he barked, his stern gaze sweeping over the room and landing on the manuscript in James' hand, "this is the third time I've caught you offloading your work. Do it yourself or face the consequences."

The room fell silent, and James, caught in the act, had the decency to look sheepish. He scurried away, muttering something about deadlines and coffee. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of gratitude towards Mr. Miller, despite his mysterious intentions.

Your eyes brightened as you smiled up at your boss, giving him a silent “thank you”. Mr. Miller's gruff expression did little to hide the smug satisfaction that briefly flashed across his face before he turned away, the tension in the room dissipating as swiftly as it had appeared.

He marched back to his office, the heavy door swinging shut behind him with a decisive thud. You watched him go, feeling a mix of relief and curiosity about the enigmatic man who had just come to your aid. The silence was broken by the resumption of whispers and the shuffling of papers, but your thoughts remained fixed on the peculiar exchange.

You chew on the cap of your pen as your mind continues to wander to your boss. The tall and buff man who never lets a single hair get out of place. You couldn't deny the undeniable attraction you felt towards Mr. Miller, despite his brusque demeanor. His piercing blue eyes, chiseled jawline, and the way his tailored suits hugged his broad shoulders had not gone unnoticed by the female staff, or anyone with a pulse for that matter.

Yet, his rough around the edges personality kept everyone at bay, except for you. The way he'd occasionally drop a curse word in the middle of a meeting or roll up his sleeves to reveal strong muscles was oddly charming. You found yourself eager to learn more about the man behind the stern facade, hoping that there was a softer, more approachable side to him that the office hadn't yet discovered.

As the lunch hour begins, Mr. Miller steps out of his office, his gaze sweeping over the bustling office. He spots you, diligently working at your desk, and saunters over. He leans against your cubicle, arms crossed, emanating a mix of authority and nonchalance. His eyes lock onto yours, a subtle smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“So,” he drawls, his gruff voice a contrast to the ambient office chatter, “busy day, huh?” Your gaze meets his.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You give him a soft smile before looking back at your computer screen, trying to ignore the way your heart rate picks up in his presence.

“Uh-huh.” He lets out a low, contemplative hum, his eyes studying you, making you feel almost exposed. His gaze lingers a beat longer than necessary before he glances away.

“You look... stressed,” he comments, his tone casual but his observation astute. He leans in just a bit closer than what would be considered appropriate for coworkers.

You gulp as you lean back in your seat, trying to create distance between the two of you. “I’m not stressed.” Your pitch becomes slightly higher as a soft flush paints your cheeks.

Mr. Miller notices your shift backwards and the subtle rise in your voice, his smirk growing as he pushes himself off the cubicle wall and stands tall over you. He towers over your sitting form, the intensity in his gaze increasing.

“You sure about that, sweetheart?” he drawls, the last word rolling off his tongue in that way that always makes your heart skip a beat.

“Uh, Mr. Miller?” Your voice cracks a little as you shoot out of your chair. “I’ve got to go grab some things from the storage room.” you mumble as you slide past him.

Scott watches as you dart out of your seat, his smirk still firmly in place. He allows you to brush past him, his eyes following your every step. He waits a beat, letting you gain a small lead, before he slowly starts to follow you, his footsteps nearly silent. His eyes never leave your form as he continues to walk a few feet behind, his hands shoved into his pockets.

You open the door to the storage closet, taking a deep breath as you walk inside. An annoyed sigh leaves your lips as you notice the stapler you need is on the top shelf. You stand on your tippy toes, which doesn’t get you close enough so you begin to jump, not noticing your boss standing against the closed door.

Mr. Miller stays back, silently leaning against the door as he watches you attempt to reach the stapler on the top shelf. A hint of amusement dances in his eyes and a slight smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. He remains quiet, a silent observer of your struggle.

He lets you jump for a few moments, enjoying the way your body rises up and down, before he finally makes a sound. “Need some help there, sweetheart?”

“Oh shit!” Your eyes widen as you turn around, startled by his voice. He chuckles, the sound low and rough, as you inadvertently collide with his chest. He leans down, reaching easily over you and plucks the stapler from the top shelf. His other hand lands on your hip to steady you, his grip firm but not unwelcome.

“You’re a bit jumpy, aren’t you?” he teases, his voice a low rumble. He looks down at you, his eyes glinting with amusement.

You clear your throat as your eyes fall to the floor. “I didn’t expect you to be in here,” you fix your skirt as you shift awkwardly.

Mr. Miller takes a step closer, closing the distance between the two of you, effectively trapping you between his body and the wall. He looks down at you, his eyes darkened with something you can’t quite place.

“You didn’t expect someone to walk into the storage closet?” he asks, his smirk turning into a small, sly smile. He raises the stapler in his hand, still grasping it just above your head, his forearm mere inches from your face.

“Well,” you look up at him, chewing on your bottom lip. “Everyone else went to lunch, so I didn’t expect anyone to come in…” your voice trails off as you glance past him at the closed door.

Mr. Miller notices your gaze flicker to the door, his smirk widening as he leans closer, his free hand bracing against the wall beside you, effectively caging you in.

“So you thought you’d be all alone in here, did you?” he drawls, his voice lower and more intimate, the scent of his cologne filling your nostrils. He shifts his foot, his legs now bracket yours, trapping you even more effectively.

“Mr. Miller?” You press your hand against his chest, pushing his body slightly. A dark blush paints your skin as you gaze up at him.

Scott feels your hand push against his chest, but he doesn't budge. Instead, he leans in closer, his body practically flush against yours. His eyes roam over you, taking in the way the blush colors your skin.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he responds, his voice a deep rumble. His hand on the wall moves to your waist, his fingers splaying out across the thin material of your blouse.

“What are.. are you doing?” You gulp as he pulls you closer to him. Scott lets out a low chuckle, his smirk still firmly in place. He continues to press you against the wall, his body almost enveloping you completely.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he drawls, his hand on your waist shifting slightly, his thumb starting to trace small, infuriating patterns across your hip bone.

You lean into his chest with a soft gasp at his touch. “This isn’t very, uh, professional…” you groan out as his hands trail over your skin.

Scott lets out another deep chuckle, his touch growing more purposeful as his hand continues its maddening journey across your skin. He can feel your body responding to his touch, your gasp of pleasure feeding his growing desire.

“Professional…” he echoes, his voice a low rumble in his throat. “It’s lunch break, sweetheart. There’s no one here but you and me.” He leans closer, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath hot against your skin. “And I don’t feel like being professional right now.”

Scott’s smirk turns into a full-fledged smile as he reads the clear invitation in your eyes. Before you can fully process his intentions, he pulls you into a passionate kiss, his hands sliding your skirt up as he does so. Your body responds instinctively, your arms wrapping around his neck as his lips claim yours.

His touch is surprisingly gentle, yet firm, leaving no room for doubt or denial. You can feel the heat from his palms as they graze the bare skin of your thighs, sending shivers down your spine. His kiss is demanding but not aggressive, a silent declaration of his desire that you find yourself unable to resist.

The sound of your breath mingling with his fills the small space as your hearts race in tandem, the line between professionalism and passion blurring like the ink on a freshly edited manuscript.

Mr. Miller's hand slides down further, slipping under the hem of your skirt and brushing against the silk of your panties. His touch sends a jolt of excitement through your body, making you squirm against the wall. He chuckles against your lips, feeling your wetness through the thin fabric.

His fingers trace the edge of your panties, teasing the sensitive skin before hooking them and sliding them down your thighs. His palm flattens against your bare mound, the heat of his hand sending a rush of pleasure through your core. You gasp into his mouth as he massages you, his thumb circling your clit with a masterful pressure that leaves you trembling and desperate for more.

The storage room suddenly feels much smaller as your world narrows to the feel of his body pressing against yours and the sensations he's coaxing from your body. Your thighs instinctively squeeze around his arm as he expertly works his thumb against your clit, his movements growing more insistent and deliberate.

His other hand moves to the small of your back, pressing you harder against the wall, his body pinning yours in place as his kiss deepens. His tongue delves into your mouth, mimicking the rhythm of his thumb, and you can't help but moan softly. The pressure builds within you, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as you feel the beginnings of an orgasm coil in your belly.

Your hands grasp his shoulders, nails digging in as you try to anchor yourself against the overwhelming sensations. The room is filled with the muffled sounds of your moans and his groans, the only music to the illicit dance of your bodies. His fingers continue to explore, slipping one inside of you, stretching and filling you with a delicious fullness that makes your knees weak.

Your hips buck against his hand, desperately seeking more friction as he whispers dirty words into your ear, his breath hot and heavy. The walls seem to close in around you, and all you can focus on is the exquisite torment he's inflicting, the promise of a climax that seems just out of reach.

You pull away from the kiss, moaning out his name. “Scott..” you bury your face in his neck. Mr. Miller's thumb continues its relentless circles around your clit, his hand curling into a fist as he feels your wetness soaking his fingers. His other hand squeezes your ass, pulling you even closer to his growing erection, which presses against your stomach.

He seems to enjoy the way you're responding to him, the way your body moves with his touch. His teeth graze your neck, eliciting a shiver that runs down your spine, as he whispers in your ear, "You're so fucking wet for me, aren't you?" His voice is thick with lust, his breath warm and heavy against your skin.

Your moans become louder, muffled by his mouth, as he brings you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. The storage room feels like it's spinning around you, your body a taut bowstring ready to snap. And just when you think you can't take it anymore, Mr. Miller's thumb presses down hard on your clit, and you shatter in his arms, your orgasm ripping through you like a wildfire, leaving you boneless and panting against the wall.

As the intensity of your climax subsides, Scott’s kisses turn tender, pressing against your cheeks and neck as he supports your trembling body. He gently sets you on your feet, his strong arms keeping you upright as your legs wobble like jelly.

With a satisfied smirk, he withdraws his hand from beneath your skirt and brings it to his mouth, licking his fingers clean with a wolfish gaze that sends another wave of heat through your core. His eyes never leave yours as he tastes you, savoring the sweetness of your arousal.

The intimacy of the moment is almost overwhelming, leaving you breathless and utterly exposed in the dingy office storage closet. You stand there, panting and flushed, unable to look away from the raw hunger in his gaze. The air around you feels thick with unspoken desire, the silence only broken by the distant hum of the office outside the door, a stark contrast to the passionate scene playing out in the shadowy confines of the room.

Your body feels alive, every nerve ending still singing from his touch, and your mind is racing with the implications of what just happened between you. His fingers move to pull the hem of your skirt down, fixing your clothes as he pulls away from you.

He runs a hand through his tousled hair, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips as his eyes roam over your disheveled form. The sight of you, leaning against the wall, looking utterly spent, fuels his inner dominance, his primal desire to possess and claim.

He takes a step back, putting some distance between you, but his gaze remains fixed on you like a predator studying its prey. He runs a hand along his jaw. "You taste even sweeter than I imagined," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly.

Your skin turns a deep red as you cover your face in embarrassment. “We should probably go back to work now…” You mutter while trying to change the subject.

Scott lets out a throaty chuckle at your sudden change of topic, his gaze still locked onto every move you make. He can tell you’re feeling embarrassed, flustered by what just took place between you, and he can’t help but find it amusing and adorable.

He takes another step back and leans against the door, arms crossed over his chest now. "That’s the last thing on my mind right now," he responds with a smirk, his eyes raking over your body.

Your hand grasps his arm as you push him away gently. “Mr. Miller,” you bite your lip, “We *should* go get back to work before…” your voice trails off.

Scott’s smirk deepens as you push him gently, his eyes darkening with a mixture of desire and dominance. He doesn’t budge, his body tense and unyielding under your touch. His arms remain crossed over his chest, his muscles corded and taut.

"Before what, sweetheart?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble in his throat. He takes a step closer, invading your personal space again. "You want to act like nothing just happened in here?“

“No. That’s not what I meant,” your tone is soft as you gaze up at him. “But, we have to go back to work before anyone notices..”

Scott’s smirk softens, his expression gentling a bit as you gaze up at him. He can see the genuine concern in your eyes, and he understands the logical reason behind your words. It’s true that you can’t stay in this storage closet forever, not without the risk of someone discovering what just happened.

He uncrosses his arms and reaches out, taking your chin gently between his fingers. “You’re right,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a lazy path along your lower lip. “We do need to go back eventually.”

Standing on your tippy toes you pull him into a gentle kiss. Your hand trailing down his muscular chest. Scott melts into the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against his body. He returns the kiss with equal gentle passion, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, seeking entrance.

His hands move over your body, pulling you even closer, his muscles tense and taut beneath your touch, as if he’s holding himself back from losing control.

When the kiss breaks, he rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he tries to regain his bearings. "We should really go back, sweetheart."

“Mhm..” you murmur, “We really should.” You step away with a sigh not willing to leave his embrace. Scott lets out a small huff of laughter at your reluctance to leave.

He understands the feeling, the desire to remain in this intimate bubble you’ve created together, away from the outside world. But he knows just as well as you do that it’s inevitable, you have to go back to work eventually.

"Come on," he says, his voice gruff but gentle. "Let’s get out of here, before we get ourselves into more trouble.” You follow close behind him groaning when you sit back down at your desk, your eyes following him as he returns to his office.

Scott returns to his office, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. He can feel your eyes on him as he walks away, and it takes everything in him to resist the urge to turn around and pull you back into that small storage closet.

He takes a seat behind his desk and lets out a deep breath, trying to focus on the paperwork in front of him, but his mind keeps wandering back to the taste of you and the feel of your body against his.

The rest of the work day drones on endlessly, your eyes constantly flicking between your boss and the clock. You spin in your chair while chewing on your pen again. As the day comes to an end, James finds his way back to your desk this time with a sweet smile as he grabs the back of your chair, turning you to face him.

James approaches your desk, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He gently grabs the back of your chair, spinning it around to face him.

"Hey there," he greets, his smile widening at the sight of you. "Got any plans for tonight?" You gaze up at him with an awkward smile.

“Uh, actually I need to stay late tonight..” you turn your attention back to your computer, fumbling with a few scattered papers on your desk.

James tilts his head as he watches you mess with the papers on your desk, a small frown creasing his forehead.

"Stay late?" he repeats, taking a small step closer to your desk. "Why do you need to stay late tonight?"

Just as you're trying to come up with a response to James' question, Scott's deep voice calls out from his office.

"Ms. Y/N, can I see you in here for a moment?" he calls out, sounding casual but firm. You hurry towards Scott's office, your heart pounding in your chest as you step through the door, Scott is seated behind his desk, papers spread out before him, but his eyes are fixed on you as you enter.

"Close the door," he instructs, his voice low and commanding. The door shuts with a soft click, enclosing you and Scott in the quiet solitude of his office. He watches you move towards him, his gaze intently fixed on you.

"Come here," he commands, beckoning you forward with a crook of his finger. You bite down on your lip as you walk to him, sitting on the desk in front of him.

As you perch yourself on the desk in front of him, Scott's hands come to rest on your thighs, his palms hot even through the fabric of your skirt. He leans back in his chair, his gaze roaming over your body, taking in every detail.

"We need to talk," he murmurs, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thighs. Your feet hook into the arms of his chair as you pull him closer to you, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“Mhm, we need to talk.” You look at him with eyes full of desire. Scott's lips curl into a smirk as you pull him closer, his hands sliding up your thighs to rest on your waist. He lets you pull him in, his chair rolling easily as he comes to a stop right in between your legs.

Scott chuckles lowly at your brazen move, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. His hands slide up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher up your legs until they're resting on your hips.

He looks up at you with a dark, smoldering gaze, his hands squeezing your hips tightly. "Is this how we talk now, sweetheart?"

You pull him into a passionate kiss, Scott grins against your mouth, his hands sliding around to cup your ass as he kisses you back with a fervor that takes your breath away. He stands up from his chair, pressing you back against the desk as he deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth.

You wrap your legs around his body pulling him tight against you. Scott groans into the kiss, his body molded perfectly against yours. His hands grip your thighs, holding you in place as he rocks his hips into you, his hard length pressing against the thin fabric of your panties.

He breaks the kiss and moves to your neck, his teeth and tongue nipping and soothing the sensitive skin. "You have no idea how badly I've been wanting to do this all day," he whispers hoarsely.

“Show me how bad,” you moan out, your hands moving to his belt as you fumble with the buckle. Scott grins at your demand, watching as your shaky hands struggle with his belt.

"Impatient, are we?" he teases, his hands covering yours, aiding you in undoing his belt and the button of his pants.

He presses you back against the desk, pinning your hands above your head as his hips grind against yours, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this eager before, sweetheart."

“Scott I need you,” you moan quietly, “please.” Scott's smirk turns into a full-blown smile at your needy whimper, his eyes darkening with desire. He quickly pulls your panties aside, revealing your wet, swollen sex to his hungry gaze.

His own arousal is palpable, his cock straining against his briefs. With a swift motion, he releases himself and sheaths it with a condom he's had in his pocket, anticipation making his hands shake slightly. He lines himself up with your entrance and with one powerful thrust, he's inside you, filling you completely.

You gasp into his mouth as he starts to move, his strokes deep and measured, his hands holding you down on the desk as he takes you over and over again. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing through your body, making you arch into him, desperate for more.

The sound of your moans mingles with the rustle of paper and the slap of skin on skin, creating a symphony of passion that echoes through the otherwise silent office. The urgency in his movements grows, his hips slamming into yours with a rhythm that matches the racing of your heart.

You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your muscles tightening around him as you whisper his name like a prayer. His grip on your wrists tightens, his hips moving faster, more insistent. You know it won't be long before you both succumb to the overwhelming desire that's been building between you all day.

As the tension between you reaches a fever pitch, Scott's hips begin to move with an erratic rhythm, his breathing heavy and ragged against your neck. You can feel the head of his cock hitting that perfect spot deep within you, sending shudders of pleasure through your body with every stroke. His grip on your wrists tightens even more, his movements becoming more forceful as he nears his own climax.

Your eyes flutter closed as you lean back, arching your body into him, silently begging for more. His teeth graze your skin, his tongue tracing a wet path up to your ear, where he whispers a string of filthy words that only serve to stoke the fire burning within you.

You tighten your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, faster, the pressure building until it's almost unbearable. And then, with one final, powerful thrust, he groans deeply, his body tensing as he releases inside the condom. The wave of your own orgasm follows almost immediately, a powerful crescendo that leaves you gasping for air. Your bodies remain intertwined for a moment, both of you panting and trembling from the intensity of your shared release.

As the tremors of your shared climax subside, Scott pulls out of you gently, the feeling of emptiness making you whimper. He quickly disposes of the condom in a nearby trash bin, his movements swift and practiced, not wanting to break the spell that's woven around the two of you. He then presses soft, delicate kisses along your neck and collarbone, his breathing still heavy with desire.

Each kiss feels like a whispered promise of more to come, a silent apology for the roughness of his earlier touch. His hands glide over your body, smoothing out your rumpled clothes, his eyes never leaving yours. The air in the office is thick with the scent of sex and the unspoken understanding that everything has changed between you. You watch him, your heart racing, as he takes a step back, his gaze lingering on your swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

He helps you down from the desk, his hands lingering on your waist as you stand unsteadily on wobbly legs. He pulls his pants up, his eyes never leaving yours, as he tucks in his shirt and re-buckles his belt. With a soft smile, he leans in to kiss you, his hands moving to fix your skirt and panties. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as he ensures you’re put back together properly.

You watch him, still dizzy from the passionate encounter, as he straightens his tie and runs a hand through his hair. The smell of sex lingers in the air, a potent reminder of what just transpired. He pulls you into his arms, pressing sweet kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, and finally your lips, his breath warm and comforting against your skin.

Scott wraps you in his arms, pressing gentle kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, finally your lips. You shiver slightly, still a bit flushed and breathless from the passionate encounter. "You alright, sweetheart?" he murmurs, his voice gruff yet gentle.

“Yes, more than alright.” A soft smile paints your lips as you press your face into his chest, breathing in his cologne.

Scott grins as you bury your face in his chest, his arms holding you close. He revels in the feel of your body against his, the warmth and softness of your skin.

"Good," he murmurs, running a soothing hand down your back. "Because I have a question for you." You hug his waist cuddling into his warm and muscular body.

“What is it?” You pull back a bit, looking up at him. Scott keeps you snug against him, enjoying the feel of your body cuddled into his. His arms tighten around you, reluctant to let you go just yet.

"I was wondering," he begins, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "If you'd like to go out to dinner with me tonight?" You smile at him sweetly.

“I’d love to.” Scott's smile widens into a full-blown grin at your acceptance. He gently cups your chin with his thumb and forefinger, looking down at you with a gaze that holds a hint of possessive intent.

"Good," he says, his voice low and husky. "Because I can't stand the thought of letting you out of my sight for too long."

[penelopepine]

I’m absolutely in love with your writing 💕

I’ve always had this scenario of Phillip and Reader (who are both first time parents) going out with their baby, and Reader having to breastfeed the baby in public and a man tries to harass her about it (telling her she shouldn’t be doing this in public and whatnot) and Phillip stands up for her

Maybe the man tries to harass her while Phillip was at the counter getting them something to eat and he hears what’s going on or something?

(Moms who are alone in public get bothered like this irl by men so often and it’d be so sweet to see Phillip standing up for his wife 🥺❤️)

Thank You!!! I hope that you like this as well!

It's weird that people get so bothered by breastfeeding. Like just let the mom feed her baby in peace.

Mind Your Own Business

Phillip Graves x Fem Reader

With the baby turning six weeks old just a few days ago you and Phillip both felt comfortable taking the baby out to more public spaces. It was a beautiful day out, and that of course led to you both walking around the farmer’s market with the little one in tow. 

Philip had both hands on the stroller while you had one hand wrapped around the crook of his elbow as you both walked around. It wasn’t until half an hour had passed did he insist on sitting down in one of the bakeries for a bite to eat. “Come on, let me treat my sweetheart to something sweet.” 

“I think it’s you who wants something sweet.” You give him a playful nudge as you walk towards the shop. 

“Who says it can’t be both?” Phillip counted your accurate remark. “I’m a man capable of many things after all.” 

Once in the shop looking at all the available options is when the little one decides to make a fuss. Glancing at the time you know she’s probably just hungry since this is about the time you would normally feed her when at home. 

“Oh, are you hungry baby?” You gesture for Phillip to let you take control of the stroller, “I’m going to take her outside and feed her. I saw a shaded bench right outside.” 

It’s obvious he doesn’t want to leave you both alone, but understands that that’s just his protective nature talking. That little voice has been speaking a lot more ever since the baby was born. “I’ll be there in just a few minutes; I’ll bring you one of those chocolate croissants I saw you eyeing too.” 

"I love you so much." You give him a small kiss, and swiftly make your way outside to the bench just as the baby starts to cry.

It only takes you a few moments to get comfortable, grab the now crying baby out of her stroller, and adjust her so that she can easily breastfeed from you. 

You take this time to admire the tiny wiggling bundle of joy in your arms. She truly is the perfect mix between you and Phillip - it almost feels like she’s not real sometimes with just how perfect she is. 

The baby's crying and wiggling finally starts to settle down as she latches on. Just as things seem to settle down you feel a sudden presence next to you. Thinking it was Phillip you look up with a smile on your face which quickly shifts into a frown as you take in the strange man now standing in front of you.

It was the look of anger and disgust on his face that had you gripping your daughter tight to you; trying to decide if you needed to get up, and walk away. Before you can make a move though the man is already practically spitting venom at you. “Do you really think that’s appropriate to be doing in public? Why don’t you go do that in the bathroom like you're supposed to do?” 

“I’m breastfeeding - I’m just feeding my baby.” Is your immediate response to his unpleasant questions. You knew some people didn’t like it when women breastfeed in public, but you didn’t think anyone would actually try and fight you about it. All you're doing is feeding a baby after all. 

“No, what you are doing is purposely exposing yourself to others around you. I mean my god woman could you not have the decency to atleast have a cover on?” 

“A cover? It’s 80 degrees out right now, and you want me to practically put a blanket over her?” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing right now. Not to mention that you didn’t like using a cover; all it felt like was another thing you had to pack around and worry about. 

Arguing only seemed to be making the man more upset with you. As if you should be thankful that he was gifting you with his “amazing” advice on how and where you should be breastfeeding your baby. 

Red faced with a pointed finger raised, the man takes a large step closer to you. It genuinely seemed like he would have come even closer if he wasn’t so suddenly jerked away from you. 

“Now what do you think you're doing here bothering my wife and child?” There Phillip stood now in between the man and you. Finally, it felt like you could breathe again knowing that your husband was here to help you. 

Phillip was furious - that much was obvious even from where you sat with his back to you. His shoulders were tense, and his clenched fists looked like they were one wrong move from throwing a punch. 

“That’s your wife?” The man waves in your direction, “How about you tell your wife to cover up while in public.” 

The silence that follows after those words are deafening.

“Phillip,” You softly call out to your husband. As much as you would love to let him do whatever he sees fit you’d rather not have to be escorted off by police. 

You watch as Phillip slowly releases a sigh before he continues with his words to the man, “I'm not going to waste any more breath explaining just how stupid you sound right now. What I am going to say though is that if you don't walk away right now I'm going to beat the shit out of you, and I promise you that is a fight you don't want - not with me." 

The man clearly wasn't prepared for the outright threat of violence against him, and it showed on his now shocked face. People like him are all talk; just wanting to pick on someone seemingly weaker than him, and the second someone stronger stands up to him he's playing the victim. 

"Whatever," the man growls out before hastily turning on his heels and walking away further into the market. 

Phillip doesn't move from his position until the man has completely disappeared from view. When he does eventually turn around he puts one hand on your check and the other one cradles the baby's head before he asks you, "are you both alright?" 

"We're- we're alright. He didn't do anything besides give me a lecture." You're so thankful for that too, and luckily your daughter didn't seem to notice the tense situation that just occurred. "How did you know he was even here?" 

"You really didn't think I wouldn't be watching you while I was waiting inside did you?" Phillip looked much calmer now that it was just the three of you again. "Which reminds me I still need to pick our order up. Now let me help you pack up; there's no way I'm leaving you alone to get harassed again." 

Normally you would have insisted that you were alright to stay where you were, but right now all you wanted was to stay by his side. This encounter has really rattled you more than you thought. 

It only takes Phillip a few seconds to get everything back in the baby bag. The baby is still feeding from you as you both walk back to the bakery. In the silence you can’t help, but ask a question that has been bothering you. “Do you think I should … hide away when I need to breastfeed in public?" 

"Sweetheart, don't let one dumb fucker stop you from feeding our baby when she's hungry. You have the right to breastfeed anywhere you damn want to."

"You're right, you're right," He was right, this one experience shouldn't stop you from going out and enjoying things with your baby.

Phillip reached out and gave you a quick peck as he opened the bakery door, "besides I'll always be there to defend my girls." 

[malakaie]

had some feelings to write out – for/about @tommyend, no pressure at all to respond

I started watching wrestling – specifically, AEW – in late October 2023. It’s been just over a year since I started watching, and I didn’t expect it to consume as much of my brain-space as it has. When I started watching, I didn’t really know who anyone was. I had heard a few names – Randy Orton, CM Punk, Jade Cargill, Roman Reigns – but had no real concept of the landscape I was entering or what it would mean to get invested.

Truthfully, it was a little overwhelming, and there was more I didn’t understand than I did. In those first few weeks, I received one very helpful piece of advice: don’t try to understand everything. Find a wrestler or two whose vibe you like and stick with them – the rest will click into place eventually, or it won’t, and either way is fine.

And so I did. I think it was around the lead-up to Full Gear 2023 that I started really paying attention. There was something about what House of Black was doing that was different from anything else I was seeing. I could understand just enough to recognise talented athletes when I saw them, but I wasn’t quite plugged in enough to the overall wrestling “ecosystem” that that was enough on its own to get my attention. Now that I understand more of what I’m looking at, it’s easier to understand what I’m meant to be impressed by – it’s easier now to have that moment of, holy shit, how did they do that?

But I didn’t understand yet. I’d been watching wrestling for about a month and was still finding my footing. What I saw, and latched onto, in House of Black was a group of four impressive performers that I could tell were in love with the art of what they were doing. Everything was done with intent – the way they entered the ring, the different but cohesive styles with which each member of the House wrestled, the gear they wore, the ever-evolving paint on Malakai’s face, the evolution and growth of Julia’s character.

It was both the moment that I finally, properly understood that professional wrestling was also theatre—and, I think, the moment that I was magnetised. It felt like a faction that was made for me: a band of storytellers who wanted to take my hand and show me what wrestling could be and was and is, and had the creativity and cohesiveness and physical talent to pull it off.

I could breathe a sigh of relief. I wasn’t lost anymore, desperately trying to catch up to understanding something that everyone around me already seemed to know. I had a guide of some sort, and one that resonated: I’ve been reading since I was 3, writing stories since I was 11, have always been a little “strange,” drawn to creative types and niche hobbies and other people that don’t have many friends. And here was someone who not only felt like me, sounded like me, but was wanted and loved and succeeding. A stranger to me, in the way that performers and public figures always are, but I felt like it was going to be okay. If Malakai could make it—though I didn’t and don’t know him personally, I had no way of knowing if he was ever afraid, or if he doubted himself—then maybe I could, too.

The more I watched and the more I learned, the more true that became. I’ve been depressed and anxious most of my adult life. I have scoliosis that is likely to get worse as I get older, and causes me pain multiple times a week, if not every day. Hearing someone whose work I admired be open about his mental health—especially when sports industries have typically not been kind to people, perhaps especially men, who are vulnerable in that way—and be honest when he’s in pain shook something loose in me that I hadn’t quite realised was stuck and frozen in shame. It’s okay that I’m afraid. It’s okay that I have days where my brain is trying to consume itself. It’s okay that I’m in pain. Did I get out of bed today? Have I been outside? Have I eaten? Have I done something to be kind to myself—or, failing that, kind to someone else? Have I done something creative today?

I started my “gender journey,” for lack of a better phrase, in 2018. There was a lot, a lot, of messing around with pronouns, labels. I didn’t know what I was, only that “just a girl” didn’t feel quite right anymore. And then I felt like I was lying, because, well—I was fine being a girl when I was ten, and thirteen, and sixteen, so why was it suddenly different at 25? Sometimes I still feel like I’m lying. The generation above me often still holds an image of trans people that requires them to have always been miserable, always been “pretending.” A few months ago my mother suggested it was fine if my idea of being feminine had expanded, but she didn’t really believe I was trans, because I’d never been unhappy as a girl child, and besides that I looked like a “clone” of the small handful of other transmasc and nonbinary people she’s met. I must be a pod person. (Newsflash, mom: This is just what queer people look like, a lot of the time. I cut and dyed my hair and got one singular tattoo. How terrible.)

She didn’t ask me how I feel when people call me she, or her—it makes me feel horribly small and unreal, by now—and in fairness to her, I didn’t quite defend myself either. I cringed and shrunk and asked for time to think about it, when what I wanted to say is yes, I know I haven’t had the history you expect to see from me, but this is who I am, and I’m not telling you that I was never a girl. I’m telling you that girl isn’t the place where I stop.

But I was scared, and I felt cornered, and I didn’t say any of that.

What I did have, though, was an artist and a performer and a storyteller who did things with his expression, his clothing, how he presented himself to the world that was like a lightbulb going on. The confidence of a man who told stories with the way that he looked, and who used feminine symbols to do it. He wasn’t any less masculine—but it was an embracing of both that cemented who he was, and I thought: holy shit. I can do that. Our identities are not the same, and I’m not too keen on speculating about the identities of public figures that I don’t know in any event—but it’s reassuring, motivating even, to be able to regularly see someone comfortably expressing his gender (because, yes, cis presentation is gender expression too) in a way that makes sense to him and incorporates the feminine and resonates through his art without doubt or reservation or compromise. This is who we are. Take it or leave it.

I don’t know what’s coming next for any of us. AEW looks like such a different place—in a good way—from when I started watching, and the world is looking pretty scary these days, but I’m still here. The art that got me interested in wrestling in the first place is still here, and I have my theories—unsubstantiated, so far—about where Malakai and House of Black are taking their story, but regardless of theories I’ve been so fortunate to watch them continue to grow and evolve over the past year. There’s a lot I don’t know, but I know the love for the story and the art is real.

I don’t know you personally, Malakai, and I don’t want to claim to, no matter how many scraps I’ve gathered together from interviews and how much of the backlog of matches I’ve done my best to watch so I can understand where you’ve come from and where you’re going next. But your work and your love for your craft has moved me, and I’m glad I stayed alive when it was hard so I could be around to see it when it mattered.

[faebaex]

Tangled in Wonderland - Library Liaison

author note: Winner of the first 1000 follower event poll was Riddle! every time I write Riddle, I forget how much I enjoy writing him (≧◡≦) he’s such an interesting, complex character. I hope I do him justice, I think he deserves it. Next up is Leona, who won the second poll and the Octavinelle poll is currently running, so go check it out if you haven’t seen it already! Enjoy~

characters: Riddle Rosehearts x GN!Reader

You sat, staring into space in the Ramshackle dorm lounge. The ruined interior really helped you zone out, your mind still reeling after the odd situation that you found yourself in.

Despite your best endeavours, your life in Twisted Wonderland had so far proceeded exactly as it had for the main character. The chandelier still ended up breaking, you still ended up going to the dwarf mine and getting attacked by the overblot monster and, in the end, you ended up becoming a joint student with Grim. You had developed a rocky friendship with both Ace and Deuce, despite how you tried to distance yourself from them. It wasn’t anything personal, you just sort of hoped that the events in the game wouldn’t occur if you kept yourself low profile and didn’t get close to any of the game’s named characters.

Unfortunately, so far that plan hadn’t worked out.

Ace still ended up coming to your dorm, collar and all, complaining about his housewarden. You had attempted to slow the inevitable ride to disaster, even suggesting that Ace and Deuce transfer and become students of Ramshackle dorm in an attempt to cool the tensions. But your suggestions fell on deaf ears, and Ace and Deuce ended up challenging Riddle to the housewarden duel that ended up resulting in his overblot. Safe to say, your attempts at laying low and floating undetected through the student body weren’t going well so far.

And to top it all off, Crowley had been avoiding you, as you had been using any opportunity to ambush him and ask him if he had made any progress on finding a way home for you. If Crowley’s monumental negligence in the game was anything to go by, he likely wasn’t even looking into it, so the least you could do was make his life as miserable as possible. When you weren’t accosting Crowley, you spent every spare moment you had in the library.

Every day, you’d comb the library for any material that even had a hint of information about your situation. You were always surrounded by books, piled high around you as you poured over the often-dry material. You’d entirely absconded from any of your schoolwork, leaving that particular gambit to Grim. Whilst diligence wasn’t Grim’s strong point, there was nothing bribery with a can of premium tuna couldn’t solve. So from after classes to when you could barely keep your eyes open any longer, you were huddled in a discreet spot in the library, an agreement with one of the library ghosts meaning that this table was basically reserved for you.

It was just another day for you at the library, surrounded by dusty tomes that obviously hadn’t been touched in who knows how long. You were currently absorbed in a publication about summoning magic, so absorbed in fact that you didn’t notice the figure who had approached your table until they cleared their throat.

“Hello prefect. I see you are in the library again today.”

You froze in your seat, reluctantly looking up to see Riddle standing at the opposite side of your desk. With a purse of your lips, you nodded once before lowering your eyes back down to your book. “Yup.” You responded flatly, turning to the next page, not seeing Riddle fidget awkwardly in front of you.

“You are very studious, prefect. I’ve seen you in the library every day for the past two weeks, Ace and Deuce could stand to learn a thing from you,” Riddle remarked, reaching out and settling a hand on the chair opposite yours, readying to pull it out, “may I?”

“Um… I’d rather you didn’t, actually.” You responded, looking up from your textbook again with a neutral expression. Riddle’s hand froze on the chair and for a moment he looked like a deer caught in lamplights, before his grip tightened on the back of the chair.

“I… See…” Riddle mumbled, and an awkward silence settled between you. You gave a small, cold smile, hoping that Riddle would get the hint and leave, and he did turn, but hesitated and turned back to you, a conflicted frown on his face. “Have I… Offended you in some way, prefect?” Riddle broached and internally you sighed, wishing the pile of books surrounding you would tumble down and hide you from this awkward situation.

“Well… When you throw a tree at someone, its hard not to take it personally.” You quipped coolly, turning your eyes back down to your book and trying to find the line you were on, hoping that Riddle would finally leave you alone. But as ever since you had gotten into this world, luck was not on your side.

Riddle looked absolutely mortified by your comment, and to your chagrin, he pulled out the chair opposite you and sat down, leaning forward in an attempt to keep your conversation as private as possible. “I-I’m sorry if I’ve given you a negative impression… I’m aware that my behaviour was unacceptable and—”

“Look, Riddle,” you sighed, grabbing a spare bookmark so that you didn’t lose your place, considering Riddle seemed to have no intention of leaving you in peace anytime soon, “it’s nothing personal. Really, it isn’t. I just…” You sighed again, putting your head in your hands and rubbing your temples for a moment, “its hard for me adjusting to life here, so I prefer to spend my time alone. I hope you understand.” Once again, silence fell between you and you found yourself shifting impatiently in your chair. You didn’t hate Riddle, not at all. How could you? Riddle had very compelling reasons to be the way he was, and you knew that after his overblot incident, he did make deliberate steps to change and accept his flaws. But… You had your own world to get back to and if being cold and unwelcoming was what it took for you to get back there, then so be it.

“I- I’m sorry, Y/N. I had no idea that you were feeling that way… I should have realised that given your situation…” Riddle trailed off, and the two of you once again lapsed into silence. You shifted in your chair uncomfortably again, exhaling heavily before you began to speak again, “Riddle, its fine—”

“You’re welcome in Heartslabyul, anytime. I would offer you a dorm room but we are at full capacity and I don’t expect that to change anytime soon.” Riddle stated, with the same air of finality that he spoke most things with, and you ended up blinking at him in surprise. “O-oh, that’s really not necessary—”

“I… I may not be the best person to preach about family but…” Riddle’s cheeks dusted slightly red as he continued, “I would like it if you were able to seek some solace within Heartlabyul, to help you feel more comfortable and adjust to your circumstances.” You stared at Riddle, your expression blank and hiding the turmoil of emotions that you felt inside. You were really trying your best to put on a cold front and keep distant, but Riddle just had to be so… Endearing.

“That’s… That’s really kind, Riddle. Thank you…” You mumbled, before you sighed and collapsed onto the book you were reading. “But I don’t want to adjust, I want to go home…” You complained, your voice muffled by the pages of the book. Despite finally complaining aloud about the issue that had been on your mind since you got here, it felt oddly cathartic to vent. Until you felt a tap on your head.

“Don’t lay on the book like that, Y/N, you’ll crumple the pages.” Riddle scolded, and just like that he was back to being the Heartslabyul housewarden that you knew. He tapped your head again until you leaned up, shooting him an unimpressed look as he pulled the book towards him, smoothing the pages and checking for any damage before looking over the book itself. “I thought the headmage was looking into your situation?” Riddle queried, flipping through the pages of your book with a judging eye. You resisted the urge to glower at the mention of the headmage.

“Does it seem like he’s looking into my situation?” Riddle’s eyes looked towards you briefly at your tone, but he nodded shortly once, “no comment.” Suddenly, he slammed the book in his hands shut, and you opened your mouth to complain at him for losing your page before he pushed his chair back and stood up. “There are better books on summoning magic than this one in this library, wait here a moment.” Without waiting for you to respond, Riddle was gone.

Over the next hour, Riddle had systematically gone through all the books in your ‘to read’ pile, replacing several books with other ones that he personally ferreted out himself, claiming that they would be much more appropriate for your needs than the one you currently had. You could only stare on in amazement, having no idea that he had such a breadth of knowledge about the books contained in the library. Sure, you were aware that at a young age when you were still reading picture books, he was reading hefty tomes, but watching him so easily sort through your mish mash research pile really did hammer home a respect for his character that you’d never appreciated when you’d played the game.

“Y/N are you listening? I said I’ve made you a list of the order I recommend you read in. I know you are eager to find some information that could lead you home, but if you walk before you can run, you might miss a vital clue.” Riddle lectured as he passed you a crisp white piece of paper, with his elegant script looped throughout it, “I’ve colour coded the list by subject, so you shouldn’t get anything mixed up—”

“Thank you, Riddle. Really. I truly appreciate this.” For the first time since you ended up in Twisted Wonderland, you found yourself genuinely smiling. Riddle blinked in surprise, before a red hue burst forth onto his cheeks, and he rose his hand in an attempt to hide it. “W-well, its nothing. I consider you an honorary member of Heartslabyul now, and I-i’d do this for any of the students under my leadership.” Riddle stuttered, before clearing his throat and trying to get a hold of himself, “but of course, don’t expect this to happen often. I have my own study schedule to adhere to, and its important that you develop these research skills for yourself. For your future assignments, of course.” Riddle said sternly, his usual strict demeanour starting to fall back into place. “But… If you have any questions, or need to use someone as a sounding board then… I’d be happy to lend my services.” Riddle mumbled softly, almost quiet enough for you not to catch, “b-but only if my schedule allows for it, o-of course!” He quickly added, a fresh wave of blush tinting his cheeks.

You found yourself charmed by Riddle’s generosity, your mood feeling genuinely lifted for the first time since you’d thrown yourself out of the coffin. It was odd, the warm feeling in your heart as you watched Riddle fluster, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

“Thank you, Riddle. I think I might take you up on that, sometime.”

[writingquestionsanswered]

I used to love writing when I was in high school, but stopped after I graduated because of life. Now, after almost a decade, I want to get back into it but I don't know how. I have so many ideas but I tend to bounce around the same variations and don't know how to stick to one thing, or how to just get back into the rhythm of writing actively. Or even reading actively.

Any advice?

Getting Back to Reading and Writing

What you're experiencing is what I like to think of as "the creative zoomies."

After so long away from actively reading and writing, there's now this flood of ideas, plans, books you want to read, and stories you want to write. You can't settle and focus on a single thing because your brain wants to do ALL THE THINGS, so you keep bouncing back and forth between things hoping something will stick.

First things first... DEEP BREATH.

As I said in an earlier post, remember: there is no ticking clock. It may feel like there is, sometimes, but we're just little ants on a planet doing our things. There are no deadlines unless you sign up for any, and you don't have to worry about that right now.

So... start by taking an honest look at your schedule and your life, and see if you can figure out a realistic estimate of how much time you have in a given week. Where are there slots of time you can dedicate to writing? How about reading?

Next, it can be immensely helpful if you have a comfortable, relaxing space, free from distraction and interruption, where you can go to write. Some people like to go write at a coffee shop or library to get away from family shenanigans or bothersome housemates. If it's not a billion degrees where you are, you might also try your patio, yard, or a nearby park. Listening to soft music or "ambience rooms" (tons on YouTube) through headphones can also help you focus. There are also still some different apps and programs for distraction free writing. Just make sure to save often and keep a master document on your computer to prevent losing all your work in case the app or program gets glitchy. Also: put your phone on silent, turn off your internet if you must, and let people know not to bother you. This is your writing time... don't be afraid to guard it fiercely.

As for choosing ideas, I'm a big fan of the old-fashioned methods... random number pickers, drawing out of a hat, rolling dice... But you can also do a process of elimination based on what appeals to you the most. If you get it down to two, and then you're disappointed with the one you're left with, you know the one you just eliminated is the right idea to go with.

If you're not sure what to write, try doing some writing prompts. There are lots available online and there are some great books with writing prompts. Doing one a day can be a great way to get yourself back in the habit of writing again.

As for reading, start by reading during moments of spare time, such as if you're taking a bath, riding your stationary bike, sitting in a waiting room, or riding public transportation. You can even read during your morning coffee or your lunch break. Also, embrace the world of audio books. This is one of my favorite ways to read, because I can do it while I'm exercising, showering, cleaning, cooking, driving, doing projects... I get through so many more books by listening to audio books. More than anything, just remember that once again, there's no ticking clock. You don't have to finish a certain number of books before the end of the year. Read what you want, at the pace that works for you, and don't be afraid to DNF if a book isn't working for you.

I hope this helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[uplatterme]

Cherry Wine

—sub!kaeya/dom!reader, transmasc!kaeya/gn!reader | implied fwb relationship, fwb to lovers, hurt/comfort | mentioned nipple play, fingering (kaeya!receiving), edging, semi-public handjob (kaeya!receiving), mention of kaeya’s tcock like once though anatomy is kept pretty vague and gender-neutral

—kinda based on cherry wine by grentperez, that song has been on replay for days.

It’s not unusual for the Knights of Favonius to have these sorts of events, gatherings were held to provide some sort of bonding amongst other knights. A teambuilding activity, if you will.

He holds a glass of dandelion wine and the aroma reminds him of his…The smell reminds him of Angel’s Share and the said owner of that bar who isn’t here, and what he wouldn’t give to be in his position.

He stands idly in a secluded space, not wanting to catch the attention of the others who seem to be having a much more enjoyable time than he is.

His eyes wander around, examining his colleagues and other guests socializing.

The Cavalry Captain spots you and then out of nowhere, his hand is moving on its own, forcing him to drink the rest of the alcohol to hide the creeping blush starting to show on his face.

He turns around and faces the wall which is probably more suspicious than him just standing there alone, now that he thinks about it. However, he’d rather be caught dead than have you say something about him staring at you.

See, conversing with you isn’t really a problem. After all, you two have been friends ever since and even perform some acts that the average friendship doesn’t usually account for. Suffice to say, the knight trusts you a lot.

However, Kaeya might have stepped over that line a week ago…which is why he’s ignoring every letter you’ve sent to him. 

My Kaeya, I apologize for not meeting up with you lately. I have been stumped with the new work that Jean has assigned me for the rest of the week. Here are some flowers that I’ve gathered while I’m out in Liyue. I hope they won’t wither by the time you get this letter. I miss you.

He internally screams once he remembers the contents of that letter. A lovely bouquet of qingxin, one which he immediately freezes to keep alive for as long as he possibly can. You were really too nice of a friend to him.

You’ve always referred to him as “My Kaeya” ever since the first letter you formally sent. So he assumes it’s a friendly term to refer to him, something that he shouldn’t read further into if he doesn’t want to get his feelings hurt.

Also, it may or may not be his fault that you were assigned that many workloads from Jean…

He already messed up last week.

He tried to forget about it, but it’s impossible to forget when your fingers were inside of him, his juices soaking the sheets while your tongue had its way with his chest, nibbling his nipples just the way he likes them as your saliva trails down from his scars to his stomach.

It wasn’t even that bad. Literally, there were worse times when you two got at it like two wolves in heat, yet somehow that was when his mind just decided to spew out those three specific words.

He sounded like he was enjoying himself on a honeymoon with his newlywed. What was he thinking… he could have moaned out literally anything else. Hell, he would have rather moaned out in Khaenri’ahn for fucks sake. 

Yet he didn't, he said something much idiotic.

He can’t even say it in his mind right now, he’s far too embarrassed.

Kaeya is uncertain whether you heard him or not. He didn’t see you respond strangely at all, so is it possible you were too focused? Or maybe you did, and he just didn’t notice because he climaxed right after that mishap of his…

He’s hoping it’s the former.

He fidgets with the glass in his hand, breathing to calm himself down before turning around again. 

“Hi.”

Kaeya’s heart jumps at the sight of you being so near to him. How long have you been there to begin with?

“Hello.” He replies as cooly as he can, averting his gaze away from you.

“I’m back.”

“I see that.” Archons, what is he saying?

“Are you—” 

You cut yourself off, pursing your lips and giving him a smile before continuing. He’s seconds away from just bolting out of here.

“Did you like the flowers?”

“I did.” He answers.

“Good.” 

And as if it couldn’t get any worse, the hired musicians changes the current music playing to a more…romantic one.

That’s fine. He’s good at these kinds of things.

Kaeya shoves any sign of embarrassment or nervousness away and looks straight at you directly. You must have drank a lot, the dilation in your eyes makes it easy to tell.

“Care for a dance?” You invited.

“My, are you sure you can keep up?” He bites back.

“Probably not, but if it prevents you from standing by yourself then I’ll dance with you as long as I can.”

The genuineness of your words always manages to stir him up.

Kaeya laughs. “I see you’ve had much to drink.”

“Sure, something like that.” He catches a grin from you despite the way you bow at him.

He shakes his head, offering his hand in front of you. There’s a slightly noticeable tremble his hand makes but you place your hand onto his, keeping him still.

“I’m afraid a simple waltz is all I can do, I’m no Eula.” You admit.

“It’s fine. I’ll lead.” Kaeya says, trying to act as confidently as he can. 

“Alright then, Captain.”

His arm wraps around your waist as you place your hand on his shoulder. His breathing staggers but he tries to focus on the music and his feet, swaying you along with him. He dances gracefully, of course. Not that it’s surprising as he grew up in the Ragnvindr household.

He knows people are watching, he doesn’t meet their faces or yours.

“Kaeya.” You speak.

He raises his head. It’s bad etiquette to not look at the one you’re dancing with, though he hopes he can be forgiven just this once.

“Can we talk after this?”

He loses track of the time and his body moves as if it’s on autopilot. He only realizes that the music has stopped and so does he, when the people around him are clapping.

Kaeya faces you again, unsure of what to do. 

All of the sudden, his body is being dragged away to a more quiet spot, Your hand gripping his wrist. The balcony provides room for the two of you, the rest of the party being hidden away by the fancy curtain.

“Are you cold?” You ask.

The breeze is a bit shivering but he’s used to the cold due to the cryo vision he holds. 

“I’m fine.” 

He hears you sigh, as if that answer he’s given you was somehow wrong. You grab a flask from the inside of his blazer, taking a swig before handing it to him.

Kaeya smells the alcohol and he worries. “More alcohol?”

“It’s my first drink tonight.”

He doubts that, although he finds that there’s no reason for you to lie.

So, why do you keep giving him those eyes?

Kaeya gives in, drinking the rest. Warmth grows on his face and he’s unsure whether it’s from the wine or the fact that your mouth was just on the flask.

“This is new.” He examines it with a closer look.

“Cherry Wine. Diluc gave it to me, apparently it’s from a merchant he met.”

Kaeya chuckles. “I see you’ve been conspiring with my brother.”

There’s jealousy obvious when he says that, but who was he to be jealous? The line of friendship becomes more and more obscured.

“Well, unlike someone. He actually finds time to reply to my letters.”

“You’re mad.” He points out.

“Here I thought you were too dense to even notice that.” 

You close the distance between you two, his hands holding on the railings of the balcony as your hand steadies his back, kissing him deeply and much longer than any of the kisses you’ve given him.

His heart thumps from his chest, wanting more of your lips when you separate from him.

“Say it again. Tell me I didn’t mishear.” You plead.

“I…What?” You did hear him.

“Do I have to fuck it out of your mouth again?”

“Sweetheart, we’re in public. Gods, how strong is that wine—hey, wait!”

Your hand slips down his pants, palming the growing erection from under. Kaeya bites the back of his hand, your hand stroking his hardened tcock while you observe his face with a stern look.

“C-Come on, I really didn’t say anything.” He says, halfway between a soft whine and a cry.

“Captain, I didn’t take you for a liar and a coward.”

He’s dripping wet, he knows by the way the cloth sticks to the skin on his thigh. The pace you’re going at is undeniably slow, and he knows you won’t let him finish if he doesn't say those words again.

“Please?” Kaeya begs. It’s been a week without your touch and frankly, it’s a week too long.

“It’s admirable how you’d rather have me pleasure you like this in front of everybody rather than just admitting it.”

The knight knows that he’s enjoying this far more than he should be and that it’s the only thing worth remembering about this gathering.

And then your hand grips him tighter and his legs quiver, cursing your name out in a breathy moan. 

“What’s wrong? Poor Captain wants to cum, does he?” You tease.

“You ass.”

His thighs rub together, wanting more of that extra friction. He admits that the action is quite humiliating, though if there’s a way to get himself off without confessing his feelings for you, then he’ll gladly do that.

“No. Spread them apart.” You ordered.

“H-Huh?”

“You heard me.”

He follows through, a squeaky whimper escaping his throat.

“So desperate, My Kaeya.”

His foot almost missteps when he feels the warmth from one of your fingers slowly penetrating him. Oh fuck, you cannot be serious.

He throws his head back as you continue to explore more of his insides. And just like before, you’re meticulously playing with him just so he breaks apart.

“I already said please.”

“And it’s appreciated, dear. But that’s not what I wanted to hear.”

“Fuck…hn, you—”

He stays a wreck like that for a few minutes, not being allowed the permission to cum from your fingers. Why do you want him to say it that bad anyways? Do you really want to reject him like this? Right now?

Kaeya’s body feels heavy.

He’s close, oh so close. 

His nails dig into the skin of his palms, he hears the inside get quieter and for a second, he assumes that it’s because of how he’s gasping and panting because of you.

He shakes those thoughts, knowing how loud the music and gossiping of the knights must be.

“Do you not like me?” You blurt out.

What an absurd question. Why do you think he’s letting you do this?

“Am I too pushy, Kaeya?” 

Your words are contrasting your actions far too differently. Your fingers start to get rougher, he’s painfully hard and he just wants to—He can’t—he physically cannot hold it any longer.

The mention of your name is indistinguishable from a slobbering baby, he holds your waist again although for a particularly different reason this time.

It’s so cheesy how he gets so lovesick whenever he cums.

“I-I love you.”

His entire body collapses into an orgasm. He sobs onto your chest, he’s unsure whether it’s because of how fucking good that felt or the forthcoming response you’ll give as he’s finally admitted it.

What he didn’t expect however, is the fact that it’s not only his face that’s soaking from tears.

“I hate you.” You say.

There’s a hurt in his chest and he wants to take it back but what’s already been said is right there. He wants to apologize. It’s his fault after all for thinking anybody would think of him as anything more than a friend, for catching feelings—

His thoughts are silenced as you kiss him once more, it only lasts for a few and he’s left stunned as to why you would do that.

“I thought you finally caught on. I was so happy when you said you love me, I was caught off guard,”

You take a deep breath, calming yourself.

“And then, you decide to avoid me?! I even sent you qingxin, and you know I don’t like high places!”

…

“You like—no, you love me?” Kaeya states, the thought seems way too unbelievable.

“Obviously! Who in their right mind would address their friend as theirs?” You spat back.

You groan, pushing his already weak body away.

“I love you too, Kaeya. Don’t do that again, okay? You worried the shit out of me.”

“I…Okay. I won’t, I promise.”

He starts walking towards you shakily before pulling you into a tight hug. 

It’s a strange hug. The breeze is far too cold, your clothes are now sticky, and both of your eyes are red from crying. 

Yet somehow, it’s comforting.

It’s perfect.