#it’s very very mild spice okay

[starrcrossrose]

“Offering”

Mildly Suggestive (?) Art below the cut. It’s the blue idiots, who would’ve thought.

And because I feel like I have to say this every time, they are on their 20’s. I almost always draw them in their 20’s bc it’s fun to imagine how they’d be when they’re a little bit older.

(This is SORTA Villain Leo adjacent? Just vibes really. I tend to draw them in this AU the most but not always)

[athenasparrow]

Do you like spicy food?

No! (NO NO NO NO NO)

[shybluebirdninja]

Takeout Trauma

Summary: Logan orders food but can't understand the concept of “spicy” and now he's drinking milk straight from the carton.

Pairing            : Logan Howlett x Gf!Reader Note                : fluff

The smell of takeout fills the air—a mix of savory spices, fried goodness, and that unmistakable kick of heat. You’re sitting at the kitchen counter, casually scrolling on your phone, when you hear a low, irritated grumble from the other side of the room.

Logan’s standing by the fridge, his flannel sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms that are probably a little too perfect for their own good. His jaw clenched, lips tight. He’s holding a takeout container in the other, glaring at it like it personally offended him.

“Babe,” you call out, raising an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “Are you okay?”

Logan doesn’t respond at first. He just stands there, staring down at the now very suspicious-looking food on his plate. Steam rises lazily from it, the scent of peppers and something fiery hitting your nose even from across the room.

He finally moves, his shoulders tense, and with a growl, he slams the takeout container down on the counter with a heavy thunk.

“This—” he motions to the food like it's an enemy in a bar fight, “—is too damn spicy. What the hell is 'mild' supposed to mean if this burns like the damn sun?”

You stifle a laugh, biting your lip. “Didn’t they ask you if you wanted spicy?”

Logan glares at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah, they did. And I said no. They asked if I wanted ‘mild.’ Thought that meant something normal. Not... this.” He gestures angrily to the food, nostrils flaring like he’s about to start a war with the takeout place.

Oh, yeah. He’s suffering.

You lean against the counter, folding your arms across your chest. “Well, babe, I told you before. Spicy food here isn’t like what you had back in the cabin. This is, like, next-level stuff.”

He lets out another frustrated grunt, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. “It’s ridiculous. I’ve fought wars that were easier than this.”

You can’t help it anymore—you laugh, and Logan shoots you a look, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something close to amusement. Still, he turns away from you, yanking open the fridge door with more force than necessary. The cold air hits him in the face, but it doesn’t seem to cool him off. He grabs the carton of milk, pops the cap, and without any hesitation, brings it straight to his lips.

You raise an eyebrow, watching as he guzzles down half the carton, milk dripping down his chin in the process. His Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow, and for a moment, you’re more distracted by that than anything else.

“Really?” you say, trying to sound exasperated but failing because you’re still half-laughing. “Drinking it straight from the carton?”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, still scowling, but you can see the corner of his lips twitching. “What? It’s milk. Does the trick.” He slams the carton back in the fridge, letting the door close with a solid thud.

You shake your head, walking around him to inspect the food on the counter. The takeout container is practically glowing with how much red pepper oil is slicked across it.

“This,” you say, poking at it with a fork, “is what happens when you think you can handle the spice.”

Logan grunts, stepping closer to you. His hands rest on the counter on either side of you, effectively trapping you between him and the plate of dangerous food.

“It wasn’t marked like that on the menu,” he mutters, his voice low, like he’s trying to justify the whole situation. “False advertising.”

You tilt your head back to look at him, grinning. “You’re just mad because food kicked your ass for once.”

Logan’s eyes darken, and he leans in just slightly, his breath warm against your neck. “Keep talkin’, darlin’. You’re gonna end up eating this stuff just to prove a point.”

You laugh, pushing against his chest playfully. “I’m not the one trying to win a food fight, babe. But seriously, next time, just ask for plain. Or, you know, let me order. I’ve mastered the art of not burning my face off.”

He straightens up, crossing his arms, and the look he gives you is pure Logan—half-annoyed, half-amused, but mostly trying not to laugh at himself.

“I can handle my food,” he insists, but there’s no real conviction in his voice.

You arch an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

You turn to grab your own takeout container from the counter, opening it carefully and taking a small bite. It’s perfect—just the right amount of spice. The food’s warm, savory, and doesn’t set your mouth on fire.

 “How’s yours?” he asks, but you can see the wheels turning in his head.

“It’s great,” you say casually, popping another bite in your mouth. “Not too spicy.”

Logan stares at you for a beat, then sighs, his shoulders dropping in defeat. “Swap with me.”

You laugh, holding your container out to him. “Admitting defeat?”

“Call it what you want,” he grumbles, grabbing your container and handing you his. “But I ain’t about to waste perfectly good food.”

You take his container gingerly, half-expecting it to burn your fingers just from the heat. “You sure you don’t want me to grab you another drink?” you tease, watching as he digs into your much milder meal.

Logan shrugs, chewing thoughtfully. “Nah,” he says after a moment, wiping his mouth with his hand. “This is better. But next time, babe, you’re ordering.”

You grin, leaning into him. “Deal. But, babe?”

He looks down at you, raising an eyebrow.

“You might wanna clean up the milk you spilled everywhere.”

[zepskies]

Imagine: Soldier Boy Getting Jealous...

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader || (past Frenchie x F. Reader)

Request: Soldier Boy finding out you had something with Frenchie, years before meeting him.

Word Count: 1K

Tags/Warnings: Jealousy lol (With a hint of spice.~)

Imagine: Ben getting jealous over your past relationship with Frenchie.

He doesn't care.

Because he doesn't care...

When you sit him down in the living room of your apartment and tell him you used to date Frenchie, Ben's reaction is mild at best. To the point where it kind of concerns you.

Ben raises a brow and gives a deep hum.

"Oh, really? That limey bastard?" he remarks. He takes a sip from his tumbler of whiskey. You give him a weary sigh.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't call him that," you reply. You and Frenchie are still friends. Your "entanglement" was years ago, before he even started hooking up with Cherie.

But you still want to be honest with Ben. You two have been dating for a few months now, and it's actually serious. No one's more surprised than you by that fact, but...you're happy. You think he is too.

At your response, however, Ben rolls his eyes and continues drinking. You tilt your head in suspicion.

"So you're chill?" you ask.

"Chill?" he quirks a brow at you. Your lips form a smile.

"You're okay with this," you amend.

Ben shrugs and turns on the TV, trying to navigate the streaming apps. You’d put him on to Game of Thrones. Even three seasons into his binge-watching, he doesn’t want to admit that he’s hooked.

"You're fucking a real man now, sweetheart. No skin off my nose," he says.

It's your turn to roll your eyes, despite a warm blush stinging your cheeks.

But the next time you all go out together to a club in the city, Ben watches you leave his side to say hello to your friends: Annie, Hughie, Frenchie and Kimiko. Frenchie takes your hands and makes a show of looking you up and down.

"Well, well. She shoots to kill tonight, eh?" Frenchie says. When he leans in to kiss your cheek, he whispers, "Ah, black leather. My old favorite."

"Stop," you warn with a smile, hitting his shoulder. He's absolutely shameless. "You're too much."

"And you are just enough," Frenchie returns. He whistles playfully as he raises your hand to twirl you around, showing you off in your little black dress and red-bottom heels.

You laugh, but you bump into Ben when you twirl for the second time. Your laughter cuts off abruptly when you see the flinty look on his face, though he's clinging to stoicism.

Frenchie’s eyes widen as he seems to realize the very real danger he's put himself in. He wisely lets go of your hand, pivots on his heel and goes with Kimiko over to the dance floor.

Meanwhile, you move back to Ben's side and try to placate him by looping your arm through his. He responds by wrapping a strong arm around your waist. His eyes bore into the back of Frenchie's head so hard, you almost expect laser beams to come out of them.

"Come on, let's get a drink," you suggest, patting a hand on Ben's chest. He looks good tonight in a burgundy button-down shirt tucked into his slacks.

Ben wordlessly agrees to your suggestion, but he grabs a stool and drags it close to his own seat. He does help you by the hand onto the stool, but then his arm wraps back around your waist, pulling you in snugly, possessively to his side.

You try not to smile in amusement. It's a caveman's display, but at least you know the root cause this time.

...Okay, maybe you feel the tiniest bit complicit, but really, you think Ben's overreacting.

After he flags down the bartender and orders his bourbon and your martini, you tap against his bearded cheek, earning his green-eyed attention.

"You okay?" you ask knowingly.

"Just fine," he deadpans.

"Oh, well that's convincing," you say with a smile. "Do I need to remind you that I'm here with you?"

Ben's gaze hardens. "I don't know. You were pretty happy to let that French whore put his fucking hands all over you—"

"All right. Calm down, Rambo," you say, trying not to laugh as you rub his arm. "Sorry, baby. That's just how we've always cut up. It doesn't mean anything."

Ben scoffs in derision. "Yeah? Fuck if I care."

You frown at that, sparking with annoyance. Somehow, now you actually do feel guilty. You and Frenchie have bounced off each other like Derek and Garcia for so long, you didn't even realize how it might look...or how it might make your boyfriend feel.

Because even with all that ego and injured pride, you have a feeling there's a real sting of hurt under there.

"Hey," you say, squeezing Ben's wrist. His gaze remains stubbornly on the bartender making your drinks.

You decide to take matters more firmly into your hands.

Reaching up for his chin, you guide Ben's face toward yours and press a kiss to his lips. It's slow at first, but it soon gains in passion. His teeth graze your bottom lip, before his tongue demands entrance into your mouth with claiming purpose.

It elicits a hint of a moan from you, your fingers clenching in his hair. Your nails drag against his scalp, almost making him shudder.

Your supple lips eventually pull away from his, nice and slow.

"Your hands are the only hands I care about touching me," you say. Your expression twinkles with mischief as you toy with the zipper on the side of your dress.

"As a matter of fact, I need your help," you add. "This zipper keeps catching on something. I think it's stuck."

Quite possibly because someone got a little handsy in the cab on the way here.

Ben smirks, though he claims your lips in one more slightly rough kiss before he answers.

"Well that is a problem," he says. His eyes roam down your face, taking in your thoroughly kissed lips, and the cleavage peeking out at him from the neckline of your dress.

"Think I can give you a hand," he says, as his actual hand slips down your leg. His fingers brush along the inside of your thigh, tingling across your skin. His half-lidded gaze once again meeting yours. "Better take you out back and fix you up."

You laugh, despite the return of your blush. You cling to his shoulders, while his fingers burn a tantalizing trail upwards.

"Oh, yeah. Save me, Soldier Boy!" you tease.

He snorts in response, but he helps guide you out of your seat.

Moments later, all your friends find at the bar are two forgotten drinks and a couple of empty stools.

AN: Ah, jealous Ben. It's fun to imagine. 😂

Ko-Fi Me ☕

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[karlachismylife]

i told myself i'll take a break in my failing attempts to write a couple things on Karlach x Soap in english and go back to writing a couple other things in my first language for the upcoming fandom combat deadline

so here's a thing i wrote instead and it's neither of those :D

Very much inspired by my precious friend that is obsessed with some datesim I know nothing about and talks my ear off about her sexy chinese dudes while I make her listen to me simping for my dead scottish ADHD meow meow. We don't know shit about each other's fandoms but we're so excited for each other... Also excuse me if this idea has already been done (I swear I thought of it on my own, but I will tag anyone who's done this before if you send me a link) + my English writing still sucks.

I also encourage you to check out these smaus, they're brilliant and I somewhat looked at them when wrote Kyle's text messages and this wonderful thing about Ghost and Animal Crossing that also inspired me to look into these silly military men and mobile/video games.

Task force 141 and their reaction to their S/O playing dating simulator games

CW: gn!civilian!reader (if I slipped into one or the other gender somewhere, please tell me & I'll correct), mostly fluff with a bit of spice, pet names, mild cursing, unserious jealousy and banter, long-distance (Gaz), describing nudes and mild sexting (Gaz), soft Ghost, mentioned spanking (Price), mild dom!Price, alluded reader recieveing fingerng and oral (Soap)

Word count: ~5k

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

That silly app you downloaded because its (very compelling) ads were repeatedly shoved in your face became surprisingly convenient when Gaz got deployed and wasn't within reach for weeks. A slightly clay-looking guy on your screen didn't hold up in comparison to the smoothest bastard sergeant with the tightest grip on your heart, but a cute feature with app notifications stylized as loving text messages from the virtual boyfriend somehow helped cope with the radio silence from Kyle. You knew he would be fine, how could he not? You gave him a very proper goodbye kiss (and goodbye sex that was a bit more improper) for luck, and he was too damn good at his job to fail. You weren't going insane from worry, at least not more than usually.

But the loneliness, the fucking loneliness was a little bit more bearable when you still got your "good morning beautiful xx" and "thinking about you before bed" even though the font was wacky and some phrases were clearly poorly google translated. To unlock these little snippets you opened the app every day, usually tapping mindlessly on all the required interactions before going to sleep and eyeing some of the ingame wardrobe options that wouldn't work too bad on your man. In fact, you even took a screenshot of a nice suit - if tailored right, Kyle would look in it sharper than the tactical knife he knew so well. You just needed an opportunity to show it to him.

And the opportunity barged in with a sudden surge of texts right when you were already getting ready for some shut-eye.

Three weeks of muffled unease wiped out and replaced with that never-tiring giddy feeling bubbling inside as soon as you saw Kyle's name pop up on top of your screen.

"hi baby"

"finally can text, miss you terribly 😘"

"what are you up to angel?"

You could feel your own cheeks strain with the stupid smile plastered on your face. No doubt, Kyle texted you at the first opportunity - he was there, he was okay and he missed you. All sleepiness in your body withered away, leaving you energized at eleven pm, squirming in your bed as you rolled over to start vigorously typing back. You never knew how much time you both have to chat, unstable signal or simply never-ending duty could interrupt you at any given moment, so you had to get your fill of premium class Garrick right there and then - no matter how drowsy it would make you the next morning.

Eventually you sent him the screenshot you took without second thoughts:

"btw thought you'd look good in smth like this baby, what do you think?"

Instead of a normal reply on the topic, though, you recieved an immediate jab followed by short pause:

"the fuck is that baby? 🤣"

"wait i think i know"

"replacing me with a vr boyfriend already? jesus fuck angel i haven't been away even for a month"

"i'm wounded, truly. he doesn't even look that good and can't spell correctly. what a downgrade 😔"

If only you could communicate the muscle-straining eyeroll you had through text. Chuckling and snorting, you immediately came to defence of your pixel prince charming, simply for the sake of it.

"how dare you. he's not a mere replacement, this is true love, garrick 💕🥰❤️✨"

"look at the top, we're already level 29 intimacy"

"gonna get him to send me nudes soon, they unlock at lvl 30"

Gaz could probably hear your bratty giggles on the other side of the globe, sheets rustling as you wiggled in your bed, absolutely proud of your impeccably fine-tuned wit and properly excited for the upcoming smartass comeback, since Kyle would rather die than let you have a win. But you've already calmed down with your cheeks mildly flushed, and the messages were still left on read.

Weird. It wasn't the first time your chatting ended abruptly, but usually Kyle had time at least to tell you he had to go - maybe even exchange little "ily"s. Did the signal cut off? But it was good enough for him to download a picture even, surely he'd notice if it started lagging and tell you. Did something bad happen? An emergency? An ambush?

A slight frown etched in your face as you started unwillingly thinking of the worst. Then - in a moment - that little green circle signaling Gaz was online came back. And still no answer.

Did he... get actually upset? Over a fucking datesim app?

It was hard to believe. Impossible, even. Kyle was never prone to jealosy fits, smug bastard definitely knew how secure you two were. But maybe... maybe it was the fact that you were seeking comfort he couldn't provide? Being told you needed a whole ass app simply to tell you goodnight while he was god knows where, unable to hold you and cuddle you to sleep - that could sting.

Shit, you shouldn't have started this. Gaz wouldn't outright admit he felt even the slightest bit insecure over an unblinking 3D monstrosity with a sexy Korean voice. He'd think it was stupid - and he would be right, frankly, but in this case this wasn't completely unreasonable.

Already anxious, you put your thumbs back on the phone to type out a careful question, but before you could even think of a right way to formulate it the chat chirped and loaded in a bunch of attachments.

Absolutely scandalous. Hastly unndone uniform, sweaty shirt pulled up and - you knew it even if it was outside the frame - clutched in his teeth, bared in a self-assured smirk, belt unbuckled and hanging from the loops of pants pulled down just a bit; just enough for his hand to slip inside and gather into a delicious grasp around the bulge you knew was straining against his boxers. Fucking tease, pulling the elastic band with his thumb to let you see just the base of his cock - you had to swipe several mouth-watering closeups on his chest, v-line beautifully adorned with dark hair and that bloody hand you already ached to feel on your thigh, before you finally got your reward. Hard just from the thought of you, tip glistening with the pre-cum he definitely smeared all over specifically for that picture.

"wanted to ask if your pixel bf can beat these"

"but i think your silence already says enough 😏"

You groaned, belly warm with the familiar longing. What an angel of a man, finding time to somehow snap packs of perfect nudes in the middle of wherever he was. Already turning over to slide your hand down your body, you sent a very sulking "hate you garrick. first made me worried and now horny, shameless bastard" and got an obligatory "sure you do. i'll fuck that attitude outta you as soon as i get back angel".

Somehow all the need in a virtual replacement vanished after this chat. Not only did Kyle text you more regularly - sensing a competition maybe, huh? - but you also got yourself enough material to be comforted before sleep. Sure, you'd rather have your man there in person, but no perfect-looking anime prince could offer a view better than Kyle's flexed arms or a cheeky sneak peek of his plump ass and a smooth back arch snapped over his shoulder.

No wonder you two threw yourselves at each other when Gaz finally showed up home, tired and a little roghed up, but very much alive and pent up for you. Once you were done relieving some of that frustration and cuddled up after a nice, hot shower, though, Kyle nipped your earlobe teasingly.

"No such level to unlock this experience, huh, angel? Something your app boytoy can't provide."

He caught your arm before you could elbow him playfully and grasped you tighter aroung your waist, using his free hand to get his phone and hold it in front of your face.

"Besides, I think he likes me more."

"How the fuck did you get to level sixty, Garrick?!"

Simon "Ghost" Riley

"Twilight was peaking how many years ago? And they still have this stupid choice everywhere."

Simon, the unmoving domestic shadow spread in a comfortable sitting position on your couch for the daily quiet together time, turned his head lazily and gently squeezed your thigh, careful not to disturb your legs thrown over his lap as he leaned a bit closer with a mildly interested "Hm?"

"It's this dating game. They're making me choose between a vampire and a werewolf. Can't think of another conflict for the last decade, really? Why not elves versus orcs? They never make stories about sexy orcs. But there's a market for it! Why stick to the same broken record all the time? Or, I don't know, invent beef between fairies and mermaids!" You huffed in exasperation, waving your phone in a vague gesture meant to express your disdain for the lack of creativity in the supernatural romance visual novels department. Ghost's usual intense stare boring into your face could mean anything - from him silently judging you for lacking respect for the culturally impactful vampries-werewolves feud to a wordless question whether you were in the sexy orc enjoyers market.

But when he finally spoke, scarred lips slightly curled upwards in a hint of an amused smile and eyebrows raised, he asked what seemed to catch his attention much more than what fantasy creature you would like to bang.

"A dating game?" His smirk became more prominent, eyes narrowing as an indicator of him looking for a way to quip in the most unbearable way possible. "What's all that about, love?"

The fact that he didn't know wasn't that surprising, you'd be much more astonished if Ghost did know what a dating simulator game was, but the need to explain still caught you off guard, forcing you to pause with the expressive phone gesturing and actually try and describe the phenomenon.

"Well, it's a mobile game, where you, like... have to play through a story with the main thing being befriending and romancing characters. It's mostly reading a story, really, but you get dialogue options to unlock special scenes with your chosen romantic interest or you can give them gifts..." A stolen glance at Simon told you that he was surprsingly paying attention. "But there's often a plot too. The one I started recently is about, well, vampires and werewolves... a Twilight ripoff, basically, but the player gets to be Bella." You paused, gauging his reaction, but other than his calloused fingers kneading the meat of your thigh Ghost didn't even move, leaving you to look at him with suspicion mixed with amusement. "Want me to show you?.."

Finally, his hand stopped its methodical massaging, only to pat your thigh approvingly and help you sit up, cozily snuggled up to the man whose hoodie you shamelessly stole just to wear around him. Wrapping his muscular arm around you, Ghost leaned his head against yours and prepared for the highly educational lecture on the world full of opportunities to get turned down because of having too low approval with the character.

You showed him the exact story that got you so riled up, explained the quite primitive mechanics behind gaining attraction points with the characters and rehashed the entire plot up to the point where you were stuck now - the one where it was obvious the game wanted you to pick a side. Simon listened carefully, gruff chuckles at some of your grumbling and a lot of very insightful commentary on each and every character ("that one's got Johnny's fucking mighty schnotz" and " 'course he's a fucking twat, look at his bloody necktie, a hemp one would be an improvement on 'im"), inculding your own avatar that you spent considerable time making to look like you wanted.

"That supposed to be you, love?" He didn't even try to mask the snarky tone, and you definitely prepared to be offended. You put so much thought into the character looks! So what if they didn't match your real ones fully? It's the game limitations, not your fault. "Hmph. Maybe good enough for these two muppets to fight over. But I reckon I like my version better. Comes with high-quality visuals."

His arm tightened around your shoulders, pulling you up for a short and sweet kiss, rough thumb stroking your jawline tenderly and pressing up under your chin when Ghost pulled away with a crooked smirk, shattered with scars into an artful mosaic.

"Trying to get your approval higher, sir?" You teased, eyes darting between his smiling - what a view, honestly - eyes and ready to be kissed again lips. His response was predictable. "It's working, innit, love? Think there's enough for a special bonus scene yet?"

Despite you clearly pretending to think and count his imaginary attraction points, Simon already started pulling you up into his lap, holding you securely and running his fingers along the curve of your back. "Might need a little more convincing, gamer. You didn't even bring a special gift to this date." Ghost's half-lidded eyes sparkled with hidden competitevness and his chest rumbled with a deep chuckle as he reached out to take your phone out of your hand softly.

"Gave you the hoodie. It counts." Ignoring your not very convincing protests ("It's mine already, of course it doesn't count!"), he tapped something on your screen and then put the phone away, wrapping his arms back around your form and slowly leaning into a tangled cuddlepile in an almost lying position. All your squirming successfully restrained with a bearhug, you huffed and placed your chin on Ghost's chest, looking up at him. He was there, with you, but deep in his gaze you noticed a certain swrling cloud of thoughts. Reading Simon's eyes was a must with him, he knew you could and didn't ever hide them from you.

"What are you thinking about?" You carefully inquired, running your hands over his shoulders and squeezing gently, a habit helping both of you to ease some tension. Simon blinked, tilting his head slightly, and let out a small sigh, seeking the right words. "You're not playing that game because I'm not doing enough, are you, lovie? 'Cos if you are, I'd rather you tell me what's wrong."

Always straight to the point. At least, when he finally decides to speak up. The big, scary dog worried about a silly mobile game as his competition? Cute. But the seriousness in his eyes called for a proper answer, not a teasing joke or a simple "aww, don't worry".

"You're doing more than enough, Simon, and you know it. It's a game, just living out my fantasies as the main character. But I can delete it if it makes you uncomfortable, it's no big deal, you know?" The tiniest bit of tension you felt underneath your fingertips disappeared, leaving Ghost sinking even further into the couch with you properly wrapped in his protective embrace.

"Nah, gorgeous, you keep playin' whatever shite you wanna be playin'. Just promise to keep me updated on the bloke so I can upstage him in every way." His voice got muffled since he buried his face in your chest, eyes closed peacefully and pure bliss written in all the relaxed features. Cradling his head, you hummed in agreement, but then perked up again.

"Wait, what bloke? You picked one of them for me?" - "Mhm." - "Oh come on, Simon, what happened to the freedom of choice!" You could feel his smile get more prominent despite being hidden in the softness of your chest covered with the thick hoodie material. "Which one did you choose? The vampire 'cause he's wearing all black?"

"Nuh-uh. The other one. The mutt."

You giggled at his choice of words and let out a quiet "oi" when Simon pinched you for disturbing his calm enjoyment of a "bonus scene" with the chosen romance option, that being you.

"Why? You're a Wolf Man fan or something?"

"'f course I am, love. He's British."

Captain John Price

When you saw the notification that the game you got sucked into with the active help of your friends got a "sound update", you knew what that meant - they finally added English voiceover lines for every single hunk of a man you had in your virtual harem, and you couldn't wait to hear what voices they gave your favourites. Given the nature of the game, you decided to put your earbuds on and started listening through the whole voicelines library, busying your hands with mundane tasks like folding laundry. John was sitting in the kitchen, fully immersed into his reading - potentially work-related. Or at least enthralling enough for him to miss your flushed cheeks or periodical giggling.

But no matter how important his reading was, what he couldn't miss was the sultry male voice coming out of your phone with a whispered "Wouldn't you love that, bunny?". Of course the parinig connection between your phone and the wireless earbuds had to get interrupted exactly when you were pouring yourself a cuppa and couldn't even drop the kettle in order to shush the suggestive purring of your digital fave.

You could feel Price staring at you. You could practically hear his bushy eyebrows slowly rising as he patiently waited for you to say something first. You were fully contemplating brewing yourself some poison instead of tea to avoid getting confronted by your man who just heard someone call you bunny on the phone.

So when you didn't start first, John, more amused than anything - he knew you too well to read through all your tiny microreactions and conclude that this wasn't hardcore evidence of an affair, but something much more suitable for future teasing (were you listening to porn or something? a naughty audiobook? oh so many golden opportunities to make you squirm under the steel gaze of the captain) - asked very nonchalantly: "What was that, darling?"

"What?" There was no point in pretending you didn't know what he's talking about, but you still tried. If anything, it allowed you to stall while you very hesitantly turned around and saw John and his smile, not even a hint of sterness in the round plumpness of bearded cheeks and little crow's feet in the corners of his eyes. "What was what, honey? You want some tea too?"

A futile attempt at deflecting and bribery rolled into one. You were lucky you were not his subordinate. You were unlucky the voice of some other man, dripping with mirth, came back into your ear once the next voiceline loaded in and the connection with your earbuds got restored. This was equal to admitting your crimes in front of the judges, but you slowly took your phone out of your pocket and hit pause.

"Does the tea come with an explnation who's the bloke whispering in your pretty ears, bunny? 'Cos if so, I'll take a cuppa, thank you very much."

He was beaming. Leaned back in his chair, knees wide apart and burly arms folded on his chest, Price wanted to have a wee little pause in his serious reading, and watching you squirm was the best distraction and brain-reloading he could ever get.

"I-it's not like that, I promise." Was that a bead of sweat running down your nape? John grunted, cocking an eyebrow and pushing his chin into his chest to stare at you from an angle that best conveyed that "I am not convinced, love" look. "It's just a little game, John, promise. Not a real man, just a made-up character."

Those piercing eyes narrowed even more, silently measuring you up for potentially bullshitting him, and then a heavy hand patted the broad thigh. An order, not an invitation (an order you could always disobey, though...)

"Show me."

Forgetting the option to disobey with little consequences, you hung your head down and dragged yourself and your fresh cuppa over to John, settling in his lap. The tea didn't even make it to the table, he snatched it from your fingers, careful enough not to spill, and sipped loudly, patting your side condescendingly. Any more stalling could result in various stages of burning buttocks, so you complied with the demand without Price repeating himself and opened the app, disconnecting your earbuds in the process.

He clearly wanted to hear that embarassing shit.

Your explanations of what a datesim was seemed to amuse John greatly - knowing his love for farming games, you made sure to mention all the best ones mixing the two genres, clearly trying to sweeten the deal.

"So wha', sum muppet in your phone callin' you bunny and you like 't? Maybe I should start too, huh?" You had to close your eyes to stop the internal screaming, and John's gruff chuckle hit your burning ear with a gentle puff. "But these, erm..." - "Companions." - "Riiight, these companions, they ain't whispering something... naughtier, are they?"

There was a hint of seriousness in his question, so you opened your eyes again and turned to look at him. His face was still smiling calmly, but the expectation was that of an honest and direct answer.

"Well, they do have more explicit scenarios and voicelines..." - "They talkin' dirty to you, eh? Guess I should step up my game." He flexed his jaw and leaned even closer, brushing his slightly chapped lips over the tender shell of your ear, soft beard tickling you and leaving you helpless. "Can't have my sweetheart wooed by sum app game fockers, can I? C'mere you little bunny, Imma show you sumthin' to hop on."

He stood up suddenly, lifting you with a soft grunt and dragging you away from the forgotten phone and empty cup. No amount of "John!" squeaked out could save you from that bear of a man groping your ass before throwing you onto bed and climbing on top. His weight squeezed the air out of your lungs as he roamed his big palmes all over your sweet body, even more enthusiastic about the impromptu break in his work.

"Ugh, fine, Johnathan Price, I won't be listening to the spicy dialogues! Just let me finish my-" Absolutely futile, your plea to get back to housework you had planned got cut short by a deep kiss, John's tongue sliding in your mouth as the most efficient (okay, maybe, second most) gag he could use on you. Your hands, previously pressed against his furry chest in an attempt to push him off, relaxed and buried themselves in his thick hair, ruffliing it and tugging him closer by the strands. A low grunt let you know what you already knew and felt much lower - John fully approved both that and your promise to keep away from the horny digital harem.

"Why even bother with 'em bloody games when you can 'ave the real thing, huh?"

John "Soap" MacTavish

"Whit are ye smiling at there, bonnie?"

Before you could even process the question and come up with any answer (excuse) about the silliest giddy smile that a cutscene in your chosen romance route got out of you, your massive - the only way to not be thrown off by Johny "Can't Sleep Still" MacTavish - bed creaked underneath the impressive weight of a fine Scottish specimen. Like a curious pup, Soap squeezed his head through the loop of your arm, earning himself a choking cuddle in the process, and stared into your screen.

"No, Johnny, piss off! It's personal!" You scrambled to turn your phone away from him and held it to your chest, a traitorous warmth in your cheeks threatening to give away what kind of personal it was. Of course, Soap caught on immediately, playful glint in his eyes as he simply yanked the phone out of your grip and turned over onto his back, shamelessly using you as a pillow while he unlocked your screen (why the fuck were you two so trusting and shared passwords!) and looked at the animated cutscene.

And why did it have to be the first spicy one you finally unlocked?

"What's tha'? Didnae peg ye fur a hentai type, bonnie." Soap watched the looped animation for a few more seconds while you wrestled against his heavy fucking carcass helplessly. With a single tap he closed the cutscene and let out an amused hum when met with the continuation of your unlocked chapter. "Och, so ye're reading smut too? Naughty."

You squirmed visciously, fighting for your dignity as he started reading aloud through the desciption of what didn't make the cutscene. The experience was downright horrible, humiliating and arousing at the same time as Johnny's thick brogue and mocking tone killed every ounce of spice in the steamy scene and somehow added new ones. Along with his stuttering. This lad... you even tried to grab his arm and chew on the meaty muscle in hopes of distracting him, but he didn't even flinch, simply pulling his limb out of your grasp and putting it behind his head comfortably. Outraging.

"Slender aristocratic fingers squeezing supple..." he smacked his lips so loudly that you groaned, "...flesh nae hard enough tae leave marks, but enough tae el... elicit pleasure, his breath hot in yer ear, whispering... Hauld yer horses- how come is yer name 'ere, bonnie? Who's writing this fur ye?" You nearly bounced off the bed when Soap suddenly sat up straight, relieving you from his (quite welcome, to be fair) burden, and frowned at your phone, scrolling through the erotc piece as if he could figure out who was the author just from reading it carefully enough. The pout he turned to you with was nothing short of absolutely heartbreaking. "Who's tha' "Laird Sebastian" prick writing a' kinds of nasty shite he wants tae dae tae ma' leannan? Am ah nae enough fur ye, bonnie? Dae ye wanntae leave me fur some posh bastard wi' a stick so far up his arse tha' it pokes outta his yapper?"

It was so obvious that Soap was just taking the piss, but his bottomless puppy eyes with the longest lashes fluttering as if on the verge of tears were working their dark magic, crashing your train of thought like a whole gang of outlaws from the Wild West and coercing you into making an apologetic expression and reaching your arms pleadingly for a hug. "Aw, come on, Johnny, it's just a-"

"Ah dinnae think tis a good idea, love. Ah dinnae have slender aristocratic fingers, wha' if a'm awful lot o' a commoner tae yer tastes..." Soap tilted his chin up, a perfect depiction of dignity suffering horrible offence, and turned away defiently, immediately peeking back at you from the corner of his twinkling blue eye. You knew those little smiling creases too well to miss them forming despite him holding a pout quite successfully, so you scoffed, still slightly flushed from being caught red-handed, and rolled your eyes, snuggling up to Johnny from behind and starting to kiss behind his ear.

"I'm so, so sorry, love of my life. No posh bastards come nowhere near you, you're my favourite commoner. Fuck Lord Sebastian-" You realized you chose the wrong wording when Soap couldn't hold back a snort. "Aye, well, seems lik' ye were planning on doing exactly tha-" - "Oh shut the fuck up, MacTavish!"

Shut the fuck up he did, turning back to face you abruptly and tackling you into the sheets, lavishing kisses with his searing hot lips all over your face. A real mutt pouncing the handler he has no respect and all the love for. There was no choice left for you other than wrap all your limbs around Soap and writhe underneath him, nearly missing that very inconspicuous way he reached his arm out and dropped your phone on the nightstand before cradling your head for much deeper, sloppier kisses.

"Gonna show tha' laird sod how tae fuck mah bonnie real good, aye? Mak' ye come wi' thae fingers right 'ere, nae aristocrat bullshit." Lapping up your neck with his wet tongue, Soap planted a greedy kiss right underneath your jaw and sucked at the soft skin until it showed a little pinkish hue. The bastard was set on making you sing for him, big rough palms grabbing handfuls of your flesh, squeezing and massaging while Johnny kept decending down your body with clear determination. "C'mon, leannan, let me hear ye. Say yer ol' Johnny's better than tha' bawbag Sebastian."

Sliding your hands over his broad shoulders, you held his nape before tugging on his slightly outgrown mohawk, your own head falling backwards in an exhausted yet adoring sigh.

"You know it's just a game, right, loverboy? A dating simulator, not a real thing? Oi, watch it!" A sharp gasp escaped your lips as Soap chomped on your side and immediately nuzzled into your stomach to blow raspberries into the soft plush, catching you once you started squirming and giggling. No intention of letting you catch your breath until he heard what he wanted. "Fine! Fine, Johnny, you are so, so much better than Lord Sebastian."

Satisfied, he loosened his grasp on you and lifted his head, grinning like he's just won you over from somene actually threatening in terms of romance. Hooked his fingers into your housewear bottoms, slowly tugged them down and started trailing hot-mouthed kisses down from your solar plexus, sky blue eyes glazing over with the never-satiated hunger for your taste on his greedy tongue.

You held your breath. A joke was itching inside your mouth, begging to be let out, dancing on the tip of your tongue...

"You're lucky I didn't choose Duke Aaron's route. That's some serious competion."

"Och, away 'n bile yer heid, bonnie!"

Thank you for reading! I appreciate all interactions, likes, reblogs, comments and requests (send in anything for now! I can filter them myself, but I am open to smut, including rare kinks and some dark themes. Keep in mind though that I am limited by my skill & overall prefer sugary fluff. I will write for any of the task force 141 and baldur's gate characters, including parings, poly, x reader and x OC), I will write drabbles, headcanons and whatever else formats you can think of.

Also any corrections are welcome as long as you're not being mean! Thank you <3

[formulauno98]

Yacht Girl Summer - Chapter Eleven / Chalet Girl Winter - Friday - George Russell x Reader, Toto Wolff x Reader

Word Count: 8.7k - Yes I got over my writers block and wrote a triple length chapter. I previously promised one final chapter but I've had to split it up so there will be fourteen chapters in total.

Warnings: 🌶 Some very PG mild spice but 18+ only.

Author’s Notes: Disclaimer, purely fiction. No use of Y/N and minimal descriptions because I want everyone/anyone to be able to enjoy this.

FRIDAY AFTERNOON

You and Toto arrived at his chalet just as the late afternoon sun was dipping behind the peaks of the Austrian mountains, casting your surroundings in a soft, golden glow. Guests were due to arrive that evening so ever the proud host, Toto had insisted on arriving a few hours ahead to ensure the chalet was up to his exacting standards.

After a short flight, the drive from the airport had been quiet, with Toto’s driver quickly navigating the sweeping snowy roads whilst Toto sat beside you in the backseat, engrossed in answering emails on his iPad and occasionally glancing across at you, covering your hand with his.

You had spent the journey from the airport in silence, wrapped in thoughts of the past few months and how quickly things had changed. You’d gone from a troubled relationship with George to something entirely different with Toto and life felt much easier, albeit surreal. Toto was like a breath of fresh air. Considering he was much busier than George, he listened to you, valued your opinions and remembered the small details. You finally felt like your own person again.

– – –

“Wow,” you exclaimed as you stepped out of the car, the sting of cold mountain air hitting your face as you stretched your legs. Toto had undersold you his chalet, it was enormous, a wide expanse of rustic wood and sparkling glass, perfectly nestled in a small valley in the heart of the mountains, set back from the road.

“You like it?” said Toto, coming to your side and taking your hand in his as you took in your grand surroundings.

“Well I’ll reserve judgment until I get the full tour, but on first impressions, yes it’s beautiful,” you said, stretching up to kiss him on the cheek. 

Toto smiled and led you towards the heavy wooden front door, “Come on, I’ll show you around.” Turning back towards his driver, he added, “I’ll come back for the bags.”

The door creaked open easily and you were immediately greeted by a wave of warmth and the scent of fresh pine and woodsmoke. Toto squeezed your hand gently. “Welcome to my favourite place in the world.”

“I think I can see why,” you replied, marvelling at Toto’s mountain home. Having so far spent the majority of your time together in London, you hadn’t yet been to any of Toto’s houses and you were looking forward to having a good look around. The foyer was breathtaking, intricate wooden beams arched overhead, an impressive staircase wound upwards to the galleried landing on the second floor and large windows framed the snow-covered peaks outside. It was picture-perfect, almost like something out of a movie.

“I’ll show you around in a minute,” Toto said, before stepping forward to greet an older man and woman who had seemingly appeared from nowhere, introducing them as Greta, his House Manager, and Claus, his Chef. You blushed furiously as he introduced you as his girlfriend. It wasn’t a conversation you’d had yet but it was comforting to know that he was serious about your relationship and wasn’t afraid to tell people. 

“Lovely to meet you too,” said Greta, eyeing you curiously, “Here, let me take your coats. Toto, do you need me to send someone for the bags?” 

“Thank you Greta but that will be okay. I will bring them,” said Toto as he passed both of your coats to her. He turned back to you, “Why don’t you look around while I get our things?”

You nodded, still overwhelmed by the grandeur of the place and the way Toto had introduced you. As he headed back outside, Greta and Claus busied themselves, leaving you alone in the spacious foyer. You were immediately drawn to a console table across from you, laden with elegantly framed photos. Picking up a small silver frame you smiled as you clocked a photograph of Toto and the woman who had caused your first quarrel - his sister. They looked to be in their late teens, smiling and laughing at the camera with identical dimpled grins. In hindsight you felt stupid, the family resemblance was strong.

“Found something interesting? Toto said, having reappeared behind you, carrying your bags inside with ease. 

“Just a little.” you said, placing the frame back down from where you’d taken it, “It’s nice, you have more photos here than on the yacht.”

“Well, it’s the family home. They all come here for the holidays,” said Toto, placing the bags down gently at the foot of the stairs before stepping closer to you, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back. “Come, I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

He led you through the spacious living room, where yet more floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the valley below. As the afternoon sun waned, soft light from the large stone fireplace cast a golden glow across the room. It was cosy as hell and you could already imagine spending the evening here, curled up on one of the large cream sofas with a glass of wine and a book.

“This is the heart of the house,” Toto explained, gesturing to the living room. “We designed it to be a place where everyone can gather and relax.”

“I love it,” you said, clocking the carefully chosen details, the thick sheepskin rugs and the luxe throws draped over the sofas. It was certainly very Alpine. “When you say we…?”

Toto smiled, admitting “My interior designer and I. I know what I like but have no idea how to find it.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” you said laughing, “You’re a busy man!”

Toto’s eyes twinkled as he pulled you from behind into his chest, bending down to whisper in your ear, his voice low, “Is that so?”

Turning around to face him, you stretched up to plant a soft kiss on his lips, “Far too busy to select cushions.”

“I know my favourite cushions,” said Toto, his expression deadpan before he reached his arms behind you to lightly squeeze your ass, making you squeal.

“Ahem.” came a voice from a doorway on the other side of the room, interrupting the moment. It was Greta.

“Sorry Greta,” said Toto, his mouth quirking with a smirk, “I was just giving a house tour.”

“Sorry to interrupt but Andreas wanted to know where the bags need to go,” said Greta, blushing as she couldn’t quite meet Toto’s eye.

“In the master suite.” said Toto, “Sorry I should have instructed him.”

“No worries, I will let him know.” said Greta with a polite smile, turning to leave before suddenly turning back, “Can I get you anything? A drink? A snack? Claus is preparing the evening service but it is long to wait until then.”

Toto turned to you, his eyes kind as he clocked that you were not used to having staff. “Would you like anything?”

It was your turn to blush as you felt like a spoilt brat, “Oh no, I’m fine thank you, maybe I can come and grab a tea later?”

“Sure,” said Toto and Greta in unison, exchanging a somewhat strange look. “I will show the kitchen on my tour, Greta.”

“Very well,” said Greta, ducking out of the doorway and leaving you alone once more.

“Sorry about that, I know you think I am an idiot for having staff but as we don’t use this house often it is better to have them to keep things running,” said Toto, looking a little embarrassed.

“Not at all.” you said, before adding, “Well… I’m not used to it. I know you had the crew on the boat but that feels different because you need them to sail. I can always get my own drinks.”

“I know.” said Toto, “I’ll have a word with Greta.”

“Thanks,” you said, stretching up to kiss him once more.

He smiled, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Come, there’s more to see.”

As promised, he led you to the kitchen next, a modern space with light wood cabinetry, sleek appliances and a large island at its centre. Claus was busy expertly chopping vegetables as Toto caught his attention.

“What’s on the menu?” he asked, smiling at the older man.

“The usual.” said the older man, smiling before gesturing to a large pot simmering away, “And Greta has made Glühwein.”

“What’s that?” you asked, unaccustomed to Austrian cuisine.

“Mulled wine.” said Toto, pulling you towards the stove before lifting the lid, “Here, smell it.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, turning to Claus since it was clear that he was the voice of authority in this kitchen. He nodded approvingly so you bent down to take in the aromatic mix of cinnamon and spices. “It smells like Christmas!” you exclaimed.

The two men laughed at your enthusiasm. “You will love it,” said Toto. 

“Looking forward to trying it,” you said to Claus.

“Oh, it is not me who makes it, it is my wife,” Claus said, beaming.

“Claus and Greta are married.” explained Toto, as he clocked your look of confusion, “It makes sense since they live here together.”

“I see,” you said, “Is this common in chalets?”

“No, I just lucked out,” said Toto smiling at Claus.

“I think you’ll find we are the lucky ones,” the older man replied, “Now, please young man, leave me alone so I can carry on getting this food ready for the guests.”

Toto laughed at the man trying to shoo you out, “Okay but we will be back for tea.”

Claus shook his head before returning to chopping, adding sarcastically, “I can’t wait.”

“He seems fun,” you said as Toto guided you along another hallway off to the other side of the kitchen.

“They are both great fun, and Andreas.” he replied, “You’ll see tonight.”

“Without sounding like an idiot, is that normal for staff?” you asked, not sure of the etiquette.

“Not exactly.” said Toto, “But they’re more like family than staff. You’ll see.” 

He then led you down a hallway, pointing out various rooms; there was a well-appointed dining room, complete with a grand piano, a den filled with books and games and a traditional sauna for unwinding after a day on the slopes. He then led you up a smaller wooden staircase at the end of the hallway, bringing you onto the far end of the galleried landing you’d seen from the foyer.

“Ooh secret stairs,” you said, following Toto along the landing.

“Not so secret but quicker to get to our room,” he said, stopping at a set of grand wooden double doors. He opened them dramatically to reveal the master suite. The bedroom was expansive, with another large stone fireplace at one end and wall-to-wall glass doors that opened out onto a veranda on the other. 

“I hope you’ll be comfortable here,” he said, his voice dropping slightly as he turned to you, eager to see your verdict.

You stepped into the room, admiring the luxurious furnishings and the spectacular view. The bed was cloud-like and you couldn’t wait to dive in later, “I think I will survive.”

Toto burst into laughter, “I’m glad to hear it. Although I will warn you, it gets cold here at night. We might need to cuddle up.”

“Oh really?” you asked, moving closer to Toto, liking where this was going.

“One hundred percent,” he said, leaning in to catch your lips with his, his large hands resting on your hips, spanning your waist. 

“Do you offer this service to all of your guests?” you asked, with a smirk.

“Only my favourites,” he said before gripping your hips tighter and throwing you down onto the bed.

“Heyy!” you said, in surprise, giggling as he lay down on top of you, pressing kisses behind your ear, his hands starting to roam.

You blushed as Toto’s kisses grew more playful and he started to nip at your collarbone, gradually dipping lower. “I think I could get used to this,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair as he trailed kisses down your neck.

Toto lifted his head, his eyes dark with affection as he looked down at you. “I hope you do.”

“Toto…” you whispered, his gaze was intense, full of a desire that made your heart race.

“Yes?” he murmured, his voice husky.

You bit your lip, trying to think of something to reply but the words got lost as you lost yourself in his eyes. Instead, you pulled him back down to you, kissing him deeply. Toto responded eagerly, his hands moving to the hem of your sweater, lifting it just enough to slip his hands underneath. 

Things were just starting to heat up when you were suddenly interrupted by your phone ringing loudly from your bag across the room. You froze for a second and then Toto sighed, resting his forehead against yours.

“You should probably get that,” he said, his eyes saying otherwise.

“Or I could ignore it,” you suggested, trying to pull him back down, but he shook his head, a smirk on his lips.

“It could be important,” he countered, giving you a quick peck before rolling off the bed and letting you up.

You groaned, got up and made your way over to your bag. The ringing stopped but the unmistakable chime of a message rang out. You reached for your phone and unlocked it, glancing at the screen, it was a message from Cara. 

We’re 15 minutes away. Hope you two lovebirds aren’t getting up to too much trouble without us ;)

You couldn’t help but laugh as you sat back down on the bed and showed Toto the message. He chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Great timing, as always.”

You smiled and started to fix your sweater, smoothing it out as you replied.

Trying my best but Toto is persistent. Can’t wait to see you x

“I guess that’s our cue to get ready for the others,” you said, slipping off the bed and heading toward the bathroom to check your appearance.

Toto watched you, clearly enjoying the sight of you walking away. “You look perfect,” he called after you.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr Wolff,” you teased, glancing at him over your shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom.

– – –

When you returned, Toto had opened up the glass doors and was stood out on the veranda, leaning up against the wooden balustrade, looking out into the darkness. The sun had fully set and the first stars were beginning to twinkle in the clear sky. You were hit with a strange feeling of deja vu as you were fondly reminded of the first time Toto had spoken to you properly, up on the sun deck of his yacht on a similar starry night.

He turned as he heard you approaching, “They’ll be here any minute now,” he said, his thumb gently reaching out and stroking the back of your hand as you joined him.

You nodded, leaning into him as you both gazed out at the night sky. “I’m glad we came here early,” you said softly. “It’s been nice, just us.”

Toto squeezed your hand, his voice warm, “Me too, but we’ll have plenty more time just for us.” 

Your eyes lit up at the prospect of more travel with Toto, “I hope so.” you said, letting him sway you gently from behind. You stayed there in blissful silence for a moment before it was interrupted by the sound of cars making their way up the drive. Toto murmured from behind you, “Sounds like we have company.”

You turned and smiled up at him, brushing an errant strand of hair off his forehead. “I suppose you should go and greet them.”

“I suppose, but you are coming down with me” he replied, leaning down to steal one last kiss before you both made your way back inside.

“Are you sure?” you said, gently closing the door behind you, “It’s your house.”

“If you are fine with it?” he said, looking unsure of himself.

“Sure,” you said quietly, a little apprehensive to greet the group, some of whom you had not seen in person since the fateful yacht trip.

“You don’t sound so sure.” said Toto, raising his eyebrow, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if it’s my place,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“That is bullshit.” said Toto, matter of factly, “Is it because of what happened before?”

Feeling your flushed face betray you, you looked at him, “Well yes. I don’t want them to think badly of me. I haven’t seen James, John or Marion since the yacht and God only knows what George is going to say if he sees me swanning down those stairs like I own your house.”

Toto’s expression softened, “If they think badly of you, I have the number of a nice hotel down the road.”

You laughed, Toto was stubborn as ever, “You know what I mean.”

Drawing you back in close, Toto rubbed your shoulders, “I’m here and I’m not going to let anyone say anything. I want you to feel at home here. Besides, James and Cara know the situation, John and Marion likely guessed and George, well George has his friends and is bringing someone so he cannot be too angry with us.”

Raising a small smile, you leaned into the tall Austrian’s chest, breathing deeply. Toto had some kind of magical power to immediately make you feel at ease. “Thank you,” you replied, looking up at him.

“No, thank you for coming, you’ve made me a very happy man,” he said, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before taking your hand and leading you out of the bedroom. Attentive as ever, he clocked you eyeing up your luggage, “We can unpack a little later.”

“You already know me too well,” you said, shaking your head as Toto laughed, leading you back down the landing, this time towards the main staircase. As you descended the stairs, you could hear excited chatter from the foyer before catching sight of two familiar faces, James and Cara. You felt somewhat relieved that George had not yet arrived but were still nervous as to what they could say.

“Toto! You old rascal!” James called out as soon as he spotted you both, his voice teasing. 

“Old?” Toto replied with a grin, stepping forward to greet his friends. “How was the journey?”

“Not too bad,” Cara said, wrapping her arms around you in a warm hug. “We made good time in the end, have you two been here long?”

“No, about an hour, Toto was just showing me around,” you said, turning to hug James, glad that they were here and you’d have at least two friends for the weekend.

“It’s gorgeous right?” said Cara, beaming at you and Toto. 

“Indeed,” you said, politely leaning in to greet James with a hug.

“Andreas will take your bags,” said Toto, gesturing at a sandy-haired younger man patiently waiting in the doorway. He looked just like a younger Claus and you made a note to ask Toto if he was Greta and Claus’ son.

“Thank you, Andreas,” said Cara warmly.

“We’ve put you in the room with the balcony like last year,” said Toto.

“Perfect, thank you so much Toto.” said Cara excitedly before turning to you, “It’s heaven, it has its own hot tub.”

“Ah yes, I remember that,” said James, approaching his wife, making her face redden. You hated to think what that was about and exchanged a raised eyebrow with Toto.

“Spare us the details James,” said Toto in a deadpan tone before throwing you a wink.

James chuckled and threw an arm around Cara’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep it PG. For now,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows, earning a playful nudge from his wife.

“Not on my account,” you replied, feeling more at ease. It was a relief to know that James and Cara, at least, were fully supportive of you and Toto.

Toto chuckled, pulling you to his side. “Let’s get you settled in,” he said, guiding everyone further into the house.

As Andreas handled the bags, you all moved towards the living room, settling down on the large cream sofa as Toto set about pouring drinks in the bar area.

“So,” James began, stretching out and making himself at home, “What’s on the agenda for this weekend, Toto? Skiing? Apres? Or are we just here to relax and enjoy the view?”

Toto smiled, glancing at you before responding. “Whatever you want James, but mostly to switch off and relax..”

“I like the sound of that,” Cara said, curling up next to her husband. “It’s been a hectic few months. A little downtime is exactly what you guys need.”

You nodded in agreement, knowing that Toto had been working flat-out, as had the rest of the team.

As you all chatted, the doorbell rang, meaning more guests. Toto squeezed your hand gently, reassuring you as he got up to go and greet them.

“Here we go,” you murmured to Cara, who gave you a supportive smile.

Toto returned with Marion and John in tow, the older couple lamenting the cold weather. Marion’s eyes lit up when she saw you and she immediately rushed over to hug you.

“It’s so good to see you!” Marion exclaimed, pulling you into a warm embrace. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

You smiled, relieved by her enthusiasm. “It’s good to see you too, Marion. How have you been?”

“Oh, you know, the usual,” she laughed. “But we’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

John gave you a friendly nod, clearly more reserved. “Nice to see you again,” he said, shaking your hand.

“Good to see you too.” you blushed, knowing that John was likely privy to what had happened between yourself, George and Toto and must have felt as awkward as you did.

“Come, sit down, let me get you a drink,” said Toto, chiding John and Marion as they lingered in the living room.

“I’ll help.” offered John, looking unsure about sitting without Toto.

“Thank you,” said Toto as the two men busied themselves at the bar.

You settled back down on the plush sofa with your wine in hand, now beside Marion, who had just been handed her own glass by Toto. Edging closer, the older woman turned to you, her eyes glinting with curiosity. “So...you and Toto, huh? I have to say, I didn’t see that one coming. I know things with George were tense in the Summer but Toto…?”

You sighed, laughing nervously, “Me neither, but he’s just… different.”

Marion raised an eyebrow as she took a sip. “Different, how? In that he’s a man, not a boy?”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t deny the truth in her words. “It’s not just that,” you admitted. “He listens to me, if I tell him something, he remembers.”

“That’s important,” Marion nodded. “And rare. I was shocked- I have to say but you look much happier than you did in the Summer and that’s all that matters.” She smiled warmly before adding with a wink, “Plus, I’ve never seen him like this with anyone. You must have done something right.”

You laughed, grateful for her kind words and lack of judgment. Before you could respond, the sound of a car pulling up outside grabbed your attention. You exchanged a glance with Toto, who having poured everyone drinks had just returned to his vacated seat, both aware of who had just arrived. Your stomach tightened as the familiar hum of voices grew louder from the foyer.

“Here we go,” you muttered under your breath as Toto got up once more to greet the final group of guests.

“Is this not going to be awkward?” asked Marion, sipping her wine beside you.

“You don’t even know half of it,” you said resignedly.

“What do you mean?” asked the older woman, intent on gathering the scoop.

“It’s complicated…” you started before Cara chimed in.

“George turned up on her doorstep drunk the other night and declared his love for her. Toto then turned up for a date while George was there and they exchanged some… let’s say words.” Cara said, her eyes gleaming, “All very Bridget Jones.”

“Shit,” said John and Marion in unison, not having been privy to the full situation.

“I knew George and Toto were off with one another,” muttered John, “You were there James, at that meeting last week?”

James leant forward, seemingly less comfortable gossiping about his colleagues and choosing his words carefully, “Yes. I know they were at each other but I thought it was because of the Summer, not that there were more recent developments.”

As the older couples openly discussed your love life you wished you could shrink back into the sofa and disappear. Toto had brushed off your questions about the workplace dynamic between him and George and you wondered if this weekend was his attempt at rebuilding their relationship.

“Did Toto not say anything to you?” asked John.

“Not really,” you said shyly.

“Well, I’m sure it will blow over,” said Cara kindly, spotting your nervous look.

“I hope so,” you said weakly, the truth was that you were tense as you awaited George’s arrival fiddling with your wine glass idly. What would George say when he walked in? Would he ignore you, or would he… no, you forced yourself not to overthink.

Fortunately, your misery was short-lived as Toto reappeared with Sam, George’s race engineer and Darren, another engineer who was a close friend of George’s. Neither of them had brought their girlfriends and you couldn’t help but wonder why George had decided to bring someone when just a week earlier he was busy declaring his love for you.

“Hey,” Sam said, spotting you from across the room, his tone a little frostier than usual, “How’s it going?” 

As you got up to greet the two men, knowing that they were going to be less than friendly after what you had done to George, you almost missed George himself wandering in with an extremely tall and thin blonde companion on his arm. She was beautiful, in a polished, flawless way that made you feel immediately self-conscious. Her blonde hair was perfectly styled and she wore a cream ski outfit that looked like it had never seen a day on the slopes. She regarded you with the kind of polite disinterest some reserve for waitstaff, her eyes skimming over you briefly before returning to George. Still, something in the way she pursed her lips sent a cold tingle down your spine.

George’s eyes met yours briefly, a flicker of emotion passing through them. For a moment, the air between you felt charged, like something was still left unsaid and hanging heavy between you. It was, however, a blink and it’s gone moment as he quickly looked away and pulled his companion towards you.

“Hey,” he said somewhat awkwardly, “This is Elisa, Elisa, this is—” George began, but Elisa cut him off, stepping forward.

“Yes I know who she is,” Elisa said sweetly, her eyes flicking to Toto and then back to you. “I’ve heard all about you.” Her words hung in the air, sharp beneath their pleasant surface. There was no mistaking the underlying hostility. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Elisa,” you said, forcing a polite smile. You decided it was best to take the high road. 

Elisa’s lips curved into a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Likewise.”

“So is it your first time in Austria?” you asked, trying your best to make polite chitchat.

“No. I have been coming here to ski since I was a child.” she said coldly, “I assume it is yours?”

A little taken aback by her continuing cool demeanour, you tried your best to not let her unsettle you, “Yes, it’s so beautiful, I can’t wait to get out tomorrow.”

“Really?” said George, looking surprised, “I thought you hated ski-ing.”

“I don’t hate it, I’m just not any good at it,” you said, trying not to make things even more awkward with Elisa.

“Hmm.” said George, unconvinced, “Well it’s nice to see you. I had better introduce Elisa to the others.”

You nodded as George and Elisa made their way over to where James, John, Cara and Marion were huddled, chatting animatedly. As you stood alone you suddenly felt very out of place but as luck would have it, a hand gently tapped you on the arm and as you turned you were relieved to see Toto and Greta.

Toto must have read your face like a book as he remarked, his voice quiet, “It was always going to be awkward. But better to rip it off like a bandaid. We’re going to have George in our lives for a long time.”

As awkward as you felt in the moment, you knew Toto was right and you were somewhat buoyed by the fact that he was thinking about the future. You nodded and sighed as Greta shot you a look of sympathy, “Don’t worry, once everyone is settled, we are going to show them to their rooms so they can get ready for dinner.”

Smiling at the kind older woman, you were grateful that she too seemed to understand how uncomfortable you felt. Toto had obviously filled her in on the situation and explained the strange group dynamic.

“Hey boss,” came a voice from behind you. It was Sam, “Thanks again for inviting us!”

“That’s quite alright,” said Toto politely, “I hope it makes up for my garage outbursts.”

“One hundred per cent,” said Sam brightly, finishing his wine in a gulp before looking pointedly at you, “Although these last few months you’ve been less grumpy.”

Toto looked less than amused at Sam’s cheeky comment, bristling at the younger man’s words, “Perhaps,” he replied starchily.

Looking suitably chastised, Sam dropped his grin before stepping back slightly, “Well, I guess I should go and say hi to the others.”

“That wasn’t awkward at all,” you said, looking up at Toto.

“Indeed.” said Toto, looking weary before dropping his voice, “I should have explained that George asked me if he could invite his friends from the team and I said yes because I felt guilty if he didn’t have anyone. Then last week he asked if he could bring one more person, Elisa, and by that point, I couldn’t uninvite them.”

“Oh.” you said, “That makes sense.”

Toto grimaced as he saw George, Sam and Darren huddled in chatter, muttering “I knew it, I’m too nice.”

You and Greta laughed in unison, knowing full well that no one would ever accuse Toto of being too nice. 

“Why are you laughing?” he asked, looking perplexed.

“No reason.” you said, squeezing his hand, “I’m just messing.”

“I hope so.” Toto said, slipping his arm around your waist, “Okay, let’s gather everybody, Greta.”

FRIDAY EVENING

Having successfully gathered the group to be shown to their rooms by Greta and Andreas, you and Toto had since retired to the master suite to unpack while the guests settled in. There had been grumbles from John and Marion when they discovered that James and Cara had already been given the room with the hot tub, but Toto reminded them that there were always alternative bedrooms with bunkbeds, which quickly silenced them. 

Much to your amusement, George and Elisa had to share a bathroom with Sam and Darren, something which had seemed to rile up the starchy blonde. 

“Did you purposefully give George and Elisa the shared bathroom room?” you asked Toto as you emptied your suitcases.

Toto grinned, hanging a shirt beside you, “Maybe.”

“You are a very naughty man,” you said, tickled by Toto’s surprisingly petty streak. 

"Well, I didn’t hear any complaints from you," he teased, hanging another shirt in the wardrobe.

You laughed, before broaching a more serious topic, "Touché. The thing is, I know it’s weird circumstances but Elisa gives me the heebie jeebies. She did not like me at all, straight off the bat”

Sensing your shift in tone, Toto set down the jumper he was unfolding and came over to stand beside you, his hand resting gently on your back. "Perhaps, but you have to remember, everything she knows about you is from George’s perspective." His voice was low and reassuring. "You don’t need to be best friends with Elisa but as long as George feels fine, we will be fine.

You sighed, leaning into his touch, but a frown tugged at your lips. "Yeah, I guess you’re right. He looks okay.”

Toto nodded, "I hope so, after his… blip." He paused as if remembering George’s final outburst in your flat. "Thank you for coming and putting up with this, I know it’s not easy, but I need the team to be tight for next season.”

“I’m happy to be here,” you said brightly. It was the truth, however weird the situation was, you were grateful that Toto liked you enough to include him in his inner circle.

“I hope so,” said Toto, “Maybe if you like it, we can come back for New Year, just us?”

At that, your eyes lit up, the prospect of a romantic New Year with Toto was more than tempting, “I’d love that.” 

"Then it’s done," Toto said, kissing the top of your head. "Now come on, let’s head down to dinner before everybody wonders what’s taking us so long."

– – –

Making your way back downstairs to the dining room, hand in hand with Toto, you were greeted by the mouthwatering scent of Claus’s cooking wafting from the dining room. “That smells incredible,” you said to Toto, your eyes lighting up.

“I told you he’s good,” replied Toto as he led you to where the dining table was set, laden with candles and elegant crystalware, somewhat at odds with the rustic cuisine. Claus had prepared what looked to be a veritable feast of Austrian mountain dishes, with Greta assisting, ladling Glühwein from the large pot you’d seen simmering on the stove earlier.

Your guests were already seated and making polite small talk amongst themselves, but as soon as you and Toto entered, you could feel the shift in the atmosphere. George, Sam and Darren stopped talking almost immediately whilst Elisa shot you another cold glance. Her posture was stiff, her eyes fixed on some point beyond the room as if she were too good for the company she found herself in. George sat next to her, looking more withdrawn than usual, his jaw clenched as he stopped mid-conversation.

Thankfully John broke the tension quickly, “There he is, the man of the hour!” before adding, “And the woman!”

Toto laughed “Have you already been at the Glühwein?”

“Of course he has,” chimed in Marion, elbowing her husband in the ribs as you and Toto took a seat opposite them.

“Why am I not surprised?” muttered Toto, shaking his head in faux horror, “Are you all happy with your rooms?”

Resounding yes’ came back, although you couldn’t help but notice Elisa nudging George at the other end of the table. Having been with him for so long, you knew from his dark look that he was not thrilled but was biting his tongue. You wondered if he was trying to be on his best behaviour with Toto as it was not like him to keep his feelings in. Toto hadn’t seemed to notice but you made a mental note to keep an eye. You wondered why he had even brought Elisa as he didn’t seem overly enamoured with her, but you supposed it wasn’t your place to worry. 

“Any problems, let me know,” said Toto before gesturing at the food in the centre of the table, “And most importantly, bon appetit!”

As the table came alive with plates and utensils clinking, arms suddenly scrambled and you weren’t sure where to start. Fortunately, Toto noticed your reticence and took your plate, “Here, my arms are longer, what would you like to try?”

“A bit of everything I guess,” you said, amused when you saw that George was watching Toto and started to do the same thing for Elisa.

“Here you go,” Toto said kindly, setting a heavily laden plate down in front of you, having lived up to his promise.

“Toto!” you exclaimed, “That is way too much!”

“That’s what she said,” came a voice sniggering from your side, low enough for you to hear but not Toto. You turned to shoot Darren a dirty look, “Grow up.” you said, not amused by George’s friend’s comment.

Toto raised his eyebrow as he heard your retort but didn’t say anything, now helping himself to an equally healthy portion of Claus’ cooking.

You could see Elisa fussing across from you, not happy with George’s serving skills. Something was off with her but you tried to not dwell on it and focus on the man beside you instead.

Snapping you out of your internal thoughts, Darren turned once again to you, his voice now just loud enough to draw the attention of the table, "So, what’s it like dating the boss?"

"Yeah," Sam chimed in, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Do you two talk about spreadsheets and racing strategy over breakfast, or?" He trailed off as if waiting for someone else to join in.

You shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Toto. You saw his jaw tighten for a brief moment, but he quickly regained his composure. "No spreadsheets at breakfast," Toto said evenly, his voice calm but with an undercurrent of authority that made Sam and Darren hesitate. "But if you’re curious, we can schedule a meeting to discuss it after the Winter Break."

The table went quiet for a second, before John and James laughed, appreciating Toto diffusing the situation. Still, you could feel George’s eyes on you from across the table, his expression unreadable.

"Oh, come on, leave them alone!" Cara said with a playful grin. "They have better things to do than talk shop.”

She winked at you and while her teasing was intended to lighten the mood, it only seemed to irritate George further. He shifted in his seat, his glass clattering against his coaster a little too forcefully. Elisa, noticing his reaction, narrowed her eyes and gave you a pointed look, her lips curling into a faint smirk as if she found the whole thing highly amusing. You smiled back at her, trying not to let her rile you up.

Toto leaned over and whispered in your ear, his voice low. "Ignore those guys. They’re just bored."

You nodded, forcing a smile as the conversation around the table shifted to the plans for skiing the next day.

– – –

Just as the laughter around the table started to feel natural again, the lights flickered dramatically and then went out entirely, plunging the room into near darkness. There was a collective gasp, followed by murmurs of confusion. Almost immediately Toto grabbed your hand, instantly reminding you of the power outage on the yacht all those months ago.

“Well, this is cosy,” Marion said. 

“Maybe it’s just the weather,” John suggested, but as you peered out the window, you saw nothing but swirling snow, the mountain outside completely engulfed by the storm.

“Looks like we’re having a candlelit dinner, whether we like it or not,” Toto quipped, his voice cutting through the whispers.

“Romantic, huh?” John added with a laugh, trying to keep the mood light.

"Indeed, but maybe it's more than just the weather," Toto murmured beside you, his voice calm but with an edge of concern. He stood up, squeezing your hand once more and addressed the group. "Everyone stay here. I'll check with Andreas to see what’s going on."

As he stepped away, you heard a few nervous laughs ripple through the table. The flickering candles provided a soft glow, barely illuminating the faces around you. You could just about make out Elisa in the semi-darkness, looking somewhat less irritated now, her eyes darting toward George, who was uncharacteristically quiet.

John, always the entertainer, clapped his hands together. "Well, if we're snowed in, at least we've got food and wine!" He reached for the Glühwein pot, pouring himself another glass, “Anyone else?”

Marion chuckled, "Don’t mind if I do.”

“Didn’t this happen on Toto’s yacht too?” asked Cara.

“It did!” said John, with a laugh “Somebody hasn’t been paying their power bills.”

“And who would that be?” came a bemused voice from the doorway. Toto was back.

“Some Wolff man?” retorted John, nervous laughter ringing through the group. 

“I’ll have to find him and have a strong word,” said Toto, coming back to his seat. 

Elisa crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "How long do you think the power will be out?" she asked, her voice sharper than it needed to be. You could tell she wasn’t as comfortable with the situation as she was pretending.

Toto replied, his expression serious, "The storm’s knocked out power for the whole area. Andreas is already working on getting the backup generator running, but it could take a while."

George sighed, rubbing his temples. "Of course." He glanced at Elisa, who shot him a withering look. Even in the low light, it was obvious they were both on edge.

“Relax George,” said James, “We don’t need electricity to have a good time.”

“You know, this reminds me of those old-fashioned dinners.” John added, “The kind where people actually talk to each other.”

“Yeah,” Cara agreed, “It’s not all bad. We’re not just staring at our phones.”

You caught Elisa’s eye as she glanced around the room, clearly uncomfortable. You decided to take a chance and try to bridge the gap. “So Elisa, you mentioned you ski a lot? Where do you normally go?”

Elisa looked slightly taken aback but seemed to soften a bit. “Yes, I grew up skiing. Mostly in Zermatt, sometimes in Lech.”

Not clued up on ski resorts, Toto saved you, “Nice, which do you prefer?”

Elisa warmed up as she seemed to appreciate you both taking an interest “Actually Lech, the food is better.”

Toto laughed, “That’s the correct answer, not that I am biased.”

You smiled politely, hoping to keep the conversation flowing. “That’s interesting, I’ve always found trying new food to be one of the best parts of travelling.”

George, who had been virtually silent, chimed in. “One hundred percent! Do you remember that mad restaurant in Brazil?”

Fuck. Elisa’s face dropped. Why did George have to bring up the past, even if it was seemingly innocent?

“Which one was that?” asked Toto, oblivious to George’s faux pas.

“Oh, it was just me and George.” you said, hoping to end the conversation there, “We got brave and ventured out.”

“I remember.” Sam said, unable to resist stirring the pot, “We thought you’d been kidnapped.”

“Not a racist stereotype at all…” you muttered. Sam was starting to irritate you.

“But we survived hey?” said George, “I’ll have to take you there next year Elisa.”

“Lovely,” said Elisa flatly, her frosty demeanour returning. You tried to shoot a warning look across the table at George but you knew your efforts were futile in the poor light. For someone so intelligent, sometimes he really could be dense.

Fortunately, Cara and Marion had already started discussing more about tomorrow’s plans and your worries were once more drowned in idle chatter.

– – –

With dinner winding down, Claus having served an equally generous dessert, the lights were still not back on. Toto had disappeared for a while to investigate further and shortly returned, addressing the group, “Andreas is still getting the generator up and running. In the meantime, how about we make the most of it? We can head to the games room and play some backgammon and have some drinks if you’d like?”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Marion said, her eyes lighting up. “I haven’t played backgammon in ages!”

“I’m game,” John agreed with a grin. “But I warn you, I haven’t lost a backgammon match in… well, let’s say a long time.”

James chuckled, “That’s a bold claim. Just don’t let it go to your head. I remember last time you got so cocky, you almost flipped the board.”

John winked. “That’s the strategy. Get them thinking about my ego instead of their game plan.”

Toto rolled his eyes, “I suppose I should expect a full-scale rematch then?”

James nodded. “Oh, absolutely. And don’t think I’m going easy on you, Toto.”

Meanwhile, you were chatting with Marion, Cara and Elisa, trying to keep things light.

Marion took the opportunity to steer the conversation. “So, Elisa, do you have any favourite board games, or is it just skiing and fine dining for you?”

Elisa smiled, “Actually, I enjoy a good board game now and then. Monopoly, Clue, the usual. I am not great at backgammon though.”

“Rubbish!” interjected George, “You beat me all the time.”

“Maybe you’re not that great?” countered Cara, the older woman smiling, earning a laugh from Elisa. She was most definitely warming up.

– – –

As the group made their way to the games room, the atmosphere felt lighter. John and James were already debating the rules of backgammon, while Toto was busy setting up the board. The room filled with the sound of cheerful chatter and clinking glasses, the earlier tension slowly melting away.

Eventually, John leaned over the backgammon board, contemplating it with a mock-serious expression. “Alright, let’s get this started. And just so everyone knows, I’m not playing for fun. I’m playing to win.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? I’m not so sure about that one.”

Toto, who had just finished setting up, grinned. “Careful, James, he is good.”

George, finally getting into the competitive spirit, added with a smirk, “Don’t worry, I’ll be the one to put John in his place.”

Elisa, now more relaxed, sat down next to Marion, who was watching as John and James took their seats opposite each other, Toto and Sam beside John and George and Darren beside James. “I’ve missed this,” Marion said, looking at the board with nostalgia. “It’s nice to see them getting along again.”

Cara nudged you playfully. “Indeed.”

As the game progressed, the men’s competitive spirits were evident. John and James were locked in a fierce head-to-head, throwing playful taunts as each move was made. “Did you see that?” John exclaimed, looking triumphant.

James rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Let’s see how you handle my next move.”

George, who was actively engaged, started whispering in James’ ear. Likely discussing his next strategic move.

As the evening wore on and the laughter and chatter continued, it never failed to make you laugh at how competitive these guys could be outside of work. Even Elisa couldn’t fight laughter at some of George’s more creative burns. Eventually, as the majority of the group had played, the evening was naturally drawing to a close.

Sensing this, Toto glanced around the room with a warm smile. “How about we call it a night? I think we’ve all earned some rest. It’s an early start tomorrow remember.”

The group amiable to his suggestion, the backgammon board was carefully packed away for another evening and the group slowly dispersed. Bidding the last of his friends goodnight, Toto took your hand and led you back to your room. The storm outside still raged and the power was yet to come back but Andreas had assured you all that it would be back imminently. 

– – –

Settling into bed with Toto’s arms around you, the lack of electricity and whirling storm outside brought memories flooding back of the night when the power cut out on Toto’s yacht and you’d found yourself pressed up against him in a cupboard. It had been the first time you’d considered that he might reciprocate your crush, his body betraying him as you’d found yourself nestled against him in close quarters. 

"You know…" you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you tilted your head up to look at him. "This kind of reminds me of that night on the yacht."

Toto’s hand, which had been tracing lazy circles on your back, paused. A low chuckle escaped him, and he glanced down at you with a knowing look. "The cupboard," he said, amusement in his voice. “When you accidentally ended up pressed against me, half-naked?”

You smirked, your fingers tracing his arm that was draped over you. “Accidentally?” you teased back. “I seem to remember you pulling me in there. I had no choice in the matter.”

“To keep you safe from things flying around the boat,” Toto said, eyes glinting with mischief. “Though I’ll admit, it didn’t exactly feel like the safest situation after a while.” His gaze dropped to your lips for a second and the air between you thickened.

You shifted slightly, turning to lie across his chest, your thigh brushing his body under the sheets. “Mmm, I do remember you being a little… distracted.” You ran your hand down his bare chest, feeling his muscles tense under your touch, desire in your voice.

Toto groaned softly, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, "Is that how you remember it?" His tone was smooth, but there was a flicker of heat in his eyes. "I recall you being the one pressed so close against me that neither of us had much of a choice.” 

A soft laugh escaped you as you tilted your head, giving him better access as his lips skimmed down your neck. “It was a tight space. What did you expect?” you whispered, feeling the heat between your bodies growing with each touch.

Toto’s mouth hovered just above your skin, his breath warm, sending shivers down your spine. “I expected us to talk about it afterwards,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “but we never did.”

You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze, your heart racing as you saw the intensity in his eyes. “Maybe I didn’t want to talk about it,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I liked the tension.”

His lips quirked into a smile, his hand slipping under the covers, fingers ghosting over your bare skin. “Did you now?” he murmured, leaning towards you until your lips were barely an inch apart. “What about now? Should we talk about it? Or should we do something about it?”

Your breath hitched and before you could respond, Toto’s lips met yours, slow at first, teasing, but quickly deepening with an intensity that made your heart pound. His hands roamed over your body as if making up for all the time you’d spent dancing around each other in the past.

“You’re not flustered this time?” you whispered, your voice filled with a hint of playfulness as you broke the kiss for a moment, catching your breath.

Toto smirked, his hand sliding up to cup your face as he looked into your eyes, his gaze dark and full of heat. “Oh, I’m flustered,” he admitted, his thumb brushing your lower lip. “But I’m not letting it stop me this time.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his body pressing against you. You murmured between kisses, “I’m glad we’re not stuck in a cupboard this time.”

Toto let out a low laugh, pulling back just enough to look down at you, his eyes dark with desire. “I’ll admit, this is much better,” he said, his voice husky as his fingers traced your curves.

You bit your lip, your heart racing as his hands worked their way lower, his touch setting every nerve on fire. “So... you’re not planning on stopping this time?”

Toto’s gaze flickered with hunger, his lips grazing the corner of your mouth before trailing down your neck. “Not unless you want me to,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin, sending shivers racing down your spine.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as he kissed down your collarbone and you tugged him back to face you, your voice low and teasing. “I wish you’d just taken me in the cupboard.”

Toto groaned softly against your lips, pulling you closer, his hands gripping your hips as if he never wanted to let go. “God, I wish I had. It would have been so easy, with you in that little nightdress,” he breathed, his voice thick with desire. 

“It’s okay,” you said, letting go fully, “You can make up for it now.”

His lips found yours again, and you quickly lost yourselves in a tangle of limbs, the storm outside almost forgotten as you both melted into each other.

Taglist: @prettiest-at-the-party @noooway555 @annewithaneofthegreengable  @xoscar03 @totowolfffcheco @justzluv @kravitzwhore @bborra @a-beaverhausen@amandadesantasworld @formulaal

[sugarcreambiteskingdom]

Excuse me can I have poly relationship fic about the 5 beast cookies with male!reader living together please

Star Anon ⭐

Cream Oreo Cookie: One word...CHAOS

Shadow Milk Cookie:

He is the type of roommate who always gets everyone annoyed by there endless story and tends to do pranks on you and everyone in the palace

He will always will annoy everyone with his endless puns

He will always drag everyone to watch his puppet shows

And since your male...you alongside Burning Spice Cookie and Silent Salt Cookie are his BEST TARGETS for shenanigans like again...pranking but more extreme...as in it can hurt someone...but your a mild exception since your just a regular cookie

He will still prank you just to annoy you from time to time by hiding your items or swapping your food with liquid or liquid with solid foods

If your the first one to sleep he will definitely write on your face...your lucky if it wasn't permanent

Mystic Flour Cookie:

She is the "Parental" Cookie in the group and made sure everyone is in line and doesn't get too cut up with there antics

She tends to be more quiet but once she's angry everyone will shut up

She doesn't talk that much unless it was important or if it's just you she needs to talk to...

She's the type of parent who's patient but once that patient was emptied then all hell will break lose

And you alongside Silent Salt Cookie are the only ones who gets to calm her down and the only Male Cookie's she can tolerate unlike the other 2...

Burning Spice Cookie:

SPAR!!!!

He will always ask you to spar with him every single day and if you say "No" you can't because it's either Spar with him or he will play hide and seek with you and his ALWAYS the seeker...if you get caught your up for a very hard punch to the shoulder and you better endure it or walk with a broken arm if you can

His just doing this for your own good...you have to be STRONG and so you'll learn how to protect yourself more easily from enemies

Though he will give you some days off since your dough is still fragile and you still need rest after all...

Eternal Sugar Cookie:

Your there errand boy...

There too lazy to do anything okay? Stop complaining and just do what she tells you to do

Your there to help them do the things they're too lazy to do which is to get there cloud bed to be pushed around...or if she wants a drink or need to tell the other beasts something

It annoys you and whenever you tell them "No" they will pout and whine which won't stop since you've tried that and it never worked Unfortunately so...yikes...

They only lets you into his room and not the others because they trust you more than the others if they're quite honest

Although because of your work they do tell you some secrets from here about repay you by telling everything and anything and even...the other 4 Beasts secrets...

Silent Salt Cookie:

He also Spar with you at times but not much like Burning Spice Cookie

He only mostly play chess with you or any bored games that doesn't require any needed voice either that or he'll just use sign language to talk to you unless you know them

He also loves to collect weapons and show them off to you

He even lend you one but you just have to make sure to not let the other Beasts Cookie's knows t was him who gifted it to you if not he will never hear the end of it from his fellow beasts

He would at times show you his techniques of sharpening your tools more quickly and clean

And he will also show you how he make his weapons(A/N: I Headcannon this Cookie to be his own smithy)

[mont-umi]

MK men finding out that reader has a very high spice tolerance.

Includes: Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, Johnny, and Syzoth.

Bi-Han

This man was just casually roaming around the temple trying to also find his certain lover. He then notice a silhouette near the kitchen and there he finds you eating a bowl of ramen. "What are you eating there snowflake?" The cryomancer asked as he stepped close to your shivering form. "Eating a hot bowl of ramen. It's freaking cold in here." You sneezed a bit as you sip more of the savory soup and it helped you warmed up. "Who made this for you?" He grabs the bowl from her and observes the delicious meal on his hand. "I did, no one was around the kitchen so I had to provide for myself." Nods at herself and watches as Bi-Han took a sip of her food and eventually the cryomancer ended up frozen in his place and puts down the bowl to a nearby table. "Next time warn me if the spice of your food would be like this." Grabs a nearby water and freeze the cup before drinking it. "Well I never thought you wouldn't eat it han'er." Grabs the bowl before sipping it back again. "how can you handle such a strong spice?" His words just made you giggle and went back to your spicy treat.

Kuai Liang

This man was laying down beside you as both of you spend your time talking about your jobs or simply reading a book. Kuai noticed you munching on something so he peeked and pokes your cheek. "Quite selfish for you to eat something and not offer me?" He jokingly says as he munches your cheek which made you ticklish and laugh. "Here, I got some candy tamarinds." Offers Kuai some tamarind candy which he happily have some. As he plopped the candy in his mouth and as minutes passed by. He noticed that a tingling sensation is now appearing in his mouth as he sat up and taste the flavor of the candy more. He finally realized that the candy he's eating is spicy and Nott he usual sweet flavor. "Why is this spicy?" His cute reaction made you sat up and laugh. "It's a spicy candy Kuai, be glad it's not those extra hot I always buy. It's just the mild ones." You said as you bring out the plastic bag of candy tamarinds. He was both amused and shocked to know that you can handle such spice "I'm still in shocked to know you can handle such spice." The two of you laugh and went ahead to cuddle even more and eating all your tamarind candy.

Johnny Cage

"hey babe! Have you seen my sunglasses?" He went out to the backyard where you are grilling some good food. He saw you wearing a bikini and apron while grilling some food and he knows you aren't bothered by it since you're used to grilling and cooking foods half naked or even naked. (it will be mention someday ahem!) And there he saw you grilling food while wearing his sunglasses and blasting some music on Alexa. He went behind you and hug your waist while kissing you shoulder. "You look hot in my sunglasses as always." The man noticed a covered bowl and went to open it and saw some raw meats and veggies soaking in a very pungent and eye watering marinate making him pull away. "Goddamn it babe! What the hell was that?!" The man coughs and tears up as he is now 7 feet away from you and the marinate. You just let out a laugh and smiles "this is only for me or unless some of our friends want to get a taste of it too." You smiled at him. "Look babe as much as I love you. Cover that up and make sure you put that 7 feet away from me." He just made you laugh out loud and hides the marinated raw foods away from him and goes back to grilling as the poor man just head inside the mansion.(heads up they bought a new and cheaper mansion will also be mention someday.)

Syzoth

Honestly this man can eat anything as long as it's edible he will be okay with it. And now this man is helping you cook dinner you both noticed that the food needs some chili. So you went to grab a hefty amount of chili that you had a hard time holding it. "Do you need help with that darling?" He quickly grabs the Chilies for you and puts it on the counter top. "This is quite a lot. Are you sure you can handle this?" He looks at you worriedly. "Yeah! These chilies aren't even enough for me." Smiles at Syzoth who just has his eyes widen and looks at the chilies before back to you before letting out an amused laugh. "Looks like I need to learn more about my darling. And I am impressed with your spice tolerance." He comes and kisses your cheek before the two of you went back to cooking dinner.

[wreckedandpolemic]

what baking can do - matty healy

(mdni) in which you try your hand at baking for your husband, but he comes home early and ruins you the surprise. part of the white and gold universe and promptober75 2024. 2922 words

warnings: unprotected sex, slight degradation, praise, mild dumbification, breeding kink, slight cumplay, a very inappropriate use for whipped cream lol

You’re humming to yourself, singing along to the song playing tinnily out of your phone’s speakers when Matty comes home. “Oh! Hi,” you gasp, setting the mixing bowl down on the kitchen counter so you can fold yourself happily into his arms. “Is it six already? I must’ve lost track of time.”

Matty kisses the top of your head, pulling you close with a relieved little sigh. “Hi, gorgeous. Nah, it’s just gone five, my last meeting got cancelled. Had a fucking shitter of a day, though,” he adds, cool palms cupping your cheeks as he leans down to kiss you.

“Oh, baby, I’m sorry. Are you feeling alright?” you say, eagerly returning his kiss, long and sloppy with tired affection.

He smiles, wandering a hand down to grab your ass. “I am now. Can’t stay mad with you around,” he adds, eyes liquid with an adoration that turns your heart to mush. “What are you making?” he asks, hooking his thumbs into the strings of your apron to hold you close.

“Pumpkin pie,” you grin, dipping your finger into the filling and holding it up to his lips. “Was supposed to be just out of the oven when you got home,” you add with a teasing little pout. Matty wraps his lips around your finger, sucking delicately and flicking his tongue in a way that’s deliberately reminiscent of how he teases your clit.

He releases your fingers with a lewd little pop and smirks down at you. “So sweet,” he says, and you can’t tell if he means the pie filling or you, but you’re inclined towards the latter. “God, I’m so lucky,” he murmurs. “Comin’ home to my gorgeous wife cooking for me, lookin’ like this?” His fingers toy with the hem of your little lace skirt, barely longer than your apron, and brush against your thigh.

You shiver, swatting him away with a smile. “Behave, or I’ll never get this finished.”

Matty shrugs, now fiddling with the top of your stocking, snapping the strap of your garter belt (okay, maybe you got yourself a little dolled up in the hopes he’d come home in this mood) against your skin. “I can live with that.”

Squirming, you carefully extricate his hand before he starts touching you properly and your mind melts. “Let me finish cooking, and you can do whatever you want while it’s in the oven, okay, Daddy?” you smirk, savouring his choked little inhale at the epithet.

Blunt nails dig into your hips, the heat of Matty’s body soaking into yours as he presses against you. “Alright, princess,” he says, stepping away as you reach up for a pair of wine glasses. “You need any help?”

You shake your head, retrieving two bottles of wine; malbec for him and rosé for you, and pour two healthy glasses. “No. Just relax and look pretty for me, okay?” you grin, taking a long sip of your wine and gazing lovingly into Matty’s eyes as he does the same.

Dumping the can of pumpkin purée into the bowl, you stir it through carefully, suddenly conscious of Matty watching you. “What?” Matty laughs, cupping your cheeks and pressing his forehead against yours.

“I can feel you watching me,” you whine, pressing your legs together when he catches your lips in a slick, messy kiss. “Stop it,” you giggle when you break apart. “I’ll never get done if you keep kissing me like that.”

Matty’s lips fall to your neck. “Like I said, princess, I can live with that.”

You roll your eyes teasingly. “You’re always telling me to be patient. S’your turn,” you pout, letting him steal one more sweet kiss before you back away to retrieve the heavy cream from the fridge. Matty’s still watching you as you cook, smiling and sipping wine and occasionally handing you spices to stir into the pie filling.

He comes up behind you as you bend to put the pie into the oven, grabbing your waist and grinding his hips against yours. “Finally,” he groans, spinning you around and untying your apron in one swift movement. “Thought you were tryin’ to break some kind of record for the longest time spent on one fucking pie,” he teases.

“Longest case of blue balls suffered by a thirty-six year old man, more like,” you retort, and he pinches your ass in response.

“Don’t be a smartarse,” Matty says, an edge of dominance tracing lightly over his tone.

You moan into his mouth as his hand slides up your skirt. “You love my ass,” you tease, lifting your apron and letting it slide to the floor. Greedily, Matty paws at your tits through your top as you kiss at his jaw and let his stubble brush your lips. He whines softly when you break away and waltz up to the fridge, confused until his eyes catch on the cool canister in your hands. “Got it for the pie, but I don’t see why we can’t open it now.”

Setting the can down, you hop up onto the kitchen table and let Matty pull your top over your head. He leans down to kiss your tits where they spill out of your bra, unhooking the garment and tossing it away somewhere over his shoulder. He picks up the can of whipped cream, presses it against your neck just to make you shiver. “Gonna make you even sweeter,” he grins, popping the lid open.

You groan. “That was awful. Don’t know why I let you have sex with me.”

“‘Cause you love me,” Matty teases in an echo of your earlier words, presses the nozzle of the can against your sensitive skin. He sprays the cream across the top of your tits, and you gasp at the coolness. “Jesus,” he mutters, pulling back a little just to stare as it starts to melt. “You’re a walking wet dream, you know that?”

His tongue runs sandpaper-rough over your skin as he laps up the cream, and you giggle and squirm under his attention. “Daddy,” you whine playfully, threading your hands into his hair as he kisses and licks at your nipple. He pulls back, eyes gleaming wickedly, and shrugs off his jacket.

Gently, Matty presses your body back against the table. “Lay down for me, princess,” he murmurs, tracing gently around the curve of your boob with one hand and sliding his jacket under your head with the other. “Good girl,” he praises, trailing featherlight touches over your hips and waist, your muscles tensing with need. “So pretty,” Matty coos, drawing a sticky line from the valley of your chest down to your waistband.

You writhe under him as he runs his tongue along your body, hands at your hips pinning you still. He looks up at you with lust-blown eyes and presses a kiss just below your belly button, laps at the skin there, laughs softly when you wrap your legs around him. “Please,” you breathe, your cunt pulsing with need. You don’t even know what you’re begging for, just melting into a desperate little puddle in Matty’s hands.

“You want me to take you to bed, sweet girl?” Nodding frantically, you reach for him and tug him in by the collar, teeth clacking together as you kiss him, deep and frenzied. “C’mere, darling, hold on,” he says, scooping you up and letting you bury your head in his neck and breathe deep as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“You smell good,” you mutter, half-dazed with lust and the blunt pain of Matty’s nails digging into your ass. A happy sigh escapes you as you fall on top of the sheets, your hands instinctively falling to pull off your skirt and panties in one motion. Matty watches you greedily, his own shirt now discarded on your bedroom floor, his familiar tattoos exposed for your viewing pleasure. “Need you,” you whine, spreading your legs to give him space to kneel between them as he tugs off his suit trousers.

Brushing a stray piece of hair out of your eyes, Matty leans down to plant a soft, affectionate kiss to your lips. “How do you want me, princess?”

“Please fuck me,” you murmur, mouth watering at the sight of his cock, flushed and dripping and beautiful. “Need you inside me, Daddy, please.” Your head swims, already picturing it so clearly you can almost feel him deep inside you, a sudden daze of thick lust enveloping you.

The memory of him buried in your ass swims to the forefront of your mind, then of his dick so far down your throat you could barely breathe, of his cum splashing on your tits. “What are you thinking about, angel? Y’miles away,” Matty says, palms rubbing circles over your body as he teases your hole with the tip of his cock.

You grin, a filthy, sleazy thing you know you’ve learnt from him. “Was thinking about you fucking my ass, Daddy,” you say as innocently as you can. He swears under his breath, mutters soft, filthy words that can’t seem to stick in your head as Matty draws slow circles over your clit and pleasure seeps stickily into your bloodstream.

“You ready for me, princess? You want Daddy to fill up this pretty, sweet cunt?” Matty coos. Jaw slack, you nod, arching desperately up towards him. “Yeah, that’s my good girl,” he says, pushing into you in one fluid motion and groaning as he bottoms out.

Whining, you clench your cunt around him, sinking your nails into the smooth, bare skin of his back. “Stay like this,” you moan. “Please. Just for a minute. I need to feel you.” Matty groans, buries his head in your neck, murmurs perfect girl into your skin. You stretch, pleasure coiling in your belly, moaning happily and luxuriating in the feeling. Pressing a hand to your stomach, you gasp as you feel his cock buried deep inside you.

Grabbing Matty’s hand, you rest it in the same spot, smiling stupidly up at him. “Shit,” he breathes. “I’m in your fucking guts, princess, fuck,” he groans, cock twitching inside you as he fights to stay still and not thrust messily into you. The vulgar words wash over you, dripping between your legs and grinding what was left of your brain into dust. “Such a good little slut for your Daddy, yeah? Always take my cock so well, baby. Y’look so pretty full of me, wish i could keep you all cockdrunk and happy like this all the time.” Long, calloused fingers trace over your cheek, electricity sparking between your skin.

“You feel so good,” you groan, rocking your hips up against his. “I almost don’t even wanna fuck, feels that good just like this. Almost,” you giggle, locking your legs around Matty’s waist to urge him to move.

He starts a slow, sweet pace, eyes wide with adoration as your own roll back in your head. “That’s my good little girl,” he murmurs, rolling his hips and filling you impossibly deep. “Always so pretty for me, love fucking you like this, princess.” Matty leans down, catches your lips in a messy, spit-slick kiss, moans lowly into your mouth. Gasping, his name falls from your lips in a needy whine. “Sweet, dumb little girl,” he coos, pouting down at you. “Can you open up for Daddy, baby?”

Obediently, your jaw falls open, letting Matty spit in your mouth and swallowing greedily before he even has a chance to tell you. The sticky slide down your throat makes you grin dazedly, and you clench around Matty’s cock as he keeps fucking into you. He kisses down your neck, sucks a little bruise into your collarbone as you moan into the air between you. His lips wrap around your nipple and he sucks greedily, his moan a visceral thing that rolls over you. “Perfect fucking tits,” he groans, burying his head between them and kissing at your soft skin. “Perfect cunt, perfect body, perfect fucking girl.”

Thick, calloused fingers trail down your body, a burst of dizzying pleasure coursing up your spine when they find your clit. “Daddy, please,” you whine, rolling your hips up to meet him. Ecstasy floods your body, your cunt pulsing around Matty as you writhe under him.

“Please what, princess?” he teases, rubbing tight little circles into your sensitive nerves. “You gotta tell Daddy what you want, yeah?” You whine, pouting up at him until he kisses you, moaning happily when his tongue sweeps greedily into your mouth. “You wanna cum for me, darling?”

Nodding helplessly, you arch up towards him. “Yeah. Please. Need you to make me cum, Daddy, wanna make you cum, want you to make me yours, fuck,” you whine, pleasure coiling tight in your belly. Matty slams into you so hard you can barely breathe, rough pace utterly foreign from the gentle, sweet smile on his face.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “Whenever you’re ready, princess.” Pure, molten desire drips down your spine, pooling between your hips and dripping out onto the mattress. Matty kisses your neck, pinching your clit harshly and hitting your g-spot in the same split-second, and you’re fucking gone. You wail his name, echoing off the walls as your cunt pulses around him and ecstasy hammers between your legs. Eyes rolling back in your head, you ride it out, helpless under Matty’s deep thrusts.

An overstimulated whine falls from your mouth as Matty slumps on top of you, slack lips finding yours as he groans through his orgasm. “Fuck, so fuckin’ good, princess. Takin’ Daddy’s cum so well, darling, that’s it,” he moans, lifting his fingers, still wet with you, to his lips and sucking pornographically. “Taste so good, baby,” Matty sighs.

Pouting as Matty pulls out, you curl into his arms, sweaty and sated. “Love you. M’sorry you had a shitty day,” you say, giggling as he presses a kiss against your forehead.

He grins down at you. “Love, if you think I give a shit about what happened at the fucking office anymore…” Matty teases, tracing his fingers over your hips and wandering his hand down to your ass. “Y’so fucking beautiful, baby. Always take me so well, look so good full of my cum. Drive me fuckin’ crazy, pretty girl.”

Matty’s fingers are skating over your swollen, messy cunt, and you catch his lips in a sloppy kiss as desire drips out over his hand. “You can finger it back into me. I know you want to. Keep me nice and full, make sure I’m knocked up, yeah?” you breathe against his lips. 

“Jesus, princess,” Matty murmurs, slowly filling you with two thick fingers. “Such a little cumslut, god. Y’love Daddy’s cum, huh?” Nodding helplessly, you let a wave of pleasure overtake you, riding it out until you regain the strength to speak.

“Mhmm. But… m’serious, too.” Matty makes a soft, curious noise. “I wanna have your baby. Not right now, but… soon,” you murmur, biting your lip in trepidation at your confession.

Matty’s lips part in awe, eyes shining like you hung the moon. “God, every time I think you couldn’t get more perfect,” he groans, burying his head in your neck and sucking a harsh bruise into the skin there. “Are you sure?” he adds, rubbing softly over your belly like he’s imagining it already.

You whine as his thumb swipes over your sensitive clit, your cunt throbbing around his fingers. “Yeah. M’gonna— fuck— gonna come off the pill, n’you— shit, Daddy, please— can just keep makin’ sure I’m nice and full of you, yeah?” Ecstasy is pooling at the base of your spine, Matty’s pace slow and insistent, fucking his cum so deep inside you that it won’t drip out.

His fingers curl up, brush your g-spot, and you wail, the burst of glowing pleasure that ripples through you bone-shakingly intense. “Is that the spot, princess?” Matty teases. You gasp out something that must be an intelligible yes, because he grins down at you. “Good girl. Pretty, perfect girl. You wanna cum for Daddy, baby?”

“Please,” you whine, arching up as he crooks his fingers again and that same, mind-numbing pleasure washes over you. A few more slow thrusts and a long, messy, spit-slick kiss are all it takes to topple over the edge, a wail of Daddy spilling from your lips as euphoria floods your body. Your mind goes blank, your vision whiting out; all you can feel is Matty. His breath on your lips, his fingers still buried deep inside you, the heat of his body tangled up with yours.

A sleazy little grin paints Matty’s lips when you come to, and you stretch up to kiss it off. He lifts his fingers, still slick with both of you, to your face, gently prises your mouth open. You suck them into your mouth happily, swirling your tongue and moaning at the heady taste. “Good?” he teases.

“Try for yourself,” you giggle, rolling on top of him to press your mouth against his, licking greedily into his mouth as he takes your jaw in his palms. Panting and slightly dizzy from the lack of oxygen, you break away, curling up against him and resting your head against his chest. Your eyes slip closed as Matty traces gentle patterns on your shoulder and his heart thumps steadily, soothingly in your ear.

The sound of your smoke alarm screeching wildly snaps you out of your daze as Matty sits bolt upright. “The fucking pie!”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you. “Shit.”

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Reunion - Friends

Masterlist

Pairing: Dick Grayson x (f)reader

Tags: SFW, platonic, friends, jealousy, feelings, blood, death, crime, guilt

It's been a week since your embarrassing parting with Dick. Since then, you threw yourself into your work and studies. It was difficult to rip yourself away at first, but the longer you kept at it, the easier the routine became. Each day became structured, starting with the gym, then classes, studying, and your internship. On top of that, you and your friends always had something planned for weekends or evenings, so you were seldom bored as you were kept plenty busy.

The routine drew you back to your old self, the one that was comfortable and wasn't concerned about the intentions or treatments of some man. It felt great!

Today, you were attending your first jury duty selection. You fixed the collar of your blouse and flattened your palms down your blazer, then skirt, taking one last look in the mirror before exiting the bathroom. You were still going over the transcripts of your case as you made your way to the courtroom, not careful of where you were going. As a result, you bumped into a hard wall of muscle. "Mph!" You blinked a couple of times, adjusting to your surroundings. "Sorry!"

Said wall turned around to face you. He wore a brown leather jacket over a black t-shirt, with his detective badge tucked on the side of his belt. And he smelled like old spice, all six feet three inches of him. Your friend Tony smirked down at you. "Sup dude?"

He started law school with you and then transfered to the police academy when he decided he wanted a more "hands on" approach to fighting crime.

You grinned up at him brightly, opening your mouth, ready to greet an old friend. But then you remembered where you were and composed your festures quickly. "Good morning, Detective Ericso-"

"Oh, don't give me that shit." Tony groaned before puling you into a bear hug. "I'm off duty. Plus, I'm still a cadet."

"Well," you looked down at your now disheveled outfit. "I'm not off duty. So I have to be Profesional." Then you smiled excitedly. "I have my first jury duty selection today."

"No shit." He snapped his fingers in an exaggerated way. "Look at you, miss lawyer!"

"I know," you channeled Monica from friends as you couldn't help but grin at him. He was always a ball of energy.

"Listen, a couple of friends are meeting at Richmond's tonight for a beer. Come with us." He said.

"I..." you began to think of your plans in the evening and came up short. "Okay, I'm free. What time."

He rolled his eyes. "Around eight. And as if you had any plans to begin with, you studious loser."

You raised your arm to smack his, but then you made eye contact with an important looking man in a suit and lowered it again. "Eight. That's when i finish my day. I'll see you there! I gotta go now."

"You better!" You heard him say as you opened the door and stepped into the courtroom.

The couple of friends Tony had mentioned turned out to be two young cadets and Dick grayson.

You froze for a mere second when you walked in through the familiar doors of the bar. It was odd, yiu realized. You expected to feel a pang of something upon seeing him, but... you felt something mild. It was not pain, just... acknowledgement. Tony spotted you and waved you over. When Dick followed his friends' gaze to you, he offered you a shy smile. Surprisingly, you were very comfortable offering him one back.

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Dick smiled suggestively at you, tilting his head in the direction of the bar. "That guys been eyeing you since we sat down."

You, along with the rest of the table, turned to see who he was talking about.

At the bar, facing your table, a group of young men in suits sat drinking beers. Finance guys, by the looks of them. Not exactly the Bruce Wayne high fashion enterage, but they could have been consultants for a big firm. One of them - a cute blond with gelled hair - saught your gaze and gave you a small nod before raising his bottle to his lips. The gesture made you smile back before turning back to the group. "He's cute."

"Go talk to him." One of the other cadets, Anna, gave you a light nudge.

"Nahh." Dick drawled, leaning back in his seat. "She doesn't have to. The guy's making his way over here right now."

And surely enough, a moment later, the blond suit showed up to your table, clearing his throat. You looked up and met his gaze.

"Is this seat taken?" He asked you, glancing to the open chair beside you.

You shook your head.

"Lucky me." The blond grinned a charming grin and sat down beside you. He had a gorgeous pair of green eyes, a chiseled jaw peppered in a three day stubble and beautiful full lips that seemed really kissable. You looked down at your heart, wondering if you were really that much of a lightweight so as to be so affected by a man.

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Dick was happy.

He was happy you were comfortable around one another again. Happy your could talk to each other and laugh together. Most importantly, he was happy that you were happy. He watched you and the finance bro chat and laugh to each other, smiling at one another's jokes, exchanging contacts. Finance bro began to brush your knee with his fingers as his gaze became a little bit more heated.

You didn't seem to mind, Dick noticed. In fact, if the slight blush on your cheeks was any indication, you enjoyed the attention. You offered him a timid smile, biting down on your bottom lip.

Dick felt his smile falter.

Oh no.

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You laughed into your wineglass as your friend Tony reached to give Dick a light smack upside the head. Dick dodged at the last minute, and Tony missed.

"Dicky, how is it possible that after that many years on Earth you've never seen Harry Potter?!" Tony asked, incredulous.

Dick shook his index finger in return. "Na uh, you don't get to judge. You haven't seen Love, Actually -"

You smiled to yourself. Of course Dick Grayson was a love, actually enjoyer. You pictured him watching the romcom and tearing up at the emotional scenes.

"Dear god!" Tony dropped his head into his hands. "Apples to oranges, man! Y/n, help me out here - oh yeah. I forgot you're busy being in love."

"You're so dramatic." You murmmered, looking at your phone. "I'm literally emailing my prof."

"Oh? A contender for finance, bro?" Dick raised his brow suggestively.

"Wouldn't you like to know." You smirked. "And 'finance bros' name is Eric."

Dick raised his hands in mock surrender for in truth. He really didn't care. He also didn't like that you called finance bro by his name. He was finance, bro. A faceless fuck. Not Eric, some guy whose name, personality and life you possibly knew.

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Dick was ready to knock Tony out if he mentioned finance boy one more time. He sat on your apartment floor, wearing an ugly Christmas sweater that you knitted him as his secret Santa.

Tony sat gleefully in his hanukah sweater that your friend got for him. He was positively drunk when he raised his half finished glass of beer and announced. "I have an announcement."

The rest of the people at your apartment went quiet, patiently waiting for Tony's next words.

The young man smiled, opened his mouth to speak, and let out a long burp. The room burst into groans and murrmers of disgust.

Dick was too busy receiving an emergency alert into his earpiece.

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Dick arrived at the bank just as the day surrendered to the night. The sky above Gotham was tinged in dark blue as the bank’s alarms blared into the street.

"I’m at the location, Oracle," he murmured into his comm.

"Roger that," Barbara’s voice came through. "Security cameras show several men in ski masks inside."

"Copy." he replied, scaling the building in silence. He scanned the scene through a window: two civilians - a mother clutching her child - and a bank teller stood cowering in the corner as the masked robbers rifled through drawers.

"Need any backup?" Tim’s voice cut in.

"Negative, Baby-bird. This’ll be quick," Dick replied, his voice steady. "Enjoy your Christmas eve."

"God, he's so sappy." His brother, Jason, groaned into the comm.

"Police are en route, Nightwing," Barbara updated.

"Thanks."

He took out his batons and moved into action, precise and controlled. This was second nature - an exercise he could do in his sleep. Within moments, he had incapacitated the leader and taken down the four remaining men, who barely had a chance to react. In under a minute, every robber was either knocked out or tied up. Just as Oracle said, the police cars pulled up a moment later. Armed officers running into the bank, followed by a stoic commissioner Gordon walking in.

"Oracle, any more assailants?" Nightwing asked, breathing a little harder as he led the mother and teller toward the exit, carrying the giggling child in his arms. The little boy poked his chubby finger against Dick’s cheek, and despite the situation, Dick found himself smiling, cooing gently to reassure him.

Then, a gunshot shattered the air. Dick froze, his heart plummeting as a horrible, familiar dread took over.

"No!" he gasped, handing the child back to his mother before sprinting toward the sound.

As he rounded the corner, he saw it: one of the police officers lay in a spreading pool of blood, a discarded gun a foot away from a handcuffed robber. The scene played out, each detail sinking deep into his mind. He couldn’t look away. But... how? He's either tied or knocked all of them out!

He stumbled to Commissioner Gordon, who was kneeling beside the officer, hands trembling slightly as he took in the fatal wound.

"Is he…" Dick’s voice caught.

Gordon stood, his expression etched with grief. Slowly, he removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, drawing in a heavy breath. "He’s gone, son."

The weight of those words felt like a punch to the gut, hollowing Dick out from the inside. This was what he fought against, what he trained his entire life to prevent - and tonight, he had failed. Despite every life he’d saved, it hadn’t been enough.

Hours later, Dick trudged back to his apartment, feeling like a ghost. The image of the fallen officer haunted him, replaying every step of the night until it blurred with exhaustion and guilt.

As he opened his fridge and reached for a beer, Batman’s voice came through his comm, quiet and firm. "Nightwing. What happened tonight wasn’t your fault."

"Yes, sir," he replied, swallowing against the lump in his throat, the words barely audible.

“Dick… I've gone over your body cam. You did a good job incapacitating them. It was just bad luck." Bruce’s voice softened.

"I know," he whispered, his grip on the bottle tightening.

A heavy silence hung between them before Bruce added, “Get some rest.”

The comm went silent, and Dick felt something inside him finally break. The weight of his grief, the frustration, the helplessness - all of it spilled over as he sank to the floor, alone in the dark, and let himself cry.

[sunhighriptide]

My Headcanons for the Spice Tolerance of various members and associates of the batfamily.

DICK: He isn't a wimp, but also not a spicy fan. Give him sweet any day. He'll eat the hot sauce from your local mexican restaurant but will avoid spicy challenges at all costs. Has been burned by Jason's food more than once. Does have a liking for sour candy.

BARBARA: Not terrible, but very much not her thing. She likes sour and occasionally bitter. She will not eat your hot sauce. Handles it much better than some, but would rather not purposefully eat pain, thank you very much.

JASON: Spice King. There is almost no food he will not try. Had a high spicy tolerance before he died, after the pit and his world travels, nothing phases him. He loves Alfred's cooking, and it will always be his comfort food, but his palette is way more adventurous. He will only tone his cooking down for Alfred and Barabara. If anyone else wants to eat his food, they can shut up and deal. He doesn't have to feed them.

I don't really have an opinion on Helena. Probably similar to Dick's.

TIM: The biggest wimp to ever wimp. His taste buds are mostly destroyed, so if you feed him spicy food, he won't notice for the first five minutes. Until he realizes his mouth is on fire and is finally distracted from whatever he is working on. The burning will linger for the rest of the day, and he won't talk to the person responsible for a week. He used to gulp water until Steph told him that makes it worse, and he should use milk instead. He figured coffee has enough milk content. Both Damian and Jason have used this against him.

STEPHANIE: Suprisingly impressive. She can nearly match Damian, and no one but Cass can tell she's dying inside towards the end of the hot sauce challenge. She once attempted to eat Jason's spiciest dish while looking him dead on before bailing to the bathroom about six seconds in. Jason never told her it wasn't quite the spicest dish he makes.

CASSANDRA: She doesn't like spicy food and is fully okay with that. Sure, she can tolerate it, but as Barbara said, why would she willingly eat pain? Jason doesn't mind because it is Cass, and she's really chill about it. He'll give her the mild version he makes for Alfred and Babs.

DAMIAN: Obviously, he can handle spicy food, how dare you insult his constitution, plebian. Nothing in the U.S. is going to trip him up, especially nothing in New Jersey, but there are spices he would rather not suffer through, though he will never admit to such a weakness.

KATE: Enjoys spicy food, but European level spicy. She can handle anything found in Italy, no problem, but Indian becomes a problem.

ALFRED: He is English. No, he doesn't like spicy food. He will never like spicy food. This is okay, we still love him.

BRUCE: It is a very good thing he has a nearly perfect poker face because Talia would never have married such a wimp. Feed the white boys (Tim and Bruce), a pepper, and watch Ra's al ghul loose all interest. That's my solution. Cannot handle the slightest spice. The grocery store mild salsa is a danger to him. Will lie to your face about it. Lives in fear of his family discovering this weakness.

[magicalbats]

Flesh-Devouring Part 2

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 20,217

Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, brat taming, forced submission, corporal punishment, non consensual spanking, thigh grinding, mutual masturbation, belt spanking, some very mild violence (reader is mostly a helpless bystander nvxcnvde), a pinch of angst for spice

A/N: okay, I promise I’ll work on the next kinktober prompt now 🙈 and also we're just gonna' pretend Wriothesley has an actual belt somewhere on his person, I eyeballed the hell out of his official art and started to doubt myself buuuuuut I was already fully committed to the bit so dvdknvgkdngg

⭐

“Good morning, your grace!” 

Looking up from the sheaf of papers in his hand, Wriothesley swivels his head around to watch you disembark from the elevator with a noticeably eager skip in your step. He quirks a brow at it and fully turns to greet you at your approach. “Good morning, little miss. You certainly seem to be in a good mood today.” 

You can’t quite keep the smile off your face as you come to a stop in front of him, practically vibrating in your excitement. “Of course I am! Todays the day I finally get to meet with some of the inmates and get started on our new program, what else would I be?” 

He smiles at that. “While your enthusiasm is quite commendable, I must remind you not to get your hopes up too much. The group that volunteered for this is a — mixed crowd, so to speak. I’m not exactly sure what sort of reaction you’re going to get.” 

Drawing a stilted breath, you square your shoulders and give him a brief nod of understanding. You knew he was just being practical and realistic as always, but you felt good about this. Optimistic. You were positive your efforts would soon pay off in a very real, very tangible way, and at last justify all the grief you’d suffered at his hands just to get here. For weeks now you’d been meeting with him, discussing, planning, organizing and fine tuning a plan of implementation, all while wrestling with your own self control where the duke was concerned. There wasn’t any use denying that you liked kissing him a great deal. In fact, it seemed to be your new favorite activity, amongst other, less wholesome things … 

Even now you could feel the urge to go up on your tiptoes so you could tug him down to your level threatening to overpower your common sense, but there were much more important matters at hand. You’d told yourself this over and over again, repeating it like a mantra to steel your resolve and keep your mind focused on matters of business instead of giving in, and it was going to pay off. Today. Here and now. You could feel it. 

“I understand, your grace. I will make sure to keep my expectations appropriately tempered.” 

Wriothesley looks at you like he doesn’t quite believe that, but he relents without further pressing you on it. His boots sound impossibly heavy on the steel plated flooring as he half turns, motioning you ahead. “Let’s be off then. Did you bring everything you need?” 

“Yes, your grace.” Clutching your worn leather carry case in hand, you fall into step beside him as he leads you down the long winding corridor. 

The Fortress of Meropide is somehow both stuffy and chilly at the same, the air thick but infused with the cool temperature bleeding in off the water that surrounds it. You’d learned your lesson the first time you came here (in more ways than one) and had opted for a light jumper over your blouse to stave off the ever present note of cold which you could take off if you got too warm. That seemed like a not far off possibility when you were internally quaking with nerves, both eager and anxious, but for now at least you just keep your attention on him while he gives you a brief rundown of who was supposedly going to show up for this little meeting he’d arranged for you. 

Sixteen inmates had signed up. Not even half of that number were finished with their sentences, the vast majority still actively serving time, and you can’t help but feel a little disappointed about that. You’d of course hoped to give those who had made the conscious decision to stay at Meropide a chance to reconsider integrating back into overworld society but you try to remind yourself that this was only the first preliminary phase of a much greater project. If things went well today, there would be plenty of time to work with the others. 

“Ah, and before I forget.” He says, sending you a meaningful look. “Someone by the name of George should be in attendance, if he bothers to show up. He’s a little rough around the edges but don’t let what he says get under your skin. He’s had his sentence extended twice now and as I’m sure you can imagine he’s a bit grumpy about that.” 

“Understood.” You give the clutch of your bag a fierce squeeze. “May I ask why?” 

Wriothesley thinks that over for a beat. “The first time was due to excessive fighting outside of the regulated channels. We have a three strikes policy here, as I’ve mentioned before. I suspect he was trying to assert himself as the top dog in his block but he ran into a bit more opposition than he was expecting, so he had to start using his fists instead.” 

“And the other?” 

“He tried to take one of the sponsor representatives hostage and use her as a bargaining chip.” 

Your eyes go big. “Oh.” 

Smiling one of those rare but incredibly flattering genuine smiles, he reaches out to lightly nudge your elbow. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there the whole time to keep everything under control and make sure nobody gets out of hand but the ball will be in your court, little miss. I’m just your guard dog today.” 

You hate the way fluster slowly creeps up your neck but you valiantly stamp it back down as you shyly avert your gaze elsewhere. “Thank you, your grace. I … I really appreciate you doing this for me.” 

“I know you do. But don’t thank me just yet. Wait until after we see what kind of response you get.” 

That gentle warning niggles at the back of your mind like the tickling whisper of sharp claws brushing your skin, and your stomach gives a little flip. You were nervous to meet with them face to face despite being excited to get started. Working in the public affairs office and spending most of your time at a desk didn’t exactly prepare you for hands-on encounters such as this, but between your unfaltering conviction and Wriothesley’s ever present cool demeanor at your side you keep your head held high. 

Up a short flight of metal steps and down another steel plated hall, you find yourself stepping into a small room that, based on the rickety old tables tightly packed into the cramped space, looked like it was perhaps largely used as a card room. You can’t help but feel a dull rush of relief at finding it yet unoccupied by anyone. Unable to fight the urge any longer, you reach out to snag Wriothesley’s sleeve and he sedately turns to look down at you. 

Shuffling closer until you were practically pressed right up against him, you offer him an imploring look as you go up on your toes. “Your grace …?” 

Something distantly sparks in his eyes and, humming softly, he carefully bends down to press his mouth to yours in an altogether chaste kiss. But even for as innocent as it is — not nearly as heated as some of the kisses you’d exchanged with him in recent memory — it still inspires a flood of warmth in you that races down your body. Sighing softly, you lean further into him and give yourself over to the stilted, hard press of his lips on yours. 

It lasts for only a brief moment though, and your lashes flutter against the apples of your cheeks when he pulls back just enough to speak. “Don’t be scared.” He tells you quietly, so gently it makes your heart wrench. 

“I’m not scared, just … nervous, is all. I think.” 

Humming quietly, he gives you another quick, lingering kiss that makes your bottom lip warble against your will. “You’ll do great. I know you will, but even if you should happen to fall I’ll be right there to catch you. Just like always, right?” 

Your face was quickly starting to become unbearably hot. Oh, how you wanted him so badly, even if he was the most confounding, frustrating man you’d ever met. “Will — will you have me later? When we’re done …?” 

Wriothesley goes still, just looking at you for a drawn out moment, but you’re a little too embarrassed to be saying something so shameful out loud to meet his gaze anymore. Flutteringly, your hand comes up to anxiously tug at the fur collar of his coat under the guise of straightening it for him, even though you really wanted to use it to tug him in against you. 

Finally, at length, he draws a carefully tempered breath. “How do you want me to have you, little miss?” 

The violent shudder that abruptly tears through you almost has you going cross eyed. “I - I’m not sure, I just … I feel like such a mess inside and everything is confusing, and I don’t know what it is exactly but I want you to — to - -“ 

“Oh, sweet girl,” He exhales slowly, and you jolt when one of his hands finds your hip. Giving it a tight, possessive squeeze to make you tremble, he drags that oppressive palm further back and around to grab a pinching handful of your ass. “Do you need me to ground you in place? Is that what you’re asking me for? Huh?” 

You sway unsteadily, feeling terribly faint when it seemed as if you were being smothered under his weighty presence. The heavy, rough calloused hand gripping your backside through the seat of your pants, the body heat bleeding off of him in waves to settle into you; the smell of him swarming your senses to settle on the back of your tongue and leave the masculine taste you’d come to recognize solely as the duke’s cloying in your throat. It was all too much. 

Much, much too much. 

Whimpering softly, you force your attention up to look in his face, still hovering mere millimeters from yours even when doing so proves to be quite the struggle. “Yes.” It’s little more than a faint whisper. “I want … I need you to reorient me. It feels like I’m — lost out at sea. I don’t know how else to describe it.” 

With a barely audible, rumbling growl, Wriothesley closes his fingers around the meat of your ass hard enough to make your breath hitch in your chest. “You need your head cleared so you can focus all that energy you have where it belongs. I’ll give you that outlet, as much as you require it. I have no problem giving you a guiding hand, little miss. You know that.” 

Your mouth warbles in a jittery smile, unable to keep it at a bay even when you try very hard to stop it from spreading across your face. You didn’t fully understand it yourself, what you were asking for or what you needed. All you’d seemed to grasp over the short time you’d known him was that Wriothesley made you feel good. Almost inexplicably so. Even when he was being infuriating and condescending towards you, even when he’d give your poor bottom a handful of stinging swats at the first sign of attitude to remind you to behave yourself, it still didn’t detract from this flutter low in your gut. There was something deeply gratifying about being with him like this, in this particular dynamic, and for as little as you know what to make of any of it, he seems to know exactly what it is you instinctively crave from him. Why you keep seeking him out this way. 

The sapphires in his eyes shutter with what you’re starting to recognize as desire in his otherwise implacable facade and he leans in again, issuing an anticipatory breath into the scant space separating you. His mouth finds yours, as sure as any compass points north, drawing a threadbare moan from the depths of your shuddering gut. You lean into him, lips carefully parting to kiss him back, and — the shuffling sound of heavy approaching footsteps echoing off the metal walls has you wrenching back from him so fast your head spins. 

Eyes going impossibly wide, you quickly slap him away in your fluster and rush to extricate yourself from his person. Chuckling softly, as if he wasn’t at all concerned about being caught in such a compromising situation, Wriothesley lets you go, but not without a playful swat to your ass when you move to brush past him. You yelp at the mild sting but keep your attention ahead as you hurry over to deposit your bag on one of the tables so you can dig in it and give your racing heart a chance to calm down. Even now you somehow manage to be surprised at how utterly unapologetic he was about everything! 

Forcing your lungs to expand on a deep, steadying breath, you listen to the approaching shuffle behind you until an unmistakable shift of occupancy in the cramped room indicated that you were no longer alone with the duke. You keep your head down just a moment longer, both to ensure you had your expression under control and to also listen to the way Wriothesley amicably greets the inmates. You’d never gotten to see him interact with them before and, rather than coming off like the strict, hardass warden you’d had a first impression of, he almost seems to talk to them like they were … friends? Or at least on friendly terms with each other. 

Could it really be that you were the only one unlucky (or lucky, depending on how you looked at it) enough to bring out that side of him? But why would that be …? 

Slowly, more people start to drift in and you have to make a concerted effort to shove those thoughts to the back of your mind so you can stay focused on what really matters. You take your time neatly organizing your stacks of papers, the forms you’d carefully composed on the typewriter in the affairs office, and make a concerted effort to greet everyone with a smile when they move away from the duke to find their seats. Some of them are rather friendly when they respond, but others simply look at you without a single word and not so much as a backwards glance. No matter, though. You didn’t exactly come here to make friends. 

All in all, only seven inmates show up. A pair of shady looking brothers, one woman and the rest are men who just disinterestedly eye you up and down with varying levels of annoyance reflecting in their eyes. You can’t quite shake the feeling that they’d expected someone a bit more impressive than the slight, eager-faced woman wearing a jumper and slacks standing before them now, and it probably didn’t help that you looked downright diminutive standing next to Wriothesley either. Oh, well. You were just going to have to try and make the best of it. 

“Hello, everyone,” You chirp, a little higher in pitch than you’d intended thanks to your jittery nerves. “It looks like we won’t be getting anyone else today, so let’s get started. I’m very excited to be working with all of you.”

Resounding, echoing silence and a wall of blank stares. 

You waver slightly, but recover admirably. “I’m from the office of public affairs, and recently I’ve been working with his grace here to come up with programs for the prison that can help or otherwise enrich the lives of the inmates here. I appreciate you taking the time out of your day to come see me, and I hope you’ll feel comfortable enough to speak freely. This preliminary meeting is first and foremost going to function as a feeler so we can get an idea of what sort of activities you'd like to see offered at the prison in the future.” 

More silence. More staring. 

You can feel your face starting to grow warm even though you’ve also broken out into a cold sweat, and you flounder for something else to say. Far be it that you’d expected them to jump for joy and lift you in the air over their heads in celebration or anything as preposterous as that, but you had anticipated at least some kind of response. What were you supposed to do when they wouldn’t even speak so much as a single word to you? It’s not like you could get anything of worth out of this if you were the only one talking. 

Suddenly, Wriothesley shifts beside you and the soft creak of his boots makes your pulse nervously jump. “I expect all of you to show our guest some respect today. I'm not sure why you would sign up for this if you had no intention of participating, so let’s get it in gear. If you have something to say, now is your chance to say it.” 

The brothers sitting nearest to you bend their heads close and exchange a quick, muffled conversation between themselves, but you’re a little too rattled by the tone of Wriothesley’s voice to make out what they’re saying. Ah, so it wasn’t just you then. Good to know. 

“What sort of activities are we talking here?” One of the men in the rear suddenly speaks up, snapping your attention back into the present. 

“O - oh, yes. We were thinking things like trade skills and daily lifestyle necessities that could give you a better sense of independence while you’re here. Things like sewing or cooking, or - -“

“Why would we need any of that?” The only other woman in the room chimes in. “Meropide works just fine as is and the system already in place provides us with all of that.”

“Well, yes, but - -“ 

“Yeah, what do I need to know sewing for when I could just as easily pass it off to someone who already knows how to do it?” One of the brothers, the larger and seemingly more cantankerous of the two, adds on, making you pull your mouth into a firm line. 

“That’s exactly why.” You assert in an equally firm voice. “The prison’s internal functionality works like a well oiled machine, doesn’t it? Why want for anything else when everything is already right where it needs to be. Just like cogs, everyone fits into their role and they fit it well. You all keep Meropide running as it should, there’s no doubt about that. But each and every one of you has a life beyond the role you take on here. You aren’t just cogs, and you aren’t just part of the greater machine. I want to give you a chance to be independent of that clockwork, even if it’s only for an hour or two each day, and remind you that there’s still something beyond these tin walls.”

You draw a steadying breath, carefully taking in the faces sitting before you. It looked like a few of them were starting to come around, or were at least curious enough to actually hear you out now, and that bolsters your courage by some margin. You could do this. You would. 

“I know how easy it is to get comfortable with the lifestyle here. His grace has taken the time to explain to me in great detail the ins and outs of the prison, how everyone lives on a schedule, what freedoms you’re allotted and what has restricted access. I’m aware that there is a great deal of self governing here in the fortress, which is precisely why I want to give you all an opportunity to deviate from that routine. It might be fun, right? Having a little bit of your old life back?” 

A few looks are exchanged between some of the inmates, a soft murmur rising up, and your heartbeat starts to quicken. Next to you, Wriothesley snorts a quiet laugh before moving back to lean against the wall, leaving you feeling strangely alone and exposed standing there by yourself. You shoot him a quick, harried glance over your shoulder but he just crosses his arms over his chest and nudges his chin at the small congregation. When you turn back around, you’re more than a little surprised to find the other woman leaning towards you in obvious interest.  

“I always wanted to be a seamstress some day.” She abruptly announces, startling you slightly. “My mother taught me when I was younger, but I never got a chance to really hone the skill. Is that really something you could arrange?” 

You swallow your nerves, hearing Wriothesley’s reminder not to get your hopes up in the back of your mind, but it was so hard not to when she was looking at you like that. You wanted to help her. More than anything else, you just wanted to give them something more to live for. 

“I believe we can. His grace and I have already reached out to a few businesses, and a few of them have expressed willingness to volunteer their services to the prison. I’m sure if everything goes well and word of mouth starts to spread, we could convince others to do the same as well.” 

“I did always want to be a chef.” The larger brother admits somewhat sheepishly, and you smile. You couldn’t help it. 

This was really working. 

It doesn’t take long to have a full dialogue going after that. Even with the one or two stragglers still wary and uncertain about introducing any real changes to the system the overall reception seems to be resoundingly positive. You talk with them, discussing what they’d like to do, what they’d like to potentially see implemented, and through it all Wriothesley just hangs back against the wall, watching over everything like a silent sentry just at your back. He even stays true to his word and lets you be in charge even when tempers seem to flare up in disagreement every so often instead of snatching the reins from you at the first sign of trouble. All it takes is a sharp look from him or a low word of warning, and everyone grudgingly settles back down, which was not something you’d expected to relate so much with them about but you do. It almost feels like a strange sense of solidarity in a way, and you were immensely glad to have him on your side like this. 

Everything goes so well, in fact, that by the time a real problem raises its head, you almost overlook it completely. The man in the far back corner hadn’t said much at all over the course of the last hour and some change, but you’d felt his burning gaze on you the whole time. He appeared to be the most opposed to the program you’d presented to the group, but you hadn’t been able to squeeze the reason out of him yet which is why you eventually defer to your hand typed forms. You’d thought it would be a good idea to have them put their thoughts down in writing in case they felt too shy to say it out loud, and you hoped your careful planning would pay off in this. 

You’re in the process of handing out the papers to everyone along with the pencils you’d brought along, slowly making your way over to him last, and he tips his head back as if in challenge at your approach. You had a sneaking suspicion who he was, of course, but you still offer him a cheerful smile as you move closer. 

“I know you haven’t said much today, but I hope you’ll share any thoughts you have on the form. It’s really helpful to have different perspectives on things like this.” You tell him, holding out the sheet. 

“Can’t write.” He rumbles, making your hand falter. 

“Oh.” You hadn’t even considered that being a possibility. “I - I’m sorry. Maybe we could see about starting up classes so you can - -“

“Don’t want em’” 

You blink at him owlishly, trying to make sense of his surly attitude, but Wriothesley calls over from the other side of the room before you can think of something to say. “Watch yourself, George. I’m not going to give you another warning.” 

Ah. So your suspicions were correct. 

You start to pull back, decidedly unnerved by the way he clearly wants nothing at all to do with you, but then you see the look that flashes across his eyes. Like a street hardened dog that was ready to bite in retaliation. You almost hate yourself for it, but your heart irreparably softens and you turn your head to send Wriothesley a reassuring look. “It’s alright, your grace. I don’t mind.” 

He begins to open his mouth to say something but you whip your head back around, speaking before he can further insert himself into the conversation. 

“Please don’t worry about it, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I know not all of us have been given the same kind of opportunities in life. Where are you from, George?” 

The grizzled man sends you a slow look, the muscles in his jaw working with what you think is probably irritation, but you refuse to back down or give up on him. He was still a person deserving of respect and dignity no matter how much he might hate you. 

“Fleuve Cendre.” He says at length, and you feel a distant twang of understanding in the back of your mind. The underground sewer systems in the Court of Fontaine were not always the best place to grow up so it made sense, in a way. 

“I see. Well, if you’re at all interested I can make every effort to arrange for someone to come teach you how to write, or maybe I could even do it myself. Does that sound like a good idea?” 

He suddenly leans forward in his chair, getting right in your face, and it takes everything you have not to go scuttling back though you do give a startled jerk in surprise. “Not a chance! I don’t want your stinking charity, lady!” He practically spits at you, vitriolic and full of malice. 

“Charity?” You incredulously echo him, but he reaches out to viciously grab your wrist before you can think of anything else to say. 

“That’s right! You think I need you looking down on me or something? How about I tell you exactly where you can shove it instead!” 

You open your mouth to say — what, you don’t know, but a shift of motion in your peripheral stops you in your tracks. Snapping your head up, you’re not the least bit surprised to find Wriothesley quickly closing the distance with long, purposeful strides, but it still horrifies you and your heart promptly jackhammers straight up into your throat. 

“Wait!” You shriek, holding your uncaptured arm out as if to stop him. Like you even could. He’s like a solid wall moving towards you and you could already see how this was going to play out, your eyes going round as saucers seconds before a violent wrench on your arm takes you right off your feet. 

In a sudden rush of movement that you can’t even begin to process or comprehend, you abruptly find yourself pinned to the front of George who’s shot up out of his seat. Wriothesley comes to an immediate halt, just short of being within arms reach, and you stare up at him in unseeing disbelief as George shuffles back to press himself into the corner, using you like a shield. You’re distantly aware of an eruption of chaos in the rest of the room, likely a result of everyone rushing to get out of the way, chairs loudly scraping and clattering against the floor, but you feel strangely numb to it all. 

The only thing you can manage to think at that moment is that you were going to be in so much trouble once everything was said and done. 

“Don’t touch me, you bastard aristocrat!” 

“Wha — h - hold on a minute!” You squawk, feet kicking uselessly at the floor in a blind attempt to find some traction. It’s no use though, and your shoes just slip and slide against the papers you’d dropped in the shuffle. 

“I thought we already went over this, George. You know taking hostages isn’t going to get you anywhere except straight into solitary.” Wriothesley intones, and the surprisingly calm, leveled quality of his voice surprises you slightly, prompting you to bring your head back up. But the look you find in his face, the icy heat curling in his eyes, is anything but tranquil, and your stomach twists in dread. 

You’d never seen him look like that before … like he could really kill someone. 

“I don’t want to hear it!” George snaps, nervously clutching you against him — as if you were going to stop anything! “I’ve had enough of this place, and I’ve had enough of all of you! Always looking down on me like I’m less than dirt!” 

“No one is looking down on you.” Wriothesley says, clearly trying to reason with him. “Just calm down and let her go. I know you’re having a hard time adjusting, and I’m sure having your sentence extended didn’t help with that, but this is only going to make things worse for you in the long run. You can’t bargain your way out of this.” 

“Maybe so, but I could kill her!” 

“You what!” You shriek, nails sinking into the arm pinned across your front, but they both summarily ignore you. 

“That’d show you not to mess with me!” George continues on. “I’m serious, you know! I’ll do it!” 

“And why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?” Wriothesley shoots right back. “If you’re hoping to spend the rest of your life in Meropide you don’t have to do this to accomplish that. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.” 

“Dammit, I want out of here! I can’t stand this place! No sun, no fresh air, no sky! It feels like I’m going crazy down here!” 

“Then let her go. You still have a chance to return to the surface someday and you’ll get to see the sky as much as you want then, but that’s not going to happen if you keep this up. If you extend your sentence much further, you’re just going to seal your own fate. Permanently.” 

That actually seems to give him pause, and you hold your breath in anticipation of the pin dropping even when your chest strains and aches in protest. You almost didn’t dare to hope that he would actually listen to reason when you were viscerally aware of all the impotent rage and unrealized frustration coursing through his body, making him shake against you. It didn’t appear to be a bluff, at least not where you were standing. You think he really could kill you if pushed far enough, but … slowly, his hold on you eventually starts to relax. 

“I don’t want to be trapped under the ocean for the rest of my life …” He murmurs, a brief glimpse of cognizance returning to him after that manic flash. 

“Then hand the young lady over to me and let’s be done with it. I think this has gone on long enough, George.” 

Carefully reaching out for you, Wriothesley takes a step forward. His ability to stay cool and collected even in a situation like this surprises you a great deal, of course, but you find some amount of comfort in his unflappable demeanor. It helps you stay calm, in as much as you’re able to at least, and a dull wave of relief washes over you when George reluctantly pushes you away from himself, shoving you straight into Wriothesley’s waiting arm. 

You almost don’t believe it as his hand grabs around your waist and tightly gathers you up against him, angling you further from the inmate. It felt like you were dreaming. Numb to everything that had happened over the last few inexplicably short moments, you turn in his hold just in time to watch Wriothesley snag George’s wrist before he can pull it back all the way. 

And just like that, he snaps the bone with one solid twist. 

The sickening crack! that rings out makes your stomach lurch up into your throat. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Slamming Wriothesley’s office door open hard enough to make it bang against the interior wall, you storm inside so mad you could just scream! 

He comes in behind you at a leisurely pace just a moment later, taking his time to close and lock it, but you’re a little too caught up in the absolutely blinding surge of anger you’re trying to wrestle with to question it. Seething viciously, you start to pace the perimeter of the room. It’s all you can think to do. You wanted to scream at him, kick him, slap him, spit at him! What was wrong with this man that he would ever think that kind of violence was okay? 

“Are you alright?” He eventually asks you, just standing there in the doorway watching you stomp around his office as if it were a perfectly normal sight to see. That evenly tempered, almost blase tone of his voice just makes you see red though, and you finally round on him with a wordless shriek. 

“Why did you do that to him?” 

“He was dangerous.” Wriothesley says it like it should have been obvious. “I think he made that quite clear, don’t you?” 

“It doesn’t matter! He’d already let me go, you didn’t need to hurt him like that! It was just excessive at that point, you damn brute!” 

“That doesn’t mean he couldn't still hurt you. You’re not stupid, little miss. I know you’re aware of just how differently that could have played out if he hadn’t listened to me, and I wasn’t about to risk him changing his mind and having the means to lash out. You’re acting like I killed the poor guy.” 

You couldn’t seem to process his logic and, with no other choice, you return to your fitful pacing. “I don’t understand you. It doesn’t even make any sense. You say you care about your inmates but then you turn around and do something like that?” 

“I care about you too.” 

Stopping dead in your tracks, you slowly turn to look back at him again. The chill that creeps over you is suffocating, threatening to choke you up on the spot. “No. Do not do that. Not right now!” 

“But it’s true.” 

“I don’t care if it’s true!” You shout, impulsively closing the distance so you can jab your finger into the center of his chest. “You broke that man’s wrist, your grace! That was uncalled for! If you cared about him, or the others, or me you wouldn’t have done something so — so unnecessarily violent! He was just … he was just scared, is all. I think.” 

Wriothesley reaches up to carefully take your hand off him and you flinch at the contact but still let him do it because … because you don’t know why. You’re well aware you should be yanking out of his hold like he’d scalded you, skin crawling at just the touch of those rough worn fingers, but you can’t quite bring yourself to do that right now. Not when it felt like you were moments away from shattering to pieces right there in his office. 

“You think?” 

“I don’t know. Not really, but … he could have hurt me if he wanted to, right? But he didn’t. He only used me like a shield because you were coming, and he panicked. I can’t really blame him for that. I’d be scared too.” 

“I bet.” He murmurs, lifting your hand to press a kiss to the backs of your loosely curled knuckles. Grimacing at the gesture, unable to reconcile it in your mind — this soft version of the duke and the brutal prison warden — and you quickly look away. “I’m sorry you’re unhappy with how I handled the situation. I probably did frighten you, and you have my sincerest apologies for that as well, little miss. But you have to understand that I was protecting you.”

“I didn’t ask to be protected!” You seethe. “Least of all like that!” 

“Be that as it may, I still did what needed to be done. I already told you once, didn’t I? I’m your guard dog. You were in danger and I acted accordingly. It’s not fair of you to be so upset with me when I was only doing my job.” 

“But there must have been another way - -“

“There wasn’t. Believing any different is just naive and childish. You need to let go of this little fantasy you have that everything can be solved peacefully if you’re just nice enough. That’s not how the real world works.” 

You jerk your attention up with a low snarl, but he just looks at you with the same unreadable expression as always. He wasn’t the least bit sorry, nor did he feel any real regret for what he’d done. Not only that but he would have done it again without a second's hesitation. You could see it in his face, clear as day. He may as well have been saying it out loud for as little he tries to hide it. 

“It doesn’t work with violence either.” You finally rattle out, shaking in his hold. 

“I’d say my methods are a bit more effective than yours. You’re safe, aren’t you? If anything, you should be thanking me.” 

Your pulse spikes as you wrench your hand free and slap him as hard as you can, popping him right across the mouth. Wriothesley doesn’t even flinch and that just makes you angrier. Going up on the tips of your toes to get as close to him as you’re able to, you hiss at him with every bit of vitriol you can muster. “Is that thanks enough for you, your grace?” 

Terse silence descends over the room, interspersed only by your heavy breathing. At length, he finally draws a short, clipped breath. 

“I’m going to give you one chance and one chance only to apologize for doing that. I do hope you make the right decision.”

Veins turning icy, you bring your hands up to shove at his chest and push yourself away. “You wouldn’t dare. Not right now. Not when I’m so mad at you I could just - -“

He’s on you in an instant. 

For someone so big he certainly moves quick, and you barely have enough time to suck in a ragged, gasping breath of air as he roughly grabs under your arms and hauls you right up off your feet. The sudden rush of movement makes you nauseous, your stomach flipping end over end. Throwing your head back, you suck in a mouthful of air to scream. 

Wriothesley abruptly drops you back down to the floor before you can follow through and the sudden impact makes sharp, splintering pain race up your legs. That split second hesitation on your part is all he needs to get a hand over your mouth and your eyes go big in wild terror as he all but drags you by the back of your jumper towards the chaise lounge against the far wall. You wrench against his hold like a trapped animal, desperate and mindless as you shriek behind his palm, but the sound comes out muffled. Distant. There’s nothing at all you can do to stop it as he pulls you over and plops down on the cushions before yanking you down to kneel between his feet. 

You wince at the way your knees slam against the unforgiving ground but you don’t get a chance to fully process the hurt. He bends over you and reaches back to grab the back of your pants, using them to yank you up and brace you over his thigh. His hand stays locked around your mouth though, making it hard to breathe when you were sucking in quick, panicked gasps, one right after another as you frantically try to shove at him. 

His hand abruptly cracks across your ass with enough force to leave you seeing stars, and you wordlessly shriek into his palm. Winded and lurching, you instinctively try to angle away from him but the way he’s got you trapped between his legs makes it impossible to get very far. He hits you again, right on the mark, and hot tears immediately rush up to flood your eyes. Wailing in pain and impotent frustration now, you blindly reach up to shove at his arm. 

Wriothesley’s fingers just tighten around the lower half of your face though, securing his hold on you, while the other hand continues to rain down on your bottom in quick, blistering succession. Even through your pants it makes your toes curl achingly tight as you writhe there on the floor, rocking against his leg with each punishing blow. 

You couldn’t believe him, doing this to you in a situation like this! It was one thing when you were being bratty or stubborn, or hardheaded, and you’d even come to rather enjoy those intimate sessions with him in which he’d gradually break you down piece by piece before building you back up into a whole, complete person again. It was strangely relaxing, comforting even. Therapeutic. But this was something else entirely. You were mad for a good reason. You’d hit him for a good reason! It wasn’t fair that he could spank your ass red and raw, but you couldn’t even slap him once without incurring his wrath. 

So caught up in the tumultuous surge of emotions assaulting you all at once, you almost don’t realize when the tears start tracking down your face. They burn against your heated skin and pool in the seam where his hand is sealed over your face from the nose down, gathering there before eventually dribbling over his blunt knuckles. He has to feel it, has to know you’re crying, practically sobbing, but still he doesn’t stop. He just keeps spanking you, again and again, again, until the throbbing pain scorching across your defenseless backside seems to reach incomprehensible levels that have you struggling just to think through it. 

And you try to, desperate to cling to your anger and your fear, the betrayal you’d felt when he broke that poor man’s wrist right in front of your very eyes with hardly any effort at all to show for it. You hadn’t thought him capable. Even now when he was lighting your ass up it seemed like an entirely inconceivable notion for him to be capable of that level of cruelty. But it’s next to impossible to hold onto any of those thoughts or feelings when you were so swept up in the pulsing thrum of hurt he’s inflicting on you and slowly, ever so slowly, your mind starts to go blank. 

Evidently feeling you go lax against his knee in acceptance, Wriothesley’s voice starts to drift over you and it seamlessly penetrates the fog hanging over your head to dig straight into your brain. “I’m not sure who you think you are,” whap, whap, whap, whap, “But I have to say,” whap, whap, whap, whap, “I’m actually rather impressed you had the guts to do that,” whap, whap, whap, whap “I suppose that’s why I like you so much though,” whap, whap, whap, whap, “You're so damn bullheaded you just don’t know when to quit.” 

Groaning deliriously into the meat of his hand, you mechanically bring your hand down to clutch his pant leg in a death grip while the other blindly stretches back as if to protect yourself from his strikes. He pauses above you as your trembling fingers creep across your bottom, drawing a clipped, mildly annoyed breath. 

“Move your hand.” 

You wail something that might have been a ‘no!’, incomprehensibly muffled, and he clicks his tongue at the petulance. 

“Don’t test my patience with you any further, little girl. You have no idea just how much I can really make it hurt if you want to be cute.” 

Noising a sound of surprised confusion, you hastily retract your hand in favor of shoving it up against his stomach and pushing at him with renewed determination, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. Leaning forward, he reaches down the front of your body to fumble with the buttons on your pants. You squeal a muffled protest and try to angle away again to no avail. It takes him a prolonged moment to get them with the use of only one hand, but eventually he has your slacks undone and he starts to roughly shove them down your quaking thighs. 

“You know,” He says almost conversationally, as calm as ever while your internal panic was just ratcheting higher and higher. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, so let me explain something to you. There’s a right way and a wrong way to go about things, and somehow you always seem to consistently pick the wrong choice. I don’t mind so much that you’re upset with me. I still don’t think that was very fair of you, but you’re entitled to your own opinion. I’m certainly not trying to take that away from you.”

He’s finally got your pants bunched around your knees but, rather than spanking you over your panties next, he instead starts to yank those down too. A violent shudder tears through you at the implication, the suggestion, your blood running so hot for him it has you swaying there on the floor even as you give your head a weak shake. If he was skipping the usual buildup then he must have been rather upset with you indeed. 

“But as always you get too carried away. You won’t stop until you push me enough to end up over my knee, getting your butt spanked like a child.” He swats your bare ass for emphasis, making you shriek and sob at the pulsing sting as much as the resulting jiggle it causes. “Do you have anything to say for yourself? Huh?” 

You nod your head frantically, noising behind his hand, and Wriothesley gives your face a dull squeeze of warning. 

“I’m going to take my hand away but I promise if you scream you’re going to find yourself getting hit with something much worse than a hairbrush, do you understand me?”  

Another nod, even more wild than the last. 

Slowly, his fingers loosen and then tentatively fall away, leaving you to gasp wretchedly at the flood of fresh air. You slump against him and try to catch your breath, wet little hiccups making your back bow. “I … I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — shouldn’t have hit you!”

“I’d say that’s an understatement.” 

Forcibly pulling yourself up even though it hurts to do so, you twist on your knees to peer up at him. Your lower lip promptly wobbles when you see the hard way he’s looking at you but you just sniffle and reach up to wipe at your tear stained face. “You made me so mad! And you never take me seriously! I tell you something and it seems like you always just brush me off!” 

Wriothesley watches you shake and heave for a drawn out moment before sedately slouching down, elbows shifting forward to brace against his knees so he can lean over you. The gesture makes you feel so incredibly small and insignificant, a borderline hysterical sob bursting out of your mouth which you quickly cover with your hand. You screw your eyes shut, trying to calm down, but he just hovers over you like that in complete and utter silence until the shudders wracking through you get too uncontrollable and you start to sway dizzily on the floor. 

His nearest hand finds your back and smooths over it in comforting circles, wrinkling your jumper in the process. Sucking in a thin, gasping breath, you instinctively rock forward as if to heave but all you do is cough like some sad, pathetic broken little thing. 

“Calm down,” He murmurs, giving your trembling shoulders a firm pat. “You’re going to make yourself sick carrying on like that. Will you listen to me?” 

Sniveling, you blink through the thick sheen of tears making your vision swim and nod your head with a faint whimper. His hand stills on your back, keeping you in place as he leans further down to your level and tips his head so he can see your face. 

“I wasn’t brushing you off. I understand why that upset you and I’m nothing if not sympathetic. Really, I am. If you want the honest truth of it, I regretted it almost as soon as I did it. I’ll have to apologize to George later and have a real long talk with him about what happened, but I’m not going to apologize for protecting you. You’re under my charge regardless of if we’re in the city or your house, but especially when you’re here. If something happened to you on my watch, that would be a resounding failure on my part. Can you understand that much, at least?” 

You hesitate and then nod your head again, not quite trusting yourself enough to speak yet. Wriothesley gives you an approving squeeze and another idle pat that makes you whimper softly. His hand was so big it felt like it was taking up almost the whole of your back … 

“I didn’t mean to scare you … you know that, right?” 

“Y - yes …” 

“Good. Because that I will apologize for. It was unnecessary. I should have completely removed you from the situation first before acting but he just had me so mad, I wasn’t thinking straight, and … honestly, I probably owe you an apology for that too I had some reservations about letting him come to the meeting of course, given his track record, but I thought maybe it would help him adjust a little better if he had something from the overworld to keep him busy. Preoccupied.” 

Gingerly, you shift on your knees so you’re knelt directly under him rather than braced up against his leg, and you lift your hands to hesitantly slide them across his strong jawline. Wriothesley let’s you do it, much to your thrumming relief, and you carefully tip his face towards you until just a scant breath separates his nose from yours. 

“What’s going to happen to him now?” 

He just looks at you, and your face slowly starts to crumple. 

“Please don’t let him get into trouble.” You plead, unable to bear the thought of his sentence being extended because of you. “It was just a mistake and I wasn’t hurt. He didn’t do anything wrong, your grace! Not really. Please, please don’t punish him.” 

Stiffly, he sighs out through his nose. “And there you go being naive again. I’m afraid there’s not much I can do to protect him at this point. He’s sealed his own fate.”

“But that’s … that’s terrible! If I hadn’t been there — if you hadn’t let me come here that never would have even happened! I’m the one at fault here, aren’t I? I’ll take the punishment in his stead! That would be fine, right?” 

“Lovely girl - -“ 

Wriothesley reaches out with his other hand to cup your face and you try to pull away, a fresh wave of tears springing up in your eyes, but he holds you fast. Tipping his head, he seals his mouth over yours and swallows down the muffled wail you let out. Even when the rolling beads of moisture start to track down your damp face, he just kisses you and kisses you until you finally start to stir underneath him some indeterminable amount of time later. 

You have no idea how long you’ve been sitting there on the floor but your legs are numb and prickly when you finally move, shifting forward to lean into him. Your breaths are still a little ragged through your nose but you start to kiss him back, tentatively slow at first and then with growing confidence. Growing hunger. The emptiness inside you is quickly filling up with a white hot, molten need, and you groan thickly into his mouth when you feel your pussy give a muted throb of interest. It matches the ever present sting across your ass, in a way, and you feel both in stunning high definition as you carefully raise up to meet him. 

Gradually easing back when you find your balance and sit up straight, Wriothesley brings his hands around to cup your ribcage. He squeezes, rucking up your jumper and blouse in the process but, as always, he doesn’t try to relieve you of it. That he was still willing to go about this on your terms, at your pace, fills your chest with a strange helium feeling, and you try to follow after him when he eventually pulls back all the way, whining low in your throat at the loss. 

“Come here, pretty girl.” He murmurs, tugging you up to stand and you do so with a great deal of haste even when your sore legs threaten to give out under you. Bracing a hand on his broad shoulder to steady yourself, you carefully step out of your sagging pants and underwear when he stoops down to pull them over your feet. 

Carelessly tossing your clothes aside, he grabs around your middle again and easily tugs you into his lap. Your heart pounds a wild beat inside your chest when you realize he’s centering you over his leg, and you quickly scramble to get into position. There’s no denying the excitement you feel searing your veins now, the speed at which you’d come to love this particular activity surprising even you. It felt like you were irreversibly addicted to it, and you moan very softly when your bare cunt presses down into his thigh. Pelvis tipping upward, you steal a quick glance down at yourself, still amazed at how broad and thick his leg looks under you. It’s not exactly hard to imagine something else forcing your thighs into a wide spread around him but that still scares a little more than you were willing to admit. 

Gently pulling you forward so that your cunt rocks down to settle squarely against his pant leg, Wriothesley gathers you right up against his chest and bends his head to yours again. You moan into the searing hot kiss and bring your hands up to clutch at him, the toes of your shoes bracing on the floor to give yourself leverage as you settle into a slow, mind numbing pace with him. 

It truly feels like your brain is melting when the stilted friction on your pussy soon makes you tremble and shake for him, panting heavily into his mouth. You’re distantly aware of the stiff tension in his body but Wriothesley just lets you find your pleasure on him without trying to take advantage of your muddied, intoxicated state. His hands roam over your body in a continuous caress, pinching, squeezing, kneading with rough calloused fingers, but he doesn’t wander to your chest or between your legs. He’d only touched you there once, back in that cramped little alley, but thinking back on it when you were moving with him like this … maybe you should invite him to touch you there again? It would probably feel good, and grinding yourself on his leg was such a slow, tortuous process. 

Or maybe you could try touching him? 

Turning your head to suck in a much needed lungful of fresh air, you take a moment to steady your nerves. You’d never crossed this line before, never been brave enough to take the plunge but, oh, you were so curious and your pussy positively clenches at the thought of feeling him under your palm. You wanted to touch him. You needed to. 

“Y - your grace …”

“What is it, pretty girl? What do you need?” He breathes into the scant pace separating you from him, head tipped back to look at your from this slightly elevated position. 

An intense shudder works through you at the thought of actually doing it, of actually saying the words, and you loose a keening mewl as you stubbornly turn your head to look elsewhere. You couldn’t look at him and say it, you just couldn’t! 

“Can … ahhn, would it be permissible for me to, um — t - touch you as well?” 

His thick fingers give a muted little jolt of surprise where they’re squeezing around your waist, and you tightly screw your eyes shut when he leans in to kiss the side of your neck. “Oh, little miss. You don’t have to ask. You can touch me as much as you want.” 

Trembling there on his lap, you hesitate to do it but finally gather enough courage to drag your hand down off his shoulder. Shyly watching the slow descent of it down his broad barrel chest, over his stomach, all the way down to the center of his lap. You give a tiny little jerk when you see the stiff outline pressing up against the interior, the motion of your hips inelegantly stuttering as you take in the shape of it, the size. It was indeed quite large, your heart nearly giving out entirely in your overwhelmed horror, but … but like this it wasn’t quite so bad. Not as scary as if you were perhaps looking at it straight on. 

Timidly cautious, you press your fingers over the outline and Wriothesley breathes out a thick, heavy sound that is suspiciously reminiscent of a growl. It seems to vibrate through you, pulling a quiet whimper out of your throat, but you force yourself to stay focused. Your curiosity was a little too compelling to get sidetracked now, and even your mindless rutting against him slows to a complete standstill while you feel along the length of him, just familiarizing yourself with the press of it against your hand. Even through his slacks it seems heavy and it’s so incredibly warm that you feel a dull, sympathetic tremor deep inside your cunt. 

Evidently realizing just how distracted you were, Wriothesley pulls back from your neck enough to look down at himself as well. “Is it so fascinating?” 

“A little bit …”

He laughs, sounding mildly strained. “If you’re curious I’ll teach you about it, but I won’t make you do anything you don’t feel comfortable with. In this, at least, I’ll play by your rules.” 

And he’d done such a good job respecting your boundaries thus far … perhaps it was alright to test the waters some. To give in to this primal urge coursing through your system, making you feel indescribably hot and mindless. 

“Would it really fit inside me?” 

The hushed noise he makes sounds so wounded it actually startles your attention up, and you take in his pained expression with great big eyes. 

“W - what? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, nothing. Please don’t start getting defensive, now of all times.” Grunting, Wriothesley grabs under your arms as he shifts back further against the lounge so he can rather gingerly recline back, pulling you right along with him. The careful motion stretches you out across his body to rest against his chest, prompting you to readjust the way you're straddling his thigh to keep your thrumming cunt pressed up tight against it. Letting out a shuddering exhale, he shifts underneath you just so before tipping his face down again. “If you say things like that you’re going to make this go crazy, and I’m not so sure you’re ready for that yet. Try rubbing it, like this.” 

You can’t quite stop the squeak of surprise that bursts out of you when he reaches over to grab your stilled hand. Redirecting you to the center of the bulge, he manually squeezes your trembling fingers around him and your skin positively crawls with an eruption of goosebumps when you feel it pulse against your palm. Wide eyed and quaking, you slowly bring your gaze back down to watch him guide your hand up along the rigid length and then back down again. You’d never before seen anything quite like it, but there was a very real, very primitive part of your brain that abruptly clicks on at the sight of it. 

“Will it hurt?”

“No.” He grunts, still dragging your hand up and down, up and down the length of him. “It feels good. Like when you rub that cute pussy all over my leg. You can squeeze it, if you want.” 

Experimentally, you do just that and the responding twitch of Wriothesley’s cock has your cunt repeatedly clamping down on nothing, a harried, deeply frazzled whine rising in you. It was like you were cumming, but not really. You felt close, though. As if just touching him like this, feeling the hot, pulsing need of him in the palm of your hand was stoking your own fire. Building your own pleasure up into something that was very nearly palpable. 

More confident this time, you give him another squeeze, and he makes a rumbling, needy sound in the back of his throat. Consumed with your own wanton need, you turn your head to look at him again and a distant thrill of surprise rushes through you when you find those deep sapphires watching you. Not your hand on him, but you. 

“Am I really making you feel good, your grace?” 

“Very much so.” 

Smiling, you lean up to press your mouth to his. He watches you do it, accepts your kiss, and a stilted puff of air rattles out of him to dance over your lips. You’ve never seen him hold himself quite so stiffly before but he starts to kiss you back just a heartbeat later, slowly at first and then with more demanding force behind the motion. Just like every other time he pulls you into his pace with ease, soon dominating the exchange while his hand continues to stroke yours over his trapped cock. It doesn’t take long for you to start feeling impatient like this, indescribably needy, and you wriggle yourself down on his leg in search of more friction. Wriothesley gladly obliges you, curling his leg up a little higher to press more firmly into your cunt to make you keen at the sensation. 

As you start to ride him again, the hand that had remained carefully on your back this entire time starts to drag lower, tracing the curve of your waist and further still to smooth over your reddened bottom. You suck in a sharp breath at the sting but it just seems to make your pussy clench and drool even more obscenely. Rearing back against his hand, you give his length another tight squeeze to pull a low groan out of him. 

“You are a real menace, pretty girl.” He softly chides you, pulling back just enough to look in your face. “For as prim and proper as you like to act, you’re certainly an insatiable little thing.”

You start to apologize for it, but then think better of it. “Do you like it, your grace?” 

“More than I’d like to admit.” 

Your breath catches at that and you lurch on top of him when a warning tremor tears through your shuddering body. “Will … will you bounce your leg against me?” 

“Of course.” Eyelids drooping to attractive halfmast, Wriothesley presses his forehead against yours and tenderly nudges at your nose. “Shall I spank you while I do it? Something tells me you’d like that an awful lot.” 

“Ooh … yes, your grace, please spank me.” 

Another rumbling groan rises in him, eyes drifting shut as if in great pleasure. You don’t get a chance to linger on how positively devastating he looks like that because he presses his thigh up into you, sending you lurching with a faltering, deeply wounded sound. The motion of his leg jostles you slightly, prompting you to clutch at him all the more fervently — one latched around his cock and the other clinging to his neck — and you toss your head back with a high pitched squeal when he suddenly swats your ass without warning. You waver, hesitate for only a blink of the eye, and then you’re driving your cunt down to meet him with fast mounting urgency. 

“Oohh, gods —“

Swat! Across the other cheek to make the meaty swell bounce. 

A deeply flustered sound punches its way out of your mouth, hips swiveling desperately. “Ahhn, ahh! Y - your grace! Nggnh!” 

Swat! The first cheek again, this time with a possessive squeeze afterward that makes your toes curl. 

“I’d say I could never get tired of watching you bounce that pretty pussy on my leg, but I’d hate to discourage you from wanting to try anything else.” 

Your tense fingers impulsively squeeze down on his cock, making his chest hitch, and you seethe through your teeth at the quickly cresting waves of ecstasy washing over you. You were close, so close. 

“Please —“ Swat! Swat! First one cheek and then the next, in rapid succession. “Ooh! God! I - I want it, your grace! I want it!” 

Swat!  

“What do you want, lovely girl?” Wriothesley grunts, his own voice faltering now. 

“I - I want this!” You give his length a desperate squeeze, so lightheaded and dizzy you barely even know what you’re saying anymore. 

Swat! 

“It’s already yours, sweetheart. Whenever you’re ready for it, you’ll have it.”

The thought alone of taking him deep inside your body makes every single muscle in your shuddering frame lock up, and you lurch to a sudden standstill on top of him. Your mouth drops open as if to scream but nothing comes out when he just keeps bouncing his leg on your drooling cunt, quicker now. A little harder. You sway unsteadily as your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably around him, chest heaving with the gasps you frantically try to suck in but you can’t quite seem to get enough air. It felt like you were smothering under the intense pressure, hanging right on the precipice. 

Swat! 

“Cum for me, cum all over my leg and let me see that pretty face you make.” He practically growls, grabbing a tight, pinching handful of your ass to really drive the sting home. 

It’s that sharp, toe curling throb of pain that tips you over, and you cum with a gutted lurch. Wheezing, you arch against him so hard your spine aches in protest but you can’t stop it. Your hips judder wildly and your knees nearly give out from how hard it slams into you all at once, but he clutches you tight in his arms while you spasm and writhe, squealing in mindless delight. It’s all you can do just to keep your voice down, painfully aware that the two of you were not in the privacy of your flat, but you manage, somehow, to get through it without shrieking at the top of your lungs. 

You’re so exhausted and drained by the time the tremors finally ebb and fade that you collapse on top of him with a deeply frazzled groan. Giving your bottom one final, lingering squeeze, Wriothesley drags his hand back up to rub across your back and a faint shudder ripples through you when you feel him bend close to place a brief kiss to the top of your head. 

It was … really nice, actually, sharing such a quiet, intimate moment with him. It wouldn’t be hard to get used to it. In fact, you dully realize, you kind of already were. 

“You’re such a good girl for me sometimes.” He murmurs into your hair, his voice warm with praise and affection alike. “It just makes me wonder why you can’t be so good all the time.” 

“That would get boring.” You dazedly slur, making him chuckle. 

“That’s true. There’s no fun in it without a little power struggle first.” 

You hum a noncommittal sound, already half dozed off where you’re spread out on top of him when a muted twitch under your loosely curled palm makes you jolt. Blearily lifting your head from his chest, you glance down to find him still rock hard in his pants and your brows quickly draw together in confusion. 

“You didn’t - -“

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll go away.”

“But - -“ 

“Hush. Just do as I say for once and let it go.” Reaching up to palm the back of your head, he forces your cheek back down to his chest and holds you there even when you weakly try to struggle out from under it. “You really aren’t making this easy on me, you know that? Saying all that nonsense and now this. It’s nothing for you to be concerned about, little miss. Not yet.” 

Your mouth pulls in a pout even though he can’t see it. “Will you teach me more later?” It’s little more than a mouse squeak when you were so tired, so exhausted after everything that had transpired today. 

Wriothesley seems to think on that for a moment before softly pressing another kiss to the crown of your head. “I’ll teach you everything in due time. You just need to be patient. I don’t want you to get so caught up in the moment that you rush into something only to regret it later. As I said before, I’m a guarddog. I'm not interested in biting the hand holding my leash.” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You aren’t sure when, exactly, you fell asleep, but you wake up on the lounge some time later, finding yourself blinking up at the ceiling of his office in a bit of a daze. You’re a little disoriented at first and then you remember where you were. Everything that had happened. The meeting with the inmates. That horrible incident with George. The sound slap you’d given Wriothesley right across his stupid smug mouth. The way you’d crawled into his lap and … 

You bolt upright with a soul sucking gasp. Your instinctive panic is immediately interrupted, however, when you realize his coat is now pooled in your lap, and you blink down at it with owlish surprise. He’d given you his jacket while you slept? 

“Ah, you’re finally awake. I was wondering how long you’d be out for.” 

Startling, you twist around on the lounge to look over at the desk where you find Wriothesley reading over a small stack of paperwork in his hand while the other lifts a steaming cup of tea up to his mouth. You could smell it from where you were sitting, the rich aroma drawing you a little further out of your half asleep stupor and a bit more into reality. Archons, you felt like you were dying of thirst. 

“You wouldn't happen to have an extra cup for me, would you?” 

“Of course I do. Don’t be silly.” Setting his own back down after taking a sip, he sedately glances over at you from across the room. “I even grabbed some sandwiches and cookies for you from the cafeteria. I figured you’d be hungry when you woke up.” 

You immediately realize that that was an understatement. You weren’t just hungry, you were famished! 

But when you move to get up, pulling his coat off your lap, you abruptly come to a screeching halt. Eyes widening to the approximate size of dinner plates, you stare down at your bare legs in abject disbelief. “Where are my pants?” 

“Don’t sound so alarmed. I put them somewhere safe.” 

“Well, I’d like to have them back!” You snap, shooting daggers over at him. 

Humming as if in thought, Wriothesley drops the paperwork on top of the desk and reclines back into his chair. “I don’t think so. Not just yet anyway. I’m not quite through with you yet.” 

A shudder races up your stiffening spine, and you nervously gather his heavy jacket close to your chest, clutching at it. “W - what does that mean? I thought you said you’d let me decide when I was ready?” 

He barks a quick laugh. “I don’t mean that. I’m talking about your punishment from earlier. We got a little sidetracked, didn’t we?” 

“Oh.” Heaving a long suffering sigh, you roll your eyes and move to stand up. Keeping his coat held to your front, you slowly shuffle over to the desk to stand in front of it. “Is that really necessary? I understand why you had to do it, even if I don’t agree with your methods.”

Idly tapping his finger on the sturdy wood, he just silently studies you for a long moment. “It’s not exactly about agreeing with me.” He says at length. “I’m still waiting on an apology, for starters.” 

You promptly shrink in on yourself. “You hit me all the time …” 

“No, what I do is spank your bratty little bottom to sort you out. I don’t hit you across the face, and I never would unless you asked me to.” 

“Why would I - -“

“Do not try to change the subject. I told you once before that I’m not so easily distracted, didn’t I?” 

He tips his head to one side as if to further drive his point home, and you feel your cheeks start to warm. “You’re like a dog with a bone.” 

“Ah, so you have been paying attention then. Good. I know firsthand just how smart you really are so I do expect you to start figuring things out, the more time we spend together. And I do hope that you’ll continue to share more with me.” 

You hesitate at the first inkling that something was not quite right here. He was talking about more than just the slap, wasn’t he? But what else could there be that he wanted to talk about? 

“I do enjoy spending time with his grace,” You say slowly, warily. “Even if he does make me feel uniquely harassed half of the time. And I’m sorry for hitting you. You’re right that there’s a difference between the two. I tried to hurt you out of anger, while you do it to —“ 

Wriothesley chuckles when you search for the word only to come up empty handed, the smile tugging at his mouth equally roguish and charming. “To correct you. I can’t deny that you can be a little frustrating sometimes, but I’m sure the same can be said of me. In fact, I know it can. But I don’t hit you in anger. Not when I’m nearly double your size and weight. To allow my self control to slip even slightly would be … reckless indeed, because I could seriously hurt you. I’m always careful to make sure I’m fully aware of what I’m doing and how hard I’m doing it before I ever put my hands on you, little miss. I hope you know that.” 

Your back straightens when it suddenly hits you. That’s what he was worried about? 

“Are you afraid I won’t want to see you anymore after the way you … broke George’s wrist earlier?” 

A long stretch of quiet settles over the office, perfectly still and perfectly quiet. 

“A little.” He says at last. “I couldn’t exactly blame you if that was the decision you came to, but I’d still be a bit — disappointed to lose you. A lot, actually. I enjoy our time together too.” 

You swallow. Hard. “Your grace, I … I won’t deny that you scared me earlier, but it’s not like it was the first time. You’ve made me nervous and frightened, and happy, and sad, and so incredibly confused I could just tear my own hair out sometimes, but — I was more frightened for George than myself, if I’m being honest. I was scared you were going to hurt him.” 

“And then I did.” He says simply, and you nod. 

“Yes. Frankly, I was horrified. That’s why I got so mad at you. I never thought you’d actually be capable of something like that, and I guess I didn’t really know how to react. But you’ve never made me feel like I was truly in danger. I’ve never worried about you breaking my arm, or snapping me in half even though I’m sure you easily could. I’m not scared of you, your grace. I just … I don’t want to see you hurt anyone else, least of all because of me.” 

He lets that settle for a drawn out beat, clearly turning everything over in his head, before decisively leaning forward to grab up the teapot sitting on a tray at the corner of the desk. “Well, I can’t exactly promise you that. Should the need ever arise again, I won’t hesitate to protect you. Especially if it’s one of my inmates trying to cause you harm. But with that being said,” He starts to pour out a second cup, also taken off the tray. Your eyes voraciously wander over to the little plate covered with a tin lid, knowing there were promised sandwiches and cookies hiding underneath, and your stomach churns in hunger. “I solemnly swear that from here on out I will do everything in my power to avoid it ever coming to that. If we can stop it from reaching that point then surely both of us will be satisfied. Does that sound like a reasonable compromise to you?” 

“Yes, your grace.” 

“Excellent. Then come sit on my lap and help yourself to some food and tea. I’m sure you’re starving.” 

For once you only feel slightly hesitant to heed his command without needing to be told twice, and you eagerly shuffle around the desk to join him. You’re able to hide the nudity of your lower half behind his coat which you keep tucked around your waist even as you get settled on his legs. It was a seat you were quickly (perhaps even embarrassingly so) getting used to, and the thick arm that snakes around your middle to secure you in place was likewise becoming something comfortably familiar as well. 

The first thing you reach for is the plate, stretching across the desk to pull it closer so you can peel away the lid and find out what’s inside. A handful of neatly sliced sandwiches of a few different varieties greets you, as well as a small pile of assorted biscuits. You don’t hesitate to snag one up and pop it into your mouth, humming in delight at the taste. Chuckling softly, Wriothesley gives you a brief squeeze around the middle as his other hand slides over to pick up the abandoned stack of papers again. 

“Are you aware just how adorable you can be at times?” 

Humming in agreement, you covetously go for a sandwich next. “His grace flatters me.”

“Brat.” Giving your tummy an affectionate pinch, he turns his attention to the papers. “Another question, if you would be kind enough to humor me. Are you aware that you’ve earned yourself a few fans here in the prison?” 

You freeze in place with the dainty little triangle lifted half of the way to your waiting mouth. “I beg your pardon?” 

“Belle, the woman at the meeting earlier, slipped this note into my mailbox some time ago. She apologizes for what happened with George, and she wishes you a speedy recovery with hopes that you’ll return soon to start your sewing classes. You’re welcome to read it for yourself if you’d like.” 

Slowly, you lower the sandwich and reach out for the paper. You’re more than a little surprised to find it says exactly what he’s relayed to you. “Wha — but I don’t understand?” Dropping the sandwich altogether now, you numbly flip to the next page only to find a second letter written in two different but equally terrible sets of handwriting. Those brothers. 

“Don’t pay them much mind.” He murmurs as you scan over the, frankly, perplexing note. “They’re trouble, but mostly harmless. I won’t go so far as to say they mean well, but …” 

Thoroughly perplexed, you flip to the final page. This one is rather neat and tidy, and relievingly concise, but you can’t quite place who it would have come from. All it says is that they hoped you wouldn’t be scared off by what happened, and that they looked forward to the program being a resounding success. It was of course very flattering but rather unexpected. A bit confounding, if you were being honest. 

“Who wrote this one?” 

“His name is Gaspard. You probably didn’t notice, but he was making puppy dog eyes at you the whole time.”

Flustered heat promptly crawls up your neck to settle deep in your cheeks. “Has anyone ever told you that your sense of humor leaves much to be desired, your grace?” 

“Oh, I’m actually being quite serious. I thought for sure if I was going to have to pry someone off you it was going to be him.” 

Another teasing pinch at your waist accompanies that and you sigh out through your nose, trying very hard not to let his foolishness distract you. “May I ask what he’s serving time for? This handwriting looks very well practiced, and his spelling is perfect.”

With a quiet hum, Wriothesley leans to the side to brace his chin in the palm of his hand. “He’s in for embezzlement.” 

“Embezzlement!” You squawk, beyond horrified. “B - b - but if it’s the man I’m thinking of, he was so polite and quiet! I thought he was just shy so I didn’t want to draw too much attention to him!” 

“Those are the ones you have to watch out for the most.” He laughs. “You’ll learn that in due time. The ones like George are mostly all bark and no bite, unless you back them into a corner. Gaspard’s type is way more dangerous because you can never be quite sure what they’re thinking.” 

More than just a bit ruffled, you defensively clutch the small stack of letters to your chest. “So then I suppose that would put you in the latter category?” 

“Hm … I suppose it would.” 

With a click of your tongue, you set the papers aside and primly return to your sandwich. “Regardless, I think it’s clear how we should proceed. We need to get a seamstress out to the prison as soon as possible for Belle, and I’m sure we can find a willing chef for those two troublemakers as well.” You pause with the little triangle almost up to your mouth again, hesitating a moment before slowly lowering it once more. “That is — if you’d still like to work with me going forward. I’m sure you probably have some reservations after what happened today, but I promise I’ll be more cautious next time and - -“ 

“Hush. I’m not going to take it away from you like a toy you’re not allowed to play with anymore. You’ll still have your little program and I’ll still work with you to help you implement it. You’ll just have to be a bit more closely supervised with it going forward.” 

“… you are truly detestable sometimes.” 

“So I’ve heard.” 

Wriothesley thankfully lets you eat in peace after that, and your stomach is quite glad for it. You happily scarf down two sandwiches and another cookie to go with your cup of tea, but you quickly begin to feel full. Eventually, you find yourself leaning back against his chest with your head resting along his shoulder, and you just quietly watch him work through a different stack of papers, this one much more formidable than your measly pile. You were going to cherish them forever though, even had half a mind to go out and have them framed immediately, but that seemed a little excessive, even for you. 

The intimate atmosphere and the close proximity with him almost has you dozing again, but the large hand idly rubbing over your tummy keeps you more or less grounded in reality, you sigh, very softly, when he eventually gives you an attention grabbing pinch some indeterminable amount of time later. 

“You’re not falling asleep on me again, are you?” 

“No, your grace. I am only resting.” 

“Good.” He says rather amicably, setting the sheet in his hand down. “Because there’s still the matter of your punishment to go over.” 

Groaning, you let your head loll back against his shoulder to look up at the ceiling. “You really never let anything go, do you?” 

“It would be remiss of me if I did. More importantly though, I wanted to show you something. Do you remember what I said earlier, about getting spanked with something much worse than a hairbrush?” 

You immediately lurch on top of him, skin crawling at just the thought as you try to jump up off his lap and escape, but Wriothesley just tightens his arm around you to keep you pinned even when you inelegantly flail. “Wait — that’s not fair, your grace, I — ow!” 

The hard slam of your knee against his desk has you whimpering in pain, and he quickly takes advantage of that stunned moment to haul you back and secure you more firmly in place. “That’s what you get for jumping to conclusions. Let that be a lesson to you.” Sighing, he presses his mouth to the top of your head in a lingering kiss while you try to shake out the hurt from your leg. “Troublesome girl.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you right now!” You snip, still rubbing at your bruised knee. “And what were you even talking about? I don’t think I deserve to be struck with a stick or a measuring rod, or — or - -“

“You don’t, you’re right about that. But I want to show you what comes after the hairbrush, if you’ll let me. I’d like to think having that knowledge in the back of your mind might give you enough incentive to make better decisions in the future, but given how hard headed you are … maybe it won’t.” 

Huffing, you petulantly cross your arms. “You only want to show me?” You didn’t trust it at all. Not one bit. 

“I planned to actually strike you with it, of course. Otherwise it would just be an empty threat and you’d have no baseline to gauge how far you’re willing to go just to throw a fit over something. But how about this? I’ll make you a deal. You like when I do that, don’t you?” 

You were loath to admit it out loud but you did indeed, and your pussy slowly clenches with interest. Damn him straight to the abyss and back. “I’m listening.” 

“Good girl. I figured you would be.” Another kiss pressed to the top of your head, his breath displacing some of the flyaways there. “You get to choose then. Would you like me to round off your punishment with my hand and twenty strokes of the hairbrush, or would you prefer to take six from the mystery implement?” 

Twisting around in his hold, you look up at him in abject shock. “Only six?” 

“Only six.” He confirms. 

“And you won’t tell me what it is first? Is it really that bad?”

“No, and no. It’s just a different kind of pain, is all. Something you aren’t used to. I strongly suspect if I told you beforehand, you’d be too frightened to take it on and would instead gladly subject your poor bottom to a much worse fate than it needs to suffer.” Drawing a stilted breath, Wriothesley slips one of his hands under the jacket to caress along your bare thigh, warming the skin under his palm. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve already been appropriately corrected. There’s no need to actually take you over my knee unless you leave me with no other choice. The second option is preferable for both of us, first and foremost because I intend for it to be a warning more than anything. The choice is yours though, little miss. I am but at your beck and call.” 

You snort at that and pin him with a wry look. “Sure. I might believe that when pigs fly.” With a shake of your head, you turn back around so you can slump against him, listlessly picking at the fur trim on his jacket in your lap while you think it over. One was obviously the better sounding choice but … didn’t that mean it was a trap? 

Big, burly arms squeezing around you, Wriothesley bends close to kiss your temple, your cheek, down to your neck. They’re soft and fleeting, decidedly, chaste, and yet they still make your pulse start to thrum a little faster. You really were regrettably weak for him. It just wasn’t fair.  

“May I add an extra term onto our deal?” 

“Let’s hear it.” 

“If I choose the second option, will … will you play with me afterward?” 

He seems to hesitate against you, no doubt catching onto your meaning. “I was planning on doing that anyway. I always make sure you get rewarded at the end, don’t I?” A lingering kiss pressed into your temple. 

You were really starting to become hot and flustered again, and it shows in the way your voice strains slightly. “I don’t mean like that. I — I think I want you to touch me, your grace.” 

This time he really does go still. A long beat of quiet punctuates the moment, and then he shifts against you, speaking across the side of your face. “Where do you want me to touch you, pretty girl? Between your legs?” 

Just hearing him say it makes you shudder from your head straight down to your toes, and you fitfully twist on his lap so you can tip your head back to look at him. “Everywhere, sir. Between my legs and — my chest too. If you want.” 

“Of course I want to, silly thing.” Breathing out a rather terse exhale, he tips his head to kiss your mouth but it is regretfully short lived, and you whine softly when he retreats again. “I need you to clarify something for me first though, so I know exactly what it is you’re comfortable with. Do you want to get completely undressed for me or would you rather I touch you through your shirt?” 

“O - oh.” You hadn’t thought about it that far, and you shyly avert your gaze. Although you did want to feel his hands on your breasts, the thought of being completely nude with him was a daunting one indeed. It was silly, of course, but that seemed like something of a big step and a potentially awkward one at that. “I … I don’t know if I’m ready to get naked yet so — through my shirt?” 

“Through your shirt it is.” He agrees, pressing his mouth to your cheek in a hard, reassuring kiss. It makes you squirm, just a little bit, how willing he is to humor you in this way, but you think that it probably means more to you than you even fully realize. “You’re a good girl, you know that?” He murmurs against your skin. “I’m so proud of you for being honest with me. I know that’s not always easy for you to do.” 

“Enough already.” You huff in embarrassed fluster, making him chuckle. 

“Don’t start getting cranky. I don’t want to have to really spank you if I don’t have to.” Finally, he pulls all the way back to give you some space, patting your leg under the jacket. “Alright. Stand up and put your hands on the desk for me. We’ll do this standing up.” 

Suddenly confused, you hesitate just a moment before rocking forward with no shortage of hesitation. He didn’t often strike you while standing. Usually only when he was made to grab you to stop you from scuttling away and a chair or other wasn’t readily available … 

You try not to think about that too hard though as you find your feet with his coat somewhat awkwardly clutched to your front still. He reaches around to take it from you and you reluctantly let it go, shivering when it falls away to leave you bared from the waist down. Shuffling forward a step, you then reach out and slowly place your hands palm down on the desk while he stands up behind you, pushing the chair further back to allow for some space. 

Wriothesley presses up close behind you then, making a fresh shudder work down your spine as he leans over you to gently reposition your palms a little further apart. He reaches down to take your waist next so he can carefully bend you forward with your legs squared, nice and firmly rooted. You aren’t quite sure what to make of it all but his hands feel decidedly nice on you, and you just sigh very softly when he moves back. The following moment or two of rustling further leaves you stumped, especially when you catch a soft metallic click on the air, and you have to try very hard not to turn around and look. He seemed quite sure whatever it was would startle you a great deal but … 

When he eventually comes up beside you again, you turn your head to look at the hand he holds out towards you. Your brows make a prompt, very expeditious trip up to your hairline. 

“Wha — y - your belt, sir?” You warble out on a squeak, genuinely flabbergasted by this revelation. 

He chuckles faintly, snapping your wide eyed attention up at him so fast it nearly makes your head spin. “That look on your face is exactly why I didn’t tell you outright but it sounds worse than it actually is. At least the way I’m going to do it is.” 

“W - which would be?” You ask, nervously glancing at the folded over strip of leather with a great deal of fast mounting horror. 

“We’ll start off slow and work our way up in intensity, but even by the end I won’t be using too much force. My goal isn’t to actually hurt you, just teach you. See, the thing about this is it covers a wider area. I can strike you across both cheeks in one swing, and the relative flexibility of the leather means it carries a sharper sting with it as well. I don’t think it’ll take much to have you dancing on your toes, so I probably won’t even end up using a fraction of my strength when all is said and done. Does all of that sound agreeable to you, little miss?” 

You work to swallow down your nerves and almost choke on it. “I … I suppose so. But — if I really can’t take it, will you stop?” 

“Of course I will. I have no interest in brutalizing you or anything of the sort. That being said though I’m confident that you’ll do just fine. Who knows? You might even enjoy it.” 

A wholly mirthless laugh punches out of your throat. “I’m really not sure about that, your grace.” 

“Then let’s find out.” 

Transfixed, you follow the motion of the folded over belt when he lifts it in one hand and then slaps it down into the waiting palm of the other. You startle at the loud, meaty whap! and suddenly your blood turns to ice. You can feel yourself slipping under alarmingly fast, whatever the incomprehensible shroud was that blanketed your mind every time you ended up in these situations with him, but you had a feeling it wasn’t going to do much to shield you from the full brunt of it in this particular instance. 

Trying very hard not to shake when he steps behind you, you tip your face down to stare blankly down at the desk. The tension thrumming through your body is thick enough to suffocate and nauseatingly cloying. Just thinking about him hitting you with that was enough to make you sick … 

“Oh, and just a word of advice.” He tacks on, standing about a step behind you by the sound of it. “Try to breathe through it as much as you can. That will help more than anything else.” 

“… yes, sir.” 

“Good girl.” 

His fingertips brush across your ass then, and you jolt so hard you almost come right up off the floor. Wriothesley just takes a moment to coo at you though, chiding you softly for being so jumpy, but it was a little hard not to be! You felt like you were going to vibrate right out of existence, and the heavy weight of nervous anticipation was not making it any better. You’re such a mess of nerves and sharp adrenaline that you barely even notice the way your skin prickles under his hand, still hot to the touch and tender from your earlier spanking, and you wince slightly as he rubs over your bottom. It seems like a cruel thing to do, getting you sensitized and warmed up for his belt like this. 

“I’m going to start.” He finally warns you as his hand retreats, and you immediately brace for the deafening crack and the splintering pain to go with it. 

To your flinching surprise, however, the belt just lightly swats across your bottom with a soft little pap! and you absolutely hate the way you still violently lurch, having expected much worse. Your cheeks immediately flood with heat as he laughs softly behind you at the big reaction. 

“I told you we’d work our way up. That’s one. Count for me, pretty girl.” 

You obediently open your mouth but you only make it so far as drawing a breath to respond when the belt slaps across your ass, a little harder this time. You notice the sting he’d mentioned immediately, as well as the insidious reach it has across the swell of both cheeks, but all it does is make you rock forward on your toes a bit. You’d never admit it out loud to him, but he was right. This wasn’t as bad as you’d thought it would be. 

And that was precisely why you didn’t trust it. 

“… two, sir.” 

“Good girl. Your bottom looks mighty cute like this, by the way. I think I could get used to seeing you bent over my desk.” 

You clench your teeth, half in annoyance and half to brace for the next hit. If they kept steadily increasing like that … 

Whap! 

This one subtly jerks you forward with the impact and you wheeze over the desk, trying and failing to process just how sharp the sting really is. It leaves you dizzy, a bit stunned in the aftermath as prickling fire welts up over the swell of your bottom. It has your toes curling in their shoes, skin crawling with needle pinpricks as you work to steady yourself. Okay, that was marginally worse than his hand but still not quite as bad as the hairbrush. 

“Ooh … three, sir …” 

“You’re doing very well so far. What do you think of it?” 

You weren’t entirely sure you were properly equipped to answer that question at the moment, but after a short beat of consideration you finally say, “I see what you meant. It’s a different kind of pain, but it’s not terrible.” 

“It could be.” 

You snort. “I bet it could.”

Wriothesley shifts behind you making you instinctively brace for the next hit, but it never comes. Instead, he speaks again after a drawn out pause. “Do you really trust me not to get carried with it, and to know your pain threshold better than you do?” 

That seemed like an odd question to ask after all this time, but you decide you can humor it as you readjust your feet with a quick shuffle. “I do, your grace. You push me sometimes but you’ve never actually crossed that line. Until you do, I trust you.” 

“That’s very generous of you.” He murmurs, a note of humor in his voice now. “Incidentally, I think you should know that I trust you as well. I suppose that makes us even.” 

A dull trickle of surprise washes over you, but before you can fully process what he’d said the next strike comes with a considerably louder crack and it startles an ‘oh!’ out of you. Rocking forward on your toes, seething, you gingerly shift your weight from one side to the other but it does absolutely nothing to dispel the throbbing strip across your backside. It really was insidious how it could catch the meatiest parts of your ass in a single blow, and you carefully try to stretch it out with a dramatic curve of your spine. 

“That’s quite a show you're putting on for me right now, pretty girl.” Wriothesley drawls in a low tone that sounds like silk in your pounding ears. “Are you sure you don’t want to take your top off? I’m already seeing quite a lot …” 

Whimpering faintly, you shyly squeeze your thighs together and straighten slightly. “Don’t be a pig …” 

“My apologies. It’s so easy to forget my manners when you’re presenting such a cute pussy to me like that. I’ll be sure to mind myself.” 

“Ooh … will you touch it, your grace?” 

“Yes. Gladly. But only after we’re done.” He says. Then, much more softly, “It will be a reward for the both of us.” 

You draw a steadying breath and force your constricting lungs to expand with it as you carefully resume the position he’d put you in, or something close to it. “Four, sir.” 

“Good girl.” 

This time you know the swing is coming because you can hear the displacement in the air, and it seems to catch you in a particularly vulnerable spot, because you dance up on your toes with a frazzled yelp. The sting of unshed tears in your eyes quickly joins the splintering sensation across your decidedly sore bottom, and you sniffle rather sadly at the hurt. You understood now why he’d set the count to six, and you were immensely glad for it. 

“F - five, sir …” 

Wriothesley’s hand abruptly finds your shuddering back and you jolt before stiffly relaxing into his touch. Gently, reassuringly, he drags that massive palm across you in slow, coaxing circles. “There, you’re almost done. I’ll let you decide when you’re ready for the last stroke.” 

You can’t decide if that makes it better or worse, but you take a moment to collect yourself, just taking slow, deep breaths, just like he’d said to. It does help, a little bit, but the searing line across your ass is very hard to ignore. You were undoubtedly scared of what was coming and, yet, his steady presence at your side was a comforting one. You could do this. You knew you could. Not for him, but because of him. 

Gingerly easing your body out of its defensive hunch, you carefully move back into position again.  “I’m ready, sir.” 

Your first sign that this was going to be awful is the fact that Wriothesley keeps his hand braced against your middle back and just shifts to the side. Your second is the sharp sound of it cutting through the air. 

Whap! 

Pain explodes across your entire body unlike ever before. You lurch with a wounded, faltering animal sound, unable to even scream, it was that bad! Your knees instantly turn knobbly and you practically collapse with a strained, gasping sob, but he’s right there to catch you. So lost in the swimming daze of blind agony, you barely register him holding you around the waist to keep you upright and somewhat steady, but the soft press of his mouth against your shoulder somehow still manages to catch your attention. It pulls you back into the physical world, bit by bit, at a sluggish pace, and the sound of his crooning voice soon penetrates the numbing fog to mist over you. 

“— such a good girl, I’m so proud of you for taking that so well. You didn’t even scream, and I thought for sure you would on the last one. Do you have any idea how much strength that took? You’re such a precious thing.” 

Groaning dizzily, you slowly start to straighten up under his helpful guidance, and you don’t protest when he gently steers you back towards the chair with a hiccuping mewl. You’re glad for it, in fact. You just wanted to crawl into his lap and cling to him for the rest of the day. Night? You weren’t even sure what time it was. How long had you fallen asleep for? 

You feel well and truly delirious as he sits down and gets situated behind you before reaching back up to tug you into his lap, and you viciously seethe the moment your throbbing ass brushes his pants. Making a valiant effort to arch up off him and escape the pressure, you openly sob when he just pulls you right down. You writhe at the pain, twisting in his arms but then — you abruptly realize where his hands are headed. 

Choking on a stuttering gasp, you tip your tear stained face down with a confused little whimper to watch his palms drag up the front of your body, further rucking and irreparably wrinkling your jumper in the process. They smooth over the curve of your breasts and then pause to give them a savory squeeze, and you shudder intensely at the sensation. You’d never been touched like this before. Not by anyone, and it surprises you how sensitive your chest is under the weight of his hands. Your nipples immediately spring up even under your clothes, and you fitfully turn your head to rest across his shoulder with a half strangled wail. 

“These feel so good in my hands, pretty girl. Is this what you wanted me to do? Hm?” 

Screwing your eyes shut against the onslaught of so many sensations all at once — the pain and the pleasure so horribly intermingled that you could hardly tell them apart anymore — you offer a quick, jerky nod. “Mhm!” 

Wriothesley breathes out a terse sigh against the side of your head and nuzzles further into you while his hands keep fondling your breasts. “Good. They seem sensitive. There are a lot of fun things we could do with that information, you know. I have a few — toys you might be interested in later. Do you like having your pretty tits played with? You certainly look like you do …” 

Whining low in your throat, you shudderingly arch to shove your chest further out, and he takes advantage of that to squish them up and together. A deeply frazzled moan rattles out of you when he jostles them for a brief moment before letting them go so that they bounce back into place. He groans, very softly, as he quickly cups around the swell of them again, just holding them in his palms for a moment while he bends close to kiss you. 

You’re sinking alarmingly fast, much too fast to make any sense of it, and you clutch at his shirt in a fitful, twisting death grip. He doesn’t even seem to notice, just hungrily kissing you for a tortuously long stretch before eventually pulling back with a stilted exhale. Meaningfully, he sends his gaze lower and you follow his lead, slowly looking down at yourself just to find your tits straining up even through two shirts and a brassier. You issue a low, wounded sound, watching through the impossibly heavy fall of your lashes as he brings his hands up to delicately pluck at the stiffened buds. That alone is almost too much, both the sensation and the visual, but he really starts to tug on them. 

“You like that, do you?” He chuckles at all your sensitive quivering. “I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m more of an ass man myself, but these are nice too. Very nice, indeed. They fit so nicely in my hands, almost like they were made for them. And your nipples … oh, sweet girl, are you going to cum just from having me play with them?” 

That didn’t seem to be as much of a preposterous suggestion as you would have otherwise thought when you were currently wrestling with the thrumming tension that spikes through your body. You’d never felt quite so hot or overly sensitive, and you keen at the growing need threatening to swallow you whole. 

Evidently catching on, Wriothesley drags one of his hands down across your front, over your belly and straight down to dip between your trembling thighs. You feel him experimentally touch over your slit for a brief moment, familiarizing himself with it, before pressing his fingers into meaty lips to spread them. You rock violently in his hold and instinctively curl your legs out wide even when they weakly twitch in the air, keeping them spread for him. You’re not sure what you were expecting in your punch drunk state of mind, but it shocks a flustered yelp out of you when he slips in to tease over your clit. It has you twitching, twisting and writhing against him for everything you’re worth. The calloused pad on the tip seems to catch at soft flesh even with the excessive slick coating you and he tauntingly nudges at the delicate little pleasure button, just drawing it back and forth, up and down for a moment, before starting to press down more firmly. You promptly go cross eyed, lurching in his lap with a gutted moan. 

The direct contact felt so good … so good you could hardly even stand it, and it brings fresh tears to your eyes. You liked rubbing yourself on his thighs. Thought you’d liked that the most and that you couldn’t like anything else better — but this was overwhelming your already cotton stuffed head alarmingly quick, and the way he continues to pluck at one of your nipples did not seem to be helping you in the slightest. You were going to vibrate right off him if he kept that up! 

“Y - your grace! Ooohhnnggh!” 

“Do you enjoy that, little miss? Hm?” He nuzzles against the side of your head, pressing idle kisses to your temple again. 

“Ahhnn … yes! I do, your grace! I - I feel like I’m gonna’ — oohh!”

With a soft chuckle that makes his chest vibrate against your back, Wriothesley reaches across to the other breast to give it a savory, pinching knead. Fitful and needy, you impulsively reach down with trembling hands to grab the hem of your jumper so you can yank it up to bunch under your chin. He obliges you by grabbing at your tit again, through just the thin layer of your blouse now, and you somehow manage to shake even harder when he digs his fingers in to tug at the brassier underneath. It’s hard to do indirectly like this and he jostles you slightly with the effort, but you still feel the exact moment your stiff teat slips out of the top of the cup and you just shake even harder. 

“I bet you do. Such a sensitive little girl you are …” Pulling in a carefully tempered breath, he abandons that tit much to your blubbering disappointment and reaches over to do the same to the other. Pinching through fabric to grab at the lacy material underneath and nudge it down enough to leave both nipples cutting up directly into the fabric of your shirt. You writhe on top of him with a back bowing shudder and blindly grab at him, his arms, his shirt, the now rumpled collar of his button up, whining a low plea. “Hush. I’ve got you. Bring your hands up for me and wrap them around my neck. Think you can do that for me?” 

Offering a stilted nod, you do as he’d asked without question or even much thought to the matter. Later you might wonder why you’re so obedient and pliable with him like this, but in the heat of the moment you find nothing but pleasure, and deep satisfaction at the rumbling noise of approval he gives you when your arms stretch up to curl over his shoulders in a loose hold. The position proves a bit awkward when you can’t get a very good grip on him, but the reason for it quickly makes itself known. Your tits lift under your shirt with the upward motion to jut further out, and his blocky hand quickly descends upon one, pinching the tightly coiled teat to leave you moaning in equal parts distress and delight. 

“Ooh, isn’t that a lovely sound? You really are going to be the death of me … let me show you something nice now. You’ll like it, I promise.” 

The blocky fingers on your clit slowly retreat and you hiss at the loss only to choke on it a heartbeat later when he firmly presses them over your slit. He gives them a sedate rub and your pelvis involuntarily jumps, pressing up into them with a juddering twitch, eager for more. Desperate for it. 

“There, now move with me, pretty girl. Just like you do when you’re grinding this sweet pussy on my leg … that’s it, move your hips. Back and forth. Just follow the motion of my hand — see, you’ve got it. Keep going and don’t stop until you’re shaking for me.”

You suck in a thick, heavy gasp as you bring your swimming attention back down to look at the way you’re spread open on top of him. The wide stretch of your legs is shameful and a little embarrassing even now, but your cunt looks so small and dainty rubbing against his big hand while your thighs quack around it and you can’t quite bring yourself to care about it right now. Wheezing, you rock your pelvis up to follow the friction of his rough fingers before swiveling back and — you outright choke when your sore ass grinds down on him in the process. The faintly raised welts seem to crawl and sting with renewed fervor at the brush of his pants, the hard press of his cock digging up into you in search of the hot, wet warmth between your legs. Your pussy squeezes wildly at the sharp pain, drools yet more sticky slick to coat you in an obscene amount of liquid arousal, and you quickly do it again. Up against the firm pressure of his hand and then back again to rub your sore bottom on him. 

It doesn’t take long for you to start quaking in earnest like this and you cling to him desperately as the tension in your body rapidly swells, threatening to bowl you right over if you weren’t careful. But as always Wriothesley’s hold on you is absolute, and you’re free to shake and twist as wildly as you want without having to worry about falling. The hand on your chest alternates between your breasts, squeezing, pinching, tugging at your nipples, each in turn, to leave them feeling raw and sensitized through your shirt while the other keeps guiding your pelvis through the stuttering motion. Maintaining it becomes more difficult with the steady locking of your muscles as warning tremors wrack through you, but he remains an ever steady presence around you and it’s so easy to get lost and swept up in his pace. 

Your cunt tilts up against his hand and then your ass nudges back to make dull throbs of pain erupt across your bottom. 

Up against his hand with a sticky glide that does absolutely nothing to stop his rough skin from dragging against petal soft folds, then back to feel the weight of him digging into sore flesh that burns at the friction against his slacks. 

Up against his hand, back against his cock. 

His hand, his cock. 

Wriothesley’s hand and Wriothesley’s cock. 

The coil snaps. Just like that. 

Throwing your head back against his shoulder, you wail through your soul shattering release as quietly as you can manage. You seethe, you hiss, you groan, low and faltering. You squeal and you wheeze, bucking uncontrollably with a frantic desperation that he takes in stride. His hold on you doesn’t falter, and he neither grunts or flinches even when you spasm on top of him without heed. He’s like a solid wall underneath you, and he pets you through it all until you finally, at last, start to come down from it some moments later one jagged piece of you at a time. 

Going boneless with a haggard noise of deep sated pleasure, you just lay there for a long while and let him caress over you to leave pleasantly warm tingles in the wake of his hands. It’s comfortable like that, there with him. Sitting in the stillness of his office in the buzzing afterglow of release, simply listening to each other's heartbeats for a long time. He was right to say this was something he could get used to, because you could too. 

And strangely enough that thought doesn’t frighten you half as much as it probably would have at one time. 

“You’re a very good girl for me, you know that?” Wriothesley says at last, finally interrupting the quiet. 

Snuggling deeper into his body with a content little sigh, you tip your head back to look up at him from just a scant few millimeters away. “You’re very good to me as well, you’re grace. T - … thank you for that.” 

A slow smile tugs at his mouth to accompany the almost wry quirk of his brow. “Oh, am I now? Well, you’re very welcome, of course, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t half expect a different sentiment.”

You frown at that, unable to stop it. “You are easily the most frustrating, blockheaded man I have ever met, and I won’t deny that, but you — you’re kind to me, aren’t you? In your own strange way.” 

“I try to be.” He relents, his gaze drifting lower to fix upon your mouth. You can tell he’s thinking about kissing you again by the way his eyelids droop to attractive halfmast, but you reach up to cup the strong ridge of his jaw before he can follow through on it. 

“Can I … be kind to you as well, sir?” You give your butt a pointed little wiggle down onto the hard length straining under you, and his brows draw together as if in great discomfort. 

“As much as I would like that,” He intones rather thinly. “And for as much as I am tempted, I would rather teach you about that somewhere a bit more appropriate than in my office. At your home. In the comfort of your own bed, if you would permit it, sounds ideal to me.” 

You hesitate to respond just a moment too long, still a little overwhelmed at the thought of sharing your bed with him despite the eager thrum you feel at the suggestion, and he takes the chance to gather you against him in a tight squeeze. 

“There isn’t any rush, sweet girl. Whenever you’re ready, you will have me. I just want to ensure you receive the care and attention you deserve first and foremost, and I also want you to feel safe. Your bedroom will represent that final boundary and when you’re prepared to invite me into your life like that, that is when I will take you. That sounds fair enough, doesn’t it?” 

You want to tell him you are ready, that you want him now, you’re sure of it. Your body and mind alike both seem to crave the intimacy of skin on skin contact with him, while your heart … 

Oh, you simply couldn’t think about that right now. 

“Yes, your grace.” You murmur instead of any number of other things you could have said to him, wanted to say to him. Needed to say. “That sounds fair.” 

“Good.” Wriothesley gives you a reassuring pinch to make you squirm slightly in his arms. “Then I think with that settled it’s about time you and I considered making things somewhat official. Do you think you can stand to be seen with me in public in a non professional capacity for an hour or two?”

Going still against him, you frantically try to parse what he’s asking, what he’s getting at. Make it official? “What do you mean, my lord? I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” 

“I’d like to take you out to dinner, little miss. On a date.” 

Your face instantly lights up like a firework. A date? With the Duke of Meropide himself? 

Oh, but you suddenly felt terribly faint. 

“I … I think I’d like that, your grace. Thank you.” 

“Wonderful. Then that is what we will do.”

⭐

Crossposted: here

[seat-safety-switch]

The grills have fallen still. After a long and productive barbecuing season, the weather has turned and we now face the grim reality of not being able to cook steak outside for the next six to ten months. A pessimist would say that's okay, because nobody can afford steak anymore. An optimist would say that's not okay, because the grocery store doesn't have as much security over the winter.

My own relationship with barbecue is very complicated. Like some of you, I was raised in a traditional household, where it was expected that the man of the house makes dinner approximately once per year, and only with some kind of outdoor grilling implement. This was always either undercooked or near-burned, and so I never quite "got" the cult of televised grilled food competitions that arrived at the turn of the century, when people were losing faith in the old gods of Iron Chef and looking for a new bandwagon to climb onto.

Perhaps things are different down in the south, where the mild weather means that the outdoor chefs get a chance to char their meat at least twice per year. And they're close to places that have actual spices, so close that it seems likely that by sheer chance, a truck full of jalapeños could crash nearby and flavour the meat with aerosolized peppers while the operator of the grille is distracted by the arrival of the fire department. I don't know for sure, and I don't want to speak to their unique culture of "making food hotter."

For me, personally, the only way to enjoy food cooked outside is on a hot exhaust manifold. Wrap your purloined porkchops in tinfoil, slam them into the nookiest part of the engine's hotside, and go for a drive.

When you're done, the food should be well above safe operating temperature. And if not, the thin film of unburned gasoline and oil coming out of the leaking intake manifold gasket ought to kill whatever bacteria is living in there anyway. Importantly, you get a chance to practice this skill each and every time you are forced by the hostile aims of terminal-stage capitalism to drive to work. It's the fastest way to improve your barbecuing game and amaze the neighbours. And why stop there? When you get a Michelin star, you let me know. I bet you get a discount on tires.

[readychilledwine]

Edgeplay

✨️Kink Education with Elizabeth✨️

Welcome to the side of BDSM most people are very nervous about. Edgeplay is an umbrella of play types that tend to push the limitations of safety and emotional and mental well-being. This type of play can be triggering, so consider from here forward a trigger warning for this one-shot.

Edgeplay is not for the faint of heart. The types of play in this umbrella include consensual non consent, blood play, knife play, fire play, more extreme forms of rope play, breath play, impact play with implements that are faster to draw blood (studded paddles, kendo sticks, whips, canes, etc.), fire play, gun play, extreme temperature play, orgasm wrecking, and one of my very hard limitations, scat play and water sports. It is not uncommon for these play types to leave permanent reminders of play for years to come.

This type of play requires a very deep connection and level of trust between dom and sub. Some of these activities can kill you, and in recent years, the excitement behind that statement has been romanticized to the point that they began their own subgenre of the spice and romance literature world: Dark Romance.

I will be honest, I was SHOCKED and gagged and then felt evil with how I planned this out, to have our sweet baby LuLu requested for this. It is more mild than had I gotten Azriel because I can not see Lucien being super into play that could leave him potentially scarred and I could not see him being the dom in a situation that would potentially scar his play partner. I hope you all still like it, though!

💕Peep the Valentines Day List Here💕

As always, NSFW below the cut

Lucien Vanserra x Reader

Warnings - male sub dynamics, mommy kink, wax play, rope play, orgasm wrecking and edging, breathplay, use of safe word.

Something about Lucien was just so pretty when he begged. 

Maybe it was the pouty full lips. Maybe it was the whispered desperation. The soft look in his eyes was a plus, too. “Mommy,” you had denied him seconds away from an orgasm again. Lucien's chest had splatters of wax across it, his hair a tangled mess from pulling it constantly.

He has asked you to push him limitations. You were happy to oblige. “What color are you, baby?”

Through wet lashes, Lucien looked up at you, lip trembling slightly. “Yellow.” You began stroking his head. “Just need to cum.”

You tutted him. “Yellow means we slow down,” you began straddling his waist, holding the candle again. “Do you not remember your safe colors, baby?”

“I remember, mommy,” his hands moved to your thighs, gripping them tightly as that first drop if wax hit his abs. He hissed and squirmed, a whimper leaving his throat. 

“Did you forget your safe word?”

Another drop had him groaning, “No, mommy.”

You smiled, spare hand tracing his fingers, “Did you forget the rule about touching me?” He only whimpered in response as you flicked your wrists, and his hands were tied above his head. You had taken his one comfort and knew that limitations were about to be further pushed and possibly broken. “What's your safeword, baby?” You had set the candle down, sinking in to him inch by slow inch, watching the rise and fall of his chest before picking the candle back up.

“Red or Beron.”

“Do you need to use them?”

He shook his head, “Not yet.”

You leaned in kissing His pouty lips softly. “Would you like to start again?”

“Yes, mommy. Still yellow.”

You nodded, beginning to ride him slowly and tenderly while dropping wax on him occasionally. You were purposely aiming for spots that were already covered, so he didn't feel the full effect. You watched as he physically relaxed, whines becoming moans of your name, pleading for more. 

You bounced faster, hips moving in a rhythm you knew he loved. You began pouring the wax on exposed skin while your hand went to rest on his throat. 

You were watching Lucien closely, ensuring he was okay as you began to bring him back to his high. His beautiful face began to switch every so often, pleasure mixing with pain, and fading back to bliss. He was so close, and you wanted to give him a reward, allow him to fill your aching clenching cunt with his seed and then snuggle him and clean up. 

But something was preventing him from finding that bliss, from tipping over the edge. Your hand had moved from his throat, resting on his chest instead, but he didn't relax, falling back into whines and whimpers below you, begging softly. 

You went to set the candle down, one last drop of wax falling onto his collarbone area as you did, and it happened. “BERON!”

You  felt the room shift, stopping all motion. “I'm going to get off of you, okay?”

Lucien nodded, tears forming in his eyes as he did. “I'm sorry-”

You hushed him gently, moving to sit beside him and reaching to untie him. “Do not apologize to me. We tried a few new things, and it was too much. You never apologize for needing to stop, Lucien.”

“I just kept waiting for you to rip it away again, to stop and.. and you didn't.. but-” 

You began playing with his hair as his hands found your bare skin, feeling for comfort, squeezing plush flesh to regroup himself. 

“It's okay, Lu. You're safe.. I'm so sorry.”

He shook his head. “I wanted to try.”

You began peeling the wax off, praising him as you did. “What can we do to make you feel better?”

“A bath.”

“Then let's go take a bath.” You pulled him off the bed, walking him to the bathroom, and began running the tub. “Let's get this wax off. I love you, Lu.”

He smiled down at you. “I love you too. Also, never realized how quickly my father's name could kill a mood.”

“So fast,” you laughed.

He smiled harder, glowing softly at the happiness flowing from both ends of the bond. “So fucking fast.”

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho

@mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr

Valentines Day Taglist:

@sfhsgrad-blog @amara-moonlight @eternallyelvish @novaksangel @teenageeggscissorslawyer @thisblogisaboutabook @amygdtjhddzvb

@justasillylittlegoofyguy @avajustreads

@littlestw01f @azriels-shadowsinger @acourtofladydeath

[fuunhyde]

I took part in fictober this year!

I did most promts up to this day, from the list from @fictober-event <3

I'm ending early this year, so I decided to post a whole list of what I wrote instead of posting everyday up to date hah He're the whole collection:

But if someone prefer's it more specific, here's the list:

1. "Energy Rush" — Traffic Liht Trio — fluffy, silly goofy short — "that was good work" — wc: 587

2. "all that's left is us"—ShadowPeach—bittersweet, light angst and fluff—"it's been a long time" — wc: 1889

3. "Cyan" — ShadowPeach— bittersweet, light angst and hurt/comfort —"I know you better" — wc: 2035

4. "Found, not Funded" — MK, MEI, WUKONG, MACAQUE — some silly goffy short —"no, we're not doing that" — wc: 1303

5. "Sacrivaces and Devotion"— LBD and Mayor — sweet short fluff—"it's a new day, let's go" — wc: 459

6. "how can hands that hurt each other fit so well together?" — ShadowPeach— angst, hurt/comfort —"I'm not giving up" — wc: 1863

7. "Univited" — SpicyNoodles — short fluff —"follow me if you want to live" — wc: 810

8. "Winds of the Past" — Macaque-centric, slight shadowpeach — a bit of angst but with a happy payoff —"are we happy?" — wc: 1287

9. "Focus"— SpicyNoodles — short and attempt at humor I guess—"don't listen to me, listen to them" — wc: 435

10. "Pot" — Pigsy and Tang and smol MK — fluf but short —"is this normal?" — wc: 379

11. "managing a noodle shop" — Chimera — sweet and short —"well, that worked out great" — wc: 306

12. "Slight Fright" — ShadowPeach— hurt/comfort, fluff —"did you hear that?" — wc: 1065

13. "Sorry, sorry for what" — ShadowPeach— hurt/comfort —"that's not the point" — wc: 898

15. "bumped cars" — ShadowPeach— fluff, suggestive, talk about sex, +18—"let's try this" — wc: 552

16. "scratching scars" — ShadowPeach— hurt/comfort —"no, I'm not okay" — wc: 876

17. "Shadows and Spices" — Macaque and Red Son — sweet, short familly fluff —"strangest thing I ever heard" — wc: 420

18. "thinking inside the box" — ShadowPeach— hurt/comfort —"you always have a plan" — wc: 622

19. "Dress Up" — ShadowPeach— mild smut, suggestive, +18 —"this is getting ridiculous" — wc: 444

20. "explosions in your eyes" — ShadowPeach— fluff and hurt/comfort—"I saw your eyes light up" — wc: 455

21. "consequences" — ShadowPeach— mild smut, suggestive , +18—"we've done worse" — wc: 571

22. "peeping from the shadows" — Macaque and Red Son — very short, fluff and humor —"why are we doing this again?" — wc: 228

23. "rotting away" — ShadowPeach— angst, hurt/comfort, death, hopeful ending—"we can fix this, I know we can" — wc: 1065

25. "burns" — Mei and Red Son — hurt/comfort, short & sweet—"it consumes me" — wc: 520

27. "My hands are rough, but you don't seem to mind"— ShadowPeach— smut and angst —"let me remind you" — wc: 1544

So that's my addition in this year! 24/31 works, maybe not a full deck like last year, but I've been busy, so I still count it as a win haha

See ya all next year!

=)

[aspiringnexu]

Okay so I sort of fell face-first into the Star Trek fandom and went on a Spirk fic reading spree. And, as is usual with my reading, I latched onto a plot that my brain is going nuts over.

There was a fic where Kirk found out he was like, 1/16th Vulcan because some industrious Vulcan lady a while ago decided the only logical way to experience Earth was to settle down and have kids there with a native and not tell anybody. Anyway, its very amusing, turns out Kirk is the last living descendent of some noble Vulcan house and as such can inherit quite a few profitable investments and a potential future High Council seat if he wants, though his taunts of assuming such a position to annoy Spock fall on the back burner when he suddenly goes into Pon Farr because of course he does.

But my brain immediately latched onto 'part-Vulcan Jim Kirk' and went a tiny bit rabid.

So the idea arrived. Kirk, completely unaware of his Vulcan ancestry, encounters Shenanigans on an Away Mission as is customary. Alien medical tech goes a bit bonkers and the captain is hit but physically okay, just unconscious. Bones will still give him hell when he wakes up but Spock can breathe easy. The Shenanigans were mild this time. Or were they? Turns out the medical tech actually did do something. It stimulated the latent Vulcan genes, artificially encouraging growth and change at an incredibly rapid pace, not eleminating Kirk's humanity but elevating him from Human with Vulcan spice, to almost even half n' half.

So we get poor Kirk waking up with undisciplined telepathic powers, a much stronger body, and the worst headache known to humanoids. Bones discovering his patient has miraculously decided to switch species overnight. And poor, poor Spock who just got over the minor heart attack of the previous incident and is now face to face with the prettiest Vulcan he has ever fucking seen.

Because half-Vulcan!Jim is blond, blue-eyed, and radiating 'confused kicked puppy' vibes like the world's most attractive telepathic foghorn.

Bonus points if Spock goes into Pon Farr early because Jim is projecting so much emotion and is also just That Pretty.