#it's just on my floor beside my desk and whenever i see it and think about throwing it out i cant bring myself to do it.

[lunariarts]

A few weeks ago I cooked up some bomb fucking ribs and I had set an alarm at 12:35 to check them and that alarm is still there. It was 2023 when I made those ribs, and yet here I am, still just dismissing that alarm every day. I could delete it, sure, but I haven't. It's become a routine, the ghost of an animal I never knew the face of. I knew only it's changed flesh, but perhaps the intimacy of consuming it allows me to know it all the same.

that is strangely beautiful. haunted by meal of year past. a memento of bomb ribs that fucked. those meats that you are reminiscing on are a part of you now, inextricably. and every day at 12:35 you are given an opportunity to show thanks, not just to your meal, but to yourself

[permanentlyfemale]

⚠️ Feminization, Misgendering, Forced detrans kink ahead! ⚠️

Today is a scary day for you. As a trans man, finding the right therapist is far more difficult than it is for most people, especially as you weren’t looking for just a new therapist today. You also need someone to write you a top surgery letter. Although you’ve only been on T for 2 months, barely enough to notice anything besides an increased libido and clit growth, your breasts are by far your biggest source of dysphoria. You often wear two binders when you’re going anywhere, and even then, a sizable bump is visible on your chest. You’re hoping they may become easier to bind with hormones, but you already know that you’ll need surgery regardless.

“Milo Brown?” A masculine voice calls your name from across the room. Glancing up, you see a very attractive man, much taller than you, looking to be in good shape under his professional attire, but not overly muscular. His dark shoulder-length wavy hair and stubble complement his gentle, masculine face and warm brown eyes.

Surprised by the man’s beauty, you stumble on your words as you rise from your seat. “I- uh- I’m here.”

“Great! Let’s get back to my office.” He smiles warmly and gestures for you to follow him out of the waiting room and down a hallway, passing mostly empty offices on the way. This doesn’t seem too odd, as there was construction on the lower floor. Maybe some patients didn’t like the noise and cancelled? Or maybe you’re trying to distract yourself from thinking of the exceedingly attractive man that may soon be your therapist. You’ve considered yourself gay since coming out, but starting hormones has certainly made that attraction all the more apparent.

As he opens his office door, you’re surprised by how casual it is. There’s a long couch next to an armchair, with a clipboard set neatly on top. His desk is to the side, seemingly ignored while clients were present in favor of a more personal layout. Thinking of something to say as you sat on the couch, you spit out “I like your office.”

“Thank you Milo, I spent a lot of time thinking of the anatomy of the room and how to make my clients most at ease. I find this works best.” He smiles at you, his eyes gentle and enticing. “I’m Dr. Sterling, I specialize in support for LGBT and FTM clients. Nice to meet you! Tell me a but about yourself and what brings you here.”

“My name is Milo Brown, I’m 19 years old, and I just started testosterone. I’ve been out as trans for a while but finally got access to hormones and I’m hoping to get top surgery as well, but I need a letter for it. I also just need support with my dysphoria and depression.” You cross your arms over your large chest self-consciously.

“Well, that’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Can you tell me more about your dysphoria regarding your chest?”

Shifting uncomfortably in your chair, you hesitantly proceed. “Every day is awful! They’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and I go to sleep trying not to feel or think about them. They’re so big and heavy that I feel them whenever I move and it makes me so dysphoric. It’s also impossible to make myself flat, so I never pass. As a gay man, it’s so hard to find a man who would want a guy with a body like mine!”

“Oh, Milo, I think that’s very negative thinking. Plenty of men would find you attractive! I thought you were quite beautiful when I saw you myself.”

You’re surprised by his words! That sounded very flirtatious, but maybe he was just trying to boost your ego. Either way, it made the empty space between your legs tingle when he said it. You also didn’t know he was queer, but it definitely makes you more comfortable with him. “Well… that does make me feel better. I still don’t feel comfortable with my chest though.”

“Why don’t we try something? This is an exercise I’ve done with plenty of my transmasuline patients before, and it has always improved their lives and helped with dysphoria. While we do it, I can assess you for top surgery as well! How does that sound?” He smiled at you expectingly.

“Uhhh… yeah, that sounds good. What are we doing?”

“I’m just going to have you answer some questions about your body and dysphoria. This may get uncomfortable, but it’s all part of this process. I’m sure you can trust me, right?”

“Of course!” You answer instinctively.

“Right. First, I want you to take off your shirt and binder.” He instructs casually.

“What!? I thought we were just answering questions. Is that necessary?” You’re again surprised, he wasn’t a surgeon and you had never shown anyone your chest before. You didn’t want to look at it yourself, much less this beautiful man you’re expecting to see regularly!

“I understand this is surprising and uncomfortable, but I want to understand your perspective on your body, as well as assess the size and density for surgery. I need to know this for the letter, and I understand this is very important to you. I’m sorry for the discomfort, Milo.” He looked at you apologetically, his brown eyes sparkling, staring in to your soul and shooting down between your legs.

“I… okay.” What he was saying did make sense, and you would do most anything for this surgery. Resolving to just get this over with, you take off your oversized hoodie and throw it on the couch next to you. Grabbing both binders at once, you exert a herculean force squeezing yourself out, panting as your huge breasts fly out. You blush with embarrassment as a loud clap can be heard from them swinging together.

Dr. Sterling calmly walks closer to you. “Do you know your cup size?”

“Uh… no, sorry.”

“That’s alright, we can measure now.” He smiles warmly and pulls out some measuring tape. Without hesitation, he walks up to you and wraps it around your chest! He first measures your underbust before moving to measure your bust. His hands rest on your breasts as he does so. “Alright… looks like you have J cups.” His hand brushes your nipple as he backs away.

“Mmph!” Involuntarily, you let out a short, feminine moan. Both the dysphoria of knowing your overwhelming cup size and your accidental vocalization leave you embarrassed and blushing harder than ever.

“It doesn’t seem like you’ve experienced any vocal changes from testosterone.” He observes.

“Umm… not yet, no.”

“It also seems like you have quite sensitive nipples?”

“I guess…”

“Well, have you ever considered embracing your breasts?”

“Huh?” You were confused. They made you sad and dysphoric, how could you ever embrace them? He did say whatever he was doing worked for all of his other transmasc patients, but this seemed absurd.

“Your breast are way too big to bind properly. I’ve seen you wearing two binders in here, and that is not healthy. As your therapist, I can’t encourage you to damage your body in such a way, and especially without two binders, you wouldn’t be able to hide them at all anyways. And why go through the trouble of binding if everyone can tell? It might do you some good to just accept your body as it is. It’s not like whether you bind now will affect surgery.”

Unfortunately, everything he was saying made perfect sense. Even when binding, it was very obvious you had breasts. Why go through all the trouble, especially if it was hurting your body? You were dysphoric either way, might as well be more comfortable physically. “I guess… I guess you’re right.”

“Yes… unfortunately it’s also not very possible hormones could reduce them to a bindable size either.”

This devastated you. Even later on testosterone, you would have obvious breasts? How could you expect anyone to take you seriously as a man? You had hoped to begin passing in public soon, and finally begin living comfortably, but you weren’t so sure now. Would it even be safe to live as a non-passing trans man? Why were you going through so much for hormones if there was no hope of passing before surgery anyways? Maybe you should just wait until then for hormones- no one will gender you right as you are now. “Maybe… maybe I should pause testosterone until surgery then.”

“Yes, I can see why. That might be the safest option for you.” He nodded solemnly. “We can practice some exercises to reduce dysphoria until then, if you’d like.” His frown shifted in to a comforting smile.

Still upset, you nodded.

He moved closer and, before you could react, placed one hand on each perky, round breast, grabbing you by the boobs.

Surprised, you squeaked.

“This is just to get you used to your breasts. It often helps most when someone else does it, so you’re more comfortable with other people seeing them.” He gently squeezed and pulled, running his fingers along your supple breasts, warm palms pressing your hard nipples.

“Mmmmmm-! Oooh!” You let out a series of feminine wails as the doctor palms at your breasts. They were so sensitive and they felt so heavy- so wrong on your body- and yet they sent waves of pleasure throughout your curvy figure.

“Are you still going to go by Milo? I mean, you’re stopping T until surgery because you won’t be able to pass. It would be weird to only keep the name and pronouns, especially for strangers.” His hands shifted to thumb at your nipples.

Your thoughts were flooded with waves of pleasure shooting from your tits. The importance of this decision didn’t fully register, but what he was saying made sense to you. “You’re right.”

“Good girl.”

“Huhh…”

“People are going to refer to you by what you look like. You know you don’t pass. This is just exposure training, okay?”

“Okay…” You mindlessly agree as he moves his head close to your breast.

“See? You are a good girl.” He starts to suck on your nipple, causing you to throw your head back and wail in pleasure. You don’t know when his own clothes came off, but he’s getting on top of you and pulling your pants off, leaving you in just your boxers with his much larger biologically male body pinning you down, suddenly kissing your lips.

“What… what are you doing now, d-doctor…” he cuts you off as you pant your words out.

“The easiest way to adapt to and accept being seen as a woman is to have sex with a straight man, one who can use you as only male can use female. You need this, Amelia. It’s okay.”

Hearing your deadname makes you cringe with dysphoria. You’ve always felt an aversion towards it, despising the femininity it signaled. You struggle to reconcile your attraction to the doctor and trust in his methods to your current panic. This all felt good and sounded logical but it’s happening too fast to react, and these are all such big decisions, and suddenly he’s pulling your boxers off.

“Your pussy is so perfect. You make such a sexy woman.” He rubs the length of his cock along your clit and hole. The distinction between your pathetic nub and his masculine length is obvious. He gropes your massive jiggling breasts, squeezing them together and lowering his head to kiss and suck your nipples as his dick prods your entrance.

“Doctor Sterling…” You moan his name as his assault on your tits grows heavier. He sloppily makes out with your huge boobs, enjoying every second he can get drowning in your massive breasts.

He momentarily pulls his mouth from your tits. “Yes… fuck, Amelia!” He rams his hard cock all the way inside you, hitting your cervix as he moans your deadname, resuming his assault on your massive wobbling boobs all the while.

You scream and wail, unsure if it’s in pleasure or some mix of dysphoria and grief for your lost ambitions. Whatever male identity you insisted on was currently obstructed by your massive tits and the straight man enjoying them as he pounded in to your soft, tight vagina. Anyone who saw you two would know immediately that this was heterosexual sex- they would never stop to consider you could be anything but a curvy woman being held down and fucked by a handsome man. Suddenly, the doctor’s thrusts sped up. You forgot condoms, and you’re barely on T!

Right as you open your mouth, he interrupts. “I’m gonna cum, Amelia! I’m cumming inside you!” He holds himself against your cervix, comforting you as you begin to scream. “Shhh, good girl, it’s okay.”

You feel his hot cum flood in to your unprotected pussy, tears falling from your eyes. Feeling the sticky cum start to leak out, you manage to speak. “Do… do you have a towel?”

“Uhhh… here!” He grabs your binders and rips them both, turning them in to makeshift towels as he pulls out, along with a flood of cum.

You know you said you wouldn’t bind anymore, but having the option taken away made everything all the more real. You know it was for the best tho. He specializes in helping trans men, and he said this always works. You just have to trust him! As time runs out, you don’t even realize you forgot to finish your top surgery letter.

Still… you couldn’t wait to book your next session.

[strawbeerossi]

Grading Papers

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: You are Dr. Reid’s TA. One night, he asks you to stay late and help grade papers, only to see you worked up. It’s a good thing he has the perfect solution for that.

Content/Warnings: Power imbalance, age gap (20s/40s), sexual tension, thigh riding, praise.

Word Count: 1.2K

Kinktober Day Twelve: Thigh Riding

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

Whenever Dr. Reid had approached you about staying a little later after your class to assist him in grading papers, you reluctantly agreed. It wasn’t like you were uncomfortable with him, in fact it was the complete opposite. Ever since you’d been placed as a TA for his class, you had a massive crush on the older man. Every person in your class did, honestly. There was a reason he had the most students auditing his classes, he was very attractive and his dumbfounded reaction to learning so many students used the class just to look at him just added to his charming demeanor.

He was an understanding man, always willing to listen and work with any student who needed his assistance. It didn’t help that he had a million dollar smile, one that made your heart flutter when it was flashed in your direction. You were in love with a man who was surely old enough to be your father.. Yet you felt no shame.

You’d had vivid fantasies, ones where Spencer would call you in his office and push you against the wall, taking you right there while proclaiming how he’d had his eye on you since he met you. 

You could admit you were a little delusional but nobody could blame you. Who doesn’t want professor Reid to bend them over his desk and-

You were cut off by a throat clear, making you snap out of your thoughts. “It’s good to see you, thank you for coming by. I appreciate you coming to assist me tonight.” He could’ve done it by himself, in all honesty. The papers were quick and easy to blow through, especially with the ability that Spencer had when it came to reading. Instead, he’d invited you here for something else..

“Oh, it was no problem. I didn’t have much else that needed to get done and it is my job to help you when you need it.” You spoke while offering a smile, discarding your backpack before putting it on the floor by his desk. “I’m so glad to hear that. I went ahead and split up the assignments equally.” He assured while passing over a stack of typed up research papers. “I have a chair over here that you can take. My desk is big enough to fit both of us.” He chuckled and gestured to the chair pulled up beside him.

The idea of being so close to Spencer had your cheeks heating up, head nodding as you approached his side and pulled out the chair to seat yourself. It was like you were a horny teenager who was getting worked up just by having your knee touch his, the warmth of your body and the tension bubbling over. “You alright?” Spencer soon asked, an eyebrow raising at how fidgety you were. He was a profiler and you knew that, you’d learned he could see all the tells and read you like a book if he really wanted to. Still, you lied. “Oh! I think I’m just a little scatterbrained tonight.” You tried to save yourself the embarrassment of telling the older man your perverted and sinful thoughts. 

There was a huff that fell from Spencer’s lips, his hands coming out to gently grab your hips before tugging you into his lap. The sudden action had your eyes widening, propped up in the male’s lap as you quickly turned your head to look at him. “Dr. Reid!” Your voice came out in a squeak, making the man shrug his shoulders nonchalantly. “You’re free to get up but given your body language, I can tell this is much more than being scatterbrained. Believe me, I know the signs of someone being turned on. As much as most won’t believe it, I’ve been around enough women to know the signs.”

He was chuckling as he brushed your hair off of your shoulder when you made no effort to move. “I have an offer to make. Don’t worry, you won’t be penalized for saying no, I’ll just back off.” He had to preface his point of not wanting to push things too far beyond your comfort zone. The idea was crazy, the man could lose his license to teach and be blacklisted from teaching. However, you felt just a little desperate. That was what made you nod your head slowly. “Y-yeah, okay.”

His large hands were resting against your hips while helping you stand, his hands moving to your pants to get them unbuttoned and tugged down your legs. “You seem so desperate. I bet you think about this a lot more than you’re letting on.” His tone was like velvet, his gaze on the panties that hugged your waist. 

“How desperate are you though?” The question made you shiver as his hands were ever so gently lifting you up before perching you on his thigh with a soft smirk. This was him expecting you to crumble, to melt while rubbing yourself on his thigh..

You fed right into it, hips rocking steadily against the clothed thigh. The friction of the creases in his slacks against your clothed clit had electricity shooting through your body, mouth agape. “There we go. Does that feel good? Desperate little bunny.” He cooed, his hands guiding your hips as he was fixing the position of his thigh and pushing it up to apply pressure to your needy pussy. “Surprised you’ve lasted this long. You know, you aren’t exactly subtle with the way you look at me.” 

Your face was heating up as he’d caught you, calling you out on your shameless fantasizing whenever you thought he wasn’t paying attention. “You’re so precious.” He began while chuckling softly, his words making your hips speed up on his thigh as you were rubbing your cunt along the creases of his pants, the delicious friction making you roughly grip his thigh.

“Gonna cum on my thigh and soak your panties with your cum?” He questioned, lips now pressing kisses along your shoulder. “Fuck, yes.” You whined, the slick arousal from your panties already seeping through and causing a small wet patch on his right thigh. “Well, what are you waiting for? These papers aren’t gonna grade themselves.” He mused, words dripping with amusement at you, one of his best TAs, left to a whining and whimpering mess while your desperation had you humping his thigh for relief.

The warmth spread over your body, a thin veil of sweat decorating your forehead as you let your head tilt forward, mouth agape while ragged breaths escaped your lips. The rush of arousal shot through your body, nails digging into the part of his thigh that you held as you were hitting your peak, a whine leaving your lips as you could feel the slick seep through your panties, leaving you with uncomfortably wet panties. 

“There we go!” He cooed, gently rubbing your lower back as he was letting your shaking body lean back against his broad chest. “You can sit there as long as you want,” He commented with a chuckle as he was scooting his chair up to the desk while he was getting a few papers from his desk to read them.

[wri0thesley]

gift wrap - wriothesley x reader (2.7k)

you're just so excited to show wriothesley your newest purchase - but the duke can't help but think it would look better on the floor.

cw: not sfw, minors dni. reader is afab and wears a dress, corset, stockings, etc, but no gendered terms are used. reader is implied to be chubby. soft dom wriothesley, pet names 'sweetheart, pretty baby'. reader keeps calling wriothesley 'your grace'.

“Do you like it?” You twirl in front of Wriothesley, making sure that the full dramatic effect of your new gown is not lost; that Wriothesley is able to see every ruffle, every carefully embroidered rainbow rose, every neatly tied bow. It’s a complicated confection of a dress, and you had delighted in sending missives to the dressmaker with every new idea you’d had, your measurements carefully taken by the Duke himself--

(“Tighter!” You’d urged, the tape measure around your waist. Wriothesley had huffed out a noise that might be fondness and might be exhaustion. 

“You’re not going to be able to breathe in it,” he’d said, but he’d pulled the tape more snugly even so. 

“I’ve got a new corset coming,” you’d told him. “And you’re not going to complain about it showing off all of my assets, are you?”

Wriothesley had paused. 

“ . . . No,” he’d said, and he’d shown you the number on the tape for you to rush off and scribble down before it went out of your head). 

“So,” you urge him, coming to a stop in front of him and striking a pose you hope is effective. You certainly feel good in it; the new corset underneath, and the new chemise (silk and trimmed with exquisite lace) and the new stockings and new shoes all working together to make you feel like the most exquisite flower in the garden - not that such a thing is hard, in the Fortress of Meropide. “Do you like it?”

Wriothesley rests his chin on his hand behind his desk and motions you over with the other, beckoning you to come closer. You eagerly follow instruction, and he reaches out and tweaks one of your ribbons, his expression not changing. 

“So this is what you’re spending my Mora on?” He asks you. You pout at him, and the tension breaks - he lets out a gruff bark of laughter. “Yes, yes, sweetheart. I like it plenty.” 

You beam at him, and he shakes his head, an expression as familiar to you as your own hands playing across his face - an attempt to be tough and maintain his reputation, tempered with his inability to say no to you and his tendency to break whenever you exert the slightest bit of pressure on him. Nobody else could say that they have the Duke of the Fortress wrapped around their finger the way you do. 

“It’s not the only new thing that arrived in the mail room for me today!” You chirp at him, and his eyes go dark as he remembers you chattering idly in bed next to him about all of the other fripperies and fancies you were having made. 

Nobody would accuse Wriothesley, normally, of excess in anything but the amount and variety of teas that he orders for himself. Unfortunately, when it’s you beside him, fluttering lashes and sighing and pouting and saying “Your Grace, please” . . . he has a lot of willpower, but he’s not made of stone. 

“I take it back,” Wriothesley says, taking a sip of the fragrant tea resting on his desk. It’s supposed to calm him before bed, but he’s no longer feeling sleepy at all - not with the promise of what might be beneath your gown calling to him. “I’d like it much, much more if it were on the floor.”

“I only just put it on--” You say to him, teasing, batting your lashes - and Wriothesley places the teacup down and puts his fists upon his desk. That dark cast in his eye does not abate, and he uses a voice that means business when he opens his mouth again; 

“Now.” 

You know what that tone means. You take a shuddering breath, and then say to him, your own voice wavering;

“I’ll need your help. Sigewinne helped me put it on . . .” As you speak, you turn slowly, showing the row of buttons down your back - they’re helped along by both ribbon lacing and hooks and eyes, and you can practically feel Wriothesley’s displeasure emanating off of him as he surveys them. 

“Blasted thing,” he grumbles to himself, and you hear the heavy footfall of his boots as he stands up and comes around the desk to be closer to you. You gasp as strong, work-roughened hands grab you by the indent of your waist and haul you bodily closer to him. “Why make this so complicated?” 

Despite his grumblings, his fingertips are tender as he undoes the first hook and begins to work on the small satin-covered buttons.

“I ought to just rip it off you,” he breathes into your ear, breath hot against your neck. “Save me all of the trouble.”

“I just bought it,” you repeat, helplessly, as the Duke deftly reaches the lacing at your hips, and you feel the gown fall from your shoulders. His lips press against the nape of your neck. “Th-that would definitely be a waste of Mora--”

“Anything that ends with you naked,” Wriothesley murmurs, “is not a waste of anything.”

“Your Grace--”

He chuckles roughly at the title, hand reaching around to pull your face towards him. Standing there in chemise and corset and stockings and heels, aware that you would be most embarrassed were anyone to walk into Wriothesley’s office looking for an audience with him, you are nevertheless helpless to do anything but let your lover draw you into a kiss as deep and hungry as there’s ever been. 

Teeth dig into your bottom lip and you whine into his mouth, as Wriothesley’s calloused hands trace the shape of you. Where the corset makes your waist smaller, your hips all the rounder, the swell of your chest as ripe and heaving as it can be. 

“You know,” he breaks the kiss to say to you, his voice dropping semitones with every syllable, his throat clogged with want. “I’m a simple man. I don’t need my gifts to be in fancy wrapping or anything; you could walk in here in brown paper and string and I would devour you just as eagerly . . . But,” and he cracks a grin, his teeth bright and sharp and wolfish. “Well. This makes a man re-evaluate.”

He squeezes the globe of your ass through your chemise and you whine, your hands coming up to rest on his chest, fingertips curling about the lapels of his waistcoat. 

“Still,” he slides his hands up, and deftly, without even looking - like a master criminal, a master thief - you feel your corset lacings loosen, and then the beautifully embroidered garment is falling from you too and you feel your chest, freed from the stricture of the corset, spill forward to fill out your chemise. “It’s hard not to prefer you . . . au naturel. You don’t need the ornamentation, sweetheart. You’re the nicest thing to look at down here for miles. In fact, every time I catch one of the inmates looking at you I wanna punch them out myself.”

“I like it,” you whisper, helplessly, because your stomach is rolling pleasantly and your head has gone light and fluffy like cotton wool, egged on by the palpable lust in the Duke’s voice as he slowly strips you of your accoutrements. “I know I don’t . . . need to . . . for you . . .”

Wriothesley’s fingers on your chin, smile on his face as he kisses you again, gentler this time. 

“As long as you know,” he murmurs, sweet as honey. “The day I don’t want to throw you over my desk and fuck your pretty little brains out the minute I see you, call the Chief Justice and have the idiot tried and incarcerated for impersonation.” 

He does this, sometimes; says the most vulgar things whilst sitting in his luxurious office, his title obvious in his regal bearing - and every time, it does not fail to make you wet. 

“This, though . . .” He tugs at the lace hem of the chemise; the fabric clings to you, the true shape of your body without any need for whalebone and ribbons. “Ooh, I daresay you can keep this on.” 

“What are you going to do to me, Your Grace?” You ask him, your heart pounding in your ears - or perhaps between your thighs. You feel a little too out of sorts to locate it properly. 

He answers by lifting you up, uncaring of how much you weigh - all of that time in the Pankration ring has made it so you barely ever see him break a sweat, regardless of what he’s doing. The only time you’ve ever really seen him sweating, he’s been above you, eyes fever bright, hips pistoning in and out of you, veins prominent on his scarred forearms as he caged you beneath him. You find yourself deposited onto the edge of his desk, and then Wriothesley is fumbling with his trousers and slotting himself between your thighs. 

“Another time,” he says to you, in between rough kisses and bites to your lower lip, your earlobe, your throat. “I’d take my time with you, sweetheart. Get on my knees, use my tongue on you until you’re nice and wet and trembling . . . Really taste you. But . . . Ah.” He heaves a wistful sigh. One of his fingers slides into the top of your stocking, twanging it against the fullness of your thigh where it pinches just enough to drive him wild. “S’taken me too long to get you out of all of that nonsense, and now . . . well, I’m only flesh and blood.”

You gasp out his name as you feel something slap against your thigh, slick and hard and hot. You can feel his shaft pulsing even now, and you let your eyes drift down to see Wriothesley’s impressive length in his fist, tip flushed purple-red with want, a bead of silvery precome dripping onto your new stockings. 

His other hand carefully drags the strap of your chemise down, urging you to shrug it off your top half - and then your chest is free, your nipples hardening in the cool air, the soft bounce of them being unrestrained making Wriothesley unconsciously lick his lips.

He’s still fully clothed, but for his cock, and the knowledge of just how exposed you are - thighs spread wide to allow him space between them, chemise pushed down to below your breasts and up to above your hips. Anyone who walked in on you right now would see how shameless you’re being for the Duke of the Fortress, and you could not care less. 

“At least you’re well-behaved,” Wriothesley grunts, pinching your nipple with one hand - the shock goes through you, straight to your cunt. “You’re wet, sweetheart. Ah. You want me to fuck you?” 

“Yes,” your voice comes out a soft little whine. You can’t think straight; his cock slaps against the outside of your cunt, your slick mingling with his precome, the head barely brushing your clit. 

“Can’t hear you,” he says, smiling down at you. “These old pipes get loud this time of night, y’know. Downside to the whole underwater fortress thing.” The calloused palm travels over your breast, over your collarbone, brushing your throat with the lightest of touches until he’s gripping your jaw firmly in his hand. His thumb brushes over your lips, gently pressing down on the lower one until your mouth opens for him. 

Your tongue shyly probes at his thumb, and you see a spot of colour high on his cheeks. 

“Say it again,” he says, though from the crack in his voice you can tell it’s taking all of his self-control to wait. Through the thumb in your mouth, you say to him, all want and need and soft panting;

“Please fuck me, Your Grace.”

“Good,” Wriothesley praises you - and then, he presses his hips forward and his cock catches on your opening and you lose the ability to do anything but let him push forward, opening you up. 

The hand formerly on his cock comes to grip onto your hip in order to act as leverage. Your eyes roll back into your head, your lips closing about his thumb so you can suckle on it as a distraction to the sting of being opened wider than your body thinks it can handle. It’s an almost-sting, not-quite-burn - Wriothesley’s thick length almost too much for you to bear, bullying itself inside of you and almost making the channel of your cunt mould to the shape of his. His tip bullies further and further into you, and he grits his teeth and lets a low guttural groan fall from his mouth. 

“Shit,” he grunts. “Always forget how tight you are. Ought to fuck you more.”

He spends every night inside of you that he can, and plenty of lunchtimes and ‘afternoon tea breaks’ too - but you’re not sure Wriothesley could be satisfied even if he had nothing to do all day but fuck you. His stamina is something to be marvelled at. You’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve been beneath him, whimpering out as he filled you with another round of his come, that you don’t think you can take any more - and every time, Wriothesley has soothed and kissed and cajoled - and every time, you’ve been left so full of his release that you feel it leaking out of your cunt and onto the bed sheets as Wriothesley turns ‘just one more’ into ‘just three more’. 

You wrap your own arms around his neck, fingers tangling into the mass of his hair, and let him set the pace as he always does. 

Thrust comes after fast, hungry thrust - Wriothesley is as merciless in this as he is in all things, though you know from experience he has it in him to be tender, when things get too much. Right now, though, he has no time for tenderness - you helplessly suckle on his thumb, grateful for the distraction, as Wriothesley snarls and grunts and teaches your body to take him with every squelching cant of his hips. You feel your own slick drip down your inner thighs to make a mess of whatever it is you’re perched on, and you hope Wriothesley wasn’t working on any important paperwork when you’d flounced in here to show off your newest wardrobe addition. 

The beautiful dress you’d waited to be delivered lies in a crumpled heap on the floor, though, and it seems far less important right now than the growing ache between your legs - the tension that builds with Wriothesley’s groans. You can’t breathe. You can’t do anything, as Wriothesley notices how you react and shifts his body just so, so that his cock batters against a sensitive spot with every fast-paced thrust he fucks into you. Your fingers twist deep into the hair at the nape of his neck, drool escaping your mouth and trickling down from around Wriothesley’s thumb. 

“You close, sweetheart?” Wriothesley murmurs. “Come on, pretty baby. Are you gonna come for me?”

You nod, dazed, and as Wriothesley presses a kiss to your forehead that’s as tender as his fucking is brutal, you feel your body contract and then explode into a hundred pinpricks of light. It’s a sharp kind of pleasure; an explosion of sensation that starts between your thighs and travels into all of your fingers, all of your toes. Sweat beads on your forehead and you whine out unintelligible drooling noises as your vision goes white in sparks of electricity, your cunt pulsating around Wriothesley’s length as he slows his thrusts just enough to let you crest over the hill of your orgasm. 

When you come back down, aftershocks of pleasure still making you tremble and shudder, Wriothesley’s cock is still inside of you. There’s a twist to his lip, an amused little smile. 

“Good?” He asks you, voice rough. You nod dazedly. “Good. There’s a reward for looking so fucking pretty in everything I buy for you.”

He pauses.

“Now. Are you gonna give me a reward for spending all my hard-earned Mora on you, huh?”

You blink at him, your eyelids syrupy thick. As the final waves of your orgasm ebb away, and your heart slows to a rhythm that no longer worries you, you’re once more made aware of just how hard Wriothesley is inside of you. How his thighs are flexing with want; the mess of his hair, his clothes in disarray. 

You lock your thighs about his waist, pulling him closer in. 

“Of course, Your Grace,” you murmur, your tongue heavy. Wriothesley lets out a chuckle, another kiss bestowed upon your forehead as he murmurs into your hair;

“That’s what I like to hear, sweetheart. How about we order you three new dresses tomorrow?”

[earthtooz]

how would you write wriothesley needing reassurance?

x : TO LOVE A GOOD THING :*+ﾟ

in which: wriothesley thinks he loves you more than you love him.

warnings: 1.4k words, reverse hurt/comfort with angst, wrio being insecure sorry, gn!hot-headed!reader, reader gets into a fight, wrio patches you up.

a/n: thank u @sixosix for helping me out during my my hard times. this fic was already half written before I got this ask but then it was like the stars aligned and anon came to save a fic that might have never made it out of the drafts. anyways, idk if the writing is good, but i came, i saw, i conquered. enjoy!

Wriothesley thinks he loves you more than you love him.

If he voiced these thoughts to you, you’d shut him down without another breath. He can almost picture it now, the way your nose would scrunch as a precursor to all the statements you will make rejecting his. He can hear all the things you’d say, insisting ‘that’s just not true!’, and then he’ll laugh to cover up the way his chest will swell with pure adoration. 

But it is true. 

Loving you is easier than breathing. The heart that sits in his chest beats harder for you than the circulation of oxygen in his lungs, but he breathes because it keeps him alive. If he’s alive, then he gets to see you, the best thing that’s happened to him his entire, unfortunate life. 

He thinks he loves you more than you love him because you once told him your favourite flowers were glaze lilies. However, when you complained that they only bloomed during the night, Wriothesley knew that he would wrestle the sun just so the moon could shine a little longer. 

He thinks he loves you more than you love him because you linger in the crevices of his mind. Down in the Fortress of Meropide, the days may pass excruciatingly slow sometimes and the only cure for him is yearning for the one he loves most. Perhaps if he wishes hard enough, you’ll burst through those doors with a declaration of a new discovery and sit on his desk, avoiding the paperwork. 

Most times, his wishful thinking doesn’t work out. On the rare occasion it does, Wriothesley will be fortunate enough to end the work day with your palms on his cheeks, gently motivating him to finish what’s left. 

You’ll peel stickers off his body, ignorant of the fact that he saves them up just for an excuse to feel your hands on him, then he’ll kiss you in thanks, eyes fluttering closed. Near you, he can finally let his guard down, let the gauntlets and coat fall as he sinks into you. 

Wriothesley already feels bad whenever you come down to a place so unforgiving and confronting. He tries to brighten up the place sometimes, but metal can only shine so much before it rusts again. 

Is it pathetic to want to better yourself for another person? Or is it love?

Wriothesley thinks he loves you more than you love him, and he’s perfectly fine to continue living with that fact. As long as he’s the one you return to every night, he’ll be fine to live with whatever burdens you press onto him.

He just didn’t expect that one of said ‘burdens’ would result with you, Sigewinne’s infirmary, and your face littered with cuts and bruises. 

“You should have seen the other guy,” is your poor attempt at humour as your lover frets everywhere, pacing back and forth as the small nurse tends to you. His heavy boots resounding against metal floors.

“Seriously, Y/n, what were you thinking?” The warden clearly isn’t amused by your joke, the only thing keeping him back from completely lecturing you is Sigewinne and that stun gun of hers. 

A small yelp slips past your lips when she applies some balm on your sore knuckles and Wriothesley winces, as if feeling your pain. “They were talking bad about you, Wriothesley, what did you want me to do?”

“Nothing!”

Sigewinne gives him a look. He immediately shuts his mouth. “I can’t do that,” you insist.

“You can, and you should’ve. I can defend my own honour. Besides, you didn’t need to lower yourself to the level of crooks just to prove a point.”

“But-”

“-The guys you beat up were just admitted here. Normally after receiving a life’s sentence, the first name that’s slandered is mine as an outlet for anger. This is normal, Y/n, they’ll continue on to realise that the Fortress of Meropide is not their standard prison and reform. You, however, might have just set back their progress.”

Your head drops, a little in shame, but mostly because you don’t have anything to say in retaliation. Silence envelops the dim space, none of you brave enough to break the tension that came from Wriothesley’s scolding. With a few final words from Sigewinne about what medicine to apply, when, and what not to do, she leaves the room quite hurriedly, as if eager to let you and Wriothesley talk about it alone.

Immediately, he crosses the room to where you sit, closing in on your personal space. 

“The things they were saying about you were unforgivable. Meropide’s great duke may forgive, but I won’t.” 

“Nothing is as unforgivable as you getting hurt.” Care laces his voice this time when he talks to you. 

“You won’t throw me in prison for this, right?” You ask with a bashful smile, one that sends him reeling.

“Not prison, no,” he coughs. “However, I can’t not reprimand you.”

“Fine. I guess this just means that I love you more.”

He knows you’re kidding, that you’re only trying to make him feel better because the grin on your face is nothing short of mischievous. Part of him falters, cracks like an earthquake splitting the land apart and pulling him under. To stabilise himself, his rough palms find purchase on both sides of your jaw and his forehead is pressed flushed to yours.

(You don’t love him more, how can you love someone as ragged as him?)

“Impossible,” he murmurs against your mouth. 

“Really, let these bruises be a reminder,” you chuckle. His thumb ghosts over a bruise on your cheek and his heart aches at the way you wince, even if just slightly. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be here, sat on a hospital bed with wounds he inadvertently caused.

You wouldn’t be here, in a dingy, dreary Fortress that you’re only obligated to visit because of him.

(Oh, but he hopes you never leave. The day you go and never come back is the day Wriothesley will turn all of Teyvat upside down just to search for you. Where is his place if not by your side?)

There’s a warm poke to his cheek that’s quickly followed by a damp residual. Wriothesley quickly realises that you wiped a tear away, and he curses the following few that spill. You shouldn’t waste your efforts on him: a man half-coherent, and wholly undeserving of you.

“Love, oh, love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the bruised area. “Why did you do this?” 

“I already told you,” you hum. “Because I love you.”

“I’m not worth it.”

Your hand stills. “What do you mean by that?”

“This happened because of me,” there’s pain in Wriothesley’s voice when it cracks. “You didn’t need to harm yourself for me, I’m more of a burden than you think, Y/n, nothing good will come out of loving me too much.”

For a second, everything stills. The beating of his heart, your breathing, the dull humming of the fortress’ mechanics, it all becomes silenced. The world only kicks up again when you speak.

“How could you say that about yourself?” You reprimand, shaking his face lightly. “A ‘burden’? Are you hearing yourself right now, Wriothesley? You’re not making any sense right now!”

There’s a passionate look in your eyes. One he doesn’t think a man like him deserves.

“I do not love you for ‘good things’ to come out of them, I love you because you are the good thing, and I will do anything for you to remain the way you are.”

Oh, he might cry again. Are there tears in the corners of his eyes? How can he help it when you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him?

“Don’t write me off as some poor soul whose subjected to your love,” you whisper, but he hangs on to every word you say. “Your love is not a burden I bear, but rather, the most fortunate thing I’ve ever had the luxury of cherishing.”

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Wriothesley presses his lips to yours in an all-consuming kiss. He drinks up all of your praise and lets it settle in his gut to bloom, untethering himself from the chains that rubbed his wrists raw. You love him, you love him more than he thought possible. 

How lucky he is that you pull him closer, selfishly taking all of him.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[justwinginglife]

How Soshiro Hoshina Broke The Internet

Just a silly lil fic based off of a conversation I had with @ryescapades and @minasfwoopyponytail, thanks for indulging my goofy ideas! We love our precious baby Soshiro. Once again, mentions of mature content, but no explicit detail, we're here for a silly time not a sexy one.

“You’re 50 Shades of Stupid and this is your dumbest idea yet.” 

Hoshina grumbled and grumbled, but it didn’t stop Narumi from eagerly setting up the camera and chuckling to himself. “Hey, you lost the bet; this is your punishment, own up to it.”

If it had been just the two of them alone, he might’ve socked Narumi in the jaw. Might’ve declared the bet faulty and stomped off. Might’ve challenged him to another dare with double the stakes to distract Narumi and to avoid paying the price of his last lost challenge. 

But Okonogi was there as a witness, Captain Ashiro was there for moral support (she wanted to take pictures of this whole ordeal and claim it was for the good of the Defense Force), and you were there to make sure he didn’t storm off, with your big brown eyes that he fell victim to every time. 

If Hoshina even looked like he might bail, Narumi would call out to you, “Y/N! Looks like your man’s a big wimp. If you ever wanna know what a real man is like, my door’s always open,” and then Hoshina would stare him down, storms in his eyes, thunder in his throat, as he swore misfortune upon the Narumi line for the next 70 generations if he so much as breathed near you. And Narumi would laugh, knowing he had Hoshina right where he wanted him. 

It didn’t help that you were also curious to see this all play out, so whenever Hoshina would start to sulk, you’d dance your fingers through his hair and murmur against his ear, “But baby… I wanna see it too. Do you think, maybe, you could do it just for me? Please, ‘Shiro? I’ll love you eternally.”

So he begrudgingly put on the bunny ears. 

When Ashiro snapped a picture of him, Hoshina cursed her family name too. Then he threatened to tell Kafka every embarrassing story he knew about her until she put her phone away. But her hand hovered by her pocket as though she was just waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

Narumi finally had everything set up the way he wanted it; all Hoshina had to do was dance. Apparently dancing was all the rage on TeekTook these days. 

Hoshina flipped Narumi off but when the music turned on, he danced as promised. And when Okonogi laughed so hard they had to redo the take, he made a mental note to curse her family line as well. 

Finally, the video came to its conclusion and his debt was paid. Hoshina collapsed on the ground, exhausted from the shame of it all. Narumi snickered, but you shooed him off, even bothering to kick the girls out of the room too. Then you knelt down on the floor in front of him and took his face in your hands. 

“See, all done, baby. That wasn’t so hard.” You murmured as you planted kisses over every square inch of his face. 

He accepted your kisses but he still pouted. “Easy for you to say. That was worse than going to battle.”

You nibbled on his ear and trailed kisses down his neck. “Aww, don’t say that, love. You looked so sexy dancing like that. I might be your number one fan.”

He yanked you closer to him. “Yeah? Keep saying things like that and I might just take you right here, in Narumi’s office.”

“It would serve him right, don’t you think? Besides, I think your number one fan deserves an autograph. Maybe you could write it out to me with your tongue? Hmm?” Your voice was dripping with innocence though your intentions were anything but. 

And when Narumi finally came back to his office to find the smell of sweat and sex stenching the air, to find his chair had been broken from exertion, to find his desk was sticky with slick, he cursed Hoshina and then cursed himself for not thinking up a more torturous punishment. 

Narumi’s displeasure continued when he awoke the next morning and discovered that Hoshina’s dancing video had gone viral, but not in the way that he’d wanted. Everyone was calling him the sexiest captain in the Defense Force. Narumi snapped his phone in half after reading all the comments in favor of Hoshina.

When you got your hands on this information, Hoshina should’ve run. You were far too devious not to use this to your advantage. But he fell victim to the curl of your lashes as they batted at him and the next thing he knew, you were setting up the camera for another video. 

“R-remind me why we’re doing this again?” He asked meekly as he watched you flit about, prepping the equipment. He could feel an impending sense of doom settling in, but you were so adorable that he found it impossible to resist you. He could only hope you’d go easy on him. 

“Baby, you can’t let your followers down.” You said matter-of-factly, still fiddling with the camera. “Think of this as boosting citizen morale.”

“Please, I don’t want to dance again,” He pleaded.

You took him in your arms and ran your hands up and down his back until he relaxed. “No more dancing, I promise. How about we just do a trend, okay?”

He sighed. “Do I have to?”

“I’ll let you try that position on me again, the one we almost broke Narumi’s desk with.”

He sat up straight. “Fine. Fine. Strap the mic to me. What are we doing?”

You handed him a script. “Just need you to say this and then we’re all done, easy peasy.”

He took the paper from you and peered at the words. His brows furrowed in confusion as he skimmed the page. “Okay, what does ‘very mindful, very demure’ mean and why am I saying it?”

Several videos later -he was unsure how you’d managed to coax multiple out of him when he’d only originally promised you one- his views had doubled and he’d acquired a fairly large fanbase, much to Narumi’s dismay. With every follower that he accumulated, you found yourself brewing more and more schemes. Just how much could you make him do? Just how much would he let you make him do?

It was too early to convince him to wear a maid outfit… but maybe if you convinced him to wear other things and his followers liked it, he’d eventually cave in. You’d always wanted to see him in a compression shirt and now that you’d been given this opportunity, you couldn’t waste it. You bought him one and presented it to him under the guise of wanting to use it in a “get ready with me” video.

When he first put on the shirt, you almost forgot about your goal of getting him into a maid uniform. In fact, you almost dropped the camera. But you got ahold of yourself, gripped the camera tight, and panned over every ripple of his muscles in slow motion. After views skyrocketed, you convinced him that he needed to do a “get ready with me” video every day.

Washing his face made the viewers go crazy, because he’d run his fingers through his hair to get it out of the way. Eating breakfast made the viewers go crazy, because he’d lick his lips. And of course, the viewers would go absolutely feral when he’d put on that damn compression shirt that by now all of them knew well. You knew how they felt. You were lucky you were hidden behind the camera so he couldn’t see just how much you were drooling, just how much you were enjoying yourself. How much you were enjoying him. 

And his damn intros killed you every time. It took all your willpower not to pounce on him because of how fucking adorable he was. 

“Hi guys. It’s me. Again. Don’t know how this is interesting to you all, but I’m back with another video, I guess?”

“Good morning, all. Turns out you really liked the last video. Not sure why, but I suppose here’s another.”

“Greetings. Um. I guess you’re getting ready with me… again?”

When he started to get weary of doing the same video over and over again, claiming that there was no way that people on the internet actually wanted to keep watching him do such mundane things everyday, you suggested doing a poll. Make his site more interactive. Ask the people what they want. 

The comment section blew up with requests for more compression shirts and his fans even sent him the money to buy a whole wardrobe full of them. So now he had compression shirts of every color and he was still unsure why. They were just shirts to him. 

But you convinced him to give the people what they wanted. You told him if anything, he could consider this as part of his job, because he was advertising the Defense Force. You could tell he only barely believed you when he reluctantly agreed to more videos. 

Eventually, he got camera shy and wanted you to be in videos with him. 

This worked out perfectly for you.

From the very first video you starred in with him, you had a maid uniform on. You thought the least you could do was get the idea in his head. He questioned it but you told him you were trying to draw the attention away from him so he could feel more comfortable on camera. He adored you for it. And he loved the way you looked - you knew because he would steal glances at you in between takes and sometimes even during takes- so he didn’t think too hard about it at the time.

Then you did more and more videos with him, all in the maid uniform, and when you’d worn out almost the entire catalog of TeekTok trends at your disposal, you finally proposed the idea of him wearing a maid uniform.

He turned bright red.

You almost kissed him for it.

“But w-why? No one wants to see that.” He squeaked out.

“Trust me, baby, the viewers will love it.”

The red traveled from his cheeks to his ears. “But w-why?” He repeated again.

“Because you’ll look so good, I promise.” You rubbed calming circles into his palm.

He bit his lip. “D-do I h-have to?”

You faked a pout. “I mean… you don’t have to. It’s just,” You sighed dramatically, “I’ve been wearing one this whole time to make you feel better about being on camera and now I’m getting a little shy… it would just make me so happy if you wore it with me.” You peered up at him with the same big, brown eyes that always ensnared him without fail. 

Then you got on your knees in front of him. 

He choked at the sight of you. 

You crawled in between his legs, nuzzling up against his thigh. “I just want to match you baby. I just want everyone to know we’re together and we love each other. Don’t you love me baby? Don’t you wanna match with me?”

He gulped. “I-I… I s-suppose if it would… if it would make you happy… I could maybe… do it. For you. Just the once.”

Your eyes lit up. “Really? You’ll do it? I love you so much baby, I’ll be right back!” And then you procured for him the maid outfit that had been patiently waiting for him in your closet. He didn’t even dare to question how you’d retrieved it so fast. You were so sweet and innocent, he could hardly accuse you of masterminding this entire situation even though that was exactly what you’d done. 

When he put on the uniform and you saw him standing there, cheeks tinged with pink, thumbs twiddling nervously, dress fluttering from the fan, you couldn’t hold back anymore. He was too adorable. You kissed him. 

And then you pinned a mic to him, turned the camera on, and made history.

[ladyquietus]

watching Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse and knowing Hobie Brown has gotten me feral. Could not stop thinking about being that man’s lover and oh the things he could do. Jesus.

Getting Real

Hobie Brown x Fem y/n: Smut Read

© ladyquietus

AN: a bit older y/n from another dimension, some smut, fluff, cussing, nicknames, semi age gap, the works.

W: I apologize if I’ve made any mistakes, English is not my first language.

Minors, ageless blogs do NOT interact.

>> Long read ahead

“Oh, I bet you think your honey taste like sugar. But honey, sugar don’t taste that bitter~ Baby, you ain’t sweet. Look at what you did to me~…” y/n sings to the lyrics, tapping her foot on the floor. The music blaring from her headphones, getting distracted from doing homework infront of her.

She adjusted the frames of her glasses, licking her lips and continued humming to the tone. Failing to notice the flashes of bright, sharp lights beaming through the bedroom window behind her.

It was heavily pouring outside, the shut window slowly rutted opened. Slim fingers appeared on the frame, pulling a bit more force Til the figure could come through the window.

The masked vigilante made his way inside, patting off droplets of rain. He took off his mask, letting his full blown hair pop up.

He smirked at the sight of y/n, sitting infront of her desk, Clueless about this presence. The music she was listening and the loudness of the rain made y/n unaware of Hobie approaching her.

Hobie posed finger gun on his right hand, pressing the tips of his fingers on y/n’s upper back.

“Hands where I came see em’ lil’ lady” he jokes, feeling her tensed.

Y/n quickly pulled off her headphones and spun around, looking at a chuckling Hobie in disbelief.

“You ass,” she glared at him, pushing him off.

“You’re gonna get robbed easily love, I won’t be around you for that.” He holds his hands up in defense.

“Luckily, we’ve got another Spider-Man here huh, what’re you doing here anyways?” She questions, crossing her legs on the office chair she was sitting.

Hobie plopped down on her bed, wincing a bit when he noticed a small stain of blood on his shirt on the left side where his ribs lie.

“Shit.” He cussed, pulling off his leathered spiked jacket.

“What’s wrong?” Y/n stood up concerned, slowly made her way towards him and sat beside him.

“Just a graze, don’t worry. Must’ve gotten caught a crossfire between these crime families back home, what nasty lil’ shits.”

“And you didn’t feel that until now? You must’ve been in a load of adrenaline, It must be wearing off.” y/n sighs, kneeling down beside the bed and pulled out a storage box. She took out a first aid kit and sat back again beside Hobie.

“You’re cute when you’re concerned doll, it’s like you’re forgetting I have massive pain tolerance.” He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, feeling her worry for him a bit made his heart swell.

He always kept his heart up on his sleeve, meeting y/n months ago somehow changed that despite they’re still friends. He also knew that she was older than him, two years older in fact and it must’ve set her back.

They met when he and Gwen came to her dimension, looking for their villain of the week that somehow skipped across dimensions and landed on hers. She was a med student, walked in a parking lot alone at a convenience store. Not knowing she was being followed a creep whom Hobie took action on.

The rest was history.

“Putting your schooling in good use aye?” He jokes again, taking off his shirt after seeing her getting crossed.

Thou shall not poke a pissed off y/n.

“Glad you find this funny, what would happen if you got hit somewhere serious huh Hobie?” She clicked her tongue, throughly disinfecting his flesh wound.

“Relax, you’re forgetting who you’re talking to.”

Hobie’s relentless teasing didn’t lighten the situation, it just made y/n worry more whenever he’s not around. She would never really know the next time he’ll come back.

He felt it, she was always the worrywart. Somehow he could read what was going on through her pretty little head.

“I’ll always come back to you, my love. So please stop worrying, I’m here with you right now and I promise you I’d want to go through everything for you.” His voice softens, his gaze never leaving hers.

He leaned just a bit closer, caught a whiff of her lavender shampoo and declared that it was his favorite scent.

“Hobs…” she quietly says, feeling the tension between them. Her eyes meeting his, couldn’t help but noticed he kept glancing on her lips.

“Mhm, yes mamas?” He couldn’t help but inch a bit closer, grazing his lip on hers.

Just a lil bit of tease.

The slight cold of his steel lip ring had made y/n’s skin crawl with goosebumps. His rough, firm hand radiated a lot of warmth on hers. Yet his thumb caressing the top of hers made something stir up inside her.

The new nickname he gave her wasn’t helping, she felt a bit guilty she wanted to hear it more from his lips.

He was waiting for her, he didn’t want to freak her out if he was too forward. But he was too damn excited, he’s been wanting to kiss her for a while now.

It was eating him up inside.

y/n closed the distance, letting her lips connected to his but it was only quick and subtle. She was nervous as hell, the last time she kissed someone was her ex-boyfriend a year ago.

“Babe that’s not enough, not enough at all.” His voice was heavy with need, in need of her.

Hobie raised his left hand, enclosing his slender fingers on her jawline. Grasping it softly and pulled her closer, wrapping his other hand around her waist to pull her on top of him.

Y/n squeaked In surprised, Instinctively holding on to his broad shoulders.

“Hobs-”

His lips immediately crashing to hers, he loved how soft it felt and the taste of earl grey tea still lingered on her tongue.

y/n moaned on his mouth, it was music to his ears and he wanted to listen to it more.

The kiss was sloppy, y/n was struggling to keep up. Her nails dug into his skin, making him grow excited beneath her. She surely felt it and subconsciously started to grind on it through his leathered pants.

“Mm mas, You’re making it hard to stop,” he says in between kisses.

She grew too fond of it, she didn’t care if her lips had start to swell or bruised. It was addicting to make out with Hobie Brown.

“Mmm,” were the only sounds she left out. Taking the lip ring between her teeth and pulled slowly.

Hobie’s grip on her waist and thighs got tighter when she did it, almost made him cum on that spot. He swore this woman was gonna be the death of him if she keeps it up.

y/n’s hands started to trail, from his shoulders to his chest. Feeling every detail of him, how warm he was despite the nonchalance he always gives off to most people.

She reached right above his pants, Hobie was sensitive to what she has touched.

y/n dragged a finger over the tent, her wetness grew at the feeling of how hard he was of her.

They both finally pulled away, heavy breathing. Hobie leaned against the headboard, still not loosening his vice on her as if she were to disappear any moment.

Looking at her all disheveled and swollen lips, her eyes kept screaming at him to just take her then and there.

“Love, I’d want you to shoot me in the head if I ever say no to you but have you even done it before? I wouldn’t want to rush you to something you’re not comfortable with.” He reassures in a soft voice despite his lustful gaze.

y/n couldn’t care less anymore, she had too much pent up frustration. She was still a virgin, the only farthest thing she had done with her ex was giving and receiving oral sex.

“Hobs, if you won’t fuck the living daylights out of me- I will be putting a lock on that window the minute you leave.” she huffs, palming his hardness.

“Damn mamas alright, I’ll take that as a yes.” He chuckles, both of his hands crawling their way to her ass. A bit frustrated that she was still covered in shorts and a baggy shirt, it may look cute on her but Hobie preferred much that she wore close to nothing at all.

“Gonna need these off first,” he mumbles, burying his face on her neck, leaving lazy kisses and soft bites.

“Couldn’t agree more,” she replied, closing her eyes and biting her lip to moan out loud.

Hobie ripped out her shorts, tugging the cloths away and was surprised to feel her wearing a thong.

“Jesus, love.” He smiles against her neck, immediately groping her cheeks and slapping the right.

He pulled on her thong, making her wet slit grind against the thin fabric.

“Fuck, Hobs…”

“You’ve been wearing this kind of panties around me all this time?” Another slap on her right cheek.

“Mmm sometimes,” y/n started to enjoy this too much.

Another slap before his firm fingers started to spread her cheeks apart, groping and gripping them all around.

Without warning, Hobie pushed her over on her back. Making them switch sides. He was on top, wouldn’t even stop smiling at her.

“Do you know how many times I keep thinking about you being underneath me?” He caresses her cheek, placing a peck.

He lowered himself more, placing more and more small yet sweet kisses. Raising the disruptive shirt to her chest til her breasts were on full view to his pleasure.

Hobie already loves them, they were perfect to him. They weren’t too small nor too big, mouth started to salivate at the size of her areolas.

Letting one arm to support himself, he cupped one of her breast and kneed on the erected bud. Licking her lips for another neediness.

“Something tells me it’s gonna be more than once,” y/n managed to whimper out, Hobie taking the whole bud in his mouth.

His hand caresses it’s way to her swollen pussy lips, eating the thin line of cloth. He could feel how needy and wet she was for him, and God she was soaked.

She squirmed, bucking her hips for more of his fingers. Meanwhile, Hobie’s mouth was occupied- switching between one tit to another.

His fingers itched to plunge deep inside her ache, he pulled the thong to the side and started rubbing her clit.

“Hobs… fuck, that feels good,” she mewed, kept on squirming.

Hobie hummed in pleasure, feeling her wither from his touch made him smirk.

Y/n’s body jerked when she felt a sharp and pleasurable pain when Hobie softly hit one of her nipples.

“Hobie!” He chuckles, licking the aching nub soothingly.

“If you’ll let me mas, I need to taste you. Need to fill my hunger for you right now.” He left her chest, licking and biting his way down to her abdomen. Leaving so much marks, he’s gotten too proud and wanted to mark her more.

She couldn’t say anything but whimpers. She nodded her head in response, but this only wanted Hobie to tease her more.

Without warning, both of his fingers plunged inside her. Feeling the walls tightening around him, it was so warm- he started imagining how amazing it must feel if it were his cock.

“Use your big girl words, love.” He curled his fingers, hitting that spot that made y/n grip her hands all over his body.

“Hobs- eat me out please,”

Hobie didn’t waste any time, he’d gotten too needy- placing his lips on her sex. It reeked of desperation.

Both his left hand and mouth enjoyed giving y/n too much pleasure, His right gripping on her inner thigh to keep her open for him. Y/n still kept on squirming, her legs begging to close in on his head.

It was too much.

She bit her bottom lip too hard, she swore she was already seeing stars as Hobie kept on abusing her pussy with the combo. She couldn’t help but let her moans out, a few cusses and whimpers of “Hobs” kept escaping from her mouth.

She felt this wave, this urge for release.

“Wait Hobs- Hobie! I’m gonna pee- stop,” she started to pull away, gripping on the sheets as if it were to help her.

Hobie didn’t say anything but looked at her, meeting her eyes but didn’t stop. He went faster, flicking his tongue all over her wet sex and fucking it with his fingers.

“Hobi- Hobie,” she couldn’t escape, Hobie kept on pulling her back. The more she struggled- the closer the release.

“Hobie” her toes curled, letting the wave overcome her.

It came in spurs, she started squirting all over his mouth and face. Hobie immediately started lapping her up, trying to drink every little drop.

That’s a first, even my ex wasn’t able to do that with me. Her chest was heaving, thighs still trembling from the aftermath.

“If I knew you tasted this good, I would’ve done this sooner.” He smiles, giving her pussy one last kiss before kissing her lips a few times.

“Mmm- sorry, I made a mess on your face,” she breathes out, pussy still sensitive as Hobie’s huge girth was pressing against it.

Hobie unzipped his pants, quickly taking it off and freed his aching cock from his boxers.

“You’re gonna have to make another mess, mas. Whole lot more,” grinding the tip at her wetness, giving special attention to her swollen clit.

“Hobie… I just came,” she glanced nervously at his size, it was a good guess of 6-7 inches with a bit of a wide veiny girth.

“Better then, I’ll take care of you darling. Don’t worry, you’ll be wanting it more soon,” Hobie slowly pressed on his hips, the tip slowly making its way inside her folds.

As he leisurely pressed it inside, she could feel him stretching her out. Her walls adjusting to his size, but surprisingly she only felt a scale of 5/10 pain.

“You okay, my love?” Hobie asks, each of his hands holding her hands down. Kissing her cheek and neck to reassure her.

“Mhm, just keep going. Is it even fully in yet?” She groaned.

“Not even close, but fuck I’m only half way through- the tip’s kissing your cervix already.” He laughs a bit, then groaned at she kept gripping around him.

The pain started to retreat, and all she could feel how full she was of him, and he was right- she could feel his hard tip pressing on the entrance of her cervix.

“Hobie, move. Please.” She begged, looking at his pained expression.

“Mmm, love. You’re still adjusting,” Hobie groaned, hearing her say those words almost made him pound into her to oblivion.

“Please Hobs, start fucking me. I won’t say it again.” She says sternly, something inside her grew excited. Her nervousness soon started to diminish and was replaced with yearning.

He looked down on her, wringing her wrists together above her head and slinging his web- bounding them together.

“As you wish.”

He placed one of his hands under her ass, pulling her up a bit and started to pull his length out before plunging it back in her.

Y/n’s bound hands immediately placed themselves at the back of his neck. It was a slow pounding but she was hitting it too deep, the tip pounding her cervix at every thrust.

The squelching noise that both of their sexes made overwhelmed their senses, their animalistic groans filled the room. Both couldn’t care less if their neighbors could hear them fucking away.

Their sweats began to mix, everything what they’re doing made them intertwine with one another. Y/n’s wetness was already covering Hobie’s cock, pummeling her has gotten easier and more of his length disappeared in her.

“Shit, mas, Your pussy’s swallowing me. I can’t stop.” Hobie gritted his teeth, being inside her made him addicted.

She felt that familiar urge again, but it was stronger. Hobie’s merciless pummeling edged her closer.

“Hobs,” she whimpered.

“I know, I know love. Cum all over me, make a mess.” He connected his lips to hers, muffling her loud moans as she let herself succumbed to his commands. Her whole body bucked and quiver against his.

Hobie hissed, sensed he was nearing to his end. But he wanted to finish feeling all of her crumbling first, then pulled out. Just barely, spurs of his hot cum landed on her stomach.

It took them a moment, giving them both time to come back to the real world.

Hobie plopped himself on top of her, she didn’t mind the weight. It was rather comforting, feeling him against her.

Hobie placed himself beside her on the bed, pulling her in- not caring they were both buck naked. Ripping off the web on her knotted hands.

She snuggled closer to him, knowing there was no turning back after what they’ve done.

“I know I’ve said I don’t believe in labels and consistency but, I’d prefer to make an exception for you, my love. Only you. I want this to be real for us,” Hobie broke the silence, playing with the strands of her hair and caressing her back.

“You better keep your word, Hobs. I have liked you for quite some time now.” Y/n started to trace her fingers on his chest, savoring each moment they have.

“I think we’ve gone way past using “like” love, doesn’t really match the way you’ve been needing me earlier.” He teases, groping an ass cheek.

[portagas-chan]

Yours Forever and Ever : Part 2

Yandere Katakuri x Isekai Reader

Things to note: Angst, Manipulative Behavior - where Katakuri gaslights [Y/n] and guilt-trips her.

Part 3: https://www.tumblr.com/portagas-chan/750092733174169600/yours-forever-and-ever-part-3

Much to her surprise, Katakuri has been very nice to her. His behavior towards her was like a slap to her face when she compared it to the possible worst-case scenarios she had of him. It's not like she was complaining though.

"Are you bored?"

Katakuri's voice snapped her out of her daze. She was sitting on the edge of his bed and was daydreaming. Katakuri sat on what seemed like his working desk, writing something. It probably has something to do with the wedding preparations.

"Kind of?" [Y/n] tilted her head.

Katakuri looked at her before dropping his quill pen and walking towards her. The bed shifted a little when he sat beside her.

"I've been wanting to ask you something," Katakuri started. [Y/n] stared at him silently, waiting for him to continue. "How do you feel about this whole thing?"

"Which one? Being kidnapped and held as a hostage or my friend's wedding with your sister?"

"Everything," Katakuri answered.

"Sure, this whole thing was unexpected but I'm not bothered at all," She shrugged.

"And why is that?"

"Well, when you have someone like Luffy as your captain, crazy things always happen which is normal. Plus, I have faith in Luffy. I know we will always find a way out of difficult situations," Katakuri noticed how her lips curled up into a soft smile, how her eyes looked innocent and overall, a gentle expression she has on her face.

Katakuri was jealous of Luffy. He didn't like how she was so devoted to Luffy. How much she trusted him and her loyalty towards him. What does that damn straw hat has that he doesn't? What should he do to make her act the same towards him? He didn't know but one thing for sure, no matter what, he would never let go of her.

Katakuri hesitated to ask but did it anyway, "Does that mean... you will leave me?"

[Y/n] paused not knowing what to say. Katakuri had been sweet to her. He was kind and she felt grateful towards him but staying here forever? She couldn't see that happening. She didn't mind visiting him occasionally but being stuck in a place forever? Joining a crew as worse as the Big Mom pirates? Yeah, no.

Katakuri was such a sweetheart and a good friend of hers. He'd probably be happy if she accepted his offer to join his crew but that was only him and maybe Brulee too but the others? She'd probably spend the rest of her life being bullied by them whenever Katakuri wasn't around.

"[Y/n]?" Katakuri called her. She looked at him in the eyes and sighed, "Katakuri, you're a very nice person and I'm thankful for that. I honestly don't know what would have happened to me if your siblings were the ones I'd be held hostage by."

Katakuri smiled under his scarf, "It's not a problem at all."

"But I don't think I can abandon my crew for something like that," [Y/n] didn't dare to look at him in the eyes. She knew Katakuri would be upset.

"Am I not important to you?" His voice was cold and there was a hint of sadness behind it.

"You are!" She quickly denied him. "It's just.. you know, I don't know how to explain it but I will come by and visit you often," She tried to reassure him but it didn't help. Katakuri was still gloomy.

[Y/n] was met with silence. Katakuri didn't even look at her. He just stared into space not saying anything which worried her. She placed her hand on his and squeezed it lightly, "Katakuri? I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay? I wish we met under different circumstances."

"I don't want that," Katakuri mumbled but [Y/n] couldn't make out what he said.

"Come again?"

Katakuri slowly took off his scarf, dropping it on the floor. He finally faced [Y/n] but this time his whole face was exposed, allowing her to see his expression.

When she saw her face, it shocked her. His mouth turned downwards, frowning. His eyebrows knitted together and his eyes reflected desperation, frustration, and sadness. [Y/n] had never seen Katakuri like this. The only time she had seen him with this kind of expression was when he was younger and Brulee got hurt.

"I don't want that, [Y/n]!" He hugged her. "Please don't leave me."

[Y/n] didn't know what to say. Why was Katakuri acting like this? She couldn't think of any other reason but one. He liked her but why? They haven't known each other for long. Was it love at first sight? No, that was absurd and out of character for him.

[Y/n] remembered something and wanted to make sure what she thought was right. She pushed Katakuri away and looked at him.

"Why did you take off your scarf?"

Katakuri was taken aback by her sudden question.

"You never took it off so I assume that it's your biggest insecurity," She continued. "So, why?"

Katakuri sighed, "Because I trusted you. I had a feeling you wouldn't judge me." Well, he wasn't wrong but he literally killed people if they saw him like this even if it was unintentional, and yet here he was, taking it off and showing his weakness to her willingly.

So, she was right. Katakuri liked her but what about her? She didn't know how to feel about this. She knew about Katakuri but never got to know him personally.

"Or am I wrong? Do you hate me now because I look like this?" Katakuri said which made her stare at him in disbelief. "What? No! Are you kidding me?"

Katakuri smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear, "Then, I don't see the problem here."

[Y/n] avoided his eyes and sighed, "No, you are not getting it, Katakuri. I can't just abandon my crew. I have friends out there and I can't leave them like-"

Katakuri cut her off with a groan, "It's always about your crew. What about me? Do you not care about me? Then all those words you said were just words that meant nothing. You're lying to me, [Y/n]."

"No, Katakuri, that's not what I meant," But she was cut off by the knocks from a servant.

"Katakuri-sama? Mama would like to see you," He said before leaving.

"It's okay, you can stop pretending to care. It hurts more if you act like you care. I would prefer if you didn't and just be honest with me," Katakuri said as he got up from the bed and put on his scarf.

He started to walk away but [Y/n] immediately followed him.

"Wait, no! You've got it all wrong!" She grabbed his arm to stop him but Katakuri shook it off. With his strength, [Y/n] fell onto the ground and yelped in pain.

Katakuri looked at her and for a moment, he felt bad for hurting her. It wasn't his intention to hurt her and never will he hurt her. He walked back to her and crouched down.

He took her wrists in his hand and destroyed those cuffs. [Y/n] closed her eyes waiting for the explosion but it never came. She opened her eyes and was met with Katakuri's cold ones.

"It was just a fake to scare you off."

[Y/n] looked at her now free hands and looked back at Katakuri.

"You're free now. You can run back to your crew that you love so much and leave me behind," Katakuri said making her feel a pang of guilt.

[Y/n] didn't move an inch. She stayed in the same position.

"What's stopping you, [Y/n]? I don't matter to you and nothing is holding you back so what's stopping you?" Katakuri repeated before standing up and turning around to leave.

"Katakuri! There's been a misunderstanding. Please, hear me out!" [Y/n] pleaded but Katakuri ignored her pleas slamming the door in her face.

"Katakuri..." [Y/n] whispered sadly.

[Y/n] felt guilty. Had she gone too far with rejecting him? But it was all too sudden for her and she didn't know what to do. She didn't know Katakuri was feeling like that.

She felt like crap. She felt like a horrible person. She didn't want to leave her crew. She had stayed with them for a long time and grew fond of them but she didn't want to leave Katakuri too. Especially, now that she knows he felt hurt and betrayed by her.

[Y/n] didn't know what was the right decision to make.

Should she stay?

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡Day one: Azul sewing buttons over their darling eyes

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: I've been meaning to watch Coraline again because i remember that it was such a good movie. Then, thinking about it, I got kinda inspired by the whole button eyes thing and wrote this, and well it's october, so I had to start my halloween event with style <3

.⁠｡⁠*⁠�� Warnings: Yandere content, violence agaisnt the reader (hair pulling, choking, pulling their eyes out to sewn buttons on, yknow the usual), threats, gn!reader.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Tagging: @harukishiyo @kiraiyugen @orisaspirin

The room was cold, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of your skin - winter had begun in both this world and yours, but here it was harsher and more cutting, impossible to bear even after you had wrapped yourself up warm.

Normally you would have taken refuge in Azul's room so the two of you could cuddle together and talk about each other's day. He was sweet and caring, so different from the Azul of your world. However, he had business to finish and asked only that you wait for him in the Mostro Lounge.

And you've been waiting for him for thirty minutes now.

It was strange to be there with no one around, other than the sound of the fish swimming in the aquariums, your own breathing and foot tapping impatiently against the floor. The atmosphere that used to be vibrant and welcoming during the mornings seemed strangely heavy - maybe it was the strangeness of being there alone, in a dark-toned environment, or maybe it was your damn curiosity.

Even though you loved this version of Azul more and liked this version of the twins more, because they were the opposite of what they were in your world and how they treated you there, you couldn't help but miss your world, even if just a little. You couldn't help but feel like recently the three of them had been acting strange, whispering among themselves, stopping talking whenever you were around, watching you like vultures looking for carrion.

Perhaps, you think, this will be the last time I return to this world.

You could leave whenever you wanted, you could walk through the door and never come back. You could do that even now - you look towards Azul's office. The secret door was there. Hidden behind his desk.

The first time you had walked through that door was because of your curiosity, you wanted to know what was on the other side. And both you and this Azul, with his beautiful buttons for eyes, stared at each other for several seconds before he looked away and put his hand to his chest, asking himself out loud if he was seeing things, if the stress was driving him crazy.

And Floyd, next to him, began to laugh uncontrollably, tears falling from his buttons as he saw the expression on your face and Azul's face. Which caught Jade's attention, who entered the office, saw you still in the same position, Azul's face, and began to laugh too.

Sweet moments like this became more and more distant, leaving you with a bitter taste in your mouth. They left you with a deep longing.

You wanted back the jokes and pranks, and the care the three of them had for you. You want to feel part of this world again. You want to sit beside Jade and watch the sun rising from his window, you want to bake and cook with Floyd and you want Azul to look at you his shiny buttons and soft smile that made you weak.

You wanted everything back. Yet you couldn't have it back.

You were sitting in a comfortable chair, unable to understand why you had been called there so late. The silence was only broken by the distant sound of the clock on the wall, marking the passing of time. The fish were all asleep now.

Suddenly, the door opened softly, and Azul entered the room, followed by Jade and Floyd. There was something strange about them. Their eyes… They didn't glow like they usually did, I mean, they were made of buttons, but even so, there were times when they glowed as brightly as normal, living eyes.

Instead, what you saw now were dull button eyes. Black and lifeless. Like black holes that stared at you without ever closing their eyes, always searching for a secret where there was none.

“Oh, I’m glad you could come,” Azul’s voice was both calm and cold, as if he wanted you there but didn’t care that you were there, there was still a hint of somberness in his tone. “We really wanted to see you… We’ve been thinking about something a lot lately, planning, I mean, I know it’s nerve-wracking, but of course it’s your decision.”

Your body froze as Jade and Floyd approached, their firm hands gripping your shoulders, pinning you to the chair. A disturbing smile formed on Floyd's face, his gaze fixed on you, but empty, as empty as the buttons in his eyes.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as Azul stepped closer, the crazy grin on his face accentuated even further by his black buttons. "What... What does all this mean?"

Azul pouted. He was between doubt and hope that you would accept whatever offer he had to offer. "That's just precaution."

He ignored your startled look, calmly taking out a small sewing kit from his pocket. Inside, needles and buttons. “You’re so out of date with your human eyes, obsolete, sorry to say. But we can fix that, buttons are much better, don’t you agree? Will you… accept them?”

You wanted to deny it, you wanted to scream and run away, and never look back. But the twins' strong hands held you tightly, leaving painful marks on your forearms. It would be impossible to fight them, you concluded.

Deceiving them, on the other hand... Maybe it would work.

You took a deep breath, trying your best to pretend irritation instead of fear. And then you lifted your chin and answered him. "Zuzu, as a couple I thought we should discuss this between us without them being present. You hurt me with your attitude."

Azul hesitated for a second, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. "Honey... I'm sorry, it's just..." He pressed his lips into a thin line as he forced his mind to work. "I'm sorry, but you didn't answer my question. Do you accept them?"

You turned your face away and bit your lips, a clear indication of your anger. You always did that when you were angry and that was what you wanted him to think. Jade, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the fight between the two of you while Floyd chuckled softly.

"Alone, Zuzu." You answered him. "Or maybe... You don't love me anymore and that's why you don't trust me?"

Your eyes watered, they were more tears of fear than sadness, and perhaps anger for not having listened to your instincts before and having escaped, still, Azul seemed to buy your act and let out a big sigh.

The sewing bag was placed on a table, a safe distance away, you watched, as he motioned for the twins to move away.

"You know what to do." He muttered.

And you turned in time to see Jade disappearing into the office while Floyd headed for the exit, as if they had rehearsed it. You suppressed a scream of rage inside you.

It was Azul, of course, he would now be predicting your strategies carefully, searching for a bluff or a lie. But you were confident that you could beat him somehow, that you could be smarter.

"We could have talked, you know... Instead of you just deciding everything for me... Like he always does." Your mention of another version of him made him grind his teeth, Azul hated being compared to his otherworldly self.

He had to be better, even better than himself.

He was waiting for whatever you had to say, but you weren't in any hurry at all, far from it. You were trying hard not to let the panic show in your eyes or posture. Still seated, you rubbed your sore arms, fully aware that he continued to stare at you.

Azul truly had an awful habit of staring at people until they felt uncomfortable and started to reveal what they didn’t want to. You took a deep breath. You couldn't let this technique work on you.

Instead, you stood up with feline steps, trying not to appear desperate as you approached him and wrapped him in an embrace. Almost instantly, he returned the gesture, but it wasn't comfortable.

It was suffocating, like a cage. Cold as ice. You missed Azul. Either one of them, any of them who loved you well and treated you kindly. But they were both the same. They were horrible. Bitter.

“When did we stop communicating, Zuzu?” It was a question with many answers, one that made your heart beat slowly with growing sadness. You looked at him. He looked back at you with a kind of nervous smile.

“I don't know,” Azul confessed, his voice losing its dominant cadence. He truly seemed not to know when things fell apart or maybe he was pretending very well to make you feel sorry for him. “But I was afraid you'd leave and never come back. There are so many differences between my world and yours, and if I were you, I would've gone back home.”

Your throat tightened at the confession but you didn’t allow guilt to take over. Not now, not when every second was vital. Gently, you stroked his hair, a gesture more to calm yourself than to soothe him.

“I would never leave, Azul.” Your words were soft, almost a whisper as you looked at him. “I always come back to you, don’t I? Because I know I love you more than I love my old world.”

Azul sighed, relaxing slightly in your embrace, as if he believed every word you said. But you knew you couldn’t let your guard down. He was far too clever for that and any slip would be fatal.

“Then why do you never really look at me?” His question cut like a knife and the grip around you tightened. “You always look beyond me, as if I’m… disposable. I don't want to be disposable, not to you.”

Your heart tightened and you had to fight to stay in control. You couldn’t hesitate now. “You’re not disposable, Azul. But you need to trust me, the same way I’m trying to trust you now, even after you’ve scared me like this.” You knew those words were fragile, a tightrope between a lie and the truth.

But it was all you had.

For a moment, Azul seemed to waver, his body trembling slightly against yours. This was your chance. Slowly, without letting go of the embrace, you reached for your pocket, where a small object was hidden, something that could help you free yourself from this trap.

“Do you… do you really want this?” He whispered, his voice broken by doubts and insecurities that seemed so human they almost made you hesitate. “For me to trust you?”

“Yes, I do.” You replied, keeping your gaze fixed on him, even though his button eyes couldn’t reflect the emotion he felt and that pulsed in your rapid heartbeat. “I believe we’re all too agitated right now, so how about we talk in the morning?”

Azul blinked, surprised. The tension in his arms eased, just a bit, but it was enough. In one swift, precise movement, you pulled the object from your pocket. In a desperate gesture, you pressed it against Azul's arm.

He choked, his button eyes widening with an expression that bordered on shock and horror. Betrayal was written on his face and eyes, and everywhere you could see, and you hated yourself for it.

“Why?” He asked, his voice sounding like that of a lost child, on the verge of tears. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I still want to save you, Azul.” You said, even knowing that the words wouldn’t be enough to erase the darkness that had engulfed him. "And to save you, I have to save myself."

With a shove, you broke free from him and stepped back, keeping the knife raised as your heart pounded in your ears.

Azul stood still, blood dripping slowly from his arm, his button eyes shining with a mix of confusion and sadness that was painful to see. But you had no more time. You had to leave before Jade and Floyd noticed what was happening – you glanced over your shoulder, Jade was still in the office.

And then, with one last look at the man you loved and feared, you ran toward the exit, hoping there was still time to escape, praying that Floyd was far away, knowing there was no other option.

The room seemed to freeze the moment you made your move. The knife in your hand trembled slightly, you tightened your grip as you saw from the corner of your eye Azul was still motionless, you hoped the shock would be enough for him to hesitate.

But he didn’t.

In an instant, the confusion and vulnerability on Azul’s face transformed into something far darker, colder and more calculated. His hand moved with terrifying speed, grabbing your hair forcefully, the knife now pressed uselessly between the two of you as pain pulsed in your head.

“You think you can fool me like this?” He whispered, his voice regaining that controlled, ocean-cold tone. “I’m much smarter than that, my dear. You never stood a chance.”

Your body stiffened and a shiver ran down your spine. Azul smiled, a cutting, empty smilex and in one quick motion, he twisted your wrist, making the knife fall from your hand with a metallic clatter on the floor.

“You wanted to save me?” He laughed softly but there was no humor in his laugh. His fingers now squeezed your neck with increasing force. "And you thought running away would solve everything? I’d follow you to the other world and kill them all.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as oxygen gradually left you, his grip unyielding. There was no opening. Fear began to consume you and you finally realized you had underestimated Azul, how he had always been one step ahead.

He knew you would lie; he knew you would attack him.

And he had prepared for it.

“I never intended to hurt you, you know…” Azul leaned closer, his button eyes gleaming ominously in the dim light of the room. “But now, you’ve left me no choice.”

He released your wrist only to, in one agile move, grab your hair again, forcing you to look directly into his button eyes that, ironically, seemed to see even deeper into you. “I would never let you go. And now… You will learn to stay with me. Forever.”

You felt a tightening in your throat and the words you wanted to say were lost in the growing panic. Azul's touch on your neck was cold, but his smile, still gentle, was now a silent warning.

There was no more escape.

There never had been.

“I’ll show you how we truly belong to each other.” Azul’s voice was soft but it carried a weight that crushed any hope you still had.

He then made a quick gesture with his free hand and before you could react, Jade and Floyd emerged from the shadows, their twisted smiles amplifying the terror that gripped you - you hadn't even realized when they returned.

“You thought you could fool us all, didn't you?” Jade said softly, while Floyd chuckled beside him. “I thought we were friends, shrimpy? Friends don't abandon each other.”

Before you could even try to struggle, Jade and Floyd’s hands were on you again, holding your arms with a grip that made your bones ache even more than before. Azul took a step back, observing the scene with an almost analytical gaze, as if evaluating your last desperate attempt, uncaring about your tears and fear.

“Now, now,” Azul said calmly, picking up the small sewing kit he had set aside. “No more running, no more lies. Let’s start over, shall we? This time… you won’t escape.”

“It’ll be fun,” Floyd whispered, his voice drawn out with a sadistic tone that made your skin crawl.

Terror gripped you. Trying to move seemed futile with Jade and Floyd's strength holding you firmly in place. Your breathing quickened and your heartbeat echoed in your head like drums.

The silence was piercing and your senses were sharpened with fear. Jade and Floyd’s hands were tight around your arms, their claws firm and preventing any attempt at escape. They smiled sinisterly, their button eyes reflecting the soft glow of the light above, lifeless and yet piercing.

They weren't your friends.

Friends protect each other.

They don't let harm get you.

They don't lie to you.

Azul approached you with calm steps, his gentle smile looking more like a grotesque mask now. He held a long needle, with the black thread already attached, and in his other hand, there was a scalpel shining in the dim light.

“Oh, you’re scared, aren’t you?” Azul’s voice was soft, almost comforting but the wicked glint in his button eyes gave away his true intentions. “Don’t worry, it’ll be quick. If you had agreed, I would have given you an injection so you wouldn’t feel so much pain, but in this case, I think you deserve a little pain and fear.”

You tried to struggle, your body instinctively fighting the impending terror but Jade and Floyd chuckled softly as they kept your body firmly pinned down. Azul's scalpel flashed once more as he leaned closer, bringing the blade to eye level.

“Let’s begin…” Azul whispered, and without further warning, he pressed the cold blade against the skin around your left eye. "Breathe deep, my love. Don't go faiting on me now."

The pain was instantaneous, searing, as if your skin was being torn by fire. You tried to scream, but fear and horror tightened your throat.

All that came out was a muffled, desperate groan. The blade glided smoothly, with meticulous precision, as Azul cut around your eye with the same calmness as someone sewing simple fabric.

Floyd leaned close to your ear and laughed. “I can hear your heart beating so fast, so excited, shrimpy!”

Jade, with his restrained smile, whispered softly, “Don’t move too much or the cut might become… Uneven, fufu. Surely, you don't want this?”

Azul’s scalpel finally made the final cut around your eye, and you felt a horrible sensation — a pressure that dissipated, as if something vital was about to be ripped out of you. Azul calmly set the scalpel aside and, with two thin, cool fingers, reached for your eye. He pulled, and pain shot through you like a wave of fire.

You felt the connection snap. Your eye was ripped out.

The emptiness that was left was worse than the pain.

The world around you grew darker, more distorted, but there was no time for rest. Azul was already preparing to repeat the process on the other eye, the same expression of cold concentration as the needle and thread rested, waiting for the final touch.

“Please…” You pleaded, gripping onto the tweels arms for comfort. The pain too much to bear. "Please don't..."

It was horrible. More painful than any pain you had ever felt before. A scream tore from your throat as the blade made contact with your other eye, blood and tears mixing in equal measure as Azul calmly continued his work.

"Breathe in, Yuu, and breathe out." Jade instructed as the pain became suffocating and, instead of trying to run away, you sank into his and Floyd's arms, reaching for something, anything that could stop it. "It's almost over, darling. And you were so brave."

Floyd nodded, releasing his grip on you to instead lean down and wrap you in a hug. “Almost over. And soon you’ll be one of us.”

The sound of voices didn't seem to register in your mind, only the absurd amount of blood dripping down your face like a grotesque river. And then, Azul tugged on your other eye, leaving you completely in the dark.

It was dark and cold, and horrible. You felt Floyd pull you closer to him, no doubt trying to convey some comfort.

He failed.

Your lungs seemed to be unable to receive any air, but you managed to take a deep breath. Your head was already starting to hurt from the lack of air and the tears had stopped falling. The blood was still dripping in smaller quantities, and your ears were working at full speed to find out what they were doing, where Azul was moving.

No doubt, everyone should be smiling. You failed to convince Azul, you failed to escape, you failed to realize their intentions.

You failed at everything.

A hand on your shoulder made you jump, whimpering.

"Oh, I'm sorry, love," It was Azul and he sounded so happy, far too cheerful for someone who had just stolen your vision. "Which color do you want for your buttons? Baby pink or soft blue?"

His words made your blood run cold, each syllable laced with a casualness that felt like a knife twisting deeper into your heart. You blinked, even though you knew you couldn’t see anything now; the darkness was absolute, smothering and suffocating.

You could only feel — the wet warmth of blood trickling down your cheeks, the sharp sting where your eyes had once been.

“Please… Azul…” You rasped, throat dry from the pain and fear, struggling to form coherent words through the haze of agony. “Don’t… please…”

He shushed you softly, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek, tracing the blood that stained your skin. "Shhh, don't worry, dear. This is for the best, you'll see," He murmured, his tone soothing, as if he were comforting a frightened child. "Now, tell me. Which color do you prefer?"

You couldn’t tell if it was the pain or his words that made you feel like you were spiraling into madness. Your hands were trembling uncontrollably and you tried to lift them to your face, but Floyd’s grip on your wrists tightened, forcing them back down.

“Azul, come on,” Floyd whined, his voice filled with impatience. “They’re not gonna choose. Can’t we just go with the pink? It’s cuter and suits them better”

“Patience, Floyd.” Jade’s voice, smooth and unhurried, cut in. You could feel his presence, too, close, far too close, he too was leaning to join the hug that was suffocating you. “Our dear friend should have the opportunity to decide. It’s only fair, after all.”

Your mind raced, desperate for some kind of escape, some way to make them stop, but you were trapped. Every breath you took felt like shards of glass scraping down your throat, the panic rising, threatening to drown you.

“Azul,” you whispered again, barely more than a breath, “You don’t have to do this…”

“Ah, but I do,” He replied, and his tone shifted, taking on a wistful quality, like he was talking about something terribly precious to him. “Unless you don't want your vision back, then be my guest, darling.”

You choked on a sob, your body trembling violently now, your knees threatening to give out. “I want... But please... Just...”

But he wasn’t listening. Instead, he hummed thoughtfully, as if genuinely considering your words, yet he was too into his own little world thinking about the buttons that would adorn your adorable face.

"Blue," He finally decided, almost sounding satisfied. "It'll match the shade of my eyes. Yes, I think that's perfect."

“Good choice, boss,” Floyd chimed in and you could feel the grin in his voice, his excitement palpable. “Let’s get started then, yeah?”

Azul’s grip on your shoulder tightened, not painfully, but firmly, like he was anchoring you to him. "Don't worry," He murmured softly, so close you could feel his breath against your skin. "This will only hurt for a moment."

“No—no, please!” You tried to jerk away, but Jade’s hands were suddenly on you too, their combined strength pinning you in place, forcing you to be still. Panic surged through you, a scream building in your throat as you felt the sharp, metallic touch of a needle pressing against your skin.

Azul’s voice came again, soothing and gentle, but laced with that same terrifying undertone. “Just stay still, love. It'll all be over soon, and then… then you’ll be perfect.”

And as the needle began to pierce through, the pain flaring white-hot, you knew with a sickening certainty that there would be no escape.

Not anymore.

[everparanoid]

Make me lose my breath, make me water ┃Wriothesley

pairing: f!reader x wriothesley

genre: fluff , NSFW

rating: 18+

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !

tags: Cunnilingus, consent is hot, Reader is from Natlan, cuffs used inappropriately, Body Worship, My First Smut, Fontaine is France but it's not but it is, PWF, PWP, Mutual Pining, No use of y/n, Reader is Not Traveler (Genshin Impact), Creampie, biting kink, Written After 4.1 Update, Minor spoilers for 4.0 quest, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Light Bondage, light orgasm denial

wordcount: 6.1k

synopsis: The notorious Duke of the fortress of Meropide hasn't been on his A-game lately, and it shows.

Originally posted: 25.10.23 on AO3

a/n: I am now reposting my AO3 stuff onto tumblr. If you know me....no, you don't. ;) Also check out my AO3 for more wriothesley fics.

Song Inspiration: 'Water' by Tyla.

Three quick knocks rattled the door to his large office. The sound echoed up to the second floor where his desk resided.

“Come in,” Wriothesley said not looking up from his papers.

Wriothesley was a busy man. Well, being the Duke of the self-running, man-powered Fortress of Meropide wasn’t an easy job. It wasn’t exhausting either, but that was beside the point.

He took a slow prolonged sip from his teacup. The second sip in the last hour; the flavoured water had long since cooled from the general chill in the office. Not that he could feel anything beyond the normal chill of the underwater Fortress; and with the added benefit of his cryo vision he considered himself well-suited for the climate. That didn’t mean he didn’t miss the sun. Although, he could see the sun whenever he found a reason to leave the fortress, which he often didn’t.

He sighed for the fifth time that hour.

“I hear you’ve been doing that a lot,” You said ascending the spiralled staircase.

He paused and lowered his teacup, placing it on the small pile of report papers he was using as a mat. One side of his lips raised threatening to become a half smile. He quickly wiped it away.

“Oh? Have I now?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said, your voice smooth and confident. “I think I’m going to have to report you to Sigewinne.”

“Am I to assume she isn’t the one who sent you?”

His eyes met yours as you arrived atop the stairs, a hand on your hip and that sassy look in your eyes that he had grown fond of. He realised now why he had been so distracted.

He missed you.

You often frequented the fortress. First as a commissioned messenger between Wriothesley and Neuvillette, then a ‘convict’, and after that a friend and now… he didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to complain about the company. It was nice having someone as into tea as he was. Not that he would admit it, but it got lonely in the Fortress sometimes. More so since he met you.

“What? You afraid of a couple of stickers?”

“You know about that?” he grumbled, glancing at the pile of crumpled Melusine stickers littering the side of his desk, freshly pulled off the back of his coat.

“I have ears everywhere, Your Grace,” you smirk, withholding the crucial fact that you were the culprit providing the stickers for Sigewinne and her Melusine friends. They paid you back in giggles and smiles, and just the joy on their small faces was enough for you.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You probably know more about what’s happening in my humble home than me,” he said. Only a half lie on his part. You had an aptitude for making tough things bend to your will. Him being the toughest of things in question. He dismissed the thought of you flashing that blinding smile at anyone other than him.

Your shoulders rose and fell as a melodic laugh left your lips and graced his ears. If he could keep your voice in a bottle, he would.

You shook your head and pushed off the railing. His attention remained on you as you took a seat on the settee a bit away from his desk.  His throat—as if he hadn’t just taken a sip of his cold tea— felt overwhelmingly dry. He cleared it gently and picked up his teacup.

“How’s the Traveler and Paimon?” he asked, taking a sip.

The flavoured water was colder. He needed to calm down lest he froze the entire thing. He imagined you would be the only one to find amusement in him sipping ice.

You crossed your legs, and your skirt rode up. He looked away respectfully, much to his dismay and the favour of his quickly deteriorating will. He didn’t remember when it happened. When he started seeing you as more than just the middle woman between Neuvillette and himself; more than just a pawn in this game against the fatui, but now he found himself knowing the way your cheek dimpled slightly only on your right cheek when you laugh; how the skin around your eyes crow when you yawn or squint; how you change to fix your posture every thirty minutes when you’re lost in a book, and your neck starts to get sore, and your lower back begs to be stretched out. He pulled himself out of his thoughts before they had a chance to spiral further.

“They send their regards and a thank you for your help with ‘the situation,’” you said making air quotes. You didn’t mention how you didn’t plan to return to them for a while, but some things were best left unsaid with Wriothesley.  

Wriothesley nodded and gestured for you to join him in for some tea.

“If you have some time, of course,” he finished.

“Of course, If you are offering,” you responded. 

You went to stand but Wriothesley beat you to it. Thankful for the excuse to busy himself with something other than your smouldering presence. If he was an icy avalanche, then you were like a raging inferno, melting him into warm water. Perhaps it had something to do with the pyro vision dangling from your hip. He glanced at the vision and caught a glimpse of your bare legs. He froze, curious about what colour you might be wearing underneath your skirt: black, white, blue, red? Instead, he was beyond relieved when he saw black shorts. He breathed a sigh. That’s so you.

“I can heat the pot, you know?” you say, growing increasingly more tired of his strange mood and equally as obscure silence. Never had Wriothesley sighed so much. Honestly, you never would have considered him a sigher; more a hmpher or a quiet snickering type.

You and everyone in Fontaine who had the pleasure or misfortune—mostly the misfortune—of knowing the Duke, knew that recently he had been off. In truth, your visit hadn’t been to express Neuvillette’s message (though that made a great cover). No, you were there because of a chain of strange letters from Sigewinne, given to you by an equally as annoyed Clorinde, telling you of the Duke’s bizarre behaviour. According to these letters, he was more attentive than usual. He had appeared around the fortress checking in on the production zones and the inmates an alarming number of four times in the last month, nearly causing several heart attacks amongst the inmates, which as a result caused Sigewinne to be on high alert from all the overworking; he hasn’t been partaking in as many fights in the ring, and he hasn’t been drinking as much tea.

It was the last two on the list that shocked you the most and was most of the reason why you were there now. Wriothesley not drinking tea? Was Fontaine’s archon a fraud?

Uncrossing your legs, you stood and approached him. Placing a hand on the teapot, you heated the water with your vision.

“Let me do that," you said.

You sounded more breathless than you had intended to, but being so close to him does that to you. He always managed to take your breath away, but you had stupidly thought that with time those senseless reactions would die upon learning more about the mysterious brutish duke. The way all crushes faded when the mystic i.e., the lack of information and the delusions of projection, disappeared. Instead, it seemed to have only worsened. A butterfly somersaulted in your stomach when you accidentally brushed your hand against his.

Wriothesley stiffened. The touch went straight to his gut.

“Why are you here?” he responded smoothly, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Not that he was concerned about why you were here—he couldn’t be happier—but you were supposed to be away for the next six months on a quest with the traveler to your home region, Natlan. Had Sigewinne called you back out of concern for him? He had to be more careful around the small nurse in the future.

“Your tea collection isn’t as depleted as usual,” you observed, staring into the box filled with other miniature boxes of tea, skilfully deflecting the question.

“An interrogation. You’re making me nervous,” he joked. “I am a busy man, I don’t always have time for tea.”

The look you fixed him with was not amused.

“You always drink at least three cups a day,” you said putting stress on the ‘at least.’ If it wasn’t tea, it would be a terrible addiction.

“Wow, you’re counting? I’m impressed.”

“Which flavour do you want?”  you said, ignoring him.

“The special blend.”

Without a second thought, you plopped the tea bag into the teapot and left it to brew.

It was your favourite, and that is why he chose it. He was more of a black tea or green tea kind of person, but the special blend he had made specifically for you. You didn’t know that though; you didn’t have to, he enjoyed hearing your quiet hums of happiness with each sip. It was great fodder for his late-night thoughts.

His heart warmed, as the skin around your eyes crowed the way he loved. Loved? He cleared his throat.

“You aren’t booking yourself as many fights. Which I would be happy about if I thought it didn’t directly correlate to why you’re acting so strange,” you lectured, and to him, you sounded like a particular short blue-haired Melusine.

“I can’t help but feel that you are worried about me,” he jested.

“As anyone would be about a friend,” you said.

Friend? Yes, that was what you were. Friends.

“Friends. Yes,” he agreed albeit stiffly.

You gave him a cautious side-eye unsure as to why his tone hurt you.

The word left a bitter taste in Wriothesley’s mouth and when you offered to fill his cup again, he accepted. Suddenly needing the soothing numbing effects of his tea more than ever. You topped up his cup before you poured the heated water into the teacup that had unintentionally become yours.

 Wriothesley didn’t let anyone else use it. It was superstitious really, and he didn’t consider himself a superstitious person. However, he worried that if he let anyone else use it you suddenly won’t come back one day. Not that you would be able to tell the difference if he did let someone else use the cup; all the teacups he owned looked exactly alike, but yours was different. It was a cup with a little chip on the rim near the handle from when you decided to have your tea with Neuvillette, Clorinde, the traveler and himself after the recent troubles with the Fatui. Your cup had chipped due to the heat of your hand; he could recall the horror on your face when he informed you how much each cup cost after letting you ramble on about owing him another cup.

You eventually fell into a comfortable silence sitting together on the settee.

“Clorinde has been visiting you a lot recently,” you said from behind your teacup. You took another sip.

Wriothesley recalled his earlier meeting with the champion dualist.

“Yes, we had some tea.”

“Really?”

“Jealous?”

You turned away.

“There is no need to be, I assure you,” he said, feeling a deep sense of relief at the way you seemed so bothered by his meeting with your mutual friend. The same friend who had been lecturing him about his ‘mutual’ feelings for you. Perhaps it was because of your reaction, that he realised that Clorinde might have been right. Or he was delusional? Maybe it was both.

Wriothesley placed his mug down on the coffee table. His hand brushed your bare thigh and you both jolt.

“Who says I am jealous?” You snapped, your lip twitching.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because your lip twitches when you’re upset, and your pyro vision makes you heat the things around you without abandon. Your eyes lose that spark which makes them look like the spotlights guarding Meropide, and you refuse to look at me because you know I’ll see right through you. And I do. I see you.”

He took another sip from his tea, pretending to not notice your tea bubbling in your hand, and the crack growing on the side of the teacup.

“It’s not nice to make jokes like that, Your Grace,” you said nervously.

Your eyes darted about the office settling on anything but him. The bookshelves looked fuller than usual. Has he been reading more books?

“Indeed. It is not but come on you should know me better than that by now. I never joke about things like this,” he said. His voice was clear and sincere. “Is it so strange that I would want to give a few words of praise out of genuine adoration?”

Especially since he saw the way you’re reacting; he knew that it was real and not a fantasy from his misguided thoughts. He wouldn’t lose this opportunity to make his feelings clear. He was a straightforward guy, after all. When he knew what he wanted was within his reach he wouldn’t simply pass it up. It would be unjust. He wanted to watch you smile, to be the one that caused that smile; he wanted to be the first person you went to when something good happened in your life; he wanted to feel your skin and not just in passing touches; he wanted to let it scold him, to embrace the flames.

“Ah, it seems I have ruined the mood,” he said smoothly.

He stood.

You went to stand too, but when you did the boiling liquid in your teacup splashed your hand. You hissed and dropped it. The porcelain shattered against the metal ground; the liquid spilt everywhere.

Wriothesley sat back down on the settee and took your warm hand in his immediately not sparing a second to glance down at his soaked boots. They encased yours and worked to chill the burn; one of the many benefits of having a cryo vision. The two of you couldn't be any more different. Fire and ice co-exist? Impossible.  Unimaginable. Dangerous. The tenderness in which he held your hand sets your heart ablaze as if it wasn’t already. Had he been telling the truth? You knew the Duke better than most, and with that knowledge you know he wasn’t the type to lie about that, but did he mean it? Could he mean it?

“I’m sorry,” you said.

Wriothesley’s attention remained on the forming boil on your soft skin. He soothed it gently, trying not to give you frost-burn. Thankfully the natural heat of your skin stopped his cryo from hurting you further.

“For what?” he responded softly, bringing your hand up to his lips and breathing out cool frosty air. You felt like mush, and if it weren’t for the dull ache in your hand you would have snatched up the opportunity to run said hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. It always looked so soft and maybe he would allow you to touch it.

You pulled a face between flustered and self-loathing.

“That was one of your expensive teacups,” you managed to choke out.

He continued to blow cool air onto your hand.

“There will be other teacups,” he says, his lips barely an inch from your skin.

You wanted to melt on the spot.

“But—“

He sighed and said your name sternly looking up at you through the haze of dark lashes.

“Why would I worry about a teacup when you are hurt?” he asked and lowered your hand from his lips. “In any case, I should apologise for ruining a perfectly good meeting. If you have said all you need to say then—”

You waved your hands, flabbergasting him as you snatched them from his cool encasing, momentarily forgetting about the burn, and cutting him off mid-speech.

“No, you didn’t,” you yelped.

He half smiled at the scarlet tint of your ears, and taking your burnt hand back into his, he proceeded to gently apply cryo to the festering burn.

“Ah, is that so?” he chuckled. “Alright then, how will you pay me back?”

“Huh?”

“You broke my favourite teacup, after all. So—“ he said your name with a hint of mischief in his smooth voice. “How will you pay me back?”

“That’s not fair!” You straightened in your seat. “How can that be your favourite teacup when they all look the same? Are you just saying that to make me feel worse than I already do?”

He cocked a brow and tugged you forward. You fell into him, your free hand coming to rest on his lower abdominal. Your nose brushed his, and you felt his cool breath against your cheeks. His breathe smelt of spearmint. Your lips twitched and you tried to focus on the scar under his eye (the one you’ve always wanted to trace with the tips of your fingers) so as to not meet his icy blue stare, or to glance down at the obvious smirk on his lips. You wanted to kiss him; you could kiss him; would he let you kiss him?

Wriothesley watched your tongue dart out to swipe across your lips; he wanted to bite it; but he had more control than that. He had an image to uphold. The Duke was supposed to be fair and reasonable; he was supposed to lead by example and be a neutral figure of respect and reverence, not a brute without self-control. He pushed you back gently, hoping beyond hope that in your shock you haven’t noticed how hard he was.

“Kidding, of course,” he drawled.

Anger coloured your face and you punched his shoulder, half seriously. You hissed and shake your still very much wounded hand. You had been duelling partners for a while when you had spent a significant amount of time in the Fortress pretending to be a convict back when you were neither friend nor whatever you were now. He’d only agreed to it at the time because you managed to beat everyone and nearly him.

“You are breathtaking,” he muttered. “Come on let’s get you to Sigewinne.”

He stood and offered you his hand.

Your heart stuttered. Even though you weren’t native to Fontaine you were well-versed in their mother language, but even then, you didn’t believe your ears.

“What?” you asked.

He chuckled again, a deep and hearty sound.

“When will I stop doubting the ears of a seasoned traveler,” he said out loud although it was meant for his ears alone. He must have been mentioning your mutual friend, the blond traveler, and their small pixie pie companion, Paimon. You have been accompanying them on a few commissions and quests here and there, especially through Natlan. Which kept you away from Fontaine for significant periods of time, much to Wriothesley’s silent dismay.

However, he would never keep something so precious away from the light. He tried to keep a pet once—not that you were a pet—but he soon realised that it was wrong to keep something meant to be in the sun away from it. And if he couldn’t do it to a small animal then he definitely couldn’t do that to you. You were a traveller, not even native to Fontaine. Although you have made it clear countless amounts of times that Fontaine is your favourite region; he can’t help but feel like you weren’t meant to be chained to one place. He won’t be your administrator, the fortress won’t be your prison, and he couldn’t imagine keeping you in this cage with him. He refused to, even if his more selfish desires would have you cuffed to his desk where he could gaze upon you forever till you hated him and wished him gone.

“No, I want to talk first,” you said.

“I assure you we can talk after your hand has been seen too.”

“Wriothesley.”

Your tone went straight to his cock. You have never said his name, at least not his face. Even when you’re both around your mutual ‘friends’ you still have only ever called him ‘your grace.’ He wanted to hear you say his name again. He wanted to hear you say his name breathlessly, desperately, whilst you crumbled into each other. He cleared his throat and walked across his office hoping that the distance would stop you from noticing the obvious tent in trousers. He fiddled with the cuffs on his hips to distract himself and pulled at his tie.

“You really should go…to Sigewinne,” he said.

You approached him. He turned away from you facing a bookshelf. You brushed your fingertips to his forearm feeling the chilling aura around his skin. You expected him to pull away, for him to stop you from going past the point of no return, but he didn’t.

“Wriothesley,” you said his name again, this time with a wistful air. You don’t even realise you’re saying it. You never said it; not to him, only to the crisp cold darkness when your back arched on your sheets late into the night.

“Say it again,” he said.

“What?”

“My name. Say it again.”

Your eyes widened as you realised your mistake. You have always tried not to say his name to separate your lustful fantasies from the real man.

He faced you, capturing your gaze and with it your heart too in his glacial eyes that looked so warm. “Please.”

You couldn’t help but obey. His name slipped out in a hushed prayer: “Wriothesley.”

In turn, he said yours; just as quiet, just as wanting.

“You really should go to Sigewinne,” he said and ghosts his thumb along your jaw.

“What if I don’t want to?” you stepped closer. “What if I want to stay right here?”

His expression darkened.

“You shouldn’t,” he said with no bite behind it.

You didn’t budge.

“Can I kiss you?” You asked, sounding way more desperate than you intended. Before you could cringe at yourself, he had you caged in his arms, mouth cold against yours. He groaned when you bit down on this bottom lip, and for the first time, you felt his thick erection brush against your stomach.

None of your wildest fantasies could compare to the reality of kissing Wriothesley and any pain in your hand disappeared altogether. He kissed you like you’re the only thing tethering him to the earth; like you were his last gulp of air before he dissolved into primordial water.

He tugged on your shirt.

“If you don’t take this thing off right now I’m going to rip it,” he said, his breath laboured.

You reached under your shirt, and he helped you slip it over your head. He threw it away and pulled you into another kiss. His hand wrapped in your hair.

You took off his tie and his waistcoat, his usual fur coat was already draped on the back of his large red chair. He stopped you unbuttoning his shirt, shaking his head, trailing kisses along your jaw, and down your neck as he walked you backwards to his desk. He unclasped your bra. He watched it slide down your arms and then tossed it somewhere that was going to be your future you’s problem.

“Up,” he ordered.

You jumped up, wrapping your arms around his neck. He grasped the underside of your thighs and placed you down on the free space of his grand desk.

He bit your shoulder, and you moaned out his name in a way that had him almost feral. He lapped at the wound and kissed it. You threw your head back biting down on your lip. He continued leaving kisses and nibbles along your collarbone, slowly lowering until your breasts were under his hungry gaze. You suddenly felt nervous. You wouldn’t say you were insecure in your looks. You knew that your looks were something to behold and of which you were very proud. They’ve come in handy in your many jobs as many times as they have caused unnecessary issues but being under the watchful gaze of Wriothesley felt different… intimate. You tried to bring your hands up to cover yourself. Wriothesley caught your wrists, looking up at you from his crouched position.

“Don’t you dare. You’re beautiful.”

“Wriothesley,” you said.

“If you aren’t comfortable, we can stop,” he assured you, although the words pained him and his dick, consent was king—always. If you weren’t comfortable, he could always sort himself out later. You were the most important thing to him. He let go of your wrists and you dropped them, letting him feast his eyes on your breasts.

“Don’t stop. Please.”

“Are you sure?�� he asked again.

“Yes.”

“If you change your mind, just tell me and we’ll stop,” he said. “Give me a safe word.”

“Cake,” you instantly responded.

“Cake?” He cocked a brow. “Cake, it is.”

Without a moment spared, he grasped your breasts and planted a kiss there, dragging his lips over your nipples in a way that made you shiver. He smiled to himself at the occasional whimpers that left you; even more pleased that he was the one causing them.

“I love the noises you make. I love your voice. I’m obsessed with it. I wish to capture it and listen to it whenever you’re away,” he groaned.

He dragged his tongue down, further, and further until he was on his knees, he pushed up your skirt that had been bothering him since you crossed your gorgeous legs earlier. He was tempted to have you keep it on when he fucked you, for no other reason than the thought that the next time you decided to wear that poor excuse of a skirt he knew all you would be able to think about was how he messed you up in it. The thought brought him immense pleasure.

 He slid his hands into your shorts, squeezing your thighs. The flimsy piece of black material and whatever surprise underwear beneath it were the only things keeping him from what he wanted. He wanted to taste you. He wanted to feel how you’ll curl on his tongue; he wanted to feel you gripping his hair and screaming his name as he brought you to a high only he could give you.

“These damn shorts,” he grumbled.

“I climb mountains. How else am I going to keep myself comfortable?” you asked.

He tutted and tore them open; the fabric did not put up much of a fight at all.

“I guess you won’t be climbing mountains anytime soon,” he said guiding the torn fabric down your legs.

“Those were my favourites, you brute.”

He winked up at you.

“Ah, I suppose that makes us even,” he drawled.

Was he thinking about that damn teacup right now?

“How are you?” He said, checking in on you.

“Good.”

He smiled and your heart melted a little.

He froze when he took in the sight of your lingerie.

“Were you thinking of me when you bought these?”

“Don’t get too cocky,” you said.

“Too late.”

You bit your lip. It hadn’t been intentional, your underwear matching the colour of his eyes. He trailed his nose up the soaked fabric brushing your clit. You grabbed his hair at the stimulation. You felt the beginnings of the scruff threatening to break out of his chin tickling you as he guided your lingerie aside and gave your clit an ardent lick. Wriothesley wasn’t big on savoury treats, but you weren’t savoury, you tasted like you, and you were fast becoming his favourite dessert.

“You taste divine,” he said.

“Oh Archons,” you muttered.

“They won’t hear you down here,” he said.

It didn’t take long before your toes were curling, and you were chanting his name. Wriothesley gripped your thigh with one hand and fingered you with the other, stretching you out in preparation for him; because if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that you were going to cum around him. He was going to feel the way you would clench around him; he was going to watch your blissed-out face twist as he fucked you hard into his desk. Although he would love to feel you climax on his face there would be time for that. He’d be damned if this was the first and only time he had you. You were his. Morals and reputation be damned, he wanted—no, needed to be inside you. He didn’t care if the entirety of Meropide could hear you; in fact, he got off on the thought.

Just when you felt like you were about to climax, he pulled away and licked his lips. You glared at him as he stood and bent over you kissing you softer than before. You could taste yourself on his lips, and instead of it turning you off it spurred you on. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, grinding against his clothed erection.

“Do you trust me?” he asked between heated kisses.

Everything felt wet like you both were melting, and you probably were. If so, you didn’t care, becoming water wasn’t half bad if it was with him. You heard his cuffs before you saw them spinning around the two fingers that had been inside you.

“Right now, no,” you lied.

He half smiled.

“I suppose I deserve that. I guess I’ll just have to persuade you then.”

You untangled from around him. He stepped back unbuttoning his shirt and revealing lean scar-littered skin. You wanted to reach out and so you did, tracing the long jagged discoloured scars, slightly keloid. Some looked fresher than others. He shivered and breathed out a low groan when you grazed over his nipple. He raised his signature cuffs.

“Give me your wrists,” he said.

It clinked when it secured around both wrists. The spiked metal looked so beautiful against your skin; he was almost tempted to throw away the key.

“Oh no, you’ve caught me, your grace,” you teased. Something you shouldn’t have done because the way he looked at you after told you that you had triggered something in him.

“You did break my favourite teacup after all,” he said.

“I thought we were even.”

You watched him slowly unbuckle his belt and step between your legs. There would be time for savouring the moment later, many moments if he could help it but not then. You felt his erection only covered by the thin fabric of his boxers press against your vagina, he leans over you caging you between his arms and the desk.

“Indeed, we are for breaking.” He nibbled on your ear, “but that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. That was an expensive cup you know some flimsy shorts won’t cover the costs. You should know I only play fair, and you got some of the tea on my freshly shined boots.”

Your cuffed hands resting on your stomach fiddled with the lining of his boxers. You lost your breath when he nuzzled into the base of your neck.

“Don’t tease me,” he grunted.

You manage to slip his cock out.

“Says the man who denied me my orgasm.”

You felt his smile on your neck.

He rubbed his cock along your folds but didn’t push in. He wanted to be sure that you’re sure.

“I don’t think friends do this,” he said as he continued to edge your hole.

“Just fuck me already,” you sassed.

He thrust into you, filling you completely. He was thicker than you expected, thicker than you had had before. You couldn’t be more thankful for the earlier foreplay because without it he wouldn’t have fit. He remained still for a while, and you slowly adjusted to his size. The dull ache of the intrusion quickly turned from discomfort to bliss.

“Wriothesley.”

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he breathed. “Don’t stop saying my name.”

You didn’t.

“Good girl,” he said.

The desk jutted, the papers shook, and books slid off the desk smacking the floor in their wake, but the sound was lost to you both. Despite his strong persona, and much to your delight, he didn’t hold back his occasional whimpers, and grunts. The sound blessed your ears like a symphony. Sometime after your first orgasm, he took off the cuffs and threw them to his settee.

He left the occasional bites and kisses on the underside of your jaw, and down to your breasts. You, in turn, added to the long scars down his back, your nails clawing into the flesh. He would treasure those when they scarred.

You guided his face up from your neck, where he had been breathing you in as if he couldn’t get enough of you into his system. In truth, he couldn’t. You kissed him deeply, filling it with all the words you hadn’t yet been able to say. You felt your third climax on the horizon as he hit the same spot that made your back arch.

“Wriothesley,” you said against his mouth. “There.”

He chased your lips.

“That’s it,” he said, rolling his hips. He slipped a hand between your rocking bodies and rubbed your swollen clit. You let out a needy moan.

 “I’ve got you,” he said as you clenched around him.

Your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave of primordial water. He held you to him, as he continued to thrust towards his own high, encasing you in his arms.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he groaned.

 Wriothesley felt like he was on cloud nine. Being with you was entirely different from what he imagined in the best way possible. It felt like a dream having you here, in his arms, pliant to his every desire. In each kiss, he pretended that you felt the same way; that you wanted the same things. He pretended that this moment wasn’t just a moment but forever—because he wanted you forever.

He slowed down prolonging the experience and straightened up looking down at the fucked-out expression on your face. He knew he didn’t look any better. Swiping a hand through his hair, he continued to roll his hip slowly. He placed a hand on your pelvis steadying you. Your body was covered in a sheen of sweat which glistened under the light of the office. He felt like he was melting into you—like you were melting into each other.

“Can I?” he asked.

“Yes,” you answered opening your arms for him, beckoning him home. And truly, to him, you felt like home.

He pushed his damp hair back once again, before leaning over you. With a final grunt and a spam of your walls around him, he came. He didn’t pull out right away, wrapping his arms around you as if afraid to let go.

Your thighs were sticky from your combined releases, and your body felt like it had been sitting in a sauna for hours but seeing the rare, satisfied look on his face made it all worth it. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“You owe me new shorts,” you said.

“I’ll buy you as many shorts as your heart desires,” he uttered, tiredly.

“Really?”

He hummed and nodded slowly.

“Good because I think I’m going to need a lot of them if you’re going to rip them off every time,” you said causing him to perk up. “You know to repay for the teacup.”

“Oh?”

“Unless this was a one-time thing then—“you hesitated.

He kissed you again, unable to hide his smile.

“Next time let’s use my bed.”

“I’d like that,” you said.

He tried to intertwine your hands, but you winced when he brushed against the forming boil.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and to Sigewinne, for real this time.”

“First, can we have a cup of tea?” you asked.

He laughed. Of course, you wanted to have tea. He could do with some tea too; he was famished after all. He laid a kiss on your forehead and made a mental note to send Clorinde an extra box of his finest tea.

“Of course, first let's clean up and then we'll have tea. I promise, but don’t spill it this time.”

masterlist

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[dilemmaontwolegs]

Lady in Red (2) || CS55

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x fem!reader Summary: Vegas drama Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, smut, cheating WC: 1.75k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four

You were well accustomed to shows with your career but Las Vegas was on another level. It was all smoke and mirrors that frustrated the drivers but there was one man making the best out of the confusion of lights and miscommunication. The huge pit building was four stories high but the lack of people filling it left the top floor empty for most teams. Somewhere on the levels below, his father and girlfriend, as well as his team, were looking for him but he was quite happily distracted from it all.

You could see the Sphere from your position in the shadows of the room, its countdown to free practice also being a challenge for Carlos. Pistoning his hips faster, he raced the clock as he fucked you on an empty desk, the chaotic atmosphere drowning your delighted cries when his thumb found your clit and made you reach oblivion again.

“I think I’ll keep this,” Carlos chuckled as he picked up a feather that had broken off the showgirl outfit you wore. You had been hired to parade down the pit lane in the free practice buildup and you had taken the job just to see Carlos again. “How do I look?”

You straightened the rhinestone bodice back over your breasts and giggled at the sight of the red feather behind his ear. “Muy hermoso.”

“Stealing my compliments now, hermosa?”

You swiped the feather back with a smirk. “Well I already have to steal your time.” You both looked at the Sphere with the reminder and Carlos cursed under his breath.

“I’ll find you after practice,” Carlos said as he stopped by a closet and opened it to find a long Ferrari branded winter coat. He unclipped the feather plume from your back before draping it over your shoulders. “It’s cold out there. Don’t want you getting sick, cariña.”

You looked down at the coat as he made his way to the door. “Shouldn’t your girl wear this?”

He barely paused as he cast a look over his shoulder and grinned, “she is.”

You had no idea what was going on. Chaos had erupted, the session ended and there was talk of Carlos missing out in the next practice, whenever that was rescheduled to start, if his car could be fixed in time. Midnight had come and gone, the timezone already leaving you tired, and you struggled to keep your eyes open in the corporate lounge above the Ferrari pit.

“This could take a while, cariña. You should go back to the hotel.”

You blinked away the weariness and focused on the driver who had taken a seat on the couch beside you. It was unnatural to fight the urge to reach for his hand or lean into his side but there were still dozens of guests remaining, one of them staring daggers at you from across the room.

“I’ll be fine,” you said before a yawn cracked your jaw and he chuckled despite the turn of events he had faced.

His eyes lingered on your lips like he was contemplating kissing them but then he leant forward and dug his elbows into his knees. His hands combed through his hair as he let out a deep sigh. “I can’t do this.”

“Do what?” you asked just as quietly, but his eyes cut a sharp glance your way before turning to his girlfriend. “Oh.”

“I want you,” he whispered. “I want to just fucking kiss you, right now, because it will make me feel better - but I can’t.”

He rose to his feet before you could give him an answer and watched as he walked over to Rebecca. It hurt, of course it hurt to see her wrap her arms around him and kiss his lips when you knew just how soft they were. But it had been six weeks since you last saw him and you didn’t know how long it was going to be before you saw him again. There was no certainty, and that had made you hesitate.

But he had proven time and time again that this wasn’t just the one time thing you thought it was going to be.

Grabbing your phone from the pocket of the Ferrari coat you still wore, you sent him a single message: Okay.

You saw the moment he read it, the way he untangled her arms from his neck and stepped away with a suppressed smile. You knew he wouldn’t act on it right away, all break ups were carefully formulated by their PR and Social Media teams to limit the damage to their image. But Carlos was already heading straight to Charlotte who handled those affairs.

“You’re looking positive, considering how the last session ended,” Natalie Pinkman commented to Carlos as he entered the TV pen. You leant forward in your seat as his lips teased a smile that was displayed across all the screens.

“The team has done a fantastic job and the car should be ready to run in FP2, so there’s definitely a reason to be positive heading into this next session.”

“Let’s hope you can keep that positivity as I understand news just came in that the request for an exemption of a penalty has been declined. I don’t have word yet on what that penalty will be but-”

You watched Carlos’ forehead crumple at the news before someone took his arm and guided him away from the cameras to no doubt break it to him properly. It was only ten minutes later that he reappeared looking dishevelled and pacing the noticeably quieter floor with all the fervour of a captive tiger. His father held the leash.

You didn’t know enough Spanish to understand their conversation but you recognised the hand on Carlos’ shoulder as one that tried to calm him.

“I’ll be back soon,” Carlos said after a few deep breaths. “I just need a minute.”

He crossed the room to the stairwell, his eyes catching yours before he disappeared, a single finger pointing up. You waited a moment before taking your leave and heading to the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor once more. It was no wonder he took the stairs when you saw the screens inside were replaying the breaking news, and you tried to find a power button to switch it off.

“Mi amor.” Carlos’ hand reached through the widening gap and found yours before the door had even completely opened, tugging you into his arms.

“Amor,” you echoed as your cheeks heated with the meaning. “That’s new.”

“I spoke to Charlotte,” he whispered as he walked you deeper into the shadows of the empty room. “She thinks four weeks will be enough to build a public distance with Rebecca. It’s best that the fans come to their own conclusions before announcing the break up.”

“Okay,” you hummed as his lips peppered kisses across your collar.

His kiss froze. “I thought you would be more excited.”

“For what? The morals I thought I had obviously weren’t very strong since we are doing this right now, while you are still in a relationship. Nothing changes for me when you become single.”

Carlos pulled away with a frown. “Nothing changes? Everything changes, amor. We will be able to go on dates, be seen together, holiday together. Be together. That’s what your text meant.”

You stepped away from his embrace and pulled the coat back around your body as you shook your head. “I was just saying it was okay to break up with her, that’s what you wanted.”

“So I could be with you!” His growls echoed around the room and he tugged at his hair in frustration. “Don’t you want to be with me too?”

“Of course I do,” you whispered as you hugged yourself.

He smiled at the admission and took a step closer but you stepped away even further. His arms fell limp at his side and he looked sullen as his head fell forward. “Then what is the problem?”

“I want to be with you, Carlos, but I could never trust you.” You sighed and looked longingly at the elevator as the silence dragged on. “I should go. Good luck with the rest of the weekend.”

Your finger pressed the arrow down before he recovered and raced after you, slipping into the narrow space as the doors closed.

“Carlo-”

You were silenced with his kiss, his body pressing you into the wall as he took your hands and pinned them above your head. “I know I’m not a good man, I know I have made many mistakes - but I would never do that to you.”

He pressed his cheek to yours as he whispered his confession to you. “I love you, I would get on my fucking knees and crawl over broken glass for you. You drive me insane, I’ve never been reckless like this, but you make me feel alive.”

He ground his hips against you to prove just how alive he felt and your resolve weakened. “Please, don’t go. I need you here, with me. This weekend is so fucked, but I can take it. I can take the penalties and the bullshit. But I can’t take you leaving. Please, amor…”

You felt his breath on your cheek before he pressed a chaste kiss to it and pulled back to look in your eyes. Your lips parted to answer him, the words on the tip of your tongue.

Ding.

“Shit,” Carlos swore as the doors opened on the main floor, his hands still holding yours and your bodies pressed close against the wall. “Fuck.”

It could have been the late night catching up with him or the shock, but he couldn’t seem to get his body to respond to the noise his head was making.

It was you who recovered first, pulling your hands free before shoving him away from you. It felt like minutes passed but it was likely only seconds since no one appeared to have noticed what had been displayed. If it had been hours earlier then the lobby would have been full of people.

“I’ll see you later,” you whispered as you sobbed Carlod out of the elevator.

“Does that mean-”

“It means I’ll see you later,” you said with a nod that made him smile. How could you possibly leave him after that profession? You were never very good at listening to your voice of reason, your heart had far more bearing on your decisions and Carlos had carved out a place for himself in yours.

The doors closed on the elevator and you fell back into the wall he had held you against, tipping your head back with a sigh. Told you he was trouble.

Click here for part three.

[sweetieviktor]

viktor x librarian!reader (headcanons + tiny scenarios)

summary: how you've meet each other, when you feel in love and your first exchange of "i love you"s.

content warning: just tooth rotting fluff and cuteness between those two. :D

author notes: i know that sooo many people writed this same idea but i can't help it, it's just so cute and so good to write!! when i was writing, the words came almost instantly and gods, i love to write fluff so much!! oh, and today, when i was re-reading this with my friend i was thinking the whole time "damn i love him" ((and i was awoken until 3am yesterday trying to finish this one but i feel sleep and couldn't end it, but i finished it this morning and now, at night time, im posting in here! anyways, hope you guys like it. :)

» the moment the doors hang open, you turn to see who it is, and as you do so, the whole world stops.

» the prettiest man you've ever seen in your life just came into the library you work in. literally, the prettiest man.

» the way his fluffy hair falls around his face and his curious eyes keep looking at everything, scanning all corners of the room, every little thing he can, shining whenever he sees something he likes.

» and his boyish little smile, barely showing his teeth, that he was giving while talking to a furry someone just by his side.

“oh hi, dear friend!” waving, heimerdinger spoke, walking with tiny, fast steps in your direction, pausing when he was close to you. meanwhile the boy beside him was walking a little slower, his cane thudding softly against the floor.

he stopped near the yordle and looked at your face, giving a polite smile, offering to you his non-occupied hand, and you shaked it, giving him a smile of yours. “i’m viktor, heimerdinger's assistant. he said you could help me with some resources i might need, and i would very much appreciate any help your books could provide.”

“i hope you don't mind him coming here to do some researches, friend. he may come here often!” the yordle laughed, looking between the two of you and then walking away.

“ehhh.. so, do you have any books about-”

» basically, this is how you and viktor knew each other, through a friend in common. and, from this day on, he came to the library more and more often.

» at first, he just showed up, asked for a book you could provide and got out of the establishment. then, he tried to strike up a small talk with you whenever he was waiting for you to look up said books. now, he just straight up rants about any experiment he may be doing at the time.

» and if you're genuinely interested in his rant, he could go for hours just explaining every little detail to you, and he would love every second of it.

» because now he is a regular, you just analyze what he is up to in the most recent days and choose some books that might be useful to him, putting them in the drawer, below the reception desk. and when this happened for the first time he was almost flustered, because you cared enough to look up, sort and search for things that he didn't even asked for.

when you heard the door swing open, you looked at it's direction, smiling as you realized who it was. “hey, viktor! welcome again!” it was the third time this week he got to the library, looking for the same type of books, so you just worked a bit ahead this time. “i don't know if it is exactly what you need but i think that you could use these ones, they have some information you might like.”

“but i still didn't ask for anything..?” he stared at you with a puzzled face, trying to understand why you were giving him those.

“i just think it goes along with your research. also, i wanted to help.” you shrugged, smiling brightly at him.

and maybe this was when he thought for the first time “damn.. i might be in love.”

» after this, he always tried to stay closer to you, to say things you might like, to show you that he cared for you just as much as you cared for him.

» he even brought coffee (he got sweet milk for himself) and pastries for you both to share one day. and this was for sure one of the best excuses to transform a boring afternoon with no clients, into a lazy reading session, this, of course, until a client came and ruined the cutesy atmosphere between the two of you.

» of course he thought about asking you out before, but it was hard. he wasn't used to the feeling of love, of liking someone so deeply like this. so what could he do besides admire you everyday he was in your library? look at you with pure adoration, chuckle lightly whenever you said something that wasn't even that funny, and after it all just show you the most beautiful, bright and in love smile.

» he didn't like to belittle himself, but he really think you would be better with someone that wasn't him. you were so different, yet so alike him, it almost felt like it was meant to be.

» then, in one of his “oh, i will stay here for 15 more minutes and then i'll go home” times (that never lasted 15 minutes, to be honest), it was almost closing time, all of your coworkers were in their homes, no more clients in, simply, not a soul in there. only you both.

» you kept looking in his direction from afar, thinking to yourself how could you get someone so intelligent, so brilliant, so beautiful, so... him. you knew what you wanted, but again, it was hard. and, if saying your feelings out loud was way too scary, writing it all down seemed easier. so, you picked up a pen and a paper, writing in it everything that was inside your chest, your heart. you poured all your feelings into every word that you scribbled down.

» until you heard him packing up his stuff. you started to panic, and now there was only two options, leave the paper as it was and try to act neutral, or try to hide it and look even more nervous? well, there's no time to think! he was already in front of you while your head was spiraling nonstop.

“hey... you are fine? you look stressed.” he examined your face, tilting his head to the side, admiring every little feature of yours. your pretty eyes, your nose, your kissable lips...

“yes! i'm completely fine, no need to worry!” you put your hands on top of the little confession, smiling anxiously, hoping that he don't notice the sweet words you wrote down just for him.

“oh, what did you got there?” he looked at the paper, then at you, and back to paper. on a common day you would like to have his focus only on you, but it was making you even more nervous now, your stomach was turning itself, your hands were cold and trembling. and when he noticed it, he took your hand in his, and you could feel that he was shaking too. “hey... look,” he took a deep breath, almost like he didn't want to continue, like he was still choosing the right words to say. “i understand that some things we just want to keep them personal, only for ourselves. so, ehh, you don't have to show me what you wrote.”, he said with a nervous smile displayed on his lips, while caressing your knuckles with an almost feather-like touch, too afraid to ruin the moment and lose you right now.

and you didn't want to lose him too. even with your brain telling you that you shouldn't tell him, your heart knew you needed to say it, breaking itself or not. so it was now or never. “well... recently i've been thinking about our friendship, about what it could possibly be, about you.” you averted your gaze to the ground, wishing that you came up with fancier words and a better way to confess to him before it all, but you couldn't turn back now. “honestly i can't stop thinking about you, it's like you consumed every logical thought in my brain, everything that wasn't... you.” finally you looked at his eyes, just to see he already looking at you, eyes finally shining for you, because of you. “i love you, viktor. with everything in me, i really love you.” it seemed so right to say these three little words to him, to let him know how you felt since the first time you've seen him.

“and i love you too.” he came closer to you, still with his hand on yours, but now holding it gently, intertwining your fingers together, pressing quickly his lips in yours, smiling in pure awe, completely lovestruck after it. “i love you more than anything, my little star.”

[cheeriecherrymain]

papa!Viktor blurb, anyone?

A/N: slowly, slowly, recovering from the creative drought ive been in

it's nowhere near a waterfall again, more like a frustrating dribble, BUT. It's something. But anyways, here is a Papa Viktor Thought Blurb (listen, my sister is almost three months old now, and I am so besotted with her, she's my favourite tiny person, and i am full of Caretaker Feelings)

Content Warning: 18+ MDNI (not explicit, but very very suggestive), afab!Reader, pregnancy, labour and birth (again, not explicit, but still with some depth), papa!Viktor, no beta no editing we simply die

Imagine Viktor, and him believing he'll be alone for his entire life - working so hard to make some kind of legacy for himself, putting everything he has into his creations and his machines. Every calculation, every experiment a labour of love.

This is how the world will remember his name.

At least, he hopes.

But then he meets you.

You're charming, he has to admit. You make friends wherever you go, and you have a weird habit of bringing people out of their shells. There's just...something about you that makes others want to bare their souls to you. Something that draws people in.

Like you have a tangible sort of gravity, and wherever you go, someone ends up in your orbit.

He won't mean much to you, he thinks, after conversing with you a couple times. You're creative, like he is, and you're enjoyable to talk to. But nothing more. Sooner or later, you'll continue on somewhere else, making waves and drawing attention. And in your wake, he will be left to sink. It's what expects.

Except...

You don't leave.

Your chats start out small. Short and sweet, a How are you today? wondered whenever you pass each other in the halls a couple times a month, curious about the goings-on of his life.

He never has anything interesting to tell you about. No adventures or tales to tell, nothing beyond the walls of a cramped and cluttered office.

You must be bored, he thinks.

But then you start seeking him out. Instead of just catching up for a couple minutes whenever you happen to walk past each other, you hunt him down in his office - and god, he wasn't lying when he'd told you it was cramped.

You're amazed he even has the space to think in there, with how tight it is. Yet you still shimmy yourself into the tiny room, careful not to disturb any piles of papers, and find a careful seat on a spot of open floor beside his desk. There's no room for a second chair, and you've always made it clear that you dislike standing when you're having a long conversation.

It's nice to sit down and rest somewhere together, you'd told him one time.

You grow closer after that. From seeing him a couple times a month, to a couple times a week, to literally every day. You don't seem to care that he never has anything 'exciting' to share with you, even going so far as to chastise him for calling himself uninteresting.

Your experiments are cool, you'd insisted, while leafing through one of his old journals. It's incredible to get to see how your mind works, and how creative and inventive you are. You have so many ideas, Viktor, and I really believe that they could help people.

Something changes in him, after that. He'd always been quieter around you, listening to your stories, and dutifully answering your questions: never quite letting you in.

Now he looks forward to seeing you.

His heart skips a beat every time he hears you knocking on his office door, a chipper little pattern reserved only for him. You know that he doesn't always like dealing with students after hours, so you'd come up with a way to let him know that it was you who was greeting him.

Things progress...surprisingly natural.

He's not subtle by any means, even if he thinks he is. The moment he realizes that he has feelings for you, all bets are off. His cheeks dust pink whenever you're around, his palms get sweaty and he fidgets, and the staring.

Looking at you with ill-contained admiration and affection.

You can't not kiss him.

You spend the next couple years having the time of your lives. Moving from classes and overbearing internships, to actively working on experiments. Collaborating with each other, drawing up ideas and debating functionality and form. The two of you get so heated when you're creating things together.

Neither of you are surprised when it devolves. Wide gestures and hasty chalkboard sketches, impassioned explanations and wild eyes - you bite your lip as you let your gaze trail over him, in all his dishevelled beauty. Hair a mess, tie crooked and loose, shirt partially unbuttoned, and sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Many nights are spent like that, cooped up in his little laboratory, surrounded by sketches and blueprints and scribbles and stray notes. His fingertips digging into the soft of your skin as he kisses the breath out of you. The rhythmic clunking of his crooked desk most telling, as he draws forth your little squeaks and sighs of delight.

Absolutely ruining you, filling you, stretching you open. Feeling the way you tremble in his hands, held tight to his slender body as he reaches so deep into you that you'll feel him for days.

Sinking his teeth into the side of your neck when he finds his own release - to stay quiet, he tells you. But you both know it's his way of marking you.

Claiming you.

You're his. You're his person, his love, his partner. Your eyes only ever shine the way they do when you look at him.

Your body, splayed out and spread before him, quivering and gasping and covered in a thin sheen of sweat - his.

Your taste, sweet on his tongue - your mouth, your skin, your arousal that drips out of you whenever he so much as looks at you.

His.

And he knows, without a single atom of doubt, that he's also yours. So entirely entangled with each other, neither of you knowing how you'd managed to exist separately before now.

How had you possibly found beauty in every day, when you'd never heard his voice? Never caught a whiff of his sweet shampoo as he ambled past you? Never felt the warmth of his touch, or the puff of his sighs on your cheek? Never known the tickle of his hair on your bare skin as you slowly woke every morning to find him curled around you, his face smashed into your back and soft snores emanating from him?

No matter, you think. You have him now, and that's what's important.

...until everything changes.

You miss a period.

You tell him about it.

You're both on edge, but he tries to remain optimistic. Cycles can be upset sometimes, he tells you, as if you don't already know. (You're certain he's really just trying to reassure himself.)

But deep down, you know.

You can feel it in the all-encompassing tiredness you wake with every morning. In the random bouts of nausea, and the sudden food aversions. The back aches, and all the sudden new smells you can detect.

You know something is amiss.

And he knows, too, when he finds you one time in the middle of the night. Standing in your shared little kitchen, in the dark, illuminated only by the light of the open refrigerator.

Pulling pickles straight out of the jar, dipping them in mayonnaise, and sinking your teeth into them. Like they were to most delectable thing you'd ever ingested.

You're both terrified, of course.

You're not really surprised that you've managed to fall pregnant - not with the way you two lust after each other practically every night, and sometimes in the morning. Maybe even once or twice in between meetings, when you're both squished together in his compact office.

Neither of you ever thought you'd become parents.

And certainly not right now.

But...you want this, you realize. You want this with him. You want a family with him, you want the evidence of your love - you want a future with him, and you want to see what beautiful little person you'll make together.

Would they have his eyes? Yours? He hopes they have your smile, he tells you, eventually.

It takes you by surprise, his words, what with how quiet he'd been since you'd both figured everything out. You'd been worrying that he wasn't really on board with keeping the baby - with being a father. And you hadn't blamed him, really.

You'd been beyond stressed at the idea of raising a child alone. The thought of him leaving you, leaving behind something so intrinsically tied to him, had been slowly breaking your heart. You hadn't wanted him to stay simply out of obligation - you know you wouldn't be able to cope with the eventual resentment that such an action would breed.

But to know for certain now that he'd only been anxious?

That he wanted this with you, and was excited?

You're so happy that you immediately burst into tears, squeaking and sniffling and snotting uncontrollably while Viktor bites back a laugh and herds you into his embrace. Stroking your back and murmuring the sweetest things to you while you try to catch your breath, leaving gentle kisses all over your face.

Telling you all about what kind of person he hoped your little one would be.

Your smile, most certainly, he said, resolute. You have the most beautiful smile. You light up the room wherever you go. Maybe your sense of humour, too. And certainly your compassion.

Your tears slowly began to lessen, as you let yourself be lulled by the comfort of his arms around you.

Your hair, though, you insist, smushing your face into his shirt. You look so pretty in the mornings, all fluffed up and in disarray. It's the cutest shit I've ever seen.

That garners a laugh from him.

I want them to have your eyes, as well, you admit, albeit somewhat shyly. I've never seen a colour like yours, so intense and complex. Way back when we first met, and you looked at me for the very first time? I almost lost the ability to breathe. It was...it was like I knew, right then. That you were the person I wanted to spend my life with.

He squeezes you a little bit tighter, stooping down to tenderly slot your lips together. Slow, lazy, intimate. Sharing breath and warmth and love and-

He takes you again.

Right there, in the dim quiet of his office, not seeming to care if anyone passing by in the hallway might hear you. Spoiling you absolutely rotten, speaking praises against your skin as he brings you over the edge again and again and again.

Pupils blown wide as he sinks his fingers into you, crooking them perfectly as to reach the spots he knows will drive you mad. The papers strewn around the room don't matter - they don't even cross his mind, as you wriggle and squirm and quiver and cry out for him.

How could they, when all he can focus on is the way you look when your body tenses up, another wave of ecstasy coursing through your veins, culminating in your lovely little noises, and the addicting feeling of your pleasure dripping down his fingers and over his palm, soaking him thoroughly.

He would be happy to have you like this, as frequently as you would let him.

He knows how sensitive you must be by now, not only from his ministrations, but also from the way your body is changing. He's done his fair amount of reading since discovering your pregnancy - he's aware of all the ways you might be feeling.

The hunger, the exhaustion, the aches and pains.

The all-encompassing, single-minded lust you might go through.

He's ready to please you, however you might want - his fingers, his mouth. And whenever you might want. You could wake him up in the middle of the night, for all he cares. You could nudge him from the sleep that he so desperately needs, and he'd ask not a single question besides What do you need, darling? How would you like me?

What he doesn't expect is his own desire.

You're beautiful. You always have been beautiful. Even as things change, he was absolutely certain that you would never stop being beautiful.

It's you, so of course he's going to want you.

But seeing you now, whining and looking at him like he's hung the moon in the sky, specifically for you? Your tummy already growing round with the life that you've made together, visible proof of your love? Desperate whimpers falling past your lips, begging him for more, for him to fill you up again and again and again?

He can't resist you.

Even when he starts to ache, and his arms start shaking, and his throat is raw and dry from breathing hard and calling out for you.

He can't resist you.

You're insatiable.

So is he.

He's a little more careful as the months progress. Manhandling you less, digging his fingers into the soft fat of your hips a little gentler. He's cognizant of how you're most comfortable, watching in awe as you tremble on top of him, grinding down on him and taking his entire length into you like you were made specifically for him.

Nearly every day, you beg for him.

He loves you.

And when the time eventually comes for you to waddle carefully into the labour centre, meeting your midwife along the way, Viktor tries to keep his worrying quiet. Tries to stay by your side as a supportive pillar, regardless of how well or not he might actually be able to hold you up.

Holding your hand, kissing your knuckles. Trading his fingers for a stress ball when you squeeze a little too hard (and then another stress ball, stronger this time, when the first one explodes in your fist after a couple minutes. It shocks both of you, but to his surprise, you start laughing).

He tenderly dabs the sweat off your forehead as the hours go by, keeping your hairs from pasting themselves to your face and neck. Staying nearby as a source of comfort, but not so close that you feel smothered by him - allowing you the space you need to wiggle around as you see fit.

Telling you stories to distract you, listening to your complaints and observations as his words become unable to mask the pain of your contractions. Doing his absolute best to bite back a fond grin as you breathlessly curse him for doing this to you.

I didn't mean it, you tell him, as soon as the words leave your mouth, your eyes wide and tearful with sorrow.

I know, he promises, leaning forward to press his lips to your dewy skin.

You sigh happily.

It's not for another couple hours that your baby finally decides to enter the world.

You're beyond exhausted, and Viktor is starting to get fidgety with his worry. Is it supposed to be taking this long? he wonders internally, keeping his questions to himself so as not to stress you out even more.

The midwives, to their credit, are incredibly skilled. Staying by your side throughout the whole process, carefully monitoring everything they need to in order to make sure you're healthy. That the baby is healthy. He knows that they would say something, if anything was truly wrong.

And when the little one finally arrives, she does so kicking and screaming, making an absolute ruckus in the quiet room. The door is shut tight, keeping the sounds of the busy establishment at bay, and the curtain is drawn for your privacy so no one can see in when the staff come and go.

But when your girl begins shouting her absolute displeasure into the air, Viktor swears he can hear some quiet clapping and cheering from the hallway. He doesn't know if it's for your success, or for something and someone else entirely - but for a moment, he likes to believe that there are some strangers out there who are happy for him.

They don't know his story, and they don't know yours - but they've heard a great cry from somewhere hidden and full of struggle. An all-encompassing wail that confirms the presence of life, shouting to the world I am here, I am alive, and I have absolutely no idea what's going on!

He doesn't know when the tears start trailing down his cheeks.

Perhaps it's when he first lays eyes on your girl, pink and cranky and a little bit squished. Putting up a fuss on your base chest, scrunching her little face up as you speak softly and tenderly to her.

Perhaps it's when one of the midwives hands him a very soft towel, instructing him on how to carefully pat away the blood and fluid still clinging to your child. His eyes growing wide when he oh so gently cleans her off to reveal more of her tiny features.

She's still new, and needs time to decompress (so to speak), but he stares at her with such rapture. Taking in every inch of her, burning her face into his mind so that he might never forget her. Ever.

She's still new, and yet he can already tell that she has your nose. And your lips. Your smile, he realizes, with a palpable joy spreading through his chest.

His tears eventually dry, if only so he's able to better see you and the newest member of your family. Laying kiss after kiss to whatever part of your skin he can reach. Stroking the tips of his fingers over your girl's hair - her tiny arms and shoulders, her chubby cheeks, the bridge of her nose and over her brows.

But some two hours later, when you're finally allowed to rest in your comfortable hospital bed: when your baby is now dry and fed and swaddled up happily in Viktor's arms?

The tears begin again.

Privately, in the dim of the room, while you snooze a couple feet away from him, he weeps. Silently, and without so much as a sniffle. He cannot stop the wetness that rolls down his face, even if he wanted to.

Your girl is finally relaxed, after her grand, dramatic entrance. On the edge of sleep, warm and with a full tummy, making funny little expression while she dozes.

Much to Viktor's delight, she has a head of fuzzy brown hair - dishevelled and sticking in every direction, not matter how the midwives had tried to tame it. It'll settle down in a few days, they'd promised. But he didn't care.

The wild mop on top of her head rivalled the chaos of his own. The same shade of chestnut, though perhaps less coarse in texture. Maybe it will grow to the same thickness eventually, he thinks, a fond smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he imagines how much he's going to have to help her with it as she grows.

Brushing the inevitable tangles out with a soft brush. Pulling the strands back into braids so she can run around and play easier - or maybe little buns on the top of her head, he realizes, the image conjuring up in his mind.

All at once, pictures pop through his head, so vivid and bright that he can almost see them appearing in front of him.

Watching your daughter grow. Sleepless nights of taking care of her, catering to her every whim. Making sure she's fed, and comfortable - entertaining her with silly little toys that make silly little noises, bright colours painted across them. Reading her books with bright, enticing visuals for her to stare at, despite the fact that she doesn't know what words are.

Making trinkets for her as she gets a little older. Things that help her learn, but that also keep her excited and enticed, encouraging her exploration of the world around her. Teaching her to walk, by helping her strengthen her little legs. Sitting on a footstool, a wide smile on his face, as you hold her by her arms and support her as she figures out how to use her legs while upright. Leading her right over into his waiting arms.

Until she's able to balance on her own, after a number of weeks of practising together. Pushing herself up into a wobbly stance, doing her absolute best to try and balance. Maybe she stumbles a couple of times, but she's persistent -stubborn, like he is- and continuously rises back up until she's able to make it over to him on her own. Giggling and wiggling when he scoops her up and praises her and showers he in affection.

Teaching her about anything and everything, the bigger she gets. Answering every question she has, no matter how confusing or senseless - encouraging with his own suggestions, and prompting her to discover some answers for herself. Putting together little experiments for her, so they can learn together and so he can watch her eyes widen with the joy of new information.

Fixing her toys for her whenever they break, as she brings them to him with misty eyes and a wobbly bottom lip. Papa, it fell apart, she says sadly. To which he pulls her onto his lap, regardless of what work he was doing, and helps her repair the damage. Letting her watch and observe when she's still too small to hold a screwdriver, and carefully explaining things to her when her motor skills start to develop more.

And then helping her figure out in what way her toy broke, when she's a little bigger. Asking specific questions, so she can work to connect all the dots herself. Helping her gather the materials that she needs in order to fix things herself, and praising her to the high heavens when she presents the finished product to him.

The little thing is slightly lopsided, but he fully believes that it adds to its charm - tells her as such, when she sighs about it not being the same as before.

It's a little uneven, just like me, he says, with a laugh.

And, much to his complete shock, she wraps her little arms around him, and gives him her strongest possible squeeze.

It adds to your charm, she parrots back to him with complete honesty. I like you, Papa.

And once again, for the umpteenth time throughout his daughter's life, his eyes well with tears and he presses a kiss to the top of her head.

She could go anywhere she wanted, once she grew up. Learn anything, do anything, be anything. Perhaps she'd enjoy the sciences, like he does - machinery, and building, and designing, and inventing. Maybe she'd get into art, and spend her days painting or sketching, or writing, or making music - inspiring other people with the things she makes.

It doesn't matter, though. Because no matter what she ends up enjoying, or where she goes in her life, Viktor will support her with his entirety. Even when she grows all the way up, and inevitably leaves home to begin her own life, whatever that may be.

He knows he's going to cry then, too. So many years together, and yet it will still never be enough.

But for now, he sighs, staring adoringly down at the tiny infant in his arms. For now, they have time. He vows silently to never waste a single moment with her, and never pass up the opportunity to spend time with her. No matter how busy or frustrated or tired he gets, he won't let her grow up feeling unwanted or unloved or unimportant.

He'll give her a better life than he grew up with, and that is both a promise and a threat.

After all, he would do anything, for her.

His greatest creation.

[russellsppttemplates]

My girls (Lance Stroll)

Lance gave Juno one job: to make sure his girls were looked after while he was away at a triple header

Note: english is not my first language. My baby fever has been through the roof lately, and while I was working on this, another blurb came through for dad!Lance, so I joined them.

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: reader is pregnant

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3

"Have you seen Juno?", Margot asked her older sister while she did her homework, "where's mummy? She usually is where mummy is", Addalynn smiled, "I just need to finish this question and then I can go downstairs with you, wait a bit for me, please", she asked.

Margot waited for her, standing by her desk and watching curiously as her older sister wrote on her notebook until she finished, tidying her desk and storing the notebook back in her backpack, "we can go downstairs now", she smiled, holding Margot's hand and going down the stairs with her, the patter from Luna's paws and nails on the floor telling them you were in the kitchen.

You had only read about it in books, and since Luna had only been in your family for a little over a year, you never experienced being pregnant while having a dog. So far, besides your two daughters, you also had a four-pawed shadow following you around, "Luna, you can't get all tangled between my ankles, okay? Mummy can't see you that well anymore, only your tail every now and again", you giggled as you looked for her snout, hearing the girls approaching you.

"I knew she'd be here", Addy whispered to Margot as she called the dog, sitting on the floor to play with the dog.

"Are you hungry, girls? I can make you something before we sit down for dinner", you offered, figuring that dinner would still take a while to be ready.

"No, we just wanted to play with Juno", Margot said, pulling on the rope material so Juno could pull back.

"I finished my homework, too, and we knew Juno would be where you were", Addalynn added as you blushed slightly, "she's following daddy's request to look after you!", both girls giggled.

"She's looking after all of us - but I think she does come to stay with me whenever she wants a rest", you winked, "she knows I won't go too far too quickly", you offered.

When you finished dinner and tidying up with the girls' help, they were quick to go to the living room, turning on the TV and finding the channel.

"Is daddy on track yet?", you asked, ushering Juno to her spot on the sofa by your left before you sat down next to the girls on your right.

"Lizzie was saying they're going to start soon", Addy added as she unfolded the blanket on top of her and Margot's legs, "do you want some of the blanket too?", she asked.

"I have mine here, love, thank you, though", you smiled, arranging it under your bump carefully as you stretched your legs on the footstool, "Oh, forgot my pillow", you mumbled, changing your position.

"I'll get it, mummy!", Margot offered, getting the pillow you needed and placing it under your feet, "is it good?", she checked.

"It is, sweetheart, thank you", you smiled at her attentiveness as she climbed back on the sofa.

"Daddy is going really fast!", Margot pointed out, "is this the one where he could win?".

"This is practice still, the one where he can go for the pole position is much later and you will be asleep by then", you stated, not wanting to bend their bedtime routine even more than you were already doing.

"Okay", they said in unison, respecting your orders. Overall, they were pretty good at following what you asked them to do, usually only throwing tantrums when they were really tired and understanding what could and couldn't be negotiated pretty well. Of course they were still kids and had their developmental needs and challenges, but you also had an inkling that Lance had spoken to them about how they needed to behave extra well since he wouldn't be coming home for three weeks.

.

You rolled to Lance's side of the bed, finding Luna already looking at you, "the girls are not up yet?", you mused, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

Getting up gently, allowing your back and hips to stretch properly and readying yourself to go back to spending most of the day in a standing position, "Good morning, baby girl, you're up too, at least, you can keep me and Juno company", you smiled, rubbing your bump softly as you felt her movements, little feet kicking your ribs gently for now.

The silence didn't last for too long as when you were getting yourself dressed, Juno's ears popped when she heard noise, leaving you briefly to go to the girls' bedrooms. Putting on your lounge wear set and making sure it would be stretchy enough around your bump you stepped into the corridor to find your two curly haired girls petting Juno.

"Good morning, mummy! Did you sleep well?", Addalynn asked, coming close to give you a hug.

"Good morning, my loves. I did, did you?", you kissed the top of her head before kissing Margot's as well, hugging her too, "I'm going to let Juno out in the garden so she can do her business, are you coming down now?", you wondered as you picked out comfy clothes for them.

"I'll go in a bit - I need to pee!", Margot let you know before speeding to the bathroom.

You opened the back door for Juno first and then started making breakfast.

The doorbell rang, making Juno go up to the door with you, and once you opened it, she barked loudly at the man holding a box, "Juno, it's okay!", you assured her as she took a protective stance in front of you, "she's harmless, really, but she will bark at anyone she doesn't know, I'm sorry if she scared you", you told him.

"It's fine, no worries, I used to have one just like her when my children were younger", the delivery man, "Y/N Stroll, right? These two boxes are for you, may I?", he asked, wanting to help you by at least putting the package on top of the table near the door.

"Sure, thank you! Juno, come here!", you called the brown labrador so she wouldn't get in the way.

"There you go", he said, "I hope you have a good day!", he waved as he walked back to the car.

"Thank you, you too!", you waved back before closing the door.

The girls walked down the stairs, Addalynn in the outfit you picked out and Margot holding her clothes on her hand, "who was that, mummy?".

"A delivery man - we got two packages. Do you need help getting dressed, love?", you asked Margot, who nodded as she looked at the smaller box.

"Can we see what's inside?", Addalynn quesioned.

"Sure, you girls do that one while I do this one", you encouraged, ripping the tape on the box on the table to see a beautiful bunch of flowers along with a card.

I can't wait to be back home, I miss you girls so much!

There are some flowers for you and the girls and a little treat for Juno, too - figured she wouldn't be the most gentle with a plant!

I love you!

- Lance

"Mummy, this one has flowers, too!", Margot showed you two smaller bunches of flowers and a bag with some dog treats.

"These are from daddy! This one is for me, each of those is for you and then some treats for Juno", you explained, showing them the card so Addalynn could read it out loud as you carried the flowers to the kitchen so you could put them in water.

"Let's take a photo and send it to daddy, okay? Smile big, my loves!", you cheered, snapping a cute photo of the girls, Juno and the flowers and sending it to Lance.

Even though it was late where he was, your husband still sent you a text with many heart emojis and then another one reading "these are three of my favourite girls, and I would like to see the other two 👀".

Taking a selfie in the mirrow on the hallway, perfectly showing your baby bump, you sent it back to Lance, earning the same reaction to the first one you sent.

After having breakfast, you sat on the sofa to watch the qualifying session, the girls laying out their Lego sets, "daddy didn't tell you in which position he was starting?", Addy mused.

"No, I told him we would watch it today and I stayed away from the news, too, so I have no idea what's going to happen", you offered, pressing play on the remote to start the program.

Juno was quick to recognise Lance, getting up from her spot where she rested her head on your legs, tail wagging, "yes, Juno, that's daddy!", Margot squealed.

"Does that mean daddy got P3?", Addalynn asked as the voice over as they filmed the paddock spoke about a penalty, "yes, he goes up a place", you smiled.

Later on the night, your baby girl couldn't seem to settle so sleep wasn't coming by easily, "if your sisters find out that you're keeping me up so we can watch daddy's race, we're going to be in trouble", you spoke, fluffing the pillows as Juno looked up at you, "you can't tell anyone either, okay?", you warned the dog as you set up you iPad on your bedside table.

Lance ended up in second place, the podium celebrations showing his happiness as he sprayed the champagne on the other drivers, "mummy's tired, baby girl, and daddy is flying back soon", you tried to soothe her by rubbing your bump, hoping she would slow down enough for you to sleep once you turned off the streaming channel.

.

Lance couldn't wait to be back home, getting his luggage from the plane as soon as he could before he walked to his car, putting all his belongings inside and driving home to his family. Triple headers were hard as it was, but now that he had his family waiting back home, they were even harder.

He closed the garage door and parked the car, taking his luggage to the laundry room before expecting to meet the girls at the corridor but finding the whole floor empty.

Lance found you napping on his side of the bed, the girls napping on your side and Juno by the feet of the bed.

Smiling at the view, he walked up gently to you, Juno alert as she sensed someone else in the room and barking before noticing it was Lance, stepping closer to him to rub her snout on his legs, "hey, Juno, you did a good job here from what I can see!", he scratched her ears.

The girls stirred in their sleep, blinking their eyes a couple of times before looking at him, "hey, girls", he whispered.

"Daddy!", they yelled, making him kneel on the floor so he could hug them closely, "I missed you princesses so so so much", he said, inhaling their scent and squeezing their bodies closer to his.

"We missed you too, daddy", Margot said, kissing his cheek while Addalynn nodded, snuggling herself closer to Lance.

You turned on your side, opening your eyes to see Lance and the girls, "you're home already?", you croaked out, a sleepy smile on your lips.

Lance climbed up on the bed so he could hug you close, "I am, love", he greeted as his arms wrapped around your body.

"Hello, my love", you whispered against his lips before kissing him, feeling his hands rub your bump

"Hey, darling", he said once he let go of the kiss, "baby girl has grown so much these past weeks, hm?", he smiled, pecking your lips, "you're so beautiful, Y/N - isn't it true, girls? Mummy looks so beautiful", he added as they nodded, "I have all of my beautiful girls with me", he pulled them into the hug, squeezing you together for a family cuddle.

[hhoneylemon]

𝘣𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘵. 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢

jess mariano x reader

genre; fluff

word count; 896

summary; jess annotates a book for reader and then proceeds to rethink every decision he’s ever made.

reader pov

I had stopped by at Luke’s Diner to grab a coffee and have a small chat with Jess in the morning. He described a book he had recently read, saying it had been turned into a movie that disrespected the name.

“It’s so bad. Like, they changed multiple events and even one of the characters names. Don’t forget how everyone interacts with each other… it basically just shares the same name as the book is all.”

It was interesting seeing how frustrated he got about it, and I smiled at him.

“What book is this?”

His eyes widen a tad as he realizes he didn’t even say.

“I Know What You Did Last Summer. Lois Duncan.”

I nod, interested. I’d heard of the movie before, I think, in passing from my best friend. She and her mother watch a lot of things together, this might’ve been one she talked about.

“Did you like the book?”

I take a sip from my coffee, allowing the warmth of the drink to wake me up a bit more.

“Yeah, it was good. I annotated it as I read, if you want to borrow it.”

I smile at the offer, nodding along.

“I’d like that.”

And so here I sit, comfortably on my bed as I read the book. Jess’s annotations were always interesting. He didn’t only look at suspicious details in the story, he also had a soft spot for some of the romantic moments. It made me smile whenever I saw one, that goof.

The book was good, as he had said it was. I knew that Jess had written his full thoughts in the very back, so once I finished, I took everything in to form my opinions. I then open to the back to compare.

I didn’t expect a small folded paper to fall out. A little ‘huh’ escapes from my lips as I unfold it, reading it. I almost laugh at the simplicity of it. A note saying ‘Will you go on a date with me?’ with two boxes, one for yes and one for no. I snort in amusement, before placing it beside me to read his thoughts.

They were agreeable. It was well written and the. characters were developed. Barry was an asshole and Ray came off kinda creepy during some parts of the book.

Once I finish reading his thoughts, I turn my attention back to the note. I pick it up and walk to my desk, grabbing a pen. I checkmark the yes box and slide the note back into the book, knowing I’ll drop it off before dinner.

jess pov

What was I thinking.

Metallica pulses through the air as I stare at the ceiling. I’m lying on the floor as I collect my thoughts. I just asked out Y/n, and in probably the most stupid way possible.

What else can I do, I guess? And it’s too late anyways, they’re bound to have seen it by now.

Perhaps it isn’t the end of the world. If they say no, I’ll lose a close friend, but I’ll survive. Maybe I’ll be regretting who I am for a while, but I’ll survive.

The notes of Nothing Else Matters ring in my ears like a bell. I hum along faintly, occupying myself from my thoughts.

I pick myself up when there’s a knock on my bedroom door.

“Yes?”

Luke pops his head in, looking at me with tired eyes.

“C’mon. Dinner rush about to come in.”

And so I turn off my CD player and trudge down to the diner, ready to serve the rush. I head to the counter like my uncle asks me to and take peoples orders, scribbling in the notepad and dismissing them to a table. I hand the notepad to Luke to take to whoever’s cooking and repeat the process who knows how many times, when my attention is grabbed by a familiar face entering the diner.

Y/n approaches the counter with a friendly smile, brandishing my copy of I Know What You Did Last Summer. They place it on the counter, and I take it into my hands.

“Thoughts?”

I watch them lean against the counter and think for a moment.

“Well, I thought it was good. Barry was terrible to Helen, Ray was kinda freaky, Julie’s mom was a real one, some of the scenes were cool. The gunshot during the fireworks show was clever, I liked that. A crazed brother is a little silly, I wonder what happened to poor Megan. I feel bad for the parents of the little boy. I liked Helen but thought she was a little dim for not realizing what Barry was up to. His mom was annoying. I also like how you annotate books, by the way. Seeing your thought process is really interesting while I’m having my own, y’know?”

Y/n finishes, looking at me. Their look is knowing, so I know they read the note. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I wonder what they’ll say, if anything. The silence that follows what they say is awkward.

And then, “I’ll go out with you.”

They hand me the note, and I see that they checked off the yes box. I look up and see them smiling at me. I give a small smile back.

Maybe it wasn’t a mistake after all.

[cinhomi]

Hear me out like dilf!Felix agenda or Minho as your teacher IDK-. My friend recently told me about the move Miller’s girl coming out soon and I’ve been thinking about just Minho as your teacher lmao.IDK HE WOULD BE SUCH A STONIC DUDE BUT LIKE WHILE YOU GUYS ARE ALONE HE WOULD BE JSJSJSJS

(May I be 🎀 anon jsjsjsj)

DILF FELIX 😵‍💫 TEACHER MINHO 😵‍💫 I want to caress your face and boop your nose. HOW CAN I FIT BOTH IN ONE ASK THAT WOULD BE 5K WORDSー I'll focus on teacher Minho but PLEASE come back with dilf Felix BECAUSE I HAVE A LOT TO SAY ABOUT HIM TOO OMG

teacher Lee Minho who is known to be this scary, strict man that has all kinds of stories about him being told from student to student in the corridors since he's very reservate and mysterious. he dresses formally, with cool and natural toned dress shirts, vests, ties and blazers. his pants always hug his tighs a little bit too tight when he rests on the border of his desk.

teacher... call him professor. professor Lee. he checks his expensive gold watch from time to time, and accurately displays his book, agenda and pen in a precise order. most students don't know they end up on the floor when he clears the surface for you to sit - or lay - on the polished wooden surface. he likes to be tidy and on time... so when he starts to be late to put down some papers in the teachers' room, or when he has to meet a colleague with his hair disheveled and his tie loose, well, it's only natural to be suspicious. but he's a serious man. he must have some trouble in his life... some trouble that he enjoys a bit too much.

professor Lee Minho who tilts his head to the side the first time he sees you, a puzzled expression on his face because he doesn't understand how someone so gorgeous, sweet and beautiful like you could exist. he doesn't realize it, but now when he's having a lesson in your class it seems like he's explaining things only to you, his gaze fixed on your shiny eyes that look directly into his, on your tempting lips, it drops a bit lower where he can see your naked legs cross under a flimsy skirt. he often comes close to your desk and looks carefully at your calligraphy, or to be precise, at your fingers holding the pen. he slowly starts wondering how'd they look wrapped around him.

he's known for being the most observant and smart professor of the institute so you can't really fool him, it's so obvious your cute little panties get wet when he smiles whenever you know the answer to one of his tricky questions, when he rests a hand on the smaller of your back when he has to pass beside you in the corridors, when he praises you for doing so good on his subject. everyone is starting to think he's got a preference... and it's so damn true. he doesn't alter your score, it really is admirable, your talent on his subject, but you're the only one he's never scolded or insulted somehow.

you're his perfect pupil, he holds you on the palm of his hand. it's not the first time he has students trying to fall into his favour, seduce him, but you... you don't do it on purpose, he has enough experience to know that. yes, you may stay up late to have the best score with him and him only, but you are so natural and obvious with your feelings, it's adorable.

he wants you all to himself.

professor Lee Minho who, after few months of seeing each other almost everyday, asks you if you want to stay a bit more after your classes so he can give you private lessons to go a bit more in depth with whatever topic you're studying at the moment. at first it really is like this, him sitting on his comfy, soft chair and you beside him on the chipped and hard one, swallowing your whimpers whenever your knees touch. oh you're so cute. you take coffees together, he brings you nice treats from the café he goes to every morning, after two weeks he promises to eat you out if all of your answers are correct. but don't worry, before making such promise he wooed you respectfully, with manners, like a true gentleman. before unbottoning your delicate shirt to fondle with your breasts to help you concentrate he did flirt with you to the point you had to get up and splash your face with cold water.

he loves it when you call him "Mr. Lee" in public, but when he locks the classroom he becomes "Min" or sometimes "Sir", or, other times, "Master". he even goes through the trouble of taking you to his place sometimes. Minho is a good cook, but you never eat much in those occasions.

he loves it when before starting the day you subtly give him your lacy panties and he has to sneak them in the pocket of his blazer. he can't help that mischievolous smirk from forming on his lips, knowing your perfect pussy is bare and ready for him if he wants to. and nothing will stop him from avidly taking the soft fabric to inhale your scent while palming his growing bulge everytime he's alone.

Mr. Lee also loves when he's correcting his students' works and you study while sitting on his lap, his lenght buried deep inside you. he likes to pat your head when you do a good job, but he also makes you choke on his cock if what you did doesn't please him at all.

professor Lee Minho that notices you scoff and sigh and pout when another student flirts with him, so when you two meet later he makes sure to fuck you like the good girl you are for him. he treats you so well, how can you be jealous? it's so, so obvious he's obsessed with you.

I see prof. Lee making you bend down his desk, his grip tight on your hips, under your skirt that jumps back and foward from his slow but powerful thrusts and your panties moved to the side. he's bending over your back, with his breath fanning on your neck, his lovely praises going straight to your throbbing core. I see prof. Lee making you sit on his pompous chair as he kneels for you and spreads your legs to dive his head in between them. I see prof. Minho using a ruler to tease your clit and your asscheeks. I see prof. Minho rolling his eyes in pure bliss as you ride him in the bathroom.

mmh... he eventually admits to himself that he fell for his student and has to switch schools to be able to take you out on week-end dates <3

I will write more about.