#pastel bed linens

[nuwanders]

have such a love hate relationship with interior design. why is my bedroom not turning out the way i want it to grrrr

[holleyteatime]

☁️🌙 Collection: Bedding Sets & Duvets 🌙☁️

Cute, cozy and comfortable bedding set to match your bedroom aesthetic. Bedding sheets, pillow cases and duvets to snuggle with. Cute bedding sets for your kawaii bedroom.

💖 Online shop 💖 www.holleyteatime.shop

[full-as-much-heart]

Poppy & Honesty bedding

[ghw-archive]

[prael]

Pliancy

Kinktember Day 4: Dollification

ILLIT Park Minju x male reader smut

words: 6,488 Kinktember Masterlist

Art is eternal. Who was it that once said that a thing of beauty is a joy forever? Was it Byron? Was it Yeats? Who cares. But that line, however trite, does kind of get the concept down, really, as clichéd and insipid as it sounds.

Minju, too, is a joy forever, with her soft face, her sweet body, and her delicate touch. On this, I will allow you an image: she was the absolute pinnacle of girlhood, the perfect blending of innocence and wanton sexiness. When you pressed her slender wrists down into the sheets of her bed with those pale, thin fingers and pinned her slender body with your cock, you became one with a living, breathing piece of high art. The feeling of that, ah, that is something you cannot ever convey. And that's probably how it started, your obsession with her; she was beautiful and delicate and utterly desirable. She had all the loveliness of a porcelain figurine; just looking at her could arouse you, bring about your lusts and make your mouth dry up.

But there is something, and you realise this, something both primal and shameful, about wanting to sully that image of innocence. Not, of course, that your feelings towards Minju are wholly visceral—you do love her, and genuinely so. The things you do may imply something different, a detachment from her as a person if someone were looking in from the outside, but just as you assured her, it's an act born out of admiration. It's an act out of devotion.

To dollify the living, breathing, loving, feeling organism called Minju, then to make her merely an object for your desires. Ah, there's something wonderfully, gloriously filthy in that—the violation and the liberation. In all those actions and thoughts, you can be sure, is that undercurrent of perverseness and lust. Your lips tracing across Minju's navel is an act of passion, one to express the fullness and warmth that has bloomed inside your chest. Your hands gripping her thighs so tight that they leave deep, crimson fingerprints on the skin is an act of passion too—one to express a primal need.

When it all starts, Minju, a girl so usually full of energy and vivacity, is demure and quiet; she sits in this stoic way in front of you, knees together and her hands resting on her thighs, just below the table. The table holds the tools of your art: hairclips, mascara, lip gloss, nail polish and everything else. She waits, as she always does, in silent expectation.

Minju wears the outfit you laid out for her that afternoon. The fabrics are light and flowing, cotton in a milky off-white colour hugging her upper body and a linen shirt whose billowy sleeves hang around her slender arms; at the wrists, she keeps the cuffs rolled up. Cotton shorts, equally soft, equally neutral in colour, held to her small waist by a ribbon as a makeshift belt. All of it was chosen specifically by you—it's all so very angelic, and comfortable. Innocent.

You set about your work, asking her to place a hand on the table. Nails take the longest to dry so you start there: you paint the end of each of her slender fingers one at a time, taking great care, letting her rest her hand in the palm of your own as you go through the motion. Whisper-like strokes of the brush over the thin keratin in a pastel shade, the pink of newly-blossomed cherry flowers. A compliment to her fair complexion. 

One hand done, you raise it closer to your mouth and gently blow over the fingertips, to quicken their drying. Her hand, in yours, is ever so small. So petite. You remark this, smiling, and her expression—wide-eyed and quietly attentive—softens. It's a sight so adorable; how the ends of her lips upturn as if you've said something exceptionally touching. That's the thing with Minju; you just never quite get used to how much trust and affection is conveyed in those big, soft eyes.

Not long until the other hand is done, perfect crisp painting without a single smudge, or mistake.

You screw in the brush, then stand to move the table aside, you pull it away from her and then push it away. You kneel at her feet, hand resting gently on a small calf. You lift a leg, then draw your hand down it, to her heel. Bare feet, too, are a marvel in and of themselves: smooth skin over arched bones. Like all good things, it's imperfect; she's a dancer after all, still, she takes all the care to moisturise and you take all the care to massage them.

Now, Minju is ticklish, always has been, so when you take hold of her foot in preparation to paint her nails, she struggles not to break composure, and yet a cute little smirk betrays her. With one hand, you hold it steady; with the other, you reach to the table and draw the brush from the pot of white paint. White like the brightest snow, a winter's morn. You make slow, even strokes, over her nails, starting with the big toe and making your way down the digits, till her little feet are thoroughly and beautifully made up.

She flinches occasionally, under your touch, but with great care, you never make a mistake. No stain on her flesh. Repeated for her other foot too, each followed by a patient period of gently blowing, which sees her struggle against the tickling of her flesh even more. This time, she moves, almost unable to help it—and you know that to admonish her would not be the gentlemanly thing.

"It's okay Minju. Relax," you tell her, softly, as she takes a steadying breath, "that's it. Good."

It is here where you see a glow of pleasure and a hint of a smile on her pretty, youthful face, at hearing words of praise from you. This you know well: to Minju, your affirmations have an almost spiritual significance. In all the time you have known her, she has yearned to do well, to make others around her happy, to gain approval and affection, and as someone important in her life, this sentiment extends to you.

"My angel," you call her, not for the first time, and definitely not for the last. You lean close to place a gentle peck of your lips against her leg, just above the ankle, which causes her to stir. But that's okay, a moment of weakness is ever expected. You shift away from her leg, letting the soft flesh slip from your hand, and admire the neat work you have done so far. "There we go."

You bring your chair close to her, so you can sit, knee to knee across from her and set to work on her pretty features. First, you frame her face by clipping back the locks of fine honey-brown that threatened to obscure her eyes. Then you take the lip gloss in a soft rose colour, and a slender, synthetic-haired brush, and begin the work of accentuating her lips. Start at the top and glide over the curve that runs along her cupid's bow. Define the fine edges and then coat, to treat yourself to a shimmering pink glow; a shine over the otherwise natural look.

"Perfect. Oh, how I want to kiss them."

Minju doesn't say a word but the look in her eye speaks all the same, 'I wish you would do it.'

She remains still as you take hold of the thin eyeliner pencil in one hand and Minju's chin with the other, carefully positioning the tip under the lash line, and drawing it slowly, ever-so-carefully. Drawing a light, curved line to the side, first on her right, and then on her left. Do the same, light and clean, under the bottom lashes, being extra sure to define her creases.

Her eyes, as you study them, are so rich and vivid in colour that they command all of your attention and all of your efforts. So you work carefully, deliberately; being this close to her means you can see each speck, each mote in those deep, earthy brown irises. This intimacy, the face-to-face nearness of it all, brings on a unique vulnerability: when she closes her eyes next, to allow you to apply shadow to her lids, Minju puts herself at your mercy.

Minju's lips part and a small but noticeable hitch of her breath follows as you pull yourself away and admire your work. She has this kind of seductive natural pout—soft, shapely. Something alluring that the angles of her mouth lend her. As you sweep blush powder over her cheeks with a fine, oval-shaped brush, she utters a soft question, "How does it look?"

You bring a finger to rest against the fullness of her cheek, letting it trace along her soft flesh, down her jaw, and under her chin—before bringing it upwards, a physical prompting, to make her lift her chin higher. "Perfect. Always."

It occurs to you, as you define her eyebrows in quick, practised strokes, that for all the work you put into her, the inhuman focus and the undivided attention, this effort is nothing against the absolute, undying beauty that is Park Minju. It's a sort of colour-by-numbers deal; with all the perfect lines drawn out, it's up to you—a mock amateur—to simply embellish, to exaggerate, what is already there. To add shadow, light, and life.

You finish your work creating ('Creating' is the wrong word, more so, refining) the perfect doll. Minju keeps still, and patient. Beautiful.

"Precious girl."

By her earlobe, just below the jaw, there is a spot. The most perfect, sensitive area, to which you bow your head. Close your eyes. Place your lips. You kiss this spot, slowly, dragging your lips against her flesh, across it, revelling in the delicate softness. Revelling in her soft little moan, muffled only by pursed lips.

You push your chair back, and stand, looking down at her from above. You draw the clips back from her hair and it falls back into the perfect place. You circle around her once, slow, methodical. Taking all of her in, marvelling.

The greatest treasure in all the world. A masterpiece.

She follows your every guidance as you pull her to her feet. After all, she is, for tonight, nothing more than a doll. Pliable. Openly, and explicitly, subservient. You turn her and position her before a full-length mirror set in the far corner of her room. There she stands, arms at her side, staring back at you with doe-like, innocent eyes. There you stand, tall, strong behind her, hands on her arms.

"Perfect. You really are the most precious girl."

Your grip on her upper arms is gentle but firm as you ease her forward into a bend at the hips, tilting her towards the mirror as you place her into a pose. Fingers playing lightly down her limbs, like stroking the keys on the piano, or the strings on a guitar. You place her hands behind her back, and instruct her expression, "Give me a sweet smile."

Your voice is quiet in her ear as she nods, just the slightest, almost indiscernible incline of the head. She stares down the mirror as her full, kissable lips slowly contort into a charming, simpering smile, the type that the most beloved princesses often wear. You press up behind her, brushing your body tight against hers and see how that lovely little grin of hers slowly stretches up, to become ever so slightly crooked.

In your reflection in the mirror, you see yourself behind her. She holds perfectly still, hands fixed as if bound at the wrists, legs set slightly apart. "Pretty, don't you think?" You ask, teasingly. You press a little into her upper back, angling her in such a way that in the reflection you see down her cotton shirt, revealing the taut, soft curve of her small breasts. The sight of that, the teasing glance, is intoxicating. It brings a slight tremor down your spine, one you swallow down with a sharp breath. "Yes," you assure her, "Very pretty."

Her breathing comes laboured now, sharp little gasps; perhaps it has started to arouse her too, knowing herself to be at the mercy of your hands. Knowing herself to be nothing more than an object at this time—a living doll. To be used, played with, broken, toyed with, cared for or cast aside as you will.

You pull her to a stand and guide her away from the mirror. Her legs are long but you tower over her. She's so light to the touch, the petite girl, that should you need to, you could carry anywhere you desire in one swooping embrace.

You lead her to her dresser, to pose her against it. You guide her lithe left leg, so it crosses over the right one, you place her hands on the wood and let her rest against it. And she, docile, complies. "Like this?" She whispers.

"That's perfect."

You draw the collar of her shirt over her left shoulder, the one closest to you, until it hangs at around elbow height, exposing the skin underneath. A bare arm, all the way up to the strap of her tank top. You smile, admiring your own work, her poise and posture. You adjust her face, so she gazes slightly down in front of her. A final check to ensure the pose is perfect. It doesn't hurt that Minju is a natural when it comes to expressions: there is always some inflexion to the curl of her lips and the shape of her eyes, that says, 'I love this'.

You take the final unused item from the table, a Polaroid camera, one of the new instant types. This one, white, boxy and expensive, is perfect to capture Minju's pristine beauty. One image taken of her here, a pose in the frame, holding the photo to wait for it to develop is worth, it seems, a thousand words. It never ceases to amaze you: how well the camera captures her: how it draws out that natural aura of Minju and depicts it on the fine gloss. It makes, in effect, a perfect keepsake.

You take two more shots, each one giving you pause for appreciation. Each one, was perfect, like it was a scene from an album cover or the poster for a movie. She watches you from her position, gazing intently at you with a lovingly longing gaze. Watching you in fascination, and admiration.

You hold one in front of her. "This is my favourite, look at the way your leg curves here," you point to it, showing her. "And here, the shoulder, just at that angle. See the light dancing in your eyes and on the pink gloss, on the lips. Beautiful."

She remains lifelessly still staring at herself in the print without a word or reaction.

"Now, just one more like this, but first..." You place the camera slowly on the dresser, then grab the hem of her shirt. You fold it in under itself a few times until it sits taut across her stomach, just above her button. Her narrow waist is set into beautiful relief: a curvature down toned abs leading to between her thin hips. Then you pull at the other shoulder of the shirt, more pale skin, more svelteness of form, more smooth flesh. There's a light shiver through her skin as you graze her arm with your finger.

You push slightly into her chest, leaning her back a little over the dresser and then you tilt her head back exposing her neck. Soft lips fall open just the slightest, like the petals of a rose blooming, a faint gasp of a moan parting her pink lips, and her heavy breathing filling her heaving chest.

Taking the camera, you step back, crouch slightly, hold the lens up to eye height and take the shot; a flash and a click of the shutter is followed by a slow hum and a whir of the plastic film rolling out. Another polaroid, you take it to her, tugging lightly at her chin to direct her gaze to it. "This one," you breathe in close to her, placing a kiss on her exposed neck, "is something truly special." You fix on her scent, something fruity and soft: orange blossom undertones.

Minju lets out a soft gasp.

"This one turns me on. The exposed skin. The lustful eyes. Those parted lips, like an invitation," you utter, "do you know how beautiful you look, Minju? How sexy?"

The deepening of her breath tells you what you want to hear.

"New pose. Come here." You take hold of her bare shoulders and pull her to a stand. Her shirt hangs at her back between her elbows. You move behind her as you guide her toward the window, opening her curtains wide and letting the final embers of sunlight in to kiss her skin. You slip her shirt from her arms that hang by her side. "Let's lean you against here."

You guide her hands onto the sill of the window. Let her hands rest flat against it. Hold her by the hips and pull them back, making her shuffle her legs back. Make the curve of her ass tighter, the flex of her lower back deeper.

You pose her into this deep bend, then guide her face up so she faces the evening light. So she basks, regally, in the final glow of the setting sun, and you can see the pinking hue reflected in her eyes.

"Be a good doll and remain still."

The heat has turned Minju's pale flesh red, but you soothe her with a palm, a brush against a soft cheek and an affectionate 'hush'. You fixate upon the curves and lines of her back, following the path of her spine down with your hand, taking care to remain in the hollow. That central channel carved through her back that draws down the centre, passing by dimples in her lower back before widening at the hips and merging into her tapering waist, is a work of art unto itself. 

A simple touch of a kiss against that soft flesh at the base of the spine, and Minju fails to disguise a sharp breath as you kneel, her bare calves become a mounting point for your hands. She inhales in soft, controlled bursts as your fingertips stroke around the curve of her lower leg, working around and under the leg, dragging slowly upwards as you make careful circles over her toned calves, till your finger hits the lower thigh. Upward, further. Her body trembles gently as your hand traces along her inner thigh, up to her light cotton shorts where you draw your hand over to the back of her thighs and back down.

"Be a good doll," you repeat, quiet, breath warm against her lower back. You hook your fingers into her shorts, running your palms on her taut, toned little ass. Slight tremors from Minju ripple through your skin as you hook in the fingers of either hand beneath the elastic of her underwear too. A lingering hesitation passes as you focus, and in the serenity of the moment, you draw everything down in one slow, measured pull. The sight of the white cotton dragging down over the firm roundness of her ass has you weak.

You stop at her ankles, and one at a time, you lift a foot out of the clothes, and pull them free, planting her foot back down in a slightly wider stance. You look up, and to her faint reflection in the window, and admire the look she wears, the unnerving determination to hold still and say not a single thing. The deep red hue paints her skin as the day darkens.

"Stay," you command.

You find the camera one final time, to indulge in one final intoxicating shot: Minju, back beautifully lit by the last remnants of the sun's rays, the light striking her skin and making the paleness and tone all the more beautiful; the slight swell of her hips, the small, firm, almost apple-like curve of her behind, and those slim toned thighs in the shadow.

"Hold for me, don't move."

She stares resolutely into the distance through the window, hands clutching the edge of the window sill as you draw the viewfinder to your eye once again. Click, a flash and a whir. The exposure of the light behind her leaves a shadowy image on the thinning film of her nude behind; the smooth line of her legs, her trim waist and that sweet little thing between her legs. An air of sophistication; and one of sin.

"See this?" You show it to her and the embarrassment causes a flutter in her eyes; the arousal of watching her own bare ass on the printed film causes the slightest redness of her cheeks. "I'm going to use that right there. Stay."

There's another twitch in her eyes as you walk away and leave her there, still posing, looking as sensational as ever. You walk out the door, to drink, relax, anything to make her wait. Make her suffer the indignity of exposure and vulnerability.

You spy her through the doorway and never does she move a muscle, your little doll-girl stands there obediently as requested. Time passes—several minutes. And yet she, with such admirable determination, wills herself to stay in position until you return. And you do. You saunter back in, slow. Walking behind her and she never once looks back over her shoulder.

You rest a hand on her waist and the contact is met with a sudden release of tension—her chest falls with a sigh. Her pose remains perfect—adulation for your hand, written in the small shakes of her body and the gradual intonations of her heavy pants. A perfect and delicate angel. Your hand slips from her waist down over the taut curve of her ass, palm resting for the briefest moment on the soft, supple flesh. The pliability. Your hand continues the path it has carved over her skin until it rests lightly between her legs.

A gentle palm over her sex sends a current through her entire form, and a tensing in her muscles is the only indication she offers that there's a struggle to suppress noise in her throat. Hot and wet and you're a man driven by impulse. You step behind her, stroking her, massaging her, then withdrawing to instead spread her slightly with a single, teasing fingertip. "Good little doll."

A clear, sticky, glistening moisture trickles onto the digit and in the way Minju shivers, you are given every impression, you're sure of it, that her lower stomach muscles have clenched tight and are presently squeezing themselves in on each other. A fever pitch is reached within her, and you're ready too.

You draw your hand away, leaving Minju suspended in torment: there is desire, there is desperation and tension that must be alleviated. That itch soothed. She must hear it, the sound of you unbuckling and unzipping. A rustle of fabric as you pull them down and take them off.

With no word, you hit a palm against her ass, a quick and painful swat with your bare hand. Hard, smacking against soft, dough-like flesh. She stifles a soft, bitten-off yelp that sends a vibration up the curve of her back. "Going to play with you," you utter quietly. "Use this doll however I like."

Your hand is drawn back over the red mark on her tender flesh, stroking the mark, massaging, and it soon heats against your palm. You follow it by pressing the very tip of your dick, gently, against her opening. Enough pressure there for you both to know where the next moments go and a slight motion—only the gentlest thrusting—to grind that sensitive flesh in. Just enough to make her bite back her lower lip, to struggle against the overwhelming urge to break her poise.

To add to that struggle, the sensation, you lull her, deceive her, by trailing your length against her slick, tender folds, then abruptly drag it over the tight hole right there at the back. One more light tap there too, right on her little asshole, that drives her into a daze. Then you take her slit again, spreading her open, rubbing yourself over that hot hole and sending her a thousand electric tingles up through her hips.

You thrust once, a single long thrust, right into her little pussy, as much as her wetness will allow until resistance forms. Then back out, completely. Glistening with the slick fluids, you slap your shaft against her ass a couple of times. Wetness dripping, staining those tight cheeks. Then a wet slap of your hand to a cheek. Testing when she will break. Searching for that whimper, that moan, or maybe she'll hold it so well that a tear will form in her eye.

You fill her again, use her a little, rocking your hips back and forth. A careless use of her for pleasure, no consideration for her, for what she might desire and it is pure torture to her. One hand circles over her ass, grazing over the reddened mark, you let it settle on the top of her thigh for leverage and dig your fingertips into the skin. Another few firm pumps into her. Out. All the way out.

Dripping fluid pools around her slit, spilling out down her thigh, hot. "There's no better use for you than this," you hiss, as you smear the wetness over her flesh with the swollen head. The discomfort, the uncertainty, all of it written on her reddened skin and trembling lips. Another few slow pumps up her. Thrust, thrust, thrust. Draw out—slow, torturous—and then fill her again, rough, and violent, driving yourself up hard against her soft skin. Again. "Just like a sex doll," you groan. "Like you're a dirty toy."

Those words draw this low growl inside her, and Minju shudders under the intensity, this vibrating noise rising in her. Fuck, it feels wonderful in her, tight, burning hot—soft, yielding—wet, messy. Drive into that tension, the squeeze on you, where she can feel you so full and snug inside her.

Allow yourself for a moment, to just enjoy her, as she is. She will allow you to, don't fret. Enjoy her as a possession, something lesser than yourself; an object to be manipulated, used and owned. Let her be your slut and let the words roll around in your head. There are times you prefer to fill her with long, agonising strokes, and there are those other times that are frantic and hurried. She takes it all, wilfully and willingly and adoration flows through your veins.

No care for if she cums, you simply use her too. It is not in a casual disregard for her desires, or in selfish pursuit of pleasure at the sacrifice of her. No, no. That is not true. Minju wants this. She cares less about her own pleasure than you. Should she cum, then maybe that would be a nice perk to all of this, but all she wants is to submit herself as a vessel for yours. To serve as the implement to which you expel everything. You have taken her into that dream world she desires to inhabit, where she's an item to be manoeuvred as one wills.

And so you get close, right inside of her—clutch, tense—as she milks you so exquisitely, squeezing and so soft, so fucking silken-smooth and at the very last, you pull out—every last drop is captured on Minju's skin. Her spread ass, her back, thighs.

For all the care you took, perfecting her makeup, now a fine sweat paints a layer across her skin and you're shooting over it and making a true mess of her. All that, her absolute purity and devotion, and what you have done is sullied it. Your doll, your most precious is dirtied. But your most precious thing in the world deserves the best you can give her.

So it is after you have painted your release over her body, that you leave her again—basking in the humiliation of how fluids trickle down her flesh. Just a toy, put aside to stand, vulnerable, debauched and unsatisfied, waiting to be picked up again and played with once more. You could leave her all night. Have her be ready and willing any time you desire. Your toy.

"Fuck, what a sight." You step away, back out of the room, spent and gazing at her. Minju, of course, keeps her back facing you the entire time, she does not dare turn back around to see her, not even to cover up or find modesty, it simply would not occur to her to do so.

Aware of the pain, the hurt of being left this way. Left unfinished. A small smile plays on your lips, the knowledge that this is what turns her on most. Her lover is out there, he's drinking, eating, watching TV, or anything, and she doesn't really know where. She just stays resting over the window ledge with her legs held apart, exposed and vulnerable.

Knowing, feeling, every stroke that has been applied over her body, every part you have made use of, and the places in which you have violated, is enough to turn Minju's insides all warm and fuzzy and soft. Your fingerprints are inked upon her flesh—traced by the veneer of liquids coating her—a record of who has marked her, owned her, as nothing more than an instrument of delight.

Until you're ready to come back, she holds back an unspoken whimper. Tension in her stomach muscles and legs threatened to give out.

Oh, how badly the poor girl yearns to be picked up, taken and fucked again and again.

Eventually, you do return, and without warning. As if you'd never been gone a moment at all, you're just there suddenly behind her, you just have that presence of power that exudes over her. You say her name—nothing else—but the tinge to your voice tells her that you've missed her.

You bring your hands around her slim waist, just above the hips, and trail upwards. Grinding back inside her feels as wonderful as ever. Still throbbing, still wet, still wanton, and she takes you in, spreading wide once again. "Missed me?" You coo, but she still never responds verbally—dutifully compliant, Minju simply moans, her cheeks flushed the same colour as her smeared lips.

You're rough with her, pulling her away from the window and pushing her into the middle of the room. Hasty, impatient, and uncaring. Now, you see, Minju weighs nothing to you, it feels like there's nothing to her; something light, lithe, easily manoeuvrable, like you can twist her and pull her without resistance.

You draw her to you, picking her up from the ground by her waist and walking forward. You set her down on a desk—her ass perching first, then you push her onto her back, drawing up her knees to her chest and pressing onto her. Oh, flexible Minju, sweet Minju: the perfect sexual tool to place and fold and screw whichever way you want.

Minju is pinned there, under you, taking you into her pussy, tight around you. Dutifully letting you shove into her repeatedly, without fight or complaint, only meek, restrained sounds of satisfaction. Letting her limbs fold, letting herself be toyed with however you need or want.

Stretch her as you take hold of her neck and restrain her to the wooden surface. You bear down on her, fucking into her with strong, sure pumps, and with every thrust into Minju, you feel her heat against your thighs and groin, her warm juices seeping down over her, and a vulgar squelching sound filling the air.

The air is dense and hot and she is flushed bright red; she gazes at you, her face etched with need. You're forcing your doll-girl, fucking her raw and hard into her desk. Rough, dominating strokes. And what does she do but squirm and moan and take every ounce of your strength? "F-fuck," she moans out the profanity, her body succumbing to the overwhelming burst of intense, numbing heat. She flinches a few times as her eyes squeeze shut.

So close, now. Another round, and there is nowhere Minju is more content than trapped, helpless, watching you near another orgasm. She doesn't even attempt to hide her delight when you're about to blow. A smile of satisfaction as you unload inside of her. A welcome sight as you feel yourself rupture, as your essence pumps into her little fuckhole. The sticky hot cum that fills her.

And Minju moans for you, breathless, happy, so lovingly joyful that her existence has resulted in this moment—this act—her purpose as nothing more than something you fuck, claim, and own.

But, there is work to be done, work you cannot shirk away from. So, with a light sigh, you wipe your forehead, you gather Minju off of the table—flickering eyelids and all—and you lead her with gentle encouragement. "Let's clean you off. There's a good girl," you say, and she holds onto your neck, as you lift her off the desk.

You perch Minju on the sink for a moment, un-trapping her legs so she can stand once you place her into the shower.

"Stay. Still."

And again, you can see that longing gaze. Sultry, drawn. She wants so much, and she needs so little.

"There," you draw out the word with a certain finality and walk behind her to start the shower, switching from bath faucet to shower nozzle, and taking great care in testing the heat of the water, to make sure not to burn her precious skin.

You start with her shoulders, sweeping her soaked locks down her back, wet, heavy and darker now. Washing her takes time, patience, and gentleness—you bring the palm of your hand over her shoulder while the other directs the shower head. The water trails down her arm, little rivulets tracing over her porcelain skin. You draw the shower across her back and admire how the water caresses the curves of her frame.

She keeps perfectly still, save the tremble that comes with the rise of her chest each time the water meets a sensitive point. Your hand follows in the water, over her sides, slowly. You draw her close against your chest, putting your head beside Minju's, looking down over her shoulder. you bring the head of the shower to her chest and let the water flow across, over the swell of her breasts.

You whisper into her ear, "Stay just like this. Let me wash down my toy after use."

Your name comes out of her mouth, a little strained, and when you wrap your arm around her and cup her little breast, she immediately whimpers. This poor girl still hasn't cum, and she's so sensitive.

You rest her against you, keeping your front flush against the curve of her back, and there is something wonderful and sweet in the way she falls back against you. Minju leans her head back on your shoulder, a nuzzle, and your hand continues to cup her and you play with her nipple. The shower, however, you bring lower and lower, down over her slender belly and between her legs.

The lower it goes, the more soft whimpers she makes, and Minju's feet begin to curl, and she draws a slow intake of air through her clenched teeth. You dip the jets of water low, and Minju finally gives out this small groan, her eyes squeezing tight and her mouth opening and closing, the words and sounds catching as she trembles all over. 

You press it against her pussy, and she bucks lightly backwards against you—hard—and grinds. A pleasured exhale, a sign of satisfaction. That the poor girl is finally getting her pleasure but "No, no, no," she says—is she feeling guilty for it?—and she struggles forward from your grasp.

"Shh... it's okay," you soothe her, but she still jerks her body. There's this fact, that always rings true, whenever you use Minju like this. Part of it, she told you before, is how in her own head she degrades herself. She tells herself that she doesn't deserve to cum. That a toy's only purpose is for others, and she will deny herself an orgasm until you give her express permission to finish herself. That's why she fights now, she is ashamed of her own arousal and enjoyment.

You press the shower hard into her clit and she groans, "I can't... I can't—"

"Yes, you can." You focus on using the shower in little circles, not allowing any distance between it and the sensitive nub. Her head falls back on you, eyes shut tight as if in anguish. "You have served me so well. You were so wonderful. Let go for me, beautiful." You murmur those things in her ear and Minju opens her lips to say something but no words form, it's simply a long, deep-seated, contented moan. A relief-filled sound that is music to your ears.

Her back goes completely tense, and her hips twist and buck, but you press firmly down, keeping her locked into the jet. She bites her lower lip, almost like she's desperate, and it hurts, the way her whole body tenses up for so many seconds before the relief sweeps over her. The sensations surge throughout her body, leaving her limp and satisfied.

After the rush passes through, she moans, over and over. Shattering pleasure has overtaken her mind and all she can think about is the joy her lover has bestowed upon her, the ultimate show of adoration and tenderness.

"Good girl. That's it. Give in," you breathe out the last sentence, and Minju moans louder, riding it out. Her body writhes violently and her toes curl as her breathing stops, she's stuck at the very height of her pleasure, but finally lets out an ecstatic, long-winded moan. You drop the shower, and cradle Minju with your whole body.

Her hips jump one last time against your hand and then she goes completely lax against you, her feet plant flat down and her whole body gives out. Minju slides back onto her heels, and her face drops toward the floor and she just smiles with pure glee. If not for you, she would collapse to the floor in this exhausted, limp state.

For some minutes, you hold Minju until she can find enough strength until the daze of her orgasm is no longer in effect.

"Now, let's really clean up."

"Let me," she says. "Let me clean you, please."

[yanmuffins]

SAFETY IN IGNORANCE.

Yandere! Prince! Gojo X fem! Isekai! Maid! Reader

SUMMARY: You’ve been transmigrated to the world of an otome game, taking the place of one of Prince Satoru's personal attendants, a measly side character with no name or relevance to the story.

As it turns out, life in the castle isn't so bad, and the certainty of food and shelter is welcome when finding a way home isn't ever guaranteed. Besides, your boss isn't as insufferable as you thought he would be. It could be worse. Isn't it nice, knowing you're safe?

WORD COUNT: 7.4k words (😮)

CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNINGS: NONCON (no intercourse), somnophilia, mentions of past s/a, mild yandere behavior (if you squint?), mild derealization, AU setting.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: please be aware my writing is quite rusty!! this is the first piece of writing that i finish IN YEARS and it's a fucking jjk darkfic. sigh. writing smutty scenes is also so awkward lmao, forgive me if it sucks severely. at least i hope you enjoy this little fucked up fic in have cooked up. it's hot and ready to be consumed! (๑>؂•̀๑)

-> MINORS DNI !

“TALES OF SPELLBINDING LOVE is a visual novel that takes place in a fantastical setting, where you can find your happily ever after with the character of your choice.”

It's been years – in this world, at least – but you still remember every word skimmed with dry, irritated eyes, as you stared at a bright screen, surrounded by the darkness of your own bedroom. It was another restless night among many, spent watching YouTube videos and reading pirated manga in questionable website, sipping on valerian tea.

So, like any other night, your adblocker dutifully served its purpose, shielding your browser from annoying, abusive, virulent ads.

Except for one.

“Enter the enchanting world of TALES OF SPELLBINDING LOVE through SARA, a kind-hearted peasant, as she meets all sorts of swoon-worthy suitors!”

You should have closed the page, sketchy as it was, but it had piqued your interest. It was a Friday night. You were sleepless. It was past midnight, tossing and turning in bed had done little to welcome slumber. Your home was tidy and organized from insomniac hours from nights before. You were bored.

“Play with a cast of handsome men, make the right choices and uncover exciting secret routes...”

Nothing about the web design told you the game was anything but a harmless dating simulator for an adult audience. Maybe it was the pastel color-scheme, with soft pinks, yellows, blues, purples and greens, or the elegant cursive font and colorful flowers adorning the page. In fact, other than the initial synopsis, there wasn't much to look at. No content warnings, nothing about the capture targets or the heroine you were supposed to be playing as, not even the usual information on how many endings or CGs you could get.

At the bottom of the page, “ENTER.” and “LEAVE?” buttons waited for a decision.

Maybe... you could give it a try? Hopefully it would entertain you until your eyelids finally grew heavy, allowing you to drift off before sunshine seeped through your window signaling dawn had arrived.

You clicked “ENTER.”.

... And here you are now, mending Prince Satoru's shirt before another hunting trip.

It's been ten years since you've come to this world. Your own body replaced that of a nameless background character with no narrative purpose, allowing you to exist as yourself in this entirely alien reality. You're not sure how much time has passed in your original world, whether you've been dead for a decade or simply unconscious for a couple of minutes, and you haven't gotten any closer to finding out.

You sigh, weary, looking down at the flax linen shirt laid over your lap, needle in hand. Simple, at first glance, a bit worn, but a nice piece of garment not everyone could afford to have in their wardrobe. One of its puffed sleeves now torn at the shoulder lining, an unfortunate result of it being caught by a tree branch during horse-riding. Nothing you couldn’t fix, however, skilled as you’d become over the years.

Ten years in this world.

Ten years working as Prince Satoru’s personal maid.

You got rewarded for that.

The luxurious pearl necklace that became a part of your distinguished blue uniform, accompanied by a gold pendant encrusted with gemstones shaped like the Gojo’s family crest. It was an honor given to faithful, dutiful servants to the crown, closest to the royal family.

Satoru and you were both eighteen when you’d first presented yourself as his new personal maid. This body, undoubtedly yours, seemed to have aged down a few years, most likely to match the age of your predecessor. They had, apparently, been working hard to better their lot in life, aiming for an often-vacant position at the prince’s small circle of personal attendants. You inherited the skills they’d nurtured, bettering them along the years, allowing you to secure your spot as long as you have.

That, and Prince Satoru Gojo’s character trivia really came in handy an absurd number of times.

There were worse fates out there, especially for a transmigrated person like you. Sure, maybe life as a privileged noblewoman would have been ideal, even more useful in searching for a way home, but being a personal servant to Prince Satoru, as… Eccentric as he was, gave you advantages compared to other peasants, even other castle servants. Plenty of food, fine fabrics, individual accommodations, not having to exhaust yourself scrubbing floors all day or sweating by the heat of the kitchen fires – besides, the Gojo heir wasn’t quite as terrible a boss once you got used to him.

You remember finding his route in-game quite boring, full of cliché tropes and little to no conflict. He was also kind of an overbearing asshole the entire time, unlikability salvaged only by his elven good looks.

But nothing could have prepared you to the otherworldly beauty he posed standing right in front of you, in the flesh, for the first time, glacial orbs eyeing you up and down. You admitted to yourself – although begrudgingly, as he was your least favorite character among the ones you’d played – that Satoru Gojo was as handsome as they come and had every right to be smug about it.

Smiling to yourself, you put aside the needle and thread to hold up the shirt with one hand, gently tracing over the repaired sleeve with the other. You tug at it to test its resistance, nodding absentmindedly when its stays in place. It’s good as new, just in time for his hunting trip. You get up, taking a moment to adjust your skirts and straighten your white linen apron and coif, neatly folding the shirt and draping it over your arm. According to your pocket watch, his attendants should be waking him up at any minute now.

You grab the doorknob, wondering when you’d become so accustomed to this life.

And then you’re heading towards the prince’s chambers.

Gojo’s head snaps in your direction as soon as he hears the door creak open, a lazy smile gracing his features. You bow to him, respectfully averting your eyes as an attendant removes his undertunic to reveal his naked form.

“Good morning, Your Highness.”

He doesn’t regard you immediately, arms raised as William, one of his attendants, quickly fetches the shirt from your arm and slips it over his head. It’s a morning ritual familiar to you by now, efficient movements shared between all three blue-clad servants in the room to make sure the prince will be properly dressed for his daily affairs.

Kai, your other colleague, hands you a black leather surcoat. It’s undoubtedly fit for royalty, handcrafted by the best tailor in the land; buttons of silver, western dragons embroidered on each side of its chest, facing each other, with gold thread some miller’s daughter had spun from straw – or so you’d heard. You feel his gaze upon you as you button up the overgarment, knowing exactly what he expects.

Gojo steps back when you’re done, doing a slow spin to show off his outfit.

“What flattery does this little doll have for me today?” He asks, “Do I look dashing?”

“Yes, my lord Prince, as always.” You respond, with a courtly nod of your head.

“What about my hair?”

“Soft like the finest silk in the land, fairer than the first snow of the season, Your Highness.”

“What about my lips?”

“Tender and pink like freshly bloomed petunias in springtime, Your Highness.”

“And my eyes? And my eyes?” Gojo goads you on, a boyish excitement to his voice, his face coming a bit too close for comfort as if pleading to look up at him.

Playfully, your eyes meet his, granting his unspoken wish, holding his gaze for nothing more than a few seconds, a simpering smile as you speak.

“So strikingly blue it would put a midday sky in a summer’s day to shame, Your Highness.”

He releases an exaggerated sigh before grabbing your face with both hands, squishing your cheeks – his touchiness hardly phased you anymore; harmless, albeit pestering –, head slightly cocked to the side and a pout on his lips.

“You tease.”

Kai, newer to the group, shoots an alarmed look towards William, who merely shrugs him off.

And just as quickly he releases you, storming out the door as you and your colleagues follow after him, hurrying along the hallway steps behind him like ducklings after their mother.

Gojo Satoru is exactly seven minutes late to meet his guests. Not his servant’s fault at all, of that, you are sure. You had checked your pocket watch while walking through the castle hallways, confirming he would be on time to meet his guests at the open area of the stables – that was, of course, before all the meaningless detours he took along the way. You’re not sure if he does it on purpose.

William had his weaponry arranged, waiting at the hands of a servant, while Kai had personally spoken to the Marshal to have his Highness’ horse ready, both having woken up earlier than usual to make the proper arrangements.

Naturally, they would follow him to the hunting trip, as part of his entourage, while you stayed behind and made sure all was perfect for their return.

Your arrangements included waking up as early as the kitchen staff, the sun barely peeking through the horizon, to revise the ingredients you’d requested in advance with the head cook, so a kitchen maid could go and fetch them from the forest or the market. You’d love to be able to traverse the markets or the woods freely, exploring, meeting new people, finding out new things about this world that could potentially lead to a way home — but alas, being a personal attendant to the prince meant tasks such as picking herbs at the woods or buying strawberries from a merchant were, per your colleague’s words, below you.

It's a nice day out. A faint breeze caresses your skin, cool enough to be refreshing, and the skies are clear and blue with not a cloud to be seen. The autumn sun shines gently upon the earth, sparing of its overbearing heat. Your presence isn’t exactly necessary, but Gojo has made a habit of you seeing him off and you wouldn’t miss an opportunity to be outside.

“Fashionably late as always, Satoru.” His grace, Geto Suguru, is the first one to speak up.

A swoon-worthy duke, with a storyline much too… disconcerting… for your taste. Though the number of times you’d spoken to Geto could be counted on your fingers, being in his presence still put you on edge. Not that he had ever done anything to you, but you’d accidentally met his eyes countless times, caught him staring at you with a gaze so invasive it made you feel like a criminal awaiting judgement.

“Late? Treason. A prince is always on time, Suguru.” Gojo replies with a nonchalant shrug, “You were the ones here early!”

Awaiting his arrival were a group of familiar young men. Most you had seen in-game through the extensive selection of capture targets, coming to meet them in-person over the years due to their ties with the prince. You had played some of their routes, but with the exception of Megumi – Gojo’s protégé – you hadn’t a reason to talk to them, merely exchanging a word or two or none at all when in their presence.

“Finally.”

Nanami Kento looks mildly inconvenienced as he speaks, tone flat, arms crossed over his broad chest and a visible scowl creasing his features. He was a retired knight, born a peasant, presently a Baron; a personal favorite of yours. You couldn’t help but steal a glance or two whenever he was around. You remember kicking your feet up in the air during his playthrough. Sometimes you still do.

Next to him stood Prince Yuji Itadori, too entertained by his own horse as he fed him a carrot. You have faint memories of playing his route, although you don’t remember finishing it. He was a sweetheart, from what you knew, periodically visiting from a neighboring kingdom to learn from Nanami and Satoru and cultivate friendly diplomatic relations. You’d cracked your head trying to recollect bits and pieces of his story, unsuccessfully. You had a pesky feeling it was relevant.

Fushiguro Megumi was last. Broody lost prince, currently hidden under Prince Satoru’s protection – you hadn’t played his route, but he was a constant side character in Gojo’s. He was still a child when you met him, shortly after Gojo brought him into the castle.

When Megumi notices you, there’s a smile; faint, barely noticeable, and he waves. You respond with a brief curtsy.

“Can we go?” Yuji protests, interrupting some petty squabble between Satoru and Suguru, “I hear there’s a huge wild boar running around causing ruckus around the village, I want to catch it!”

Mounted on his white steed, Gojo is a cliché as old as time; a trotting reminder of your being in a world that isn't your own. The anodyne sight of him looking down on you, pink lips softly curving upwards to gift you a kind smile as the sun shines from behind him is almost identical to one of the game’s CG’S. It shouldn’t – you’ve grown used to him, to living inside this game, material as your own world – but for a moment, and just a moment, the sight of a whimsical prince on a white horse wiggles an uncomfortable, yet familiar feeling of surrealness, unreality into your mind, making your stomach churn.

You ignore it. Mentally sweep it under the carpet of your subconscious. This is nothing new. You can spiral into an existential crisis over the absurd condition of your circumstances later, when you’re lying sleepless in bed staring at the ceiling.

You’ve run out valerian root, anyway.

“I am obliged to be away for an entire day!” He whines, words punctuated by dramatic sullenness to his body language.

You step closer to him, taking a respectful bow before offering him a pair of neatly-wrapped sunglasses, which he takes – a distinctive feature of his character.

“So, you must, Your Highness. Go, and may the mother of good luck be with you.”

Satoru extends an arm toward you, presenting his hand. You kiss it – your own lips touching soft, pristine skin; a needed reminded he was a person, made of flesh that could be touched and not pixels limited to a screen.

From your peripheral, Kai elbows William as discreetly as he can.

You return to the prince’s sleeping quarters immediately after their departure. Overseeing the chambermaids, you watch them change the bedding for a fresh set, correcting the pair on your favored arrangement of pillows, fussing as they dust around the priceless ornaments around the chamber, amiably warning them to be careful.

When they’re done, you move onwards to the kitchen.

There are people watching you as you march through the hallways. Spying little peepers full of envy or admiration, or both, and you know what they’re looking at – the telltale blue fabric of your dress, a color so inaccessible to many, and the necklace you bear from years of service. Despite your own wishes, it makes you an intimidating figure, as if you’re an extension of royalty. Being a personal attendant to the prince meant upholding that image, keeping yourself unapproachable, discouraged from socializing and making merry with anyone but servants considered to be on your level.

Still, you greet the kitchen staff with a smile, trying to be as cordial as you possibly can. You know all of them by name, from the head cook to the scullery maid, all exceptionally busy for tonight’s private feast. It’s not your job to review the selection of dishes to be served, but you do so anyway, even if superficially, reminding them to provide a non-alcoholic beverage for the prince. Attentively, you listen to the head cook as he showcases the ingredients for the pastries you requested, assuring of their quality.

It's a bit of a hollow feeling when you leave the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, knowing the rest of your day will be spent alone. Without Gojo, there’s nothing much to do. Without William and Kai, your social circle has been just about reduced to zero.

But you do know where you’ll be spending all of those long, unending hours.

Being a personal servant to Prince Satoru gave you advantages. Privileges, if you will.

When he asked you what you would like for your latest birthday, you made quite a bold request. It’s the newest addition to the key bunch hanging from your waist – full, unbridled access to the royal library. The thought of having an entire day to search through never-ending shelves, making notes and finding books that could possibly lead to finding a way home cheers you up a bit.

“Are you fornicating with the prince?”

You nearly choke on your drink when the question abruptly comes out of Kai’s mouth, unable to speak from the utter shock. William is at his side, chewing on a chicken leg, and can only stare wide-eyed at his colleague’s bluntness. It’s been a while since the hunting party returned, clear blue skies fading into shades of orange adorned by heavy, rumbling clouds. Outside, tree branches sway to the force of the wind, preparing to welcome a starless night of rain and cold. Gathered at the table on Prince Satoru’s solar room, the three of you were having dinner to replenish your energy before the feast while Gojo entertained his guests.

It was usually a casual moment to decompress. Not tonight, Kai had decided.

“What– No!” You retort, scandalized, “What could have given you that impression?!”

“What hasn’t given me that impression, you mean.”

“Kai–” William tries to interject, but you’re quicker to rejoinder.

“I am not… fornicating with anyone, especially not prince Satoru. There’s nothing like that between us. That’s… How he is. You’re just not used to him yet.”

“But–”

“I think we’re better off cutting this topic of conversation here.” William interrupts, slightest bit of panic in his voice, eager to deflect conflict, “I know you’re still adapting to your new position, Kai, and that’s why I’m sure (Y/N) will be kind enough to let this slide.”

William looks at you expectantly, almost pleading, and you scoff before crossing your arms over your chest. The mere notion seems ridiculous – you, doing the deed of darkness with one of the game’s capture targets, destined to fall in love with the heroine regardless of whether she decided to pursue him or not? It would be a disaster waiting to happen. You were nothing if not a professional, serving your boss to the best of your power, and all of Satoru’s affections stemmed from his own outlandish personality. That was all. Your dynamic could be less than orthodox, but it was platonic in its nature.

“Come now, we can’t afford not to get along. Kai, apologize to (Y/N). I have worked alongside her for ten long years, and if she says she’s not engaging in improper acts with the prince, then she’s not.”

Kai silently looks between the both of you, finally letting out a defeated sigh.

“It’s a reasonable question, seeing you two…” He insists, shifting uncomfortably on his seat, “But I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“It’s fine, I guess. No one has ever insinuated that before.”

“Not to your face, doll.” Kai shrugs, nonchalant.

You want to snap back at him, but in comes the realization that he’s not wrong. Perhaps it was living within your bubble, mostly limited to your coworkers and your boss, had made you clueless to people outside and what gossip ran about you. William and Benji, Kai’s predecessor, had accompanied you in serving Gojo for a decade; neither of them would ever dare question your relationship with the prince or the harmless liberties involved; they were accustomed to it. And, well, you were accustomed to the point you thought everyone else saw it as you did: normal. The sudden realization that not all would find Prince Satoru’s affections towards you something ordinary was a staggering concept in your mind – but it was so simple. So obvious.

Then again, it never occurred you to ask…

“Do you think it’s weird, William? Be honest.”

“I have no opinion of anything, ever.” William stated, crossing over his heart with his right hand, “But now that you mention it, Benji did confide in me, shortly before he was relieved from service. Said something about ‘inappropriate displays of affection towards a heedless maiden’, I believe?”

“Oh. Benji never said anything like that to me.”

“He wouldn’t. Between you and me, he had a soft spot for you, so I do believe that statement was a little biased.”

On your face, an expression of utter confusion. You never noticed any signs of Benji liking you romantically, but then again, you apparently don’t notice much around you. The chicken seems to have lost its taste when you bite into it, mind too preoccupied with the conversation you just had. Not that there’s any use reminiscing about Benji – the man having been released from service only a month prior, after prince Satoru arranged him a marriage to a marquis’ daughter.

Now that you think of it, he didn’t seem too pleased about the match. Or about leaving.

The stone-walled bathroom smelled of fresh flowers and citrus. Sliced oranges and grapefruits, calendulas, sunflowers, rose petals, mint leaves, forget-me-nots, floating in the steaming hot water that filled the circular, wooden bathtub. Night has long since arrived, and even with the shutters of the only window in the room closed you can still hear the heavy rain pouring against glass and the rattling of wood caused by unrelenting wind.

Despite that, the candles illuminating the room, as well as the small fire burning underneath a boiling pot of water, kept the room pleasantly warm.

On the other side of the door, William and Kai undress the prince. All had retired to their respective bedchambers by now, and it’s not long before the pair of attendants are dismissed for the night. Gojo is already disrobing by the time he enters the bathroom, excitedly blabbering about the hunting trip as he plops the velvet garment onto your waiting hands, stepping into the warm embrace of the thoughtfully drawn bath. Suddenly, the ceiling becomes particularly interesting.

He lets out a long, satisfied sigh.

“… Not that I’m complaining about tonight’s banquet, though. I’m just a bit disappointed, you know? All the fuss people were making over a silly boar, and it made a passable meal at best…”

You hang the robe. From a tray placed beside the fireplace you select a pink macaron, feeding it to him before you start to work a soapy sponge along his skin. It had been a deeply embarrassing experience at first, aiding him in his baths; with time, however, like many other things, it had faded into normalcy. Nothing but work, is what you tell yourself when you elevate one of his sinewy legs with your hand, sponge inching closer and closer to his groin. You steal a quick glance at him, half-listening to his words, seeing Gojo laid back, unashamed by your ministrations, playing with the petals of a soggy sunflower.

“Ah– Megumi! His aim is getting better. He’s gotten really good at shooting with a bow and arrow…”

You wash the soap off your hands when you’re finished with his body. You feed him a small tart, topped with vanilla cream, strawberries, and blueberries. Still, he prattles on, words muffled by his munching,

“… mmph… And Suguru is still being weird about that wife of his… Something-something ‘she’s different from before’ and refused to elaborate…”

He quiets down a bit once you retrieve a warm compress, placing it over his eyes, fingers moving to either side of his temples to massage them with gentle circular motions. He relishes a bit on the relief it brings after a day straining his eyes. As he relaxes further under your touch, you let your mind wander, recounting the frustratingly slow progress with your research.

Even with access to the great royal library, the sheer number of books on varying topics was discouraging enough to tempt an emotional breakdown. You scoured through shelves, gathering a collection of sorcerer biographies, spell books, history books, encyclopedias – anything that could hold the subtlest bit of information regarding transmigration. And still… Nothing. Your eyes still felt a bit dry, a lingering headache from reading within the ill-illuminated library. All you had at this point were your own theories – and that wasn’t saying much.

If only you could leave the castle for a bit. A frightening thought, of course, as you could count on a single hand the number of times you had seen the world beyond the castle walls, never straying too far from the place you now called home. All of those occasions you had been following Prince Satoru on some of his trips, mostly diplomatic, with no freedom to walk around and talk to people as you pleased.

Perhaps a vacation was all you needed. Your “parents” lived not too far, if you remembered correctly, on one of the neighboring villages subservient to the Gojo crown. A favored place for merchants to gather, fairly populated, maybe if you tried investigating–

“(Y/N)?? (Y/N)??” Gojo’s fingers are snapping in front of your face, his eyes still covered by the compress, “Are you listening to me?”

“Oh! I’m sorry, Your Highness. I think my mind just wandered for a bit…” You apologize, hurriedly forgoing his temples in favor of washing his hair, “What was it?”

He remains oddly silent as you pick up a smaller bucket of ambient-temperature water, delicately wetting his hair. You weren’t giving mere empty flattery earlier in the day; running your hands through his hair truly felt like touching the finest of silk.

“You know…” He starts, “I notice your mind tends to wander a lot, especially these days...”

There’s an edge to his tone, one you rarely hear him use.

“Your eyes seem to wander an awful lot, too, lately.”

Another pause. There's no silence in the room, just an uncomfortable absence of words; You hear the fire crackling. You hear the water boiling and bubbling, thinking for a moment you should check the temperature of his bath to see if it needs to be warmed. You hear the muffled sound of rain against glass. You hear wooden shutters rattling. There's a strange shift about the air, and you're confused, unsure of what he could mean.

He answers your unspoken question before the words have a chance to leave your mouth.

“I saw you stealing those little glances at Nanami.”

You stand, bucket in hands, mouth agape – embarrassment. The heat of complete embarrassment that overtakes you feels like cold water poured down on your body. Your hands feel a little weak as you quickly try to regain your composure, looking away from Gojo despite knowing his eyes aren’t on you.

Fiddling with the hem of your apron, you try to find your words.

“When… When did you–” You stammer, “How…”

“Ah-ha! So, you plead guilty. That’s soooo shameless, flower.”

The familiar playfulness in his tone brings back a bit of confidence. Still, there’s something about it you can’t quite place; for a moment, you think there’s a bark to it, bitterness. Perhaps it’s something unpleasant about his day that he’s hung up about, increased by you not listening to him. He’s just teasing, you conclude, trying to vent whatever annoyance peeved him by picking on you.

You massage Prince Satoru’s scalp with shampoo – or the closest thing they had to it, in this world – hoping to placate his abrupt change in mood. Maybe you’ll hand-feed him another macaron.

“I was just… Looking.” You offer, cautiously, unsure if any explanation would make it better or worse for yourself, “There’s no harm in looking. Lord Nanami was admirable as a knight, and he’s handsome…”

Worse, if the crease between his eyebrows is anything to go by.

“��� But not nearly as handsome as you, my prince.”

That seems to appease Gojo who, with a petty harrumph, relaxed into your touch again. Appealing to his ego always seemed to get you out of trouble. You’d never thought to be grateful for his petulant grouching, but it's music to your ears compared to the spitefulness from a few moments ago.

“I just find it vexing. Why would you ever bat those little eyelashes at Nanamin when you have the Morgan le Fay of men right in front of you to admire?”

“There’s no need for jealousy, Your Highness.”

You were just a humble fangirl admiring your bias, after all. You weren’t made of stone.

“At the stables. During the banquet. Would you like to have a portrait of Nanamin, so you can gawk at him when he’s not here, too?”

You rinse his scalp, running your hands through locks of his hair.

“I am so very sorry, my prince. Speaking of... Uh... Speaking of banquets! I hear there will be a ball."

It's a poor attempt to change the subject, and you can only give Satoru a sheepish, almost apologetic smile when he raises one side of the compress to acknowledge it as such, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow at you.

There will be a ball. In a month, to be exact. You know that not just from the growing agitation within the castle, or the coming and going of unfamiliar faces hired for temporary work, but because you had been counting the days for this very event ever since you realized this was the ball that kickstarts the main story, taking place towards the end of the prologue. It meant the heroine would finally show up.

You're not sure what it will mean for you.

“Sure, a ball...” He says, “My old folks said they would invite all the eligible maidens across the land because they want me to find a wife.”

“I'm sure you’re not too psyched about this...”

Prince Satoru vehemently nods in agreement.

“... But who knows? Give it a chance, you might just meet the love of your life there.”

“Pfft– Right, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“And why not?  

“Well, what if I already met the love of my life?”

Then that would be some pretty weird timing, Your Highness. Prince Satoru wasn’t supposed to meet the heroine until a few days before the ball takes place, in a beautiful clearing out in the countryside, where they’ll share a lovely meet-cute after he nearly tramples her with his horse.

“Alright…” You spouted, unsure, “Why not bring her to the ball, Your Highness?”

“She’ll be there.”

His rosy lips curve into a conspiratory smirk, mostly to himself, blissfully unaware of the can of worms he just opened inside your mind. Had he already met the heroine? But it was way too early! It couldn’t be– or could it? You’ll have to check the makeshift calendar on your notebook. The timeline you wrote down, as well. There has to be some sort of plot hole you’re missing, or maybe the events have been thrown out of place for some reason.

“But you’re right, maybe a ball won’t be so bad. They said any eligible maiden across the land, rich or poor, of high or low birth. It’s an opportunity!” He announced, the last word said with enough enthusiasm to make you jump.  

Once again, you don’t have the time to ask what he means– or to avert your gaze as he abruptly steps out of the bath, getting an eyeful of his bare ass against your will. You pat him dry with a towel as he helps himself to the tray of tarts and macarons. He extends both arms when he’s done so you can slip on the velvet, deep blue robe back on his body. Another towel is wrapped around his head.

The robe keeps him warm as he sits on a chair, waiting for you to come and finalize his night routine. You stay behind in the bathroom, emptying the bathtub, turning out the fire, disposing of the unused boiling water since Prince Satoru had decided to cut his bath short tonight.

When you close the door behind you, the smell of flowers and citrus is still in the air, stuck to his skin. You hum a tune as you brush his hair, its strands like gossamer, offering no resistance to the bristles.

“(Y/N).”

Gojo lifts up his head, not a hint of playfulness in his face or his tone.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

And yet his eyes are soft as they burn into yours, as if thinking, evaluating.

“Who, in this land, is the fairest of all?”

Every time he asks you this, you wonder if there was some dialogue you missed in the game. Nevertheless, the blatant reference makes you want to laugh; with him, though, the answer is always the same. There is no one to overshadow his beauty, objective, obfuscating, infuriatingly incontestable, and he knows that– you know that.

“You alone, my prince, are the fairest of all.”

If you were anyone else, you’d swoon at the smile he graces you with.

“By the way, I have something for you.”

There is a small box on the table he’s seated by, simple, with a golden latch, inconspicuous enough to only catch your attention when Gojo slides it closer, opening it to reveal an assortment of herbs tied together with a string.

“Since you ran out of valerian root…”

There wasn’t a single herb you could recognize, at least not with the dim candlelight. Despite this, you were pretty certain there was no valerian in that box.

“How did you know, Your Highness?”

“Those eyebags under your eyes, I know you haven’t been sleeping well.” He says, matter-of-factly, “Some old hag passed by the hunting lodge today, selling all sorts of things. Said this was a potent mixture of herbs for those with sleeping problems. It’s all safe, I’ve had the royal apothecary check it.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, retrieving the box and holding against your chest. You hope it knocks you right out. Heavens know you need it, after today.

“This is so generous, Your Highness… I don’t know how to thank you.”

“No need.”

He latches the box closed.

“Just have a deep, dreamless sleep for me.”

It was the very witching time of night, and the castle lay silent. Darkness reigned in its corridors, desolate and cold, broken only by flashes of lighting tearing through stygian skies.

Take pity, take pity on one who is sick of love.

Fire dances at the top of a candle, threatening to vanish at any moment, as one living soul treads through slate flooring, airy footsteps growing closer to your chamber door.

Satoru feels guilt twisting inside his stomach, that nauseating feeling of contrition before consummation. It doesn’t stop him, it never did – he isn’t delusional as to think his actions are without sin, but at least he knows he isn’t fully without a conscience. And yet, what is the point of guilt, overridden by excitement, conquered by overwhelming love, as he turns the key to your bedchamber, to defile you once again?

Defile, Satoru thinks to himself, is such an ugly word.

Your door doesn’t creak when opened. A simple spell to ward off prying ears, lest he has to replace another servant; Satoru had come to learn how thin those walls could be, sensitized to the littlest of noises in the dead of night.

He locks the door behind him, placing the candlestick holder on your bedside table.

There’s not much to see in the darkness, except for your pliable, sleeping form. You don’t feel the weight of your mattress shifting, so deep in slumber, as Satoru sits by the edge of your bed with the familiarity of a husband; and he likes to pretend, too, that these late-night rendezvous have an amorous twist to them. Isn’t it romantic, to be visited by a paramour so secretive you’re neither awake nor aware to receive?

What is he, if not a dedicated, twitterpated, infatuated princely lover sneaking through the hallways of his own castle to meet his beautiful dove, his golden trinket, his falcon’s eye–

But he isn’t delusional as to think his actions are without sin.

Satoru knows there’s nothing appealing about exploiting your vulnerabilities. If you were to ever find out, if you were to open your little eyes at this very second to see him stripping of his undertunic, the lovely relationship you’d built would crumble in a matter of seconds. It would break his heart into a million pieces, to see the horrified look of realization upon your face. And he feels the burning of guilt at the back of his mind, easy to dismiss, as his hands roam your body, past your clocked stockings of cotton and up your white shift.

He would hate to hurt you.

Which is why you’ll never find out. Your relationship can bloom into something far more precious that way, and soon he won’t need these nightly visits to fulfill the base needs you ignite in him. He often dreams of your wedding night, with you awake, receptive to his embrace, and then he’ll finally cross the one line he hasn’t dared to trespass all these years.  

The shift is carefully slipped off your body. His cock is dribbling with pre-cum, twitching at the sight of your hardening nipples. He bedews one digit with his saliva as he lays by your side, spreading your legs just enough to slip one hand between to stroke your clit, peppering your breast and neck with kisses, nibbles, and nips.

Your body is more than accustomed to his touch by now – and for a moment, he wonders if you’ll be confused on your wedding night when, just like now, your folds grow wet with so little stimulation. Soon he hears the change in your breathing as it becomes heavier, increasingly ragged, little whines starting to come out of your lips.

Still, you don’t wake. 

Not even as he slides a finger inside your soaked entrance.

It’s tight, temptingly tight, torturingly tight, but Satoru has enough self-control not to push himself through your folds. Not tonight. He can wait, he will wait until, eventually, you’ll be awake and willing to take his cock. He takes comfort knowing that day is not too far.

Satoru sits between your legs to rub his cock as he fingers you, biting his lip as not to let a wanton groan out.

"Fuck..."

It's not very regal to swear. He's never done so in front of you.

His voice is already strained, not above a whisper, when he sits up, settling between your legs to rub his cock with one of your limp hands. There are two fingers inside you now, Satoru biting his lip as to repress a moan stuck in his throat. He hates having to keep quiet, but the walls are thin, and it would be a lot more trouble than it's worth to deal with nosy neighbors.

Satoru isn't alarmed when you stir, eyebrows knitted slightly as he kneaded your clit with his thumb. It's not a sign you're waking up.

His fingers are coated in viscid, clear juices, thrusting in and out of your pussy with practiced ease. He can barely keep them inside when you tighten up, little tremors running through your body as you cum with a strangled whimper.

Satoru forgoes your hand in favor of positioning himself on between your folds, using your wetness to rub his length along your pussy, prodding at your clit with each upward motion. He’s lying atop you now, muscled chest glued to yours, gently suckling on your neck and muffling his low, guttural groans on your skin. His hips move at a controlled pace, refraining himself from how rough he wants to be with you – he’s still hung up about Nanami, after all –, feeling his own orgasm approach.

Your bed doesn’t creak, either.

He thinks of finally being enveloped by your insides, how your velvety walls would choke his cock when he made you cum. How your lips would touch his and you’d kiss, really kiss, how your body would respond to his touch when awake. What faces would you make for him? Would you look away, embarrassed, throw your arms around him and hold him tightly to you? He was dying to see you, to fill your womb as he looked deep into your open eyes.

Satoru Gojo isn’t delusional as to think his actions are without sin.

He’s delusional to a fault. And as much as he feels bad for you, for his horrible acts of debauchery against your unresponsive body – and all other perversions along the way – there’s hardly any guilt when he grips his cock with a tight fist, tugging at his length as spurts of pearly-white cum land on your bare stomach. His chest heaves, breath labored, half-lidded blue eyes staring at his handiwork with a dopey smile on his face.

Lightning illuminates the room, followed by thunder rumbling so deeply across the earth he swears he feels the walls shake. Candlelight flickers.

He cleans you up, not a trace of arousal to be found when he’s done, shift slipped back onto your body. For a moment, he sits at the edge of your bed again, leaning back on his arms. How he would love to wake up with you between his arms – but alas, you’d be much alarmed to see him by your side when morning comes.

He dresses himself, not before placing a chaste kiss goodnight on your forehead.

A ball, he ponders, that ought to be fun.

And as he leaves, candlestick holder in hand, locking the door behind him, there’s no guilt badgering his mind – only dresses. A selection of skirts and frills fluttering about, an appointment with the best seamstress in the kingdom; Satoru wonders which design he’ll choose for you to wear at the ball, smiling smugly to himself as he skips down the hallway, back to his chambers.

You wake with a startle, groggy, disoriented.

Resting in its usual spot at your bedside table, your trusty pocket watch indicates you’ve woken up a little over fifteen minutes later than you’re supposed to – Not too bad of a delay, which eases your initial panic. You’ll have to hurry up a bit when getting ready, but at least you won’t be late for work.

The herbs have worked a little too well, you conclude – gifted you dreamless sleep, devoid of interruptions, knocking you out barely an hour after drinking the tea you brewed. Although you had yet to fully wake up, there was newfound motivation to get on with your day after a much-needed good night’s sleep.

You make a mental note to properly thank Prince Satoru again. It was unexpectedly considerate of him to notice.

A shiver runs down your body as fresh air enters through your bedchamber window, caressing your face with its gelid touch. You see movement downstairs, servants and knights who have begun their day earlier than you. Beyond castle walls you saw the city, merchants coming and going through dirt roads among trees painted in breathtaking yellows, oranges and reds, its fallen leaves scattered over green grass. In the distance, you see neighboring villages and castles so far they nearly fade into the horizon. The sun is out again, blue skies adorned by white, fluffy clouds.

The faint, comforting smell of freshly baked bread hits your nostrils.

You should get ready– you don’t want to be late, of course. But there is time for a quick look in the mirror, to check if your exhaustion-induced eyebags have been minimized, even if ever-so-slightly. It’s only then that you notice, attention diverted from the area around your eyes, three small, faint red spots on your neck and collarbone.

You touch them, briefly wondering where they could possibly have come from; but you don’t have the time to dwell on it for more than a few seconds, your neck will be covered regardless. One last look at the mysterious marks and you shrug, brushing them off. It’s nothing to worry about, anyway.

Must have been a bedbug.

[agnesafterhours]

lavender haze | lee know. smut.

Your boyfriend is not prone to communicating his feelings through words, but luckily for him, you always know exactly what he needs. (1.9k words)

CONTENT: smut, boyfriend!lino, creampie, unprotected sex and cum eating. minors and empty blogs do not interact.

© all rights reserved. i do not allow reposting and/or translations of my work.

Contrary to popular belief, Minho sulks often. You do understand why people would believe that isn’t the case—your boyfriend’s dry jokes followed by a sarcastic smile being one of the reasons why you were drawn to him in the first place. When you first met him a couple years back, when he was still doing busking events with his dance crew alongside a common friend of yours, you’d watch in doe-eyed adoration as he’d flash his bunny teeth in a playful grin to his crewmates each time they got one move slightly wrong. What pissed them off the most is they could never get back at Minho—he never forgot any moves, never missed a beat. His justifiable confidence made him oh so irritating—you were attracted like moth to a flame to his character, his knife-sharp features matching his equally piercing sense of humour were fuel to the fire. 

But the thing about your boyfriend's sulking is that it is often unjustifiable. Of course he doesn't need a reason to want to be pampered by you, but it'd be nice if Minho admitted he also likes to be taken care of at least once in a while.  

“What did I do to deserve this torture?” The ever so intimidating choreographer mumbles from his spot on your bed, your pastel pink pillowcases being a little counterproductive to the assertive tone he's been trying to use on you. 

Minho can’t suppress the smirk forming on his lips at your scoff, “Torture? I'm just asking you to wait! These bedsheets got here like, two weeks ago!” You're on your feet, struggling to fold one of the new huge linens to store in your closet. “If they stay in these bags any longer they're gonna start smelling weird.” 

“You know that's not how it works, right?” 

“I don't care. You know you should be helping me, right?” You look back, a smirk of your own automatically taking place when your eyes find his. 

Despite the lopsided smile that seems to be permanently plastered on his face, Minho grunts as he drags his body out of the comforter and towards you, “You know you should wash these before putting them away, right?”  

And as soon as your eyebrows raise and he sees the very familiar smile on your lips as you push the sheet into his arms, your boyfriend realizes he fell right into your trap, “Have it your way, then!” 

The man watches as you jump in bed, getting comfortable on the spot he previously was—eyes filled with the similar overwhelming fondness they usually hold when Minho looks at you. “You’re annoying.” He takes off the rest of the sheeting from it’s flimsy plastic bags, making his way to the laundry room. “Don’t fall asleep!” He exclaims from the hallway. 

“I’m not making any promises!” 

“Don’t sleep! I wanna spend time with you!” Unfortunately, no amount of stubbornness can take away Minho's super power of having you giggling into your pillow. He wants to spend time with you. He's the love of your life and he wants to spend time with you.  

Those are the feelings you can't quite understand. You’ve been with Minho for so long—at least long enough you've been through the “honeymoon stage” everyone seems to fear the ending of. For you, it feels like this stage never seems to be over. You pray it never ends.  

So here you are, kicking your feet because your long term boyfriend said he wants to spend time with you. At least you know he's as obsessive as you are, if not slightly more. 

Minho's way of showering you with love was overwhelming. He isn't the type to communicate his feelings through words, instead, he'd do things like casually tell you about getting into a rather serious argument with his manager, trying to get the day off so he’d spend your birthday with you. Of course he would be busy, cooking your favourite meal as he casually narrates the dramatics him and his group went through trying to get his needs respected. He doesn't look you in the eye when he says he got emotional, the only reason why his manager gave in being Minho “never behaved like this before”. This is his way of saying you're his utmost priority, can't you tell? The redness of his ears and fidgety eyes are a big hint of the nervousness Minho prayed you wouldn't pick up on. Unfortunately for him, you know him like the back of your hand.  

You know that a quick glance your way means someone said something he found amusing in a way. If his hand fell to your lower back in social gatherings, it means Minho is a bit nervous and needs some grounding. If he's too silent, you know to sit beside him and wait until it all comes pouring out. With you, it always does. If he's vocalizing how tired he is, you know he'd enjoy talking for hours on end about anything that comes to his mind. Minho always needs you, he just has very specific patterns to show you exactly what he's currently craving from you. Fortunately for him, he's your favourite subject matter. He's the only thing you ever want to pay attention to—the sole owner of your entire focus.  

That's why you know exactly what he needs when he flops back on the bed, and after a few moments of silence, blurts out “I miss you. I missed you a lot this week." 

You crawl out of your nest and straddle your boyfriend's lap, dragging your comforter along and covering you both with it.  

You're both silent as you hold his cheeks, taking your time as you kiss them, then his forehead, and the mole on his nose—at least a couple times each. Minho's hand slides down your lower back when your lips find his, tongue slowly tasting his as you feel his heart beating tranquilly against the palm of your hand sliding up and down his chest. You feel his right hand gently cupping the back of your neck, holding you close against him as the other sneaked under your shirt, slowly caressing your bare back.  

Minho doesn't try to take control of the kiss like he usually does—neither do you. Your bodies seem to move in harmony, the glacial movements of his tongue making you sigh against his mouth every now and again, promptly resulting in a smirk of his. You loved kissing his smile. 

“Missed you so much, baby.” He repeated softly against your lips. Minho now had both hands under your shirt, his touch leaving goosebumps as he caressed up and down your sides.  

“Missed you too. Always miss you so much, Min.” Your breathing is a bit compromised now, hands moving on their own as you remove your own shirt.  

Minho quickly follows, his palms back on your hips as soon as his shirt is tossed to the side. “I know you do, pretty. I know.” 

His hands lay on your ass, groping as he whispers against your lips. “Spent the entire week thinking about fucking you. Gonna lay on your side for me, pretty? Hm? Gonna do it just how I like it?” 

Too much, too much, too much. You don't think you're really moaning anymore, but you're sure your mouth's been hanging open for a while. Minho’s hips are slow as he hits the deepest parts of you, holding your squirming body for a few seconds each time he bottoms out. The sweet, lazy drag of his cock inside you make your lust disable all of your senses. He felt heavy, thick, so deep inside you. Full. You felt so, so full.  

Somewhere in the haze you feel his palms making their way towards your chest, you process a bit of squirming as he squeezes them, massaging your breasts as he continued his torturously slow assault on your g-spot. 

Minho can feel every cell fighting against his urge to mount and pump into you as fast as he pleases, but he'd endure anything if it means he gets to hear your drawn out whines as he rocks his hips back and forth, your entire body shivering every time he pauses deep inside of you for a few moments.

He runs his hand through the goosebumps of your arms and back to your chest again. After feeling you up a bit more, your boyfriend takes your hand and drags it south as he presses on your lower stomach, making you feel him moving inside you. 

“You're feeling how good I fill you up, honey? Can you feel it?” His breathing is much more ragged now, Minho's body is visibly shuddering behind you as well. You squeeze around and him, bringing his hips to a stop. 

You look back, staring at his open mouth as you inhale each other's heavy breaths. As if snapped out of a trance, Minho kisses you roughly. He swallows each of your moans when his hips start swaying back and forth again, still as slow and rough as he was.  

His hand leaves yours as he reaches for your chin, spit dribbling down your lips. 

“So fucked out you're drooling for me. God, you're so good, baby. You take it so good.” 

“Holy shit, Minho! So close, so close, so close-” Your voice is no longer a whisper as it's pitch gets higher, your orgasm dangling in front of you in a fever dream. You feel him everywhere and it's almost too much, but certainly not enough. You're so overstimulated you don't know what to focus on to reach your high—both your senses and judgment so clouded you can't muster the brainpower to figure out what you need. 

Luckily for you, Minho knows you like the back of his hand. “I love you. Love you so much.” 

You can't tell how long it lasts, you're barely able to process Minho coming inside you. You feel the ghost of his hands holding your hips still as he whimpers in your ear—the sound alone making you shiver all over again. Your body shakes in his hold, limbs giving out after a prolonged orgasm you're not used to experiencing.  

“Love you too… Love you so much…” The words mindlessly escape your lips as your head slowly sways, fingers twirling the ends of your splayed out hair. 

Your eyes are closed as he lays you on your back, adjusting the pillow under your head as he chuckles. “Love you too, pretty. Hang in there just a second.” 

You feel his hands caressing your body as he handles you, a sixth sense making you chuckle when you realize he spread your legs but didn't start cleaning you up. 

His hands run down your thighs, you can hear the smirk on his voice. “What's up?” 

“Stop staring.” You say, humming with your eyes still closed. 

“Don't wanna.” You feel his fingers sliding through your core. “Mouth wide open for me, baby. Come on.” 

You sigh when you get a taste of his coated fingers, lips wrapping around as your tongue licks in between them. You open your eyes to find him hovering above you, eyes fix in your mouth. 

The look you give Minho makes him dizzy—the way you stare up at him with your big doe eyes in such adoration while sucking cum off his fingers almost made his heart burst. He can feel how each beat of it belongs to you, his heartbeat chained to a rhythm that followed your own.  

Chest to chest, Minho watches as your eyes sparkle, your hand softly stroking the back of his head. A smile forms on your lips when you pop his fingers out of your mouth as you breathily mutter against them. “You know I'm gonna marry you someday, right?” 

[xqueen-of-disasterx]

as sweet as a peach

Paring: Innocent!reader x dads!friend!Nat

Summery: You and the friend of your dad happened to have a pretty close relationship

Warnings: SMUT, clit play, dom!Nat, sub!reader, masturbation, dry humping, oral, praise kink, degradation kink, slut shaming?, pervy!Nat?, Nat fingering a peach, age gap (legal)

Word count: 1.4k

!Disclaimer English is not my first language so please excuse any grammar or spelling errors. This story is completely fictional!

Masterlist

ꕀꕀ ─── ⋆⋅ ✨🌞✨ ⋅⋆─── ꕀꕀ

“Those peaches” She reached out for one of the sweet fruits hanging from the old tree “Can I eat them” she smiled at me, a smile she wore like a mask to hide her true evil intentions. “Uhm… sure go ahead” I still couldn’t look her in the eyes, to big was the fear of what the older women might make me feel in the deepest pits of my stomach “Are you still in school sweetheart?”

“Do you want a bite bunny” She wiped over her mouth with the back of her hand as she reaches the other one out for me to take the peach. The forbidden fruit I shouldn’t dare to try but I was dying to do so. I took a bite, the juice dripping from the conners of my pinkish lips “It’s delicious isn’t it” her voice was softer trying to make me feel safe and secured in her presence. I fell for those feelings. I wanted her to make me feel safe and sound “It’s really sweet” I broke the awkward silence as Natasha got behind me, her veiny hands caressing my hips “You are gonna be a good girl for me right” she breathed against my ear making shivers run down my neck right to my core, making me feel a feeling that I had never experienced before. I hummed in response and I could feel my cheeks heating up. Her hands found their way future down, over my skirt right to the end of the fabric making that weird feeling inside me grow and grow. “I think I gotta go now” my voice came l more shaky then I had intended. Before Natasha could say anything I had already freed myself and ran off feeling as if I would melt if she had her hands on me a minute later. Leaving Natasha standing there utterly confused.

Sweat runs down my forehead as my hips keep rutting against the pillow between my legs like I was a bitch in heat. Soft whines and whimpers falling from my lips as I tried my best to make this feeling stop. Why did she have to make me feel that way? My hips got faster as I grew wetter and wetter and I felt my release coming in sight. I was in a trance only realizing how far gone I was when I moaned her name. I didn’t realize what I had done until I could hear the screeching noise of my door opening. I tried my best to cover my nude form with a blanket but it was to late. Natasha already had that smirk on her lips as she quietly closed the door behind her locking it “I’m so sorry- I- I” I tried to stutter something out “It’s okay bunny, you’re a girl with needs” she approached my bed with slow steps like a predator its prey “I can help you with your little need down there. Just say yes and I will make it all go away”

My eyes were still avoiding her tall form trying to hide my ever growing blush. I wanted her, I really did but could I do this with the friend of my father? “I want your help” my voice was still shaking. Natasha kicked off her leather shoes and crawled over to me taking my chin making me look at her. She kissed me passionately still hovering over my smaller form she pushed her tongue inside my mouth dancing with mine remained her dominance over me. Her wet kisses move down my neck searching for my sweet spot. She proceeded to nibble and softly biting at my skin. She strong hand pushed me back down onto my pastel pink sheets making sure I stay put. She sat up next to me unbuttoning her linen bluse revealing a red lacy bra “What do we have here uh?” She said in a teasing voice as she pulled the blanket from my exposed body her eyes landing on the wet patch on the pillow “You poor girl. All sticky and hot down there and nothing helps let me take care of you bunny” I nodded shamefully making her chuckle.

Her hands slipped over my stomach to my vulvar. Her hand finding its way to my erected clit pocking out of its hood. She began to rub over the slippery bundle of nerves making me yelp. Her fingers being a stark contrast to the rough fabric of my pillow who made my clit so sensitive . I could help but let out whimpers and whines buckling my hips only for them to be pressed down by the older woman “Na Na Na those stay down bunny” she said in a teasing voice. The older women had won all control over me, making me be at her mercy “‘M gonna eat that little pussy of yours. Let’s see if you are as sweet as a peach” she groaned as she got between my legs. She licked a bold strip from the end of my cunt right to my overstimulated clit. Swirling her tongue around it before sucking it. Making me scream. She immediately pulled away pressing her hands over my mouth “Be quiet for me bunny we don’t want your dad to find you here right? Whoring yourself out like the little slut you are” Her words weren’t hurtful, they were arousing me even more. I wanted to be her slut, her whore.

I nodded my eyes screwed shut as she kept licking and sucking at me making me see stars. The coil in my stomach grew and grew. Until Natasha bit down on my clit softly making me squirt all over her neck and chest. She chuckled lightly after helping me through my orgasms “Who would’ve thought my sweet bunny is a squirter” My checks redden and I look at Natasha my arousal still dripping from her chin to her chest “I- I didn’t mean to” She cleaned her mouth with the back of her hand “Oh sweetheart, don’t be sorry that was incredibly hot” she lightly caressed my lower stomach “Now lets get you cleaned up”

:)

[chilling-seavey]

Don't Worry Darling (gr63)

↳ A/N The best part about watching movies as a writer, is being inspired to write my own spin-off of the plot. I was absolutely gagged when I watched DWD and this came of it.

↳ Inspired By Don't Worry Darling (2022)

↳ Summary: Married and thriving in an idealised community based on routine, gender roles, and arguable paradise, you and George seem to be just as perfect together as the utopia you live within - but not everything is as it seems on the surface.

↳ Pairings: George Russell x Wife!Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Word Count: 21.7k

↳ Warnings: 18+, gender roles, smut, oral (f reciving), breeding kink to the maaaax (and the applicable dirty talk to go along with it), one or two instances of 'mommy' and 'daddy' but not in the spicy sense, unprotected sex (we're trying to make a baby here, people), some descriptions of sickness, brief mention of suicide, some mention of medical content, dark undertones.

The summer sun danced across the freshly cleaned carpeted floors, lining perfectly with the horizontal streaks from the vacuum that had been taken to it only a few moments before. The single storey house smelt of fresh linen and citrus cleaning products and the full glass windows sparkled brilliantly in the early afternoon sun. Outside in the backyard, the two rows of clotheslines were hung over pristine green grass and the crisp white sheets were hung perfectly over each line and pinned precisely on each end. The wind rippled through them in the calm breeze, wafting clean scents across the trimmed backyard and tended garden of flourishing flowers. 

In your pastel blue dress, the empty laundry basket rested on your hip as you returned inside from tending to the laundry, a gentle whistle on your lips to a tune you couldn’t quite place but had been stuck in your head for a few days. Your white kitten heels walked silently across the perfectly vacuumed carpet back towards the mudroom that was tucked beside the garage and took the last load of laundry out of the washing machine to place in the basket. 

The crisp white dress shirts were hung on the clothesline in the backyard beside the clean sheets, pinned delicately by their shoulders so the wind could take their freshness and dry them in the summer air. 

Rain was never a concern as the neighbourhood in which you lived never had a day of spotty weather. In fact, since the day you and your husband moved into the desert oasis town, there had been nothing but comfortable temperatures and clear skies. It was just another confirmation that your decision to move out of your every-day society and into this private section of the world was the correct one. 

Running your hands down the front of the final clean dress shirt, you leaned in towards it to inhale the fresh scent of fabric softener that encapsulated the fibres and filled your senses with the familiarity that was your husband. With him away at work during the days, one might think that you would get lonely. On the contrary, there were always things for you to take up your time with. If you weren’t cleaning the house for his return, preparing dinner, or tending to the garden, you had lots of opportunities to visit the shops in town, lounge by the pool with the other ladies in the neighbourhood, or attend ballet classes where you could. Life had no stress. Life was perfect. 

With the laundry drying in the yard, you returned inside to begin preparing dinner. Your white apron was tied around your waist and you flipped open your recipe book to select your evening meal. Missing your husband a little extra that afternoon, you decided to make his favourite for his homecoming. 

On freshly scrubbed countertops and over the sparkling clean stove, you prepared the meal for him delicately and with nothing but your utmost attention to detail. He deserved nothing more than perfection. The meat was seasoned by your careful manicured hands and laid in a bed of onions and potatoes and spices in the oven to roast, the timer set for an exact hour. With the vegetables cooking on the stovetop and the counters washed down from dinner prep, you began to set the dining table for two. 

The china dishes that had been a wedding gift were set between carefully placed sterling silver cutlery and two slim candles were lit in the centre of the table. You crouched in front of the fireplace that divided the dining room from the living room and lit the flame, making sure it caught on the kindling before you shut the glass to protect the pristine home you kept from the smoke or flame. On your way back to the kitchen, you dimmed the dining room lighting down to a romantic glow and stopped by the record player to set one of your shared favourite records to play softly in the background. 

When the clock struck 5:00, you had just placed the roast on the table alongside the dishes of vegetables and salad and you hurried across the carpet floor towards the bar. Your apron was pulled off and tossed under the counter and out of sight and you quickly poured a perfect amount of golden liquor into a crystal glass and took it with you to the front door. The moment you reached the foyer, you had just a second to make sure you looked your best in the mirror by the door as the headlights flashed through the frosted glass window down the left hand side of the front door. 

The sound of footsteps on the front porch guided you to open the door with an eager smile, revealing your husband on the other side. In his work shoes and black jacket, his hand was tucked casually in the front pocket of his slacks with his briefcase in his other hand. He wore no tie but the buttoned up white shirt that you had ironed for him that morning was already slightly creased from his long day and would require laundering. But your attention was all focused on his perfectly gelled brown hair and his loving eyes that sparkled in the warm light that surrounded you. 

George was already smiling as if anticipating your usual greeting after a long day away and he stepped over the threshold of your shared home and set his briefcase by the door without tearing his eyes away from you for a second. 

“Welcome home, sunshine.” you said sweetly, offering out his drink. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” he whispered adoringly, stepping closer to you and he slid his hands around your waist to rest against the small of your back and he pulled you right up against him for a swift kiss. 

Your free hand easily wrapped around his shoulders as he walked you backwards farther into your house, the two of you sharing love-sick kisses after a long day apart. 

“How was your day?” you asked softly, when he pulled away from you for a half second to lick his lips.

“Absolute shit until now.” George whispered back, moving right in once more and he let one of his hands raise to cradle your jaw and guide your lips back on his. He lingered on your mouth for a second before his hand finally dropped to take his glass from you. 

“Then it’s a good thing I made your favourite.” you said, starting to unbutton his jacket for him as he sipped his drink all while staring at you and leading you both farther into the house and towards the dining room. 

“Mhm?” George blindly set his still half-full glass on the kitchen counter with a dull clink as you both passed by briefly so he could pull you back in for more kisses. 

You smiled against his mouth and your hands rested daintily against his chest as he leaned into you, expertly keeping up with the way his lips locked with yours in feverish kisses as if he had been too deprived of you. His large hands cascaded down your body and over your hips, steering you towards your perfectly set dinner table under the ambiance of the romantic music crackling from the record player and the fireplace flickering nearby.

“Cleaned the whole house for you too.” you continued between kisses even as your hands pushed his jacket from his shoulders and let it fall to the crisply vacuumed carpet. 

“Yeah, it looks so good, darling.” George breathed into your mouth as his hands grabbed your thighs and he hiked you right up onto the end of the dining room table. 

In all reality, he hadn’t taken his eyes off of you from the second you opened the door for him. The entire house could have been trashed and graffitied and he wouldn’t have even batted an eyelash because all his focus was on you. It had been that way for as long as you could remember - ever since he first laid eyes on you - and your honeymoon phase only followed you well into your first year of marriage. The whole neighbourhood knew that well. No one was as perfect for each other or as perfect together as you and George were.

Eyes locked, you were breathing heavily into each other’s open mouths as his hands helped themselves up your skirt and you shifted to help him tug your panties down your legs. They were easily tossed to the floor and George’s lips went for your neck, trailing impatient wet kisses down your skin until he was dropping to his knees at the head of the table. 

“Oh, I missed you.” you breathed to the ceiling as he bunched up your dress around your waist and then dragged his tongue right between your legs. Your sharp inhale had him doing it again before he was wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling your legs over his shoulders. 

You fell onto your back against the table with a gasp, your hands knocking the salad bowl to the floor without concern as you messily caught yourself against the wood top. The simple touch of his mouth against your cunt had your breathing falling shallow and you gasped to the peaked ceiling of your mid-century home as you laid out on the dining table like you were dinner itself. 

George hummed gladly against your pussy as he warmed you up with filthy wet kisses. He acted like he had been deprived of you for weeks but in reality it had barely been twenty-four hours since you found yourself in a similar position. Your relationship really had nothing but strength in all aspects behind it. 

The feeling of his warm wet tongue gliding up flatly between your lips had your back arching off the table with a strangled gasp and your hands flew above your head to try and grab onto something, only knocking off the two place settings you had so meticulously set. The carpeted floor caught them delicately and without much of a sound but you were all too focused on the way George’s mouth felt to care about anything else. He lapped filthily at your clit as your breaths turned into moans and he nuzzled his face deeper into you, having craved you all day. 

“George-” you gasped to the ceiling, eyes screwing shut as he flicked his tongue over your clit in quick patterns. “Oh my God.” 

He moaned up against you and let his fingers press into the flesh of your thighs as he held your legs over his shoulders hungrily, playing with your swollen clit until your toes were curling and your back was arching. The filthy slurps and smacks of his mouth and tongue against your pussy were arousing and they easily drowned out the sound of the gentle record player across the room, harmonizing perfectly with your breathless whimpers and moans that were all for him. 

He was ruthless with it, eating you out like he wholeheartedly craved you until you were writhing against the wood dining table. Your hands flew down to his head between your legs and your fingers raked through his styled brown hair to tug pleadingly on the roots to feel him closer, to feel more of him. Mouth agape and eyebrows furrowed with pleasure, you peered down your body towards him but the voluminous skirt of your dress hindered your view slightly. Instead, you let your head fall back against the table, your back arching, and you let him urge the moans from your chest. 

“Fuck, baby.” you choked out, pulling at his hair harder. 

His tongue on your pussy had you quivering and he knew you like the back of his hand; always knowing right where you needed him and how to make you see stars. He tugged you a little closer to the edge of the table so he could get more of his mouth on you and his hands pried your thighs open wider, giving him full access to every inch of you. 

Your moans grew louder, pitchier, your hips trying to grind against his face as his tongue ravaged your clit mercilessly until you were flushing warm all over and aching for release. One of your hands reached above your head to grab the edge of the table, swatting the bowl of peas and carrots to the carpet blindly as you did so but you didn’t care. You were all too hung up on him and his perfect mouth. 

“Oh, darling-” you cried to the ceiling, “I’m gonna cum-”

George kept his tongue on your clit, lapping quickly at it at that same consistent pace that made you dizzy. Gasping and moaning through the romantic air, you let him take the pleasure from your veins until you were falling perfectly silent and your eyes rolled shut as your back arched helplessly off the table. 

George’s deep moan against you sent shockwaves up your spine as he licked and suckled at your cunt as you came for him, soaking his mouth in your creamy liquids that satisfied his cravings just so. You completely sobbed out his name once the height of your orgasm washed over you, your fingers clutching his hair to hold him against you just a little bit longer. He pulled away with a sharp inhale and a lick to his lips, standing up smoothly to let your legs fall gently back to the edge of the table. 

You brushed your hands over your once-tidy hair and peered down your body to where he stood at the head of the table unbuckling his belt with nothing but the strongest lust in his eyes. You hiked up the skirt of your dress some more and smeared your fingers through your messy cunt that was shimmering wet for him and from him. 

“Come here.” George ordered lowly as he kicked off his shoes across the carpeted floor and let his pants follow before he was sitting himself down on the stray dining chair, his hard cock standing stiff and swollen with need for you. 

You were still shuttering from your orgasm but you pushed yourself up from the tabletop and slid off the edge to land on your feet, your heels catching you silently against the carpet. He patted his thigh and then held out his hand to you, encouraging you over and helped you to toss a leg over his lap to straddle him. George shuffled up the large skirt of your dress and you helped him pull it over your head and drop it to the floor behind you, leaving you in only your bra and him in only his shirt as your lips found each other’s again. 

His hands groped your ass, pulling you closer to him hungrily as your lips smacked wetly together amid tongue-led kisses. Your arms around his shoulders allowed your fingers to tangle in his hair and you pulled his head closer until he was leaning into you to keep kissing you, sharing moans and breaths of nothing but pure erotica together. 

“Oh, baby.” you breathed out of your heated kisses, tilting your head back as his lips magnetized to your neck and your hands cradled his head adoringly. 

“I want you on my cock.” George spoke lowly against your neck, “I want you bouncing on my fucking cock.” 

“Yes, please.” you shifted on his lap to rise up slightly with your feet planted on either side of him and he reached down to angle his dick for you. 

With your hands on his shoulders, you slowly sunk down on his dick to feel every inch of it stretching you out snugly. Mouth falling open, your thighs met his lap and you moaned shakily at the warm stretch he gave you, swirling your hips lazily to feel him everywhere. 

“Good girl, darling.” George praised, resting back against the chair with his hands securely on your hips. 

Right away, you began to bounce on him, using the anchor of your feet on the carpeted ground on either side of the dining chair to keep you supported. You leaned your head back with a gentle shake to get your hair out of your face but kept your hands on his shoulders with your fingers gripping onto the once ironed white fabric. 

“Fuck, that’s my good fucking girl.” George praised through his teeth. 

“Oh my God.” you groaned out shakily. 

You were addicted to the clap of your skin together; the filthy lewd sound that was proof of your undying love and devotion to each other. How you were the pair that everyone else envied. 

When your eyes met, you could feel your insides fluttering from only his stare and the stormy mixture of love and lust that settled behind his gaze. Fingers tangled in the back of his hair, you held him close as you greedily fucked yourself on his lap, completely salivating at the feeling of his generous cock sheathed so perfectly inside you. It was hard to keep your eyes open with the pleasure that surged within you but your husband’s stare was completely addictive. He stared at you like you were the world and with his hands on your hips, he helped you guide you through your bounces until you were choking out the sweetest moans. 

George pulled you close by your waist so you could rest right down against his chest and your arms went right around his shoulders, allowing you to share another sloppy kiss as your bounces moulded into purposeful grinds. You moaned into each other’s mouths as your pussy gripped around his cock with each roll of your hips, your feet still tucked in your heels looping around the back legs of the dining chair to five yourself some added leverage to help yourself to his body. Grinding on him back and forth, a little faster, you broke your kiss with a soft gasp, letting your head fall backwards and his lips found your neck. 

George’s hands groped your ass and he pulled you into your motions steadily, making sure you were able to feel all of each other as much as possible. His teeth sunk gently into your flesh where your neck met your shoulder and he groaned tightly against your skin as you ground down on him faster, harder, whining for more. He spanked your ass before gliding his hands up your back and he let his furrowed gaze find your face, staring at the pleasure that took over your features. Your hands gripped the back of his hair and the back of his shirt, rolling your body against his hungrily as your lips were drawn together again. 

Both of you shared hungry moans and sloppy kisses as you ground yourself down on his dick and rode him purposefully on the dining room chair. The dinner that hadn’t been swiped to the ground in your initial rush was growing cold on the serving dishes but the waste of your hard work was truly the last thing on your mind. Instead, your attention was taken up by your handsome husband and the feeling of his warm skin taking you over - body and soul. 

Breaking your wet tongue-led kiss with a whimpering gasp, your head fell back for a moment as your hips lead their course on his lap, fingers clutching his hair and his shirt as you swirled yourself back and forth on his dick and watched how his handsome face was stricken in pleasure. His hands on your waist urged you to shift again and you gladly moved back into steady bounces using the anchor of your heels on the carpeted floor. 

“Oh my God, George.” you choked out, keeping your eyes on his. “Yes.” 

His deep groans in time with every bounce of your body on his lap filled the warm romantic air between you, his hands gripping a little tighter to your hips to pull you down a little harder, a little faster. 

“Good girl.” he praised lowly. 

“Are you close?” you asked shakily. 

“Yeah, baby.” his voice was strained slightly and he stared down his body to watch how you took him all with every ungraceful stroke, his feet planted firmly on the carpet as he stayed slouched back against the dining chair. “Fuck.”

“I want you to come in me.” you breathed shakily. 

“Yeah?” George’s right hand rose from your waist to hold your jaw tenderly and his thumb slid into your mouth, “Want me to put a baby in you?” 

“Fuck- uh huh-“ you groaned through his thumb, shamelessly bouncing harder on his lap until your thighs were aching. 

“Mhm?” George’s eyes flicked between your face and his lap, watching you fuck yourself on him with his feet anchroed securely on the carpeted dining room floor. He had been waiting and dreaming for his homecoming all day, desperate for this exact moment. He knew all too well that you would never say no to him. You were equals but you were such a good wife. 

George pulled his thumb out of your mouth and slid his hand around the back of your neck to pull your forehead against his as he groaned into his orgasm. You squeezed your muscles tightly around him, making his face screw up in pleasure as his cock throbbed within the tight confines of your cunt and you finally were blessed with that first feeling of him spurting warmly inside you. You shuttered on top of him, grinding down strongly against his lap as you held each other close and met his timing almost perfectly. Your moans together were harmonious and perfect and your heart soared with adoration for him as your souls connected in the dim lighting of your shared home. 

“Fuck, darling-” George breathed out of it, holding you to his chest with his entire arms around your back, keeping you grinding against him as your orgasm tapered off. 

“Holy shit.” you whimpered quietly against his cheek, your fingers gripping tightly to the back of his shirt, your thighs trembling as you sat all your weight down on his lap to take the weight off your feet. 

His hands caressed your back and you moved to be able to meet his gaze as he asked cheekily, “So, how was your day?”

You giggled sweetly and leaned in to kiss his lips, “Amazing. Even more amazing now that you’re home.” 

“Missed you so much.” George admitted. 

“I can tell.” you smiled, scratching your fingers through the back of his hair. 

George tore his eyes away from your loving gaze so he could look towards the dining room table that was left in complete disarray from his rushed entry. He leaned forward slightly to rest his head against your shoulder and you kissed his head and ran your hand through his hair. 

“Sorry for, uh, ruining your dinner.” he whispered. 

“That’s okay. Worth it.” you assured him, “But you’re cleaning it up.”

“Okay.” he chuckled and raised his head from your shoulder to kiss your lips again. 

You took his face in your dainty hands, whispering between gentle chasté kisses, “I love you.”

George smiled peacefully, staring at your adoringly, “I love you.”

His lips peppered kisses down your jaw and your neck and his hands squeezed your ass to prompt you to get up. You moved cautiously as you stood from his lap, letting a thick drop of white slip out of you and onto his thigh and he leaned in to kiss your hip as his hands guided you off of him. 

“Any symptoms yet?” he asked gently as you bent down to grab your underwear and pull them on. 

“Don’t think so.” you answered with a shrug. 

“It’ll happen.” he almost promised. 

You stood between his legs and rested your forearms on his shoulders to lean in towards him, “Hopefully.” 

“It will.” his large hands caressed your thighs. 

You shared a soft kiss. 

George patted your bum, “Okay, go wash up. I’ll clean this mess and slice up that roast for us. Looks like it survived the chaos.” 

You kissed him once more and then slid out of his arms. Picking up your dress from the floor, you headed across the open living room and down the opposite hallway that turned towards the back of the house and led to your bedroom. You pulled out your nightgown from your dresser drawer and helped yourself to the pastel painted ensuite to freshen up, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. 

Once perfectly styled hair was falling out of its pins and your cheeks were flushed from more than just the light coat of foundation and blush that you had applied earlier that day. You felt giddy and warm and yet a tinge of anxiety lingered in the back of your mind as you turned to the side and ran a hand over the flat natural curve of your stomach. You had been trying for a baby for only four weeks but you were impatient for the next phase of your perfect life with your perfect husband and with every passing day, you only got more and more ansty. George promised it would happen when it happens but you were both so familiar with things coming so easily to the two of you that not having results instantaneously was almost tortuous. 

Returning to the main space of your single storey house, George was in the kitchen in only his underwear and half unbuttoned white dress shirt, tidying up the dishes and scraping the spilled food into the garbage. To anyone else, they might have been more than annoyed that their hard-work that went into making dinner had gone to unappreciated waste but it was never that serious to you. You lived to give George whatever he wanted and when all he truly wanted was you? Who were you to deny him that? 

You leaned against the counter that divided the kitchen from the rest of the space and watched George putter around for a moment before he saw you. He smiled over at you and then brought over the plate of sliced meat that he had taken from the table and cut up himself. Setting it between you, he picked up one of the pieces and fed it to you from his fingers. 

“Little cold now.” you chuckled softly. 

“Still good.” he complimented, taking a bite for himself. 

You stood on either side of the peninsula counter and shared the plate of your half-cold dinner, one of the candles from the table resting between you and still lit. Moments like that only rehashed the idea of your perfect imperfection that was you and him. 

“You look beautiful right now.”

You raised your eyes from the plate, slipping one more piece of meat into your mouth as you met his loving stare. 

With a bashful smile, you shrugged, and spoke through your small mouthful, “I’m just in my nightgown.” 

“I know.” George leaned over the counter and captured your lips with his in a swift kiss. 

You smiled against his mouth and raised a hand up to dust your fingertips over his jaw before you were gently pushing him away from your lips. He reached over to gently tug at your pouted bottom lip with the pad of his thumb before standing up straight again and kept your eye contact from across the counter. 

“I love you so much.” you whispered. 

“I love you more.” 

The faint crackling of the record player in the living room drew your attention across the open space of your modest house and George drifted around the counter and danced his hand over your waist on his way past you. You took another bite of your makeshift dinner and watched as he lifted the needle from the turntable to remove the record and slide it back into its case. Whistling happily in his half-dressed state, George skimmed your collection of records and pulled out a new one to place carefully on the turntable. 

The tune he kept was the same tune you had stuck in your head for a few days and you inquired, “My love, what song is that you’re whistling?” 

George glanced up at you from across the living room, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth seeing you in the light of the kitchen behind your figure, and he looked back down to the record that he spun between his hands and then set it into its place on the turntable, “I dunno, darling. I think it’s just some random song.” 

“I’ve had it stuck in my head for a while now.” you explained, leaning back against the counter. 

“Mhm?” George seemed to shrug you off as he set the needle back on the record and the speaker crackled as it found its way into the groove. 

The house was filled with gentle romantic music and he turned up the volume as the voice of the vocalist flooded the space around you. George’s whistling moulded into the tune of the song playing and he did a little spin as he slunk his way saucily across the floor towards you. He climbed the three carpeted steps of the sunken living room and serenaded you with his rhythmic sways and motions as he approached you. You laughed softly at his goofiness and he held out his hands to you as he whistled along to the music. 

When you didn’t make a move to join him for a few seconds - just staring at him while leaning back against the counter with an adoring smile on your face - he requested of you simply, “Dance with me.” 

You pushed yourself away from the counter and set your hands in his, letting him pull you close to his body as he slid an arm around your waist and let his other hand stay holding yours beside you. He was the most angelic man you had ever seen and you set your hand around his shoulder as he guided you into gentle sways along with the music. 

You closed your eyes and melted into his chest, cheek to cheek, falling heavenly into the comfort of his embrace and the way his body moved with yours. His pitch perfect voice spoke right to your heart as he hummed quietly as you danced slowly in place within your cozy home, swaying to the rhythm of the record. With you in your nightgown and George in his underwear and dress shirt, you were perfectly domestic in that moment, the warmth in your heart swirling around the two of you wrapped as one. 

“Someday soon we won’t be able to do this.” George whispered to you.

The ominous nature of his statement had you shifting your head to look him in the eye, “What? Why?”

George just smiled sweetly and rubbed his thumb over the small of your back, “Because there’s going to be a baby growing between us soon. We’ll have to be a good arm's length apart.” 

You grinned back at him bashfully and leaned into him again so his lips pressed against your cheek for a quick kiss and then his head rested against yours. He led your gentle swaying on the plush carpet in the warm glow of the fireplace and your cozy home, only growing the adoring flutter in your heart. 

“I can’t wait.” you breathed. 

“Me neither.” George gave your joint hands a little squeeze. 

“I love you.” you whispered. 

“I love you.” George found your lips with his, kissing away any of your anxieties surrounding the unknown future with his love that comforted you always. 

The ringing of George’s alarm clock woke you at dawn, just like any other weekday. He was cuddled up behind you in your spacious bed, wrapping you up in the warmth of the sheets and his embrace. You sighed deeply as you were forced into consciousness and as you shifted to stretch in George’s arms, he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Morning, darling.” he mumbled sleepily, his alarm still ringing from his side of the bed. 

“Morning, sunshine.” you yawned, earning another cheek kiss from your husband before he was shifting away from you to reach over and swat off the alarm. 

You rolled after him under the blankets and as he turned back around from shutting off his clock, you draped yourself across his bare chest to admire him happily in the faint morning light that peeked through the sides of your curtains. He stroked your hair and you tapped your index finger against his lips before you leaned in to kiss them softly. He smiled at you and met you halfway for another. 

“Did you sleep okay?” you asked quietly. 

“Yeah.” he lazily draped his arm around your back, “Did you?”

You nodded, still tired from your deep sleep you had just awoken from, and your gaze stayed focused on his familiar face. Reaching your hand up from his chest you caressed his cheek with your thumb and across his jaw that housed a faint dusting of hair that was in need of his daily morning shave. He moved his head slightly to press his lips against the pad of your thumb and you giggled adoringly and stretched your body out on top of his as if not wanting to let him get up. 

“Do you wanna stay in bed?” George asked. 

“With you?” you replied hopefully. 

“No.” he smiled sadly at you and stroked your hair again, “I gotta go to work and make some money for us and our future babies.” 

You bit back your smile but didn’t make a move to get off him, still staring lovingly at  his face.

“Okay?” he patted your bum over the blankets. 

You reached a hand up to gently scoop some sleep from the corner of his eye for him with your index finger and a soft melancholy hum and he scrunched his eyes closed and tried to turn away. You sighed dramatically and rested your chin on your hand against his chest to stare at him just a little longer before you would both have to get up. 

George’s finger traced the bridge of your nose and then plopped against your lips, tugging gently at the bottom one, whispering to you once more, “Okay?”

You nodded, breathing out a forced agreement, “Okay.”

You moved off of him and let him get out of bed and you watched from your cozy spot against the headboard as he trudged across the room and pushed open the curtains to let the tidal wave of early morning sun flood your four walls. Standing in the light in only his underwear, George was almost just a silhouette to you and as he stretched his arms above his head with a waking yawn and skimmed over your perfectly manicured backyard, you nearly swooned. As the man of your house, he made you weak by simply existing. How you adored him. 

Your eyes followed him as he walked across the bedroom towards the ensuite and, like every weekday morning, you let him get ready for his day without hassle. He naturally left the door open and you could see in the reflection of the mirror how he stripped out of his underwear into nothingness and then stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain shut behind him. The water turned on and then his whistle followed, waking himself up in warm water a good tune. 

Now alone in your shared bed, you stretched your arms over your head and forced your limbs to wake up, the slight comfortable tension on your muscles forcing the reminisce of your evening reunion to leak out of you and into your underwear. The sheets had fallen down to your waist from George climbing out of bed and you dropped your hands to rest on your stomach with an impatient sigh, staring down at your soft skin exposed to the morning sunlight. Sleeping bare beside him to allow your skin to touch completely was your favourite way to sleep as you so easily learned after you wed and moved into your perfect home together. He always felt so close that way. 

When your bare feet hit the carpeted floor and you rose from the mattress, you reached for his white button up dress shirt that he had worn the previous day and had discarded to the chair in the corner of the room. Keeping yourself modest within your empty house, you buttoned up the bottom three buttons, and then straightened out the creased fabric in the full length mirror. 

You stopped by the bathroom door, leaning against the frame as you called out to your showering husband, “Darling love; I’m going to start breakfast.”

“Okay, sweetheart, thank you.” George called back through the water and patterned shower curtain. 

Your bare feet patted softly down the picture frame lined hallway that was bathed in sunlight from the floor to ceiling windows opposite, and you turned into the main space of your house that had been silent from nightfall. You opened the curtains and turned on the radio to bring your house to life as you began the routine of your mornings. 

As usual, the weather was bright and clear and the sun had just barely made it above the horizon, meeting you outside in the backyard with refreshing crisp air and a wash of golden light, filtered only by the neighbouring houses and your clotheslines. The laundry that you had hung up the previous day was now perfectly dry and you unpinned one of the fresh white shirts that matched the one you were wearing and brought it back inside with you as the iron was heating up. The radio announcer spoke to the news of your uneventful town where the most interesting happenings consisted of shopping centre sales or the community pool being closed for cleaning. 

The ironing board was set up in the living room and you draped the clean shirt across it to be met with the steaming iron. The creases were steamed and ironed out of the fabric with ease and you found yourself humming that same mysterious tune as you worked, constantly stuck in your head. When the shirt was left neatly on the ironing board for retrieval by your husband, you continued on to the kitchen to put his lunch together and get breakfast started, letting the radio’s news mould into morning hits that livened your home with music. 

George joined you in the kitchen a few minutes later, lured from the bedroom by the smell of bacon and coffee in only his dress slacks and socks with his tie draped around his bare neck, his face shaved, and his brown hair already combed and gelled to perfection. At the sight of you in the kitchen in only his shirt and your little panties, George was grinning slyly and walking over to you at the stove. He wrapped his arms around your waist and dipped his face in your neck to kiss your skin. 

“Mm, good morning, beautiful woman.” he said lowly against the shell of your ear, the smoothness of his voice enough to butter your toast that morning. 

“Good morning, handsome.” you replied sweetly, setting your free hand that wasn’t holding a spatula against his around your middle as you leaned back into him to welcome his lips on yours in a few lingering kisses. When he broke your kisses, your eyes shamelessly skimmed his face and chest and you reached your hand up to touch his smooth jaw, “Mm, you look so yummy.”

“Says you in this little outfit, baby, goddamn.” George tisked, giving your ass a little two handed squeeze that made you squeak in surprise and he kissed your neck again. 

“You’re an easy man to please, my dearest.” you said as he drifted away from you across the space to retrieve his shirt from the ironing board. 

“You make it easy.” he praised right back as he shrugged on his shirt and buttoned it up on his way back towards you.

He paused as he tucked the shirt into his pants and then stopped to open the front door and grab the newspaper from the porch. 

“Coffee’s in your mug already.” you told him as he shut the door again.

Returning to the kitchen with the promise of coffee, already skimming the headlines, he answered you haphazardly, “You’re a perfect woman, baby.”

“Perfect for you, George Russell, and don’t you forget it.” you waved the spatula at him from across the kitchen and he smiled over at you as he lifted his steaming mug of coffee up to his lips for a sip. 

He stood at the island with the newspaper laid out before him and he skimmed the stories and articles as he tied his tie around his neck and set his collar down neatly and flipped through the pages as he sipped his morning coffee. You cracked farm fresh eggs into the skillet beside the bacon, watching how the grease sizzled and crackled as breakfast cooked, filling the kitchen with aromas that made your stomach growl. As the pan was left cooking, you tended to the toast in the toaster that had just popped and you placed the perfectly browned slices on a plate. 

“What is your plan today, darling?” George asked you, his eyes following you as he sipped his coffee and left the newspaper open in front of him. 

“The girls and I are going to go shopping.” you answered casually as you buttered each slice of toast. “I’m thinking my wardrobe needs a bit of a refresher but I already have a dress in mind for tonight that I haven’t had a chance to wear yet so I won’t need to buy anything new for that today. I had my eye on this set that was in the window of the department store this week - these gorgeous blue shorts and a matching blouse.”

“Blue is your colour, baby.” 

“Is that why your eyes never leave me?” you flirted smoothly.

Said blue eyes - the very ones you fell in love with - winked at you over the brim of the coffee mug. You smiled widely and cut the slices of toast in halves diagonally before delivering them to where George stood at the island. 

“Make sure anything you buy is put on my card.” he reminded you. 

“I know, I know. That’s all they allow us to do anyway.” you tisked and returned to the stove. “I must say, every time one of the employees greets me with a ‘good morning, Mrs. Russell’ or a ‘is that all for today, Mrs. Russell’ I swear my heart skips a beat.” 

George chuckled lightly at your swooning over your shared name as he took a bite of toast and then spoke through it, “It’s been a good few months now, sweetheart. Still not used to it?”

“I’m used to it.” you assured him. “I just love it.” 

He just smiled down to the newspaper. 

“I might attend a ballet class this afternoon too.” 

“Oh?” George looked over at you again, “Does that mean I get to see you in a leotard and a little tutu?”

You rolled your eyes at him teasingly as you plated the bacon and eggs from the pan, “Don’t push your luck, mister.” 

He leaned in towards you as you joined him at the island with your two plates, promising with a quiet, “I’ll be good.”

“You’re always good.” you whispered right back, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before setting the plates in front of you both. 

You ate breakfast together over the newspaper and distant noise of the radio, feeding each other bites of bacon and toast and trying not to spill egg on his perfectly crisp clothes. Soon it was time for him to leave for the day and he grabbed his lunch tin that you had set earlier on the counter peninsula and you hurried over to get between him and the door. 

“Wait,” you set your hands on his chest as he nearly walked right into you, “I forgot to tell you-”

“Mhm?” George encouraged you on with a little amused smile, already knowing what was coming after this almost daily routine…only made more insistent on the mornings that came after an evening with perfect heavenly love making. 

“You can’t go to work.” you told him, even as he started walking slowly towards the door, forcing you to take slow steps back in time with him. 

“Why not?” he pressed, his lips grazing yours with how close you stood. 

“You don’t feel well, remember?” you slid your hands over his shoulders. 

“Oh, I don’t?” 

“No.” you licked away your smile as he had you in the foyer now, “And you need to stay home so I can cuddle you and kiss you and tend to you and nurse you back to health.”

“Oh, I see.” George blindly lifted his jacket from the hook by the door, all without tearing his eyes away from yours, “And your shopping plans?”

“Canceled for you, my love.” you answered easily, sliding your arms around his waist as he pulled his jacket on and you leaned in to kiss his smiling lips. “So we should get you into bed.”

“We should?” George had you against the front door and you stood guard in front of it to prevent him from leaving. 

“Yes.” you smiled sweetly at him with your lightly frazzled hair and wrinkled shirt of his you wore. 

It would have been so easy for him to fall into your little trap and stay home with you all day - it was near impossible for him to say no to you and especially so when you looked like a golden angel in the sunlight that bathed the house. Instead, he reached a hand up and caressed your cheek and then leaned in to kiss your lips once, twice, and then lingered there for a third before pulling away. 

“I got to go, darling.”

Pouted in lighthearted defeat, you slunk out of his way so he could open the front door and you followed after him onto the porch, stopping him by the arm for one more kiss. 

“I love you.” you said. 

“I love you.” he smiled back, his eyes glancing up and down your figure and once more across your face as if memorizing you completely, “See you tonight.”

“See you.” you let your hand fall from his arm and you watched him walk down the front porch steps and around to the drivers side of his shiny car. 

The other men on your little street were also saying their goodbyes to their wives and getting into their cars like clockwork but your attention was only on your husband and the way he checked his hair in the rearview mirror before sliding his sunglasses on. He caught your gaze once more and blew you a kiss before turning the key in the ignition. 

With the rumble of the engine, you took one more step down the front porch in only his white buttoned shirt and blew him a kiss back, letting your hand stay outstretched in a gentle wave as he backed out of the driveway alongside the other men. Then, like a little parade, they made their way down the street in a single file row and out of sight. 

Sitting around in the comfy chairs of the classy department store, you and your friends sipped champagne and discussed your mornings and the ballet class you had just returned from. 

“It was more of a workout than I had thought!” one of the ladies expressed. 

“Such beautiful dancing though. Do you think they’ll have us perform a show by the end of the season? I would love to be able to show my husband all that we do!” 

“Oh, that would be so nice!”

“We should put in a request.” 

“My husband does not so much as care about what I do, I must admit.”

“Being one of the most important men in business, it’s fair to say he’s tired when he gets home every night.”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t mind some attention from him.”

As your friends gossiped about their husbands and their home lives, you set your drink flute on the glass coffee table and stood from your chair to browse a few of the near-by racks. In a blue floral dress that swayed around your knees with every step, you held that soft tune on your lips as you gently swiped through each clothing option with the tags labeled without prices. The women never had to bother with money, it was just one way that life was made less stressful in your little picturesque neighbourhood. 

One of the ladies spoke a little louder so you could hear, “All of us seem to have things we wish to improve in our marriages and then there are the Russells who could not be any more perfect if they tried.” 

With a skirt in hand that you were admiring, you glanced over to your friends who all had knowing looks directed your way. You smiled and shook your head, “I wouldn’t call us perfect. No one is perfect.” 

“Oh, but you’re pretty close.” one of the ladies said before turning to the rest of the group, “You won’t believe the things I hear from even the next house over. It’s like their honeymoon phase lasts for months.” 

“Okay.” you laughed to try and brush her off as you set the skirt back on the rack beside you.

Another one of your friends added smoothly, “You won’t be fitting in these dresses much longer by the sounds of it then.”

The first friend only continued, “I know! If you two aren’t pregnant soon I think there must be something wrong with the universe.”

The rest of your small group agreed easily. 

“Yeah.” you added, “We’ve only been actively trying for a few weeks but-”

“More like six months by what we hear next door.”

“Okay.” you hushed her with a bashful blushing smile and you turned back to the rack to skim through some more clothes. You tried not to let their innocent excitement for you get under your skin but you were anxious and impatient and wanting a baby more than anything. It hadn’t been very long but when it was the thing you prayed for most in the world, each passing hour felt like a lifetime. 

You tried on the outfit you had been eyeing in the change room - that blue full skirt and matching blouse - and although it fit you like it was tailored for you, you silently wished it didn’t fit. You craved the growth of life inside you and it never seemed to leave the forefront of your mind. 

Regardless, you let your anxieties out with some retail therapy as you set your blue outfit on the cash desk along with a few more casual dresses and shoes. The man behind the counter rung up your items and folded them into tissue paper and set them in a box with a neat little bow. 

“Will that be everything today, Mrs. Russell?” he asked routinely. 

You glanced across the counter to him, “Yes, thank you.” 

“Wonderful. I will charge it to your husband’s account.” he held out the box to you, “We hope to see you again soon. I couldn’t help but overhear that it may be in our maternity department?”

You offered a polite smile and thanked him quietly as you took your box and returned to your friends who were getting ready to leave with their own purchases. Upon joining up with your little group again, you all emerged out into the sunny afternoon to make your way towards the trolley, discussing your evening in terms of your planned outfits for the neighbourhood dinner that was to be hosted at the lavish event hall in town. Your friends spoke excitedly about the dressed they had picked out and their hopes that their husbands would match their excitement at least partially. It was always nice to have a night off when you didn’t need to have dinner ready for the men’s homecoming - or so your friends touched upon. To you, everyday meant simply looking forward to George being home, regardless of what you had prepared or not. You liked to tend to him and you did so gladly. 

That day, however, you felt drained. Your physical body seemed to be taking after your emotional state in that sense and by the time the trolley stopped at the end of your street and let you off and you shared quick ‘see you tonight’s with your friends as you parted ways onto your own properties, you were ready to sit down. 

The house felt so quiet and empty when you were there alone and although it never usually bothered you, this afternoon only raised that looming loneliness that had been festering inside you. Trying to calm yourself down, you hummed that same gentle tune that had been stuck in your head and walked slowly down your hallway and into your master bedroom. After your morning tidy, the bed had been already made and any laundry was put away in the hamper, leaving a spotless room for you to set your shopping box down on the pulled tight sheets. With a hum on your lips, you helped yourself to the ensuite and ran a bath in the teal porcelain alcove tub, your gaze drifting over the alarm clock on the bedside table as the water filled and you stripped out of your dress and heels. George was expected home in just over an hour and you would have to be ready for him then so all he had to do was put on his formal jacket and dress shoes and you could be out the door and on your way to the party right away. 

The steaming bath water forced a sigh from your chest as you lowered into it and relaxed back against the edge. Your eyes closed peacefully and you rested your head back against the wall to give yourself a moment to ease your tensions that seemed to riddle your body that week, your hair still tied half-up with a ribbon that matched your day dress. In a few moments you would have to get up but you breathed yourself into relaxation to make the most of your quiet day. 

You were woken to a gentle touch to your shoulder and your eyes flew open with a surprised gasp, the barely-warm water sloshing around your body as you startled. George was sitting on the edge of the tub still in his work clothes, his expression a mix between surprise and love, and he caressed your cheek with his thumb. 

“I was worried where you were when you didn’t meet me at the door.” he chuckled softly. 

“Shit, what time is it?” you asked worriedly, your features expressing your unrest easily. 

“Just after 5:00.” George answered. 

“Oh my- I’m sorry- I was supposed to be ready to go-“ you started to get up but he set a gentle hand on your shoulder to keep you in the water a little longer. 

“It’s okay, darling. There’s no rush. We still have a whole hour.” 

George dipped down to kiss your lips and your stress lines melted into a tender smile at his touch and you leaned up from the tub to kiss him again gladly. When you sat back again, he just stared at you for a few long seconds, a calm smile on his face. The intensity of his blue eyed stare always had you needing to look away and you smiled shyly down to the bath water. 

George broke your silence with a soft, “You look gorgeous.” 

You leaned your head back against the wall again so you could look at him, admitting quietly, “I missed you today.” 

“I missed you too.” George stroked your hair before he was getting up from the wide of the tub, “I bought you something on my way home.” 

Your attention was peaked, watching him walk hurriedly out of the ensuite and out into your bedroom, “You did?”

He came back in with a garment bag and a beaming grin and he unzipped it to reveal a royal blue evening dress with a straight neckline, short dainty sleeves, and a matching bow around the waist. You bit back your smitten grin at the excitement of your selfless husband and you leaned your arms on the edge of the tub to admire the stunning new dress, careful to not touch it with your wet hands. 

“Sweetheart,” you breathed adoringly, “It’s beautiful.”

“Couldn’t stop thinking of you in it…I just had to stop and pick it up for you. You’re gonna look beautiful tonight.” George gushed as he hung the hanger up on the shower curtain rod. He started to untie his tie from around his neck as he talked on, “And I even grabbed myself a matching tie from the store while I was there just so we can match tonight. I know you always like that even if you might not always admit it.” 

You rested your cheek down against your folded arms on the tub edge and admired him shamelessly as he stepped back into the bedroom again only to return to the bathroom mirror with a royal blue tie that matched the colour of your new dress perfectly. He draped it around his neck and popped his collar so he could tie it as he spoke to you. 

“Come on, darling, come get ready.” 

You always loved going out with him and especially having any excuse to dress up but the whirling of your mind was distracting and you caught yourself suddenly swallowing back tears. You dropped your face into the crook of your arm and let out a shaky exhale to try and regain your composure. 

“Hey,” George’s gentle voice got closer and soon he was crouching beside the tub, reaching out a loving hand to caress your damp shoulder, “what’s wrong, my love?”

You sniffled and raised your head up again to meet his concerned gaze and you shrugged, mouthing a silent and passive, “I dunno.”

“Mm mm.” George shook his head gently, “Don’t do that. Don’t push me away. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I want a baby.” you whispered. 

“I know.” George let out a faint chuckle at your obvious confession but his expression stayed serious as he took in your obviously distressed state. His hand stroked over your head and into the damp ends of your hair that had grazed the water in your bath.

“I want one now.” you continued quietly. 

“I know. That’s why we’re working so hard.” he nudged your cheek teasingly with his knuckle.

You barely offered him a smile, “I’m scared it won’t happen.”

His eyebrows furrowed, “Why’s that?” 

You shrugged, “Because if it hasn’t happened yet then what if it never will?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” George tisked and gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “It’s still early…it’s been barely a month-”

“But we weren’t even really being safe before that. How did it not already accidentally happen?”

“I dunno.” he chuckled, “But that’s okay. I am in no rush. We have our whole lives together and it’s only been a little while of trying and I’m not giving up yet. I’m not giving up on us or our babies, okay?”

You sniffled and nodded. 

“So don’t worry, darling. Don’t stress yourself out over this because you’re just going to make yourself crazy with worry.”

“I want to give you a family.” you mumbled sadly. 

“You are my family.” George promised and leaned in to kiss your temple. “You’re all I need to be happy.”

“I love you.” you whispered, turning your head slightly to urge his lips on yours in a sweet kiss. 

“I love you.” he kissed you once more before he was standing up and offering out his hands to you, “Now let’s get you out of this bathtub and into that dress so you can be the most breathtaking woman at the party.” 

The event hall was located near the centre of town and was decorated lavishly for the evening party that was to be hosted there. George parked on the street and even at the slight distance you were from the venue, the lights and music still made their way down the sidewalk and lured you in eagerly. With your hair curled and pinned to perfection and in your brand new gown purchased by the hands of your husband, you already felt like a million bucks, only eased more by the reassurance that he offered you only an hour earlier. He was truly all you needed and anything more was just a perfect treat. 

Your hand rested daintily in the crook of his elbow as he led you both into the loud and boisterous hall and right away, other partygoers were greeting you over the music and noise. Butlers passed by with platters of horderves and George snagged you both a small serving each on the way to your table. Right up near the front, your reserved table was awaiting you, and a few of your friends were already there and in their seats, mingling and drinking. 

At the sight of you, your friends had plenty to say about your matching dress and tie and the way you just looked so perfect together. Friendly cheek kisses were shared by the ladies and the men exchanged handshakes and everyone was arranging themselves in their seats that were labeled with golden calligraphy name tags. George pulled out your chair for you and helped you take your seat in your spot before he was leaning down with his hands on your shoulders to let you know he was going to the bar to order some drinks. You reached up one hand to pat over his in acknowledgement and he leaned down to kiss your cheek before disappearing through the crowd with a few of the husbands. 

“Oh he is enamoured by you.” one of your friends gushed from across the table. 

“And this dress is stunning!” another reached over to touch your sleeve. 

“He picked it out.” you admitted - only slightly bragging, “Came home with it today and said he needed to buy it for me because he kept picturing me in it.” 

The girls swooned over that, lighthearted jealousy filling the air. 

“You two are too cute.” another one of the women said, “It’s a known fact that the Russells are all too perfect.”

“Yep. Makes me sick!” another joked. 

The one on your right nudged your arm gently, leaning in to say quietly while still being heard over the band playing, “Did you hear that your husband might be getting a promotion tonight?” 

Your eyes widened, “No. I didn’t hear that. Is it true?”

She nodded, “My husband heard at work. Apparently George has been doing an excellent job…he’s so dedicated, y’know? The mayor is so impressed.” 

“It’s a surprise?” you questioned. 

“Think so. But I don’t even know if it’s 100% true so don’t go saying anything anyway. I know you two have no secrets between you and all.”

You pretended to lock your lips with your fingers and throw away the imaginative key and you shared quiet giggles. 

The men returned shortly after and George set your drink down on the table in front of you before he was unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket and then sitting down beside you with his own drink. His hand rested on the back of your chair while his eyes took in the party around you from the crowded tables of neighbours to the impressive height of the floral centerpieces on each, sipping his drink calmly. You set your hand on his thigh as you took to your own drink, naturally keeping him within arms reach at all times even if the attention was on the conversation at your table. 

It wasn’t long before the performers were introduced to the crowd and the stage was filled with female dancers, their costumes not leaving much to the imagination other than streaks of glitter and sparkle covering them scandalously. The music guided them and the men cheered loudly as the women watched politely, you among them. But George wasn’t looking at the stage. Instead, his head was turned away from the show just so he could stare at you instead. 

Cluelessly, you sipped your drink and watched the show, unknowing to the way his attention was focused all on you. A calm smile rested on his lips and his eyes took in every inch of your face as you sat at his side so effortlessly. When his hand dropped to your lap and he gave your knee a squeeze, you finally looked at him, eyes wide in surprise at seeing him already staring at you. 

George leaned in towards you and you met him halfway so he could whisper against your ear behind the loud show music playing through the spacious room, “Wanna come get some air with me?”

You smiled innocently at him and set your drink back on the table as your silent agreement. 

He got up first from his chair and took your hand to guide you after him, moving smoothly away from your table without wanting to interrupt the show. Your friends only shared knowing glances among themselves at the sight of the two of you sneaking off. You didn’t necessarily know you were that predictable to outsiders. 

The music from the ballroom muffled as you emerged into the hallway and let the double doors close behind you, having a moment alone in peace of just the two of you. George spun you under his arm and then pulled you right up against his body, sliding his arm around your waist lovingly as his lips found yours with ease. You raised your hands up to the side of his neck to hold him there, gladly letting him kiss you deeply within the rush of escaping the crowded party. 

George pulled away from your lips only to whisper honestly to you, “You really are the most beautiful woman here tonight.”

You caressed his smooth jaw with your thumbs, “All thanks to this dress you picked out.”

“Your beauty requires no thanks to me.” he corrected smoothly, taking your hands from his face to hold in his own and he started to walk backwards to pull you after him towards the washrooms. 

You walked after him giddily, only pulling your hands from his grasp and falling against his chest with your arms around his shoulders as he backed into the empty women’s washroom. In the formal setting of the ballroom, the washroom was designed just as lavishly and the mirror framed lounge with a central circular sofa welcomed you warmly. Your lips found his again and he blindly locked the door behind you before spinning you both around and leading you farther into the elegant room. 

You could never get enough of his lips and even as he licked his way into your mouth, you were still pulling at the back of his neck to feel him closer, moaning softly into his kiss. George’s hands slid down your body and over your hips and ass and his dress shoes scuffed over the marble floor as he guided you towards the small make-up counter across the room. Often used for ladies to excuse themselves from the party to freshen up their lipstick or blush at the built-in vanity, it was now taken as a place for George to press you up against in the most erotic way, sending your heart in your throat and between your legs in eager anticipation. Only the simplest of touches from your husband sent you spiralling. 

“Oh my God.” you breathed into his mouth as your kiss broke for him to focus on shuffling up your voluminous skirt. 

Both already breathing heavily, your mouths were open in lust as lips brushed tauntingly and you shared air together. Your hands held onto his biceps over the expensive material of his tuxedo jacket and his warm hands snapped the waistband of your lacey panties against your waist. You giggled and he lowered to a crouch in front of you, holding up your skirt in one hand as his other started to pull down your underwear and his lips trailed after them in slow open-mouthed kisses across your skin. His gelled hair wasn’t easy to get your hand in without ruining it completely so you settled for resting your hands on the cold vanity countertop that you were resting back against the edge of. 

George stood back up and in one smooth motion, his lips were capturing yours in a filthy kiss. You let one arm toss around his shoulders as you kissed him back hungrily, pulling hearty moans from his throat at the way you melted into each other and he shoved your underwear in his pants pocket. His hand took its place under your skirt and pressed right down against your clit, making your next breath shutter. 

“Fuck-”

George swallowed up your words with his mouth, tasting the way you swore at his touch, locking his pillowy lips with yours perfectly. He stroked your clit lazily with his fingertips and soon had you trying to grind against his hand as he stood between your legs and was nearly leaning into you over the vanity. 

You tilted your head back to break your kiss with a exhale, “George-”

Breathing in time with each other into each other’s mouths, you held him close around his shoulders as he made you wet with ease; like he knew your body like the back of his hand. His lustful eyes were on yours, unwavering, glimmering in the warm light of the circular mirrored room you found yourselves in, companion only to the muffled music from the party across the hall. 

His fingers moved a little faster against your clit and his attention was focused all on your face as he watched the way your expression changed for him, your nose scrunching up in pleasure and your eyebrows furrowing slightly with the moan that reverberated in your chest. He stopped suddenly, forcing a gasp from you, and his fingers slowed right down to rub over your pussy instead, smearing around the sweet wetness that pooled out of you by his very own touch. 

“Fuck, you get wet for me so easy, my good girl.” he praised into your mouth, his body pressed right up against yours. 

“I’m yours.” you promised him. 

“Uh huh?” he swirled his fingers around your clit again, taunting you, “Do you want me to put a baby in you, darling?”

“Fuck, yes please.” you rushed out. 

“Want me to make you a mommy? Say it.” 

“Please put a baby in me, George.” you pleaded, tugging at his tie to try and pull his lips on yours again, your legs spreading wider to urge his touch where you craved him. “Let me make you a daddy.”

“God damn, you’re so perfect.” George groaned, rubbing messily at your clit again. 

A pleasurable shriek fell from your throat and your head tossed back blissfully, welcoming his lips to your neck in feverish kisses that he moved right up under your ear to make you shiver. His fingers created the perfect friction against your aching clit and you ground against his touch, desperate for more. You always wanted more. 

“Baby, please.” you breathed to the ceiling, “Please fuck me. Please cum inside me. I need you so fucking bad.” 

George pulled his hand out from under your skirt so he could shove off his black jacket and he tossed it behind him to hopefully land on the couch in the middle of the room. Neither of you cared enough to watch where it went because then he was unbuckling his belt and you were shuffling up your skirt some more and draping your hair over one shoulder as the heat was already rushing over your body. You didn’t separate for long and even still he stood so close to you at the counter that you could breathe into each other’s mouths, eyes locked, hearts beating as one. 

He grabbed your thighs and hoisted you up onto the edge of the counter as your hands pulled his lips back on yours for more kisses. George’s grip on your hips pulled you closer to him and the feeling of his fingers pressing into your hips had your body arching into him hungrily. You reached down to wrap your gentle hand around his dick and gave it a few impatient strokes, feeling how it only stiffened up more at your touch. It felt like you were in a rush, driven by lust and desire, and George nudged your legs open wider so he could step right up to the vanity, at the perfect height to let the head of his cock nudge against your sensitive clit. 

“Don’t tease me, you asshole.” you giggled breathily, earning a soft laugh from your husband as he kissed the corner of your mouth. You held onto his biceps as he carefully fed his thick cock into your leaking cunt, sheathing so snugly inside you that both of your mouths fell open in unison, eyes locking. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” George whispered against your lips, sliding a hand around the small of your back to urge you a little closer to the edge so he could get as deep as possible. 

“Oh my God.” you exhaled shakily, wrapping your legs around his waist to keep him close and your arms slung around his shoulders to pull his lips on yours. “Oh my God.”

You shared deep sloppy kisses as he started to thrust into you slowly and your moan against his lips had his eyebrows furrowing in filthy bliss. He broke your kiss for a moment to look at your face before dropping his gaze down between you, lifting up the hem of his dress shirt out of the way even if your skirt was still covering most of it. You tilted his head back up to look at you desperately, wanting to find the love in his eyes, and he thrusted into you a little faster as your gaze sent him spinning. 

You breathed in time together, wrapped up together on the vanity counter, and as George’s feet stayed planted securely shoulder width apart in his dress shoes against the polished marble floor, he had the ability to take you as he wanted you right then and there. His lips pressed to your jaw in fleeting kisses as he held your body close and fucked you faster, desperate to feel more of you. 

Your head fell back with a moan and he helped himself to your neck, holding you in place on the edge of the counter. As the seconds passed, he only got more desperate, thrusting into you faster, harder, holding your body against his in that gorgeous blue dress he bought for you. 

“George-“ you cried out softly, clinging onto him, spreading your legs wider for him so he could get deeper. Your manicured fingernails grasped the back of his dress shirt around his waist, crumpling the once perfectly ironed material in your fist as your heels dropped from your feet one and then the other, landing on the marble floor with a sharp thud. 

“Good girl.” George praised against your cheek, his large hands caressing your thighs and your back as he held you close to his body. 

Your eyes were focused over his shoulder to the wall opposite you, hung up on the reflections that the mirror-framed room offered you of all angles. It was possessive to watch like that, how your arms and legs were wrapped around him completely, fingers of one hand drifting into the back of his brown hair as his warm breath was panted against your neck in time with his quick thrusts. It made you salivate with desire for the man you loved more than life itself. 

“Oh my God-“ you moaned out for him, dizzy on the sound of his skin clapping filthily with yours as the luxurious bathroom muted the distant sounds of the loud party music through the ballroom. Your hand tightened in his hair as he fucked the whimpers out of you, igniting warmth over your skin. “Just like that, baby, please-“

“Wanna cum for me?” George asked lowly against your cheek. 

“Yes, please.” you huffed out shakily. “Please make me cum.” 

“Yeah?” George grabbed your thighs to spread you a little wider, making you hold your legs open by linking them over his forearms as his hands took your hips to hold you in place. 

Your pleading hands pulled his lips on yours by the back of his head, sharing filthy tongue led kisses between your pants and moans together as he drew you both closer. Both of you were completely ignorant to the muffled speech going on back in the ballroom, too hung up on each other. Tossing your head back with an overwhelmed moan to the ceiling, your hands dropped behind you to the countertop and your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. 

The skirt of your dress bunched around your middle and his hands were buried underneath it to hold you by the waist at the edge of the vanity, fucking you deliciously until that warmth was tightening in the pit of your stomach. Eyebrows furrowed as you stared at him lustfully, you basked in the pleasure he brought to you so easily, giving him the sweetest moans that helped him closer to the conclusion you needed from him. 

“Cum inside me.” you whispered to him longingly. 

George stared back at you strongly, thrusting into you steadily as he taunted you with words that sent you whirling, “Want me to put a baby in you, darling? Cum so fucking deep inside you until you’re completely knocked up?”

“Fuck me.” you groaned through your teeth, your voice wavering, “Please, George. Please knock me up. Please give me your babies. Please, please, please-“

“Uh huh-“ he spoke over your soft begging, holding you by your waist as close as he could so he could hit as deep as possible, making your toes curl in midair. 

You tugged the skirt of your dress up and got your fingers on your swollen clit to rub quickly at that spot, desperate for those incredible waves of pleasure that came to you only alongside your darling husband. Your head fell back with a gasping groan, your pussy squeezing down around him snugly as your orgasm approached quickly and you mouthed his name to the mirrored room in a whisper. 

So many reflections to watch your sneaky rendezvous but George was only staring at the real you right in front of him, watching how you succumbed to the pleasure he brought you, “Let go for me, darling. Take the fucking cum out of me. Take it.”

Your fingers rubbed quickly at your clit, pulling the air from your lungs as your body gave itself to him completely, pushed over the edge by the way he thrusted into you so perfectly. You tensed up around him and he groaned lowly between you as the pulsing flutters of your pussy radiated bursts of pleasurable sensations up his spine. You came for him with a cry of his name, your eyes staring back at his handsome face as your expression wavered with overwhelm. 

George only fucked you faster, desperately chasing that sweet conclusion that would bring you both closer together. You slung your arms around his shoulders as you shuttered against his body with the intense pleasure that radiated over every inch of you. He shifted to get your legs back around your waist and he held you as close as possible as he thrusted into you sloppily. 

“Hold onto me.” he whispered strongly, urging your hands to cling onto the back of his shirt to keep you together as close as possible. Your ankles linked together behind his waist and your heels pressed into the flesh of his bum to keep him nice and deep as his breathing grew shallower. 

He was coming seconds later, nearly slumping into you as your arms held each other close and he forced himself as deep as he could get inside you. His moans were beautiful and you breathed him into your senses greedily as he was all yours. You took every drop he gave you, grinding against his body to pull more out of him with how badly you wanted it, whispering little breathy yeses against his cheek in time with his final few precise thrusts. 

“Oh my God.” you breathed. 

“Mm.” George dusted a fleeting kiss to your neck as he stood up straight again. 

You held onto his biceps as he pushed up the hem of your dress to allow you both to watch him pull out slowly. His dick was slick in the mixture of both of your love and he was softening slowly in the warm air of the ballroom bathroom. He grabbed your thighs to spread your legs nice and wide and you leaned back on your hands with a sultry little smile as he stared down at your pussy and licked his lips at the sight of the thick white cream dripping back out. 

“Keep it in there.” he ordered quietly. “Keep your legs up for a bit.” 

“Mhm.” you rested back against the vanity mirror and kept your legs up, clenching your muscles tightly to keep everything in for as long as he wanted you to. 

George leaned in to kiss your lips a few times, bringing a loving smile to your face at his obvious adoration that was even more apparent in the way he looked at you when you separated. 

“I love you.” he whispered. 

“I love you so much.” you replied quietly. 

He drifted away from you to tuck himself back into his slacks and he buckled his pants up again and you watched him redress peacefully, always one to linger on the domesticity of it all. George retrieved his jacket from where he had tossed it onto the centre sofa and he shrugged it back on and buttoned the two buttons once more. 

Staring at him from your spot atop the vanity, you felt your heart swell with undeniable love for him, tears brimming in your eyes with the overwhelming concept that he was yours for life and that you were aiming to make a family together. He was all you wanted, even if you wanted more of him. 

Dedicated to the growth of your family, you let your legs ache as you kept them raised and spread, willing to do anything for the cause. George stopped by one of the mirrored walls of the circular room and let that same tune play on his lips as he tended to his hair and made sure it was gelled back down and away from his face, no remnants of your fingers in it. He then returned to you and situated himself between your legs, sliding his hands up your skirt that hid you modestly and he caressed your warm skin. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly. 

“Little dizzy.” you admitted, your head resting back against the mirror, “But I’m so good.” 

“Dizzy?”

“Mhm. You made me cum really hard.” you giggled. 

George smiled, his momentary concern melting into a cheeky grin, and he leaned in to kiss your lips. You shared whispered ‘I love you’s before he was helping you to lower your legs and guide you off the counter. On wobbly legs, you held onto his forearms and took a second to steady yourself until you were able to stand straight on your own. George pressed a kiss to your temple and then pulled your underwear from his pocket for you to put back on. You held onto him as you carefully pulled them up your legs under your dress and then slid on each of your heels one at a time.  

“Okay?” he asked. 

You smiled at him and nodded, blinking away the slight dizziness that lingered. You had a party to return to after all. 

When you returned to the ballroom hand in hand, the mayor was on the stage with the microphone in hand, addressing the crowd. It was otherwise quiet as if they were missing something but almost the exact moment you walked through the doors, the spotlight was on you. You raised a hand up to shield your eyes from the bright white light and George guided you slowly back towards your table as the mayor called you out by name. 

“There they are! The Russells have made their return!”

Blushing furiously with the entire town’s attention on you, you clung tighter onto George’s hand and followed close beside him to your table. 

On the stage, the mayor wasn’t done, “I have to admit that I am quite proud of these two’s dedication to helping our community to grow into the next generation. I’m sure it won’t be long until we can welcome another child into our perfect little paradise, isn’t that right?”

The crowd cheered loudly with applause and you nearly felt faint, the spotlight following you through the crowd. George’s hand rested on the small of your back as he helped you onto your chair again. 

The mayor continued, speaking into the microphone as his other hand gestured out towards the two of you, “In your absence, George, you missed my most important announcement of the night.” 

George offered him a tight smile as he sat back down beside you with a polite, “Awfully sorry about that, Frank.”

“No, no.” the mayor assured him, “I understand that you take your job as man of the house just as seriously as you take your job with us here.” 

Your dizziness was only growing into a sweat at your brow and you dabbed your napkin from your place setting gently at your temples to try and tame your rising temperature. Maybe it was the warm spotlight, you assumed, or the attention of the entire neighbourhood being focused on you that made you nervous but you really weren’t feeling too well. 

George was looking up to the nearby stage as the mayor addressed him directly, meaning his back was almost completely towards you. You set a clammy hand on his shoulder. 

The mayor continued, “Which is exactly why I wanted to bring up your dedication to your service to us and your ability to live with the morals and values of our dear community at the forefront of your mind.” 

You leaned towards George’s shoulder, whispering shakily to him, “Baby, I don’t feel too well.” 

He glanced at you briefly before the mayor drew his attention with a call of his name. 

“George Russell,”

Your forehead slumped against his shoulder blade, “I wanna go home.”

George shifted to let you lean on his shoulder and your arm naturally wrapped pleadingly around his, warmed by the blinding light of the spotlight. 

The mayor was unphased by your obvious distress as he continued addressing your husband directly, “it is with great pride that I would like to offer you a position with some of us in headquarters. It will come with more responsibility but I’m sure the pay increase will be beneficial when it comes to any little additions to your family.”

George’s attention was torn between this surprise news of an offered promotion and the way that you were nearly limp against his shoulder. His arm wrapped around you protectively but his gaze was still politely focused on the stage. 

“I really want to go home.” you repeated shakily to him. 

Your friends were oblivious, too excited about the proper announcement that was now given to the man it was directed towards under the blinding lights of the decorated ballroom. You felt faint. 

“What do you say, George?” the mayor asked loudly, his voice booming across the spacious ballroom. “Will you live up to the kind of man we know you can be?”

“George.” you whispered pleadingly, too out of it to even really know what was going on. “Please, can we go?” 

George glanced at you briefly before looking back up to the stage and the expectant faces of his co-workers and mayor. He nodded to him quickly, “Yes, thank you. I would love to accept the offer.” 

The crowd broke into applause and with the chaos that it brought, George turned to you quickly and grabbed your purse from the table before standing up. 

“Come on, let’s get you home.” 

He helped you out of your chair as the spotlight drifted elsewhere across the bustling party and your friends gave you odd stares at your sudden change and out-of-character distress. George, riddled with worry, wrapped his arm around your waist protectively and led you towards the exit doors of the ballroom, the cheers of the crowd echoing in your ears and you clamped your hands over them to block out the noise. 

Once out in the crisp evening air, you were stumbling across the pavement and George was pulling you to a stop to look at him. Hands trembling, you pushed your hair out of your face and kept your gaze downcast in near shame. 

“What’s wrong, darling?” George asked, rubbing your bare arms with his warm hands. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your night.” you said shakily. 

“You didn’t ruin anything.” George brushed your apology off easily, “What’s wrong?” 

“I dunno…it just…was stuffy in there and overwhelming…I don’t feel too good.” you sniffled and he pulled you in for a gentle hug. With your arms tucked around your middle shyly, he held you close and pressed a kiss to your temple. You didn’t want to complain but you were still not feeling much better and you stood back from him again, holding a trembling hand to your mouth, “I feel so gross, George, can we please go home?” 

“Yes, my love, of course.” George took your arm and gently guided you towards the car. 

He opened the door for you and helped you in and even buckled your seatbelt for you before he shut the door and rushed around to the other side to get behind the wheel. You shut your eyes and leaned back in your seat, the world still slightly spinning around you. 

George turned the key and pulled away from the curb, “Did it come on this fast?”

You nodded, working up the courage to speak your response, “Felt really tired today and then dizzy while we were in the bathroom but…”

When your body made you lurch and you pressed your hand to your mouth, George’s wide eyes looked over at you. 

“Tell me to pull over if you need me to.” he instructed gently. 

You nodded in acknowledgement. 

“I’m sorry.” you mumbled. 

He reached over to set a comforting hand on your thigh, “Please don’t be sorry.” 

The street lamps of your perfect little community whizzed past your window as George hurried towards home, his gaze constantly flicking over to you from the street ahead just to make sure you were good. It was odd the way you so quickly felt sick and it honestly made him quite nervous, wondering what had happened to trigger such obvious illness within you in such a short period of time. 

It didn’t take long to get home since your neighbourhood wasn’t very large and George had barely put the car in park before you were tossing off your seatbelt and climbing out of your seat in a rush. George didn’t even turn off the car before he was hurrying after you towards the porch where you caught yourself on the white painted pillar and threw up in the garden. He was right behind you as you sputtered distastefully, pulling your hair away from your face for you as the nausea came over you again and you threw up for a second time right into your rosebush. 

“Oh my-“ you whimpered, eyes brimming with tears as you wiped your mouth with the back of your trembling hand. 

George hushed you comfortingly as you let out a little sob and he turned you to face him so he could easily pull you into a warm hug. You ducked your face in his neck, embarrassed, and your shaking hands grasped onto the back of his suit jacket to hold onto him comfortingly. 

“Let’s get you inside and into bed, okay?” he whispered to you, stroking your hair with a gentle hand that rubbed down your back. 

You nodded and sniffled and stepped away from him so he could hurry and turn the car off, gather your purse, and then return to your side to help you inside. Your spotless house greeted you warmly when George flicked on the lights but once glimpse at the kitchen had you panicked again. 

“We didn’t even get to eat. You must be starving-“

“I’m okay.” George assured you quickly, steering you towards the hallway so he could take you to bed, “I can find something for us. Are you hungry at all?”

“Maybe a little.” you answered softly. 

“Okay,” George pulled back the perfectly tucked bedsheets on your side of the bed and sat you down carefully, “I’ll get you into bed and maybe warm up some soup.” 

“Okay.” you breathed. 

He reached around you to unzip your dress and you lifted your arms up so he could pull it over your head. 

“I wanted us to have a nice night.” you mumbled sadly. 

“Hey,” George took your chin in his hand gently to get you to look at him, “I kinda enjoyed myself when we were there, did you not?” 

A little smile pricked at the corner of your mouth at his implication and you nodded slightly in agreement, “Yeah. I did.”

He smiled proudly back at you, your dress draped over his arm, and he reached behind you again to unclip your bra. He undressed you carefully and then helped you to shuffle into one of his sweatshirts. 

“I ruined your promotion.” you sighed sadly. 

“You didn’t ruin anything.” George assured you, gently untying the ribbon from your hair, as his voice lowered to a whisper, “It’s just a job…it’s barely a job. You know that.” 

“Yeah.” you said, “Although it’s nice that you’re being recognized. Makes this all a little easier.” 

George didn’t answer you for a second, his gentle hands stroking through your hair to smooth it down over your shoulders. When you looked up at him at his lack of response, he appeared deep in thought. 

“What is it?” you frowned. 

“Do you think you should take a pregnancy test, darling?” he asked softly. 

You almost scoffed, “What for?”

“Because you’ve been really tired and dizzy and you just threw up in our garden?” 

You bit lightly at your bottom lip and dropped your gaze to your lap. George’s fingers still danced through your hair as he stood in front of you, letting you decide on your answer for yourself. 

“I don’t think I could deal with it being negative.” you whispered to the carpet. “I can’t deal with that anymore and especially not here. I’ll fucking lose it.” 

George’s thumbs caressed your cheeks and he crouched down in front of you so you could look at him, taking your hands in his, “I know you want this more than anything but that’s the reason why we came here, remember? To have what we always wanted? You keep psyching yourself up about this like we’re still at home that you’re not even letting yourself enjoy it and think of the positives of what could be. We have this whole opportunity for us and I don’t want anything to hold us back from living this life that has been built for us.”

You nodded. 

George brought your joined hands to his mouth and he kissed your knuckles without taking his eyes off your downcast gaze and he whispered against your soft skin, “Please take a test?” 

You sniffled and lifted your head back to stare at the ceiling. 

“Please?” George said softly, pausing to kiss your hand again, “I’ll be right here.” 

Your bottom lip trembled and you shyly met his gaze, feeling warm butterflies in your stomach by the way the man you loved stared at you. It was obvious that he loved you more than life itself and you felt the exact same right back. With a moment's thought, you nodded and breathed out a barely audible, “Okay.” 

George honestly smiled and he stood up again, pausing just long enough to kiss your head before he was hurrying into the ensuite and pulled open the bottom cabinet, “Okay!”

You pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes as you tried to calm yourself down since your anxiety started to bubble up more in your chest. Still in a full face of makeup, smudging was the least of your concerns at that moment and you focused on deep breathing and keeping your tears at bay. 

George returned to his spot in front of you and he held out the pregnancy test to you. You could see how excited and impatient he was - even if he tried to tone it down for your sake - and the thought of having to tell him it was yet another negative made your throat feel like razor blades. Every time it completely broke your heart. He was so strong. This was your last resort. You had given up everything for this one last chance. 

You took the unopened test from him and felt the weight of it in your hands for a moment, staring down at the blank screen. 

“Where do you want me?” he asked thoughtfully. 

“Can you come in with me?” your voice was shaking. 

“Sure, sweetheart.” George stepped to the side and let you get up from the side of the bed.

You were less dizzy and nauseous but still terribly tired and he followed you closely into the bathroom just to make sure you were steady…and for your emotional support. He sat up on the bathroom counter as you shuffled your panties down and helped yourself to the toilet, holding the test between your legs while your singular evening party drink went right through you. 

You couldn’t remember what number test this was that you had taken and although it was the first since moving into this perfect little paradise of a community, the memory of your past experiences never faded. Your mind whirled with thoughts of the worst…if the alcohol in your recent drink would mess up the results, if you just had a sickness and that’s why you felt so strange all day, if you were too far lost for even a utopian community to save you and your dream.

The test was re-capped and George took it from you to rinse off while you cleaned yourself up and flushed. You wanted to be as far away from it as possible and you returned to the bedroom to sit on the side of the bed while George checked the time on his watch, test resting on the counter patiently. 

“Three minutes.” George said, following after you back into the bedroom. “Do you need anything? Some water maybe?” 

“No thank you.” you mumbled. 

He hesitated in front of you. 

“I’m going to get you some water.”

“George-”

He was already half out the bedroom door, “Be right back!”

He couldn’t sit still. You couldn’t move.

From the distant kitchen, you could hear him whistling that same tune that had been stuck in your head for ages but you didn’t have the energy to think much of it. Your leg bounced restlessly off the side of the bed, unknowing of the time, and you awaited your husband's return. He was so selfless. He was so good. 

Soon, he was returning quickly and he passed you a glass of water; always one to stay busy. You sipped a bit of it to humour him and despite the fact that your mouth was terribly dry, you did not want to drink. You almost felt sick again. Not wanting to go through the discomfort of throwing up again, you clenched your lips shut and stared at the carpet, trying to keep yourself calm. 

George checked his watch. 

You held out your glass to him as if by instinct and started to get up. 

“You should drink more, love-”

“I’m gonna be sick again.” you hurried out as you pushed past him into the ensuite. 

Dropping to your knees at the toilet, you threw up loudly, struggling to hold back your tears. George set your glass on the counter and crouched behind you to comfort you by pulling your hair from your face as your body had you lurching to throw up again. He rubbed your back and your shoulders and hummed that silly little tune quietly to try and help calm you down. 

“I’m sorry.” you mumbled weakly. 

“Stop apologizing.” he tisked, following you onto the ground as you slumped from your knees onto your bum. You leaned back against his chest and he flushed the toilet for you before wrapping you up in his arms lovingly, pressing tender kisses to your head. “Through sickness and health, remember?”

You let a small smile come to your lips at the faint memory of the quaint English church in the countryside, the gentle organ playing, and George standing before you at the altar with his hands holding yours. It felt like so long ago as if the essence of time was skewed in your mind. In a way, it really was. Life was so different now but you both were sure this would be better…be worth the end of what once was to find your new beginning together. 

“I love you.” you whispered. 

“I love you.” he promised into your hair. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.” you sighed. 

He gave your hands a squeeze, “Think you can stand and we can take a look at this test of ours?”

You bit nervously at your bottom lip, “You look at it.” 

“You don’t want to look at it with me?”

You shook your head.

“You sure?”

You nodded.

“Can I help you off the floor first at least?”

You permitted him to stand up and he slowly helped you up onto wobbly legs and you returned to the bedroom to sit on the side of the bed. Picking anxiously at your fingernails, you watched as he returned to the bathroom counter directly in your line of vision. He took one last glance at you before he was picking up the pregnancy test from the counter and flipping it over to read it, not giving himself a moment to second guess himself. 

You struggled to read his expression as he read the result; his eyebrows furrowed and lips in a soft pout. You were waiting for the news you had grown all too used to. He wasn’t saying anything and you certainly didn’t want to be the first one to speak. 

George little sniffle had your heart racing with anxiety, making you near positive that it was yet another negative. He looked over at you from the ensuite, bathed in the surrounding artificial light in his tuxedo with his gelled hair falling out of place, and his soft pout was unmissable. A single tear slipped down his cheek. 

You sat frozen in place, aching for him to just rip off the bandaid, “What?”

“You’re pregnant.” he breathed, his voice breaking. 

It felt as though the air was knocked from your lungs. You blinked at him, “What?”

George broke into a grin and he nodded, reaching up to wipe his eyes with the heel of his palms before taking another look at the test. He let out a wet chuckle at the result that stared back at him, “Holy shit.”

“Bring it here.” you ordered, almost panicking in disbelief. 

George joined you on the side of the bed and you grabbed the test from him, almost glaring down at it in your hand. The screen revealed two pink lines, one just a little more faded than the other but still clearly visible to the naked eye. 

“See it?” George pointed to it as if you couldn’t see it yourself. “It’s so clear.” 

Your mouth opened as if to say something but no words came out. No words felt adequate at that moment. Opening and closing your mouth like a clueless fish, you felt dizzy with emotional overwhelm. 

“You’re pregnant, baby.” George rehashed it to you sweetly with a smile as he rubbed his hand over your back, “You have a little us growing inside you right now.” 

You couldn’t tear your wide eyes away from the positive test in your hand, stumbling over your next breath as you struggled to hold back the sudden wave of tears that threatened to overtake you. The air felt lighter and you gasped for relief, letting it out with a sob to your bedroom walls. 

“Oh God.” you cried tears of joy, your trembling hands clutching the positive test in your two handed grip and you pulled it to your chest. 

George embraced you right away, pulling you close with happy tears of his own. You turned towards him lovingly and rested your head on his shoulder with your face tucked in his neck, letting him hold you just like that, basking in the relief that was felt by the both of you. Your tears dripped onto the fabric of his tuxedo jacket even as you held open your palms again to get another look at those two pink lines. George kissed your temple proudly. 

“I love you.” he whispered shakily. 

“I love you.” you sniffled and finally turned to look him in the eye. 

Through your tears, you shared quivering grins and he reached a hand up to caress your cheek and then pulled you in for a wet chasté kiss. Both of you were smiling into your kisses but you couldn’t get enough and the love that swelled in your heart was almost overpowering, forcing you to grab onto his tie and really hold his lips on yours. Your tear streaked cheeks pressed together moistly and your kisses tasted faintly of those salty tears you shared but the warm happiness that burned within the two of you was enough to overtake even the darkest of days. 

You broke your kiss only to stare down at the confirmation you held in your hands, your palms delicately supporting the proof of your destiny. Sniffling as your tears slowed, you leaned against your husband who never once left your side, letting his fingers brush your hair over your shoulder so he could lean in beside you cheek to cheek.

“It was all worth it.” he said softly, rubbing his hand over your back, “I knew this would be good for us.” 

You nodded. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked gently, noting your silence. 

You looked back at him with a calm smile and lifted a hand up to slide around the back of his neck and rest his forehead against yours, “So happy. And finally so at peace.”

“Good.” George whispered. “You deserve nothing less.”

“We’re finally gonna have our family, George.” you smiled sweetly, “You and me. What we’ve been waiting so long for.” 

He swallowed you up in his arms, hugging you so tightly and so lovingly that you swore you never felt the heat of his love pass onto you as strongly before as it did in that moment. You felt as light as air and you melted into him happily, a peaceful smile on your face as you held onto him and let a content tune hum pleasantly from your lips. 

The egg sizzled as it hit the bottom of the hot skillet, the kitchen filled with warm morning sunlight and the smell of cooking breakfast and brewing coffee that lured George from down the hall to join you. In only his work slacks and socks with his tie draped around his bare neck, he made you his priority over getting dressed, enveloping you in the scent of his cologne as he wrapped his arms around you from behind and dipped his shaved face into your neck. 

His hands glided softly under the hem of his sweatshirt you wore to feel the smooth skin of your still generally flat stomach, “Good morning, mommy.” 

You grinned to the stovetop at the reminder of the long-awaited news you had found out the night before and you leaned your head back against his shoulder to guide his lips to yours for a soft kiss. With his thumbs rubbing lovingly over your warm skin, you melted happily into him, “Good morning, daddy.”

Purely innocent and bursting with love for your family of two that would soon be made three, you shared a few more lingering kisses that made your heart swell. 

“You sure you feel up to making breakfast?” George asked softly with one more caress to your stomach and a kiss to your neck. 

“Yeah.” you assured him easily. “I like making you breakfast.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“I’m feeling so much better.” 

George kissed your temple and then slid away from you to retrieve his shirt from the ironing board where it was left in the living room as it was every morning. 

“Newspaper is already on the table.” you told him as he buttoned up his shirt on his way back over to you. “Your promotion made the front page.”

Living in such a small tight-knit community, there wasn’t much to report upon which only made George’s promotion big news. Front page worthy. He stopped at his usual spot at the kitchen island and glanced down at the newspaper as he tied his tie around his neck under the collar of his freshly ironed white shirt. Pausing to take a bite of toast from the plate that you had set beside the newspaper, he chewed as he straightened out his tie, still skimming the article. 

“I don’t know what’s the big deal.” he spoke through his mouthful, “Not like it’s a real promotion.” 

“Well, not everyone knows that.” you answered calmly, still tending to the bacon and eggs on the stove. 

“I guess.” George flipped to the next page before reaching for his mug for a sip of the steaming coffee that you had poured him. 

“We’re lucky to even be here under these circumstances. The other wives don’t know a thing.” 

George glanced up at you, knowing your conversation was treading towards dangerous territory surrounding the topic that was to be completely silenced under your discretion. You weren’t wrong, however, and thus it allowed you to be the one couple in the community that could freely speak to it - so long as you were completely alone and out of earshot of anyone else. 

“Does it scare you?” George asked. 

You plated the bacon and eggs and merely shrugged, “Sometimes. I don’t know their stories or why they’re here…what exactly led them to be a part of this without their knowledge. I can only hope that the husbands did it for the right reasons.” 

Your two plates clinked gently against the island countertop as you set them between you. 

“Besides,” you continued, “all I need to worry about is you and me. And our baby.” 

George broke into a grin and he leaned in to kiss you sweetly. 

“I know that we’re here for the right reasons.” you rubbed your hand up his chest and around the back of his neck, staring adoringly into his soft blue eyes.

“And that’s all that matters,” he agreed. “You and me.”

“You and me.” you nodded, pulling his lips on yours for another quick kiss. “And baby.”

“And baby.” he whispered happily. “Still so crazy…going to have to get used to that.” 

“I know.” you fed him a piece of bacon, “It’s only been months and months of trying and waiting.” 

“Are you going to start telling people today?”

“Should I?”

“If you want to.”

You took a bite of bacon for yourself, staring back at him with a sweet smile you couldn’t hold back, “Okay. Maybe I will.” 

Breakfast was eaten in close proximity, taking second rank of importance behind lovable kisses and whispers of excitement and adoration for each other and your growing family. George took one more piece of bacon for the road before he was grabbing his lunch tin and you were following him to the front door to say your goodbyes. 

“I really don’t want you to go.” you whispered, standing in the warm morning light of the foyer with your arms around his waist as he shrugged on his jacket. 

“I know, darling.” George smiled sadly. “But now more than ever it’s imperative that I go every day.”

“I know.” you sighed. “I love you for that.”

George held your face in his hands and pulled your lips to his for a brief kiss before telling you honestly, “I hate leaving.”

“I know.”

You shared another kiss as he insisted, “It’s the worst.”

“Mhm.”

“It’s scary sometimes.” 

“I know.” you leaned into him to capture his lips with yours in a lingering chasté kiss. 

He sighed into it through his nose, gently sliding his hands from your face down your shoulders and arms, and as he broke your kiss, he guided your hands out from around his waist. You laced your fingers together lazily between you and kissed him once more. 

“We’ll be waiting.” you promised. 

George’s melancholy expression pricked into a smile and he took one hand from yours to dust over the front of the sweatshirt you wore and then dip under the hem, caressing your warm skin lovingly. 

“Can’t wait until you start showing.” 

“Me neither.” you gushed, holding up your sweater for him as you both stared down at what was to become your baby, fingers of your other hands still linked together. 

George sunk down onto his knees and he gently slid his hands around your waist to press warmly against your back to pull you close. He dusted a sweet kiss to your stomach, right under your belly button, caressing your skin with his gentle loving hands, and you would have absolutely swooned. 

“Bye bye, my little one. Be good to mummy today.”

As he stood up, he gave you a smooth kiss next that you were both smiling into. 

“I love you.” you grinned adoringly. 

“I love you.” he promised, his eyes skimming across your make-up free face as if you were the most beautiful thing he had seen in his life, “See you tonight.”

“See you.” you breathed, letting him slip away from you and out the front door. 

You stood on the porch and waved him goodbye as he pulled the car out of the driveway and made his daily drive down your street among the line of fellow men as they journeyed to work together in a single file line.

George whistled happily in his car as the morning breeze took him to the outskirts of the neighbourhood and towards the vast desert landscape that framed your little oasis. With one arm resting on the open window beside him, he coasted in the steady lineup of cars that navigated towards the highly confidential headquarters where all the local men were to report for work at precisely 9am every morning. He hated leaving you but only more so now that you had both found out that you were finally expecting. On the other hand, it only proved to himself that his responsibility to attend his daily expectations was of the utmost importance. 

As the glass structure atop the desert mountains grew closer on his approach, his car radio crackled to life with the expected daily recording. 

“All male citizens on route to headquarters. Schedule is one time.” 

George absolutely dreaded the idea of leaving you but he had a duty to withhold that allowed you to live your life together in your ideal oasis that was already starting to give you everything you ever wanted. So he took the drive without complaint as the road turned into the steep mountainous climb towards the building overseeing the guarded little castaway town. 

The radio spoke again with the voice of the mayor, “Security risk is low. All units expected to pass without fault. Arriving at the gate in 3…2…1-”

George’s chest gasped for air as his vision burst from light into the darkness that surrounded him, staring up into the dizzying patterns of light that were projected onto the ceiling above. He reached towards his face and carefully removed the metal clamps from his eye sockets and blinked feverishly a few times as the moisture re-settled over his irises. The wavering sound of white noise that filled the darkened room was almost invisible to him now and as he sat himself up in the bed and stretched his arms over his head and twisted his spine until it cracked in relief, he was unbothered by it. 

On his left, laying flat beside him, you laid peacefully, staring at the ceiling. The same clamps that he had been wearing also kept your eyes open, staring blankly up to the dark ceiling and the projection of light patterns that kept you stagnant. George shifted to face you on the bed and leaned down to kiss your pale cheek and caress your arm with the back of his finger. 

“I’m here, love.” he whispered, his voice slightly hoarse, “I’m still right here with you.”

Leaving you in place, he slowly got up from the bed and let his bare feet touch the cold wood floor beneath him as he opened the blackout curtains that framed the bed. The room was still pitch black outside of the canopy bed thanks to the extra safety barrier of curtains that covered each drafty window. You couldn’t be too safe. 

The floorboards creaked under George’s every step as he navigated the bedroom like he would every weekday and he pulled open the curtains from over one of the corner windows, allowing the room to be illuminated sufficiently by the morning sun. His eyes burned as the stream of bright light came flooding in and he rubbed his eyes with his fists as he once again became adjusted to the reality that surrounded him. 

The sunlight guided him to the nearby dust filled table in the corner of the room where he nudged a few of the dated newspapers and magazines to the side, ignoring the way the oldest copy of the Daily Mirror peeked out from the bottom of the pile with a headline that he always avoided looking at and yet couldn’t stomach throwing away. 

MAN & WOMAN DEAD IN TRAGIC DUAL SUICIDE

Your wedding picture was printed in black and white just below. 

George flipped open his notebook and sat down on the rickey wooden chair to write the date at the top of the fresh page and then recorded his physical status. He took his height, weight, heart-rate, and blood pressure and then did the same for you - all but weight - as you laid limpy on the bed. He scribbled the numbers down carefully and made sure to check you twice just to make sure everything was as it should be - especially since you were now in such delicate condition back in your perfect oasis. He couldn’t afford a single thing to go wrong. You were counting on him after all. 

“Perfect numbers today, darling.” George whispered to you as he closed his notebook and capped his pen, returning them both to the messy table across the room. 

Having been in only his boxers, George grabbed a folded sweatshirt from the bin under the table and pulled it on to brave against the chilly Scottish air that helped itself through the beams of the worn log cabin otherwise protecting you from the elements. He stepped out of the bedroom and made his way down the narrow hallway to the quaint and virtually untouched kitchen and living room area. The well water collection from Monday still sat on the counter and he scooped himself a glass of water to rehydrate for a moment as he took in the scenic views through the large tinted windows. 

Miles of lush forest sprawled in all directions for as far as he could see and after so long, he had started to forget which way was north or even which way civilization was. The Scottish highlands and forests were your only protection. Sometimes he wished you were able to watch the sunrise with him over the mountain peaks ever again but he had to force himself to stop missing what could be and focus on what now is. Your life was perfect together. Just you and him. 

Never permitted to set foot outside the cabin, George took the stairs down to the cellar and patted barefoot across the stone floor in the dark until he reached the sliver of light that peeked through the cellar door from outside. Hidden beneath the shallow stairs that led to the fresh air, a grey bin sat in the pitch black.

George knew the routine well so his eyes didn’t need time to focus as he crouched under the stairs and shuffled through the bin in the dark. The rustle of grocery bags drew his hands in and he lifted them up and out of the hiding spot to take back upstairs. He only reached back in for the final item - a small bouquet of flowers still wrapped in cellophane from the store. 

With a soft smile on his face, George took his time returning to the kitchen and he set his delivery on the stone countertop. The first bag contained a few food items for him such as non-perishable canned beans, peas, and cooked pastas in tomato sauce as well as a new bar of soap, a razor, and a few more similar necessities. The second bag contained a sealed medical kit in which George found needles, gause, tape, and rubbing alcohol. The medical bag of clear liquid was carefully wrapped in a clean towel alongside it. 

George organized the supplies into piles and then lifted up the bouquet of flowers again, pulling down the cellophane slightly to get a good look at the mix of brightly-colored tulips, peonies, roses, and hydrangeas nestled in a halo of baby's breath and greenery. He raised it to his nose to take a deep inhale, savouring the heavenly scent of fresh flowers. 

The card that was nestled within the flowers called his attention and he opened the little blank envelope to pull out the message inside. 

Happy anniversary 🤍

He always requested weekly flowers from his sister in order to keep some sense of romantic normalcy in your changing lives together but her little sneaky addition of the card brought a tearful smile to his face. He had almost forgotten your anniversary among the strange twists of life and time. Life in your new home was different than in the physical world…both in reality and the linear flow of time. He would have to make a point to buy you something in the shops on his drive back to your shared home that evening. 

But the generosity of his older sister never went unnoticed and he thanked the stars that he turned to her to keep your biggest secret. You had allowed George to choose the one person who would be your supplier for virtually the rest of your lives in hiding since he would be the one between the two of you who would return to the real world almost daily. It wasn’t a small ask to have her be the only person in the world to know your whereabouts and your story - to hide that from your families and friends as they grieved what they thought was your tragic and sudden death - but she was your most trustworthy and safest bet. Her devotion to her brother and you - her sister-in-law - was monumental and she managed to deliver the necessities to your secret hideaway twice a week like clockwork. George never knew how he would ever repay her. 

George took his time freshening up with the water from the well, sparingly rinsing himself off with soap and a washcloth before shaving over the bone dry bathroom sink to get the best look he could of himself in the grimy and cracked mirror. Even if you would never see him in person again, he always wanted to look his best for you. 

Then it was your turn and he took the bags back to your bedroom and set up the chair at your bedside to tend to you. You were laying perfectly still in your nightgown on the sturdy mattress with your ankles bound to the footboard and your arms resting at your sides. The IV needle was taped gently into your forearm and the bag hung on the metal pole just beside the bed, allowing a slow but steady drip of calorie-rich medicated liquid to keep your body fed and nourished while you laid in your stagnant state. 

George first replaced the flowers in the vase beside your bed, removing the week-old ones for the fresh ones that had been delivered by his sister. He refilled their water and arranged them nicely and spoke to you quietly about how nice they looked and how pretty they smelled. 

With washed hands and wearing medical gloves just to be extra cautious, George gently pulled the tape away from your skin and twisted off the IV drip from the needle that stayed nestled in your forearm. He wiped the area with rubbing alcohol to disinfect it and then retaped the needle in place. As he worked, he thought back to your conversation that morning and tried to imagine where the other husbands were at that moment and how they could tend to their wives like this without their consent. It nearly made George sick to think about that - about the possibility of having the one you loved most trapped there under his control for who knows how long simply for his own gain. That’s what made you and George different. You were in it together. You were in it for each other. 

With another clean cloth and the bar of soap, George gently washed down your body and rinsed you off the best he could, tending to you lovingly. He brushed your hair and your teeth and made sure you were lying comfortably even if you couldn’t feel anything. Leaning over you cautiously, he dropped a few eye drops into your still eyes to keep them moist as they were being held open by the metallic clamps. 

He then pulled out the new medical bag from the delivery from his sister and replaced it on the IV pole. He screwed in a fresh tube into the bottom of the bag and then attached the other end to the needle in your arm, double checking to make sure the drip was steady and as it should be. You only deserved the most precise treatment. 

To pass the day and keep an eye on you, he helped himself to a can of beans that he opened with a dull knife and hid the rest of the food stock away under the table in the bedroom. He sat at your bedside and ate quietly, keeping an eye on you and the IV as the minutes passed in the silence. 

When the food was done, George collected all of his garbage and any sign of life from the kitchen to hide away in an empty grocery bag in the bedroom until he would have to place it in the cellar bin for his sister to retrieve at her next stop-over. He locked the bedroom door behind him and returned to your bedside, straightening up the vase on your nightstand and he gently picked up the white music box beside it. The lid was topped with a baby blue decal of a sleeping puppy and framed in little stars and George smiled softly down at it as he turned it around in his hands to crank the tiny handle at the bottom. 

He had purchased it years ago when you were first trying for a baby, back when life was simple but the weight of its burdens rested heavy on your shoulders. Back then, it all seemed hopeful and exciting as newlyweds wanting to expand your family and George couldn’t help but buy something to surprise you on the eventual day you would find out you were pregnant. He never ended up being able to gift it to you but it stayed with him the whole time and found its rightful place in this cabin with you while you gave up your lives for your ultimate dream. 

When the music box was fully primed, he delicately turned it back around in his hands and opened the lid, letting the familiar gentle tune fill your otherwise silent cabin. He had shamefully played it a few times before when he would find himself alone during the days and waiting beside your still body just like that, maybe to hope for some sort of promise that things would work out. He never knew you could subconsciously hear him during the days when he left to tend to you like that but he found comfort in it too. Neither of you were ever truly alone. 

The soft tune played softly from the nursery music box and George helped himself to his side of the bed alongside you, resting back against the pillows to stare at you just a little longer in the patterned lights that were projected to the ceiling of your canopy bed. Soon, he would be called back by the passing of time to return to your true presence in your perfect little paradise with your growing dream tucked safely inside you. 

[coqxettee]

THAT girl Night Routine

I haven’t blogged in forever, and for that I’m truly sorry (I was in a blogging rut and just genuinely had no idea or motivation to post anything, so I’m kinda writing this not only for myself but for any of the girlies out there trying to get a structured night routine for the coming summer ༓ ☾.｡*ﾟ+.

Start your “Night Routine” at a certain time - Now the evenings are staying lighter, this can be difficult, but I’d say starting at 6:00PM or 7:00PM is a good starting time. Ideally start it after you have had your last meal of the day. Let this be the time of the day that you are going to begin to switch off and get ready to relax ♡

If you like to stretch or do yoga in the evening , do this and then do your skincare and have a shower afterwards, even if it is a quick one. It will make you feel so much more fresh and clean when you put your pyjamas on ♡

Shower - I know some girlies prefer to shower in the morning which is totally okay! And some girls shower twice a day (but of course this isn’t practical for everyone) - If you do choose to shower of an evening, make sure to use calming products. Products with lavender in, essential oils etc can also be really good because lavender has calming properties in it. Moisturise, and if your feeling extra, spray a few spritz of perfume. (I know it sounds crazy but Marilyn Monroe used to do this before bed!) If you are planning on doing a nice hairstyle the next day, prep your hair. Put your overnight curlers in or rollers ♡

Get changed into Pyjamas - *Important* make sure you are picking girly, cozy pyjamas to wear. Feeling luxury even when your just relaxing makes the biggest difference without you realising. Instead of wearing a huge baggy shirt and shorts, wear something satin or linen, something with florals or a pretty pink dressing gown. Soft materials and light pastel colours. Victoria’s Secret have some beautiful pyjamas (I love the striped one’s) and pretty satin robes too. There’s no better feeling than getting out the shower and putting on fresh pyjamas for the evening. A cute fluffy pair of slippers or socks is perfect too ♡

Take off your makeup and do your skincare - *So important* Don’t ever go to bed with makeup on and don’t ever skip your skincare routine. I know (trust me) how tempting it can be to just go straight to bed, but your skin with thank you in the long run and so will you when you wake up in the morning. Spend time with your skincare and try not to think of it as a *chore*. It’s taking care of yourself! So cherish that ♡

Set the evening mood - Tidy your room once more (so your not waking up to a cluttered space), light a candle, switch on fairy-lights. Do whatever you need to, to make your room or space around you more cozy. Main lights in the evening are a no-go. They wake you up and don’t let your eyes or body relax. Soft lighting is key, maybe spritz your room with a relaxing lavender room spray, get your bed ready too. Fluff the pillows, spray pillow mist, set back the covers, do whatever you need to do to let your body and mind know that your getting ready to settle in for the night ♡

Limit screen time - If you are going to go on your phone/technology before bed, make sure the media you are so consuming is light and makes you feel comforted. Do not watch anything too deep that will play on your sub-conscious mind. Girly videos or vlogs are lovely to watch because they put you in such a lovely mood. I know how tempting it can be to be on your phone right up until the last minute when your eyes close. Some of us even believe we HAVE to be on our phones or be watching something, in order to get to sleep. Whilst this may be true for some people, if this is the case for you, just try one evening going to sleep without looking at a screen. I try to limit screen time 2 hours before bed, and don’t look at my phone 45 minutes before sleeping ♡

Journal/reflect/plan - Evening’s are a perfect time to journal about your day in your diary, write out some journal prompts and make your to-do list for the next day. To be an organised girly you have to know what the next day is going to bring, so making a to-do list so you can make the most of your time is key to a successful and productive day ♡

Meditate - I know meditation is not for everyone, but I myself try to meditate once every day, and the lasting effect it can have on your mental health is so impactful and really a beautiful thing. It helps us rationalise things, put our brains to sleep and sets us in a calm and tranquil state for the evening ♡

Make a warm drink - We give babies warm milk to help them sleep and with us, it’s not really that different. milk does contain tryptophan – an amino acid which is thought to help promote feelings of sleepiness. If you don’t like milk, try chamomile/lavender tea or a hot chocolate. Something comforting that will warm you from the inside out and help with drowsiness before sleep.

Read - Hot girls read. That is a fact. But reading is not only beneficial for one’s intellect but it is such a calming and relaxed act, especially when you have a beautiful book you can escape into right before sleeping. Make sure the book you choose is once again light-hearted and is going to be something that makes you feel happy and cozy before you switch your brain off to sleep ♡

Sleep - The most important part of this routine and the reason why you have taken so much care with your evening routine. Gorgeous, gorgeous girlies get at LEAST 7-9 hours sleep every night. Sleep is one of the most important things in life, and for so many reasons, but mainly - It affects everything you do. Your brain, your sub-conscious, how you feel about yourself, your appetite, your skin & eyes, your mood and your energy levels. Absolutely everything about you is affected by sleep, so make sure you get enough. Try to sleep in darkness (or with a small light if you need one) or an eye mask, don’t forget to set an alarm for the next day too ♡

Extra evening tips:

Some important things to consider ♡

Don’t eat late before going to bed! It’s not good for you! Avoid coffee or things with sugar in as these will give your energy instead of helping you to wind down ♡

Satin bedsheets/pillow cases are perfect for protecting your skin and hair. They allow your skin to breathe and protect your hair from marsh materials which helps it to grow ♡

Call a friend/text a loved one in the evening. I love with my parents so I always spend time with my mum before going to bed, but it’s a lovely thing to check on someone before setting in for the evening ♡

Whilst limiting screen time is important, watching one episode of a comfort series or show can help you feel so happy and comforted ♡

Whilst your going about your evening routine, listen to soft girly music. Or classical music if you want more of classic vibe to your night ♡

Listen to subliminal’s overnight!! *Important* and I feel like most of us forget to. But there are so many you can listen to just overnight, and the results will be so worth it ♡

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

Sep 12th

~*~

1. In the mood for wangxian fics where:

A) Mo Xuanyu and We Wuxian are siblings/besties or any platonic relationship which makes them very close a la siblings (anything goes except fics set in CQL verse)

B) Dragonji AND dragonxian fics (if smutty then bottomxian AND non cql only)

C) werewolf wangxian (if smutty then bottomxian AND non-cql only)

D) childhood friends to lovers/growing up together/wei wuxian grows up in gusu [any AU/universe] (if smutty then bottomxian AND non cql only)

E) Soulmate AU's where elements like soulmate marks, strings, etc or any other obvious signs of having a soulmate exist (if smutty then bottomxian AND non cql only)

F) wangxian age difference fics...how much or less the age difference is doesnt matter (older lwj, if smutty then bottomxian AND non cql only)

G) what if/no war canonverse AUs (if smutty then bottomxian AND non cql only)

Thank you for all you do Mods!! <3 @stellatosparkle

1A)

what builds a home by Stratisphyre (T, 45k, WangXian, MY & WWX, Canon Divergence, Adopted WWX, POV Multiple, warning for JGS behaving exactly as expected, child endangerment, Brother Feels, Minor Character Death, [Podfic] Cold read of "what builds a home" by Stratisphyre by KeriArentikaiPods (KeriArentikai))

1D)

soft-hearted by sarahyyy (G, 6k, wangxian, alternate universe, childhood friends, hurt/comfort, getting together, first kiss, wedding fluff)

When we were small by deliciousblizzardshark (T, 7k, LXC & LQR & LWJ, LQR & WWX, WangXian, LQR & JFM, Modern, Kid Fic, Good Uncle LQR, Neurodivergent LWJ, Baby LWJ, Baby WWX, Parenthood, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, POV LQR, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort)

1E)

🔒 Bright the Day We Met by ereshai (G, 1k, WangXian, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, POV Outsider, Fluff, Supportive LXC, Soulmates)

Bleachwhite Linen by MonocerosRex (T, 44k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & WWX, JYL & WWX, JC & WWX, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, Modern, Soulmates, not the traditional kind of soulmates exactly, Hospitals, Fluff, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Touch-Starved, lwj and wwx are the softest husbands and they aren’t even together yet, Getting Together, Marriage Proposal, Sibling Bonding, handwaving medical procedure and magical systems, worldbuilding is for chumps i’m here for the sugar, Sickfic, or more like convalescence fic but that isn’t a tag, POV Multiple, Family Feels, Family Fluff, lxc is a troll and he ships wangxian so hard, wwx deserves and gets gets hugs, Sharing a Bed, Hair Washing, Sleepy Cuddles, Hugs, JYL is a queen)

it goes like this by moonsteps (T, 15k, WangXian, College/University, Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Humor, Fluff, Oblivious WWX, in which wwx is jealous… of himself, some drunken LWJ shenanigans, someone pls save JC, two idiots in love)

leading tone by silencemostofall (G, 32k, WangXian, Modern AU, Soulmates, with a lil twist, Eventual Happy Ending, Music, Orchestra, [Podfic] Leading Tone by silencemostofall by Beria1021)

pastel by antebunny (G, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Soulmates, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Self-Esteem Issues, Misunderstandings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unrequited Love, but not actually, no courtesy names)

(( 💖 nothing you confess by PorcupineGirl (T, 31k, WangXian, Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, POV Alternating, Golden Core Reveal, Depressed WWX, WWX Has PTSD, JC & LWJ Friendship, friendship may be too strong a word more like allies who are gonna love the shit outta post-burial-mounds WWX whether he likes it or not, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery) It is cql only tho, I didn't realize before adding the rec, that said I'll let it there because I know other people might find the fanfic interesting 😓 ))

1F)

Many happy returns. by orange_crushed (E, 25k, WangXian, Modern AU, Mistaken Identity, Misunderstandings, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Parent(s), Implied/Referenced Suicide, Past Suicide of a Parent, References to Depression, Anxiety, Therapy, References to Anti-Depressant Medications, Escort Service, Loneliness, Everybody’s Abandonment Issues, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Moving In Together, Oral Sex, Penetrative Sex, Hopeful Ending, Recovery, References to Escorting/Sex Work but No Actual Escorting/Sex Work)

Wangji's Beautiful Stranger by xxxMiaHikarixxx (G, 47k, WIP, WangXian Modern AU, Soulmates, older lwj, younger wwx, Minor NieLan, LWJ is So Whipped, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, Modern: No Powers, Not Jiang Family Friendly)

Like stones on an unseen board by Vir_Abelasan (Not rated, 11k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Dark LWJ, Older LWJ, Teacher LWJ, dark twin jades, Age Difference, Manipulation, Protective LWJ, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Corporal Punishment, Relatively canon-typical abusive Jiangs, WWX Get a Happy Ending, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Not Jiang Clan Friendly)

1G)

For you by 10thNoNamePerson (T, 16k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Canon Divergence, No War AU, Teen Wangxian, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Jealous WWX, Soft WangXian, No Sunshot Campaign)

Dispersing Clouds by dreamingofcake (E, 283k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Abusive YZY, Canonical Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (Background Character), Background Character Deaths, child deaths, Canon JC, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Cultivation Sect Politics, Homophobia, Heteronormativity, Feelings Realization, WWX is Not Oblivious) What if the Wen clan is too busy to attack anyone & WWX has time to think about his place in the Jiang sect

Just go forward like you mean it by tawaen (M, 101k, WangXian, WWX & WN &WQ, WWX & JYL, NHS & WWX, Canon Divergence, WWx does not attend the Wen indoctrination, WWX saves Lotus Pier, Inventor WWX, No Golden Core Transfer, Sect Leader JYL, JC Has No Golden Core, Bad Parents JFM & YZY, Not JC Friendly, but he gets a happier ending than canon so don’t look here for bashing) What if WWX doesn't attend the Wen indoctrination

Righteous at a Cost by thunderwear (G, 21k, wangxian, LQR & WWX, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, no one dies, LQR finds out about WWX’s core, WWX and LQR are friends??, In My Fic?, its more likely than you think, LWJ in the bg like whats happening?, Fluff, WWX goes to Gusu, Mutual Pining, Golden Core Reveal) What if LQR finds out about WWX's missing core (note: this one is tagged as both mdzs & cql, but I don't recall any specific cql stuff in there

the breaking of your soul (upon my lips) by sunsandships (M, 40k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Mutual Pining, Golden Core Reveal, Happy Ending) What if WWX realises who the mysterious 'maiden' who kissed him is (also tagged as both mdzs & cql, but I don't recall if there's any cql stuff in there)

The Fire Lapping Up the Creek by notevenyou (E, 66k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Blood, Respiratory Illness, Major Illness, Fever, Grief/Mourning, Burial Mounds, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hunger and food scarcity, Surgery, Fix-It of Sorts) What if WWX doesn't take WN with him to Lanling (also tagged as both mdzs & cql, but I don't recall if there's any cql stuff in there)

~*~

2. Hi is there any fic about wwx sleepwalking?

Mud on Your Feet by AvoOwO (Not Rated, 59k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Nightmares, Sentient Burial Mounds, Burial Mounds, Possession, Panic Attacks, Night Terrors, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Good Sibling JC, Hurt WWX, Soft WangXian, Feels, Blood and Injury, Hallucinations, Delusions, JC Loves WWX, Insomnia, Good Sibling WWX, Sleepwalking, Sleeptalking, LWJ just wants to sleep with his husband, Protective JC, WWX Sees Dead People, LJY pulls through, POV LWJ, Cloud Recesses, PTSD, Post-Canon, YLLZ WWX, resentful energy, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Thirteen Years of WWX’s Death, WWX’s Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, WWX is tired, LWJ literally just wants to sleep with WWX again is that too much to ask for??, Soft JC, Yunmeng Siblings Feels) THE wwx sleepwalking ff

who could stay? you could stay by martyrsdaughter (G, 12k, WangXian, Meet-Cute, Modern AU, Fluff, Sleepwalking, Literal Sleeping Together, Crush at First Sight, Neighbors)

~*~

3. I'm In The Mood For a fic that embraces how much of an exquisite bitch Lan Wangji can be. "You are not qualified to speak to me", etc. Please and thank you! @aralintheobsessive

the only way out by cafecliche (T, 12k, WangXian, JC & WWX, JC & LWJ, Post-Canon, this is one part character study, one part comedy of errors, and one part fix-it, WWX is a people pleaser in this essay I will, my event planning experience rearing its head again, Podfic Available)

🔒 The Second Jade of Lan’s late but incendiary sexual awakening by KizuKatana (E, 41k, wangxian, First Time, LWJ’s Horny Grip, LWJ does not know what hit him, and yet somehow he still realizes it before WWX, canon wangxian dynamics, college AU, LWJ starts off annoyed at WWX, But quickly discovers both his competency kink and a caretaking kink, Genius WWX)

🔒 Revenge is a Side Dish Best Served With Tea by merakily (G, 7k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Protective LWJ, Petty LWJ, Fluff and Humor)

💖 Nice work if you can get it by deliciousblizzardshark (M, 11k, wangxian, protective LWJ, genius LWJ, post-canon, fluff & humor, getting together, chief cultivator LWJ)

🔒Here With Me by iamwish (T, 58k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, wwx turns this into a no war!au, Canon-Typical Violence, Period-Typical Homophobia, Bad Parent YZY, POV WWX, POV LWJ, POV JC, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, WWX Has PTSD, and also depression sometimes, Unreliable Narrator, (all of them)) It's a small part of the fic, but time traveller LWJ decides to befriend JC & JYL for the sake of his future husband & his thoughts on this are hilarious

~*~

4. Hi I have an itmf request! Favorite fusion-style aus? For example wangxian fic in an AtLA setting, but more obscure crossovers are fine too

To Prepare for a Hidden Knife by liverbiver9 (T, 103k, WN/WWX/LWJ, Inspired by Mr. Queen (TV), Emperor WN, Empress WWX, Trans WWX, Gender Non-Conforming WWX, Political Intrigue, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Isekai and Transmigration, Gender Identity, Slow Burn, chapter 11 rated E but entirely skippable!, Gender Exploration, Gender Changes, Female JGY, Female NHS, Scheming NHS, Scheming JGY, Trans Female JZX, JZX & LWJ Friendship, Polyamory, BAMF WN, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Romantic Comedy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Out of character WN, I mean I don’t think he’s ooc but he certainly doesn’t follow the fanon characterization)

🔒 Season of Resurrection by Pyrrti (G, 1k, WangXian, Sky: Children of the Light Fusion, POV Multiple, Pre-Relationship, Reunions, POV LSZ, POV LWJ, POV WWX)

The Weight of the World by KouriArashi (T, 67k, WangXian, XiYao, XuanLi, Pacific Rim Fusion, Robots, Monsters, robots fighting monsters, Family, Romance, Developing Relationship, Angst, (but not about the romances), Hurt/Comfort, Politics, Happy Ending)

Across the street to another life by danegen (M, 99k, WangXian, Modern AU, unleashed au Family Fluff, Set in America, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Addiction, Crime, Amnesia, Ableist, Language, another fridged mother, POV Alternating, past wwx/ofc, past wwx/omc, Medium parent YZY, A-Yuan is wwx’s biological son, Musicians, Happy Ending)

So You Accidentally Kidnapped A Qilin by Mikkeneko (T, 83k, WangXian, Juuni Kokki | Twelve Kingdoms Fusion, mdm yu’s a+ parenting, Identity Issues, Cultivator Politics, Yin Iron Poisoning, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Feels, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, WWX Needs a Hug, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication, Getting Together, Temporary Character Death, Happy Ending, Pacifist WWX, MXTX Big Bang 2021)

our reflections as seen (when the water stills) by chatonnerie (E, 121k, WangXian, JYL/JZX, Modern, Tokyo Ghoul Fusion, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, This is a ghoul au, but everyone is also in university, so dumb energy is peak, Gore, Body Horror, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Biting, both the goryand the horny, WWX's inability to Shut Up)

Stars bring us apart (Stars pull us together) by Sixlayerhouse (sixlayerhouse) (E, 124k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, (Vaguely) Star Trek AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Psychological Trauma, PTSD, Body modifications, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Recovery, married!wangxian)

🔒 some lovely, perilous thing by varnes (E, 24k, WangXian, Inception Fusion, Criminal Associates To Lovers, Heist, Case Fic)

🔒 and having a marvelous time by varnes (E, 108k, WangXian, Yúnmèng Siblings, Sound of Music AU, (i know!!! i know. stay with me on this.), Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Family Feels, spies to lovers???, Protective Siblings, Sometimes You Just Want Your Dads To Admit They’re Your Dads, Angst with a Happy Ending, podfic of and having a marvellous time by varnes by Spinifex)

Castle in the Wastes by ailuridae (abigailnicole) (T, 41k, wangxian, Howl’s Moving Castle fusion, personified Chenqing, canon typical violence)

🔒 Half Agony, Half Hope by queenklu (T, 105k, WangXian, LXC/JGY, JC/WQ, JYL/JZX, LXC/NMJ, Jane Austen Fusion, persuasion au, Pining, Broken Engagement, Secrets, Espionage, Child Injury, Terrible Parents (YZY & JFM), Past Child Neglect)

🧡 The World We Made by updatebug (T, 80k, WangXian, Modern AU, The Old Guard fusion, Immortals, Immortal LWJ, Angst with a Happy Ending, Junior Quartet is the best Quartet, JYL is the best, NMJ Lives, Reincarnation, The Old Guard AU, Temporary Character Death)

🔒 the red dark shifting by typefortydeductions (E, 15k, WangXian, Star Trek Fusion, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Ambiguous/Open Ending, But it will be ok, PTSD, Nightmares, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Mild Gore, Tarsus IV, mentions of medical procedures, attempting to accept the love you deserve, pangs!)

Beneath The Skin by daltoneering (E, 40k, WangXian, Fairytale Retelling, Canon Adjacent, Beauty and the Beast AU, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, farmer LWJ, he has a braid and the fact that everyone knows this is very important to me, Chronic Illness, (not any of the MCS), sad LWJ, LQR is in this purely as a plot device, vague background nielan, One-Sided XiYao, JGY is a real creep in this im sorry but someone had to be gaston, Dark WWX, WWX: master of crows agenda, self-worth issues like woah, Blood, Body Horror, Crows galore, this is incredibly gothic and melancholic don't @ me, Drugging, Canon-Typical Violence, Smut, Anal Sex, Some questionable worldbuilding, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, (or in wwx's case), (loved), LWJ POV, please read a/n for further warnings)

I will be chasing a starlight by feyburner, sundiscus (E, 71k, WangXian, Star Trek Fusion, Vulcan LWJ, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Eventual Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pon Farr, Mind Meld, Fuck Or Die, Anal Sex, Hurt/Comfort)

~*~

5. hii this is for itmf!

I'm sure someone has already asked for this before 😅

fics which focus on, or significantly mention, lwj raising a-yuan after he gets whipped, like while being heavily injured (no wips if possible 😅)

ty! @bunnycoffeeumcat

🔒 the map of days by everythingispoetry (M, 20k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Permanent Injury, Recovery, Disability, Parenthood, Character Study, Thirteen Years of WWX’s Death)

Gathered Herbs & Sweet Grasses by hansbekhart (Not Rated, 19k, LSZ & LWJ, WangXian, dad wangji, LWJ’s Questionable Parenting Skills, Grief/Mourning, Recovery, Injury Recovery, Hopeful Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Gathered Herbs & Sweet Grasses [podfic] by someplacelikebolivia)

Inquiry by incendir (G, 10k, LSZ & LWJ, WangXian)

🔒 no new age Series by everythingispoetry (M/T, 145k, WangXian, XiYao, NieLan, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Permanent Injury, Recovery, Disability, Parenthood, Character Study, Thirteen Years of WWX's Death, Growing Up, Family Dynamics, Self-Discovery, Mental Health Issues, Grief/Mourning, Families of Choice, Developing Relationship)

Meet you at a different place by tawaen (M, 57k, WangXian, Ghost General WN, Ghost WQ, Canon Divergence, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Wen Remnants Deserve Better, Sīsī Deserves Better, MXY Deserves Better, POV WQ) It's not a major part, but as soon as LWJ finds out WQ is trying to help piece together the fragments of WWX's soul, he insists on tagging along on the quest with LSZ, despite his injuries

~*~

6. In the mood for: I wonder if there is some fic where Lan Zhan dies at that cliff battle instead of Wei Wuxian. Or maybe if they both die there together. And then someone would ressurect them both. That would be really interesting to read.

💖 Regrets by antebunny (G, 37k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Time Travel, Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Angst, Explicit Descriptions of Love, and other squishy feelings, Angst with a Happy Ending) LWJ accidentally kills WWX during the fight & they both find themselves back in time during CRSA

🔒 Turnabout and Start Again by runningondreams (T, 34k, WIP, WangXian, Temporary Character Death, Role Reversal, Soulmates, Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, SuicideI, mprisonment, Violence, Minor Character Death, Mild Gore, Pining, Identity Issues, Getting Together, Happy Ending) this is similar, LWJ isn't present for the First Siege of the Burial Mounds but due to a soulmate bond, he dies instead of WWX. 13 years later, he's resurrected. (It's a WIP and hasn't been updated since 2020, but well worth reading anyway IMO)

~*~

7. Hi! Do you have wwx and nhs friendship in comp fic? If not, i think you could consider adding that to the upcoming comp fic list (We can add it but I'll also add it here in a Itmf for you ^^ - Mod C)

Story-Shaped by lingering_song (T, 13k, NHS & WWX, wangxian, Post-Canon, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Inventor WWX, Found Family, NHS needs a new hobby, And apparently that’s spoiling his Wei-Xiong, Mentioned Character Death, Alcohol, Protective NHS, WangXian Endgame, Not JC Friendly, Not particularly gentry sects friendly overall tbh)

while covered in mud by merthurlin (T, 12k, NHS & WWX, NHS & NMJ, NHS & Wen remnants, mentioned wangxian, canon divergence, fix-it, NHS goes farming and Hates It)

I Have Arranged to Tie You to Me by xxxMiaHikarixxx (G, 82k, WIP, WangXian, Lan protective team, Time Travel, Past, LWJ oriented, Arranged Marriage, Boys In Love, Soulmates, Fix-It, Jiang siblings, not jiang parents friendly, Soft LWJ, Protective LWJ, Genius WWX)

Gone Shopping by nirejseki (G, 2k, NHS & WWX, WangXian, Crack, Post-Canon, Mad Scientist WWX, Too Clever For His Own Good NHS, WWX is High INT Low Attention Span, WWX Joins the Nie Sect, Sort Of)

The Core Issue by Hauntcats (T, 21k, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Canon Divergence) WWX reaches out to NHS while living in the Burial Mounds

IF by Remma3760 (Not Rated, 94k, WangXian, QingJue, Aftermath of Violence, Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, Fix-It of Sorts, BAMF LWJ, Golden Core Reveal) NMJ decides to give sanctuary to the Wen Remnants, so WWX & LWJ stay in the Unclean Realm & spend a lot of time with NHS

~*~

8. Hi! This is for ITMF

A) Age reversal. Like nhs is the older sibling or jyl is the youngest, etc

B) Role reversal. Like sect leader jyl, wwx is a weak cultivator, instead of jyl and jzx it was wwx and lwj who are in arrange marriage, etc

C) Personality swap. Like between yunmeng trio, etc

Thanks! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

8A)

Role Reversal series by Cosmic_Biscuit (T, 13k, NHS & NMJ, JGY/NHS, JGY & XY, NHS/WRH, Major Character Death, Age Swap, Dysfunctional Family, Murder, Necromancy, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Nightmares, Mixed Adaptation, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, One-Sided Attraction, NMJ Is This Close To Committing Murder, Assassination Plot(s), Implied/Referenced Abuse, Gallows Humor, Character Undeath, First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, Family Dynamics, NHS Stress Cooks, Pre-Relationship, Developing Relationship Protective Siblings Terminal Illnesses Implied/Referenced, Euthenasia, Angst and Feels, Murder Implications, Canonical Character Death, Politics, In Which Everything Goes To Hell, Verbal Abuse, Reunions, Assassination, Wakes & Funerals, Intrigue, Undead, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Family Issues, Sibling Rivalry, Of The One-Sided Sort, Period Typical Attitudes, Implied Favoritism, Family Drama, Baby Steps To Reconciliation, Sibling Bonding, Fluff and Angst, Sick Character)

🔒 Wooden Sabers and Paintbrushes series by East_Of_Akkala (T, 11k, NHS & NMJ, NHS & LXC, NHS & Sect Leaser Nie, Age Changes, Age Swap, Sect Leader NHS, NHS is da-ge, Onesided XiSang, Fluff, Light Angst, Brotherly Love, POV LXC, NMJ gets a birth name as a treat, Humor, Canon Divergence, Light XiSang, Light NieYao, POV NMJ, NHS gets a birth name as a treat, Nie Siblings Feels, Nie Siblings Dynamics, Scheming NHS, POV NHS, NHS-centric, Violence, Qi-Deviations, Mental Instability, Character Death)

Three Figures on Your Heart (all of them will be me) by MarsDiogenes (M, 6k, LXC/NHS, slight LWJ/NHS, WangXian, WIP, Age Swap, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort)

🔒 Nie Huaisang's Guide to Political Nonsense by Tavina (M, 58k, NHS & NMJ, NHS & WX, NHS & JGY, NHS & WQ, NHS & WRH, NHS/WX/OFC, Sect Leader Nie & NHS, NHS & LQR, Canon Divergence, NHS-centric, BAMF NHS, Scheming NHS, Nie Brothers Age Swap AU, NHS Needs a Hug, NMJ Needs a Hug, Intergenerational Trauma, Politics, Poison, Medical Conditions, Hiding Medical Issues, Chronic Pain, The Da-ge!NHS Agenda, there’s a Nie-zongzhu loose in the jianghu, NMJ & JZX Friendship Agenda, Wildly Inaccurate Qi Deviation Lore, Unconventional Relationship, Polyamory Negotiations, Age Swap, Mental Health Issues, Entire Nie Sect Needs a Hug, LQR Needs a Pay Raise and a Spa Day, JGY is a Mess, JGY is deeply long suffering, Pray for WX, WRH is his own warning tbh, Everyone's Obsessive Sibling Feelings, NHS Jianghu Goose Agenda, POV Outsider)

~*~

9. Can I submit an I'm in the mood for? Fem Wei Wuxian and fem Lan Wangji? @starrie-amethyst

A Touch To Calm This Aching Heart by Multifacetedinterests (E, 12k, wangxian, F/F, fox WWX, dragon LWJ, fem!wangxian, not YZY friendly, face slapping, touchstarved, emotional manipulation, enemies to lovers, miscommunication, hurt/comfort, non-con collar usage, smut)

~*~

10. Hii, this is an ITMF req/question:

Do you know any fics that address wangji’s punishment after wuxian has been cleared of crimes and/or the elders realizing they were wrong all those years ago

~*~

11. Heloooooo can you please give me badass mafia fics where everyone EVERYONE except Wei Ying is mafia/ gangster/ underworld person. I don't mind Jiang bashing, but I'd like reading good Jiang fics too ✨✨ @constellationdks

~*~

12. Hi! This is for ITMF. An aftermath of sunshot campign where wwx is not in sunshot side. Like he is a hostage/a wen weapon/a wen soldier. Something like Make Me Your Villain by YilingSani or At the end of the winter, I met you who became the spring by abCEE

Thanks! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

burning camellias by AvoOwO (M, 284k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Prisoner of War, Genius WWX, Aftermath of Torture, Blood and Violence, Blood and Injury, BAMF WQ, BAMF WWX, BAMF WN, POV WWX, Hurt WWX, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Sentient Burial Mounds, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Attempted Sexual Assault, No Golden Core Transfer, WWX Has No Golden Core, Golden Core Destruction | Golden Core Melting, Poisoning, Protective WQ, Medical Torture, Cannibalism, PTSD, Dubious Consent Consent Issues, Heavy Angst, MIND THE TAGS) please mind the tags

~*~

13. Hello! I have a request for the next itmf.

I'm in the mood for

A) longer omegaverse wangxian that explores politics of the cultivation world

B) preferably longer (20k and above) post-Sunshot Campaign fic that focuses on Wei Wuxian and his mental health, his relationships with other people (can be the Jiangs, Nie Huaisang, Wen sibling or others) and Lan Wangji. It would be awesome if the Lans or the Nies found out about his golden core.

Thank you so much for all your hard work! @broodyelii

13A)

and the calm is deep where the quiet waters flow by izanyas (E, 321k, WIP, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, Rape Recovery, Unplanned Pregnancy, Discrimination, Slow Burn, the slowest burn imaginable, Violence/Gore, Child Abuse, Suicide, post-partum depression, a painful but gentle journey into the intricacies of bodily autonomy) mind the tags

13B)

Field Trips with Wei Wuxian by antebunny (G, 42k, WangXian, WQ & WWX, NMJ & WWX, JZX & WWX, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Found Family, Angst with a Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, protective Jiang siblings, Unreliable Narrator, due to WWX assuming ppl hate him, JYL is gonna dropkick her baby bro into having friends)

Practical Considerations by teawater, the_anthropologist (E, 97k, WangXian, JC & WWX, LXC & WWX, LQR & WWX, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Found Family, Spouses to Lovers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Politics, Scheming, Lán Elders are assholes, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, eventually BAMF LXC, learning to make decisions, Learning Self-worth, Self-Esteem Issues, Sweet Wangxian, Domestic Fluff, Fix-It, JC is a big asshole, he improves somewhat but it's open-ended, WWX learns to stand up for himself, Quote: Come Back to Gusu With Me, POV wwx, POV LWJ, POV JC, Golden Core Reveal, Teacher wwx, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Post-Sunshot Campaign, WWX Protection Squad, Feelings Realization, WWX protector of the twin jades, Protective LWJ, Protective WWX, Protective LQR, Demonic Cultivator WWX, WWX is Loved, Married WangXian, Genius WWX, Everybody Lives)

Weep You No More, Sad Fountains by athena_crikey (T, 59k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & JGY, Canon Divergence, Fix-it fic, Whump, Curses, Fever, Delirium, Stabbing, Loneliness, Confessions, LWJ’s emotional repression, WWX giving everything as always, LXC realising sympathy is not support, LQR Being an Asshole)

Grave dirt by esama (T, 92k, WangXian, canon divergence, yiling wei sect au, demonic cultivation, farming, found family, pre-slash, politics, fix-it of sorts)

The Fire Lapping Up the Creek, the breaking of your soul (upon my lips), The Core Issue, & IF that I've linked above for other requests probably also work for this request (links in 1G & 7)

~*~

14. I'm looking for fanfics where Wei Ying dies in Guanyin Temple

~*~

15. Hiiii, how are y’all doing? Today itmf three things, hopefully at least one already exists:

A) jfm makes wwx sect heir right before indoctrination so he has to go and jc can stay behind

B) jyl confronts her brother for the position of sect leader with the support of the sect

C) jc is the one who pushes wwx away from danger in nightless city

I hope your day/night is going great. Tyvm!

~*~

16. Hello, Itmf works, where Wei Ying is living in extreme poverty in his adulthood and his brilliant mind can't provide him with means, because government is blocking all the ways for his case or he is an invalid ( permanent injury or severe chronic illness). Second option in modern settings is preferable.

I've already read the one where he stock counts the warehouse with lan zhan and the one where he lives in school and lqr finds him and the one where he is living in the veteran house.

Any other suggestions are welcome 🤗 Thank you!

~*~

17. I’m itmf something where wwx or lwj can read the others mind in some way- either thru like a cherry magic au or a curse or anything, just something where one or both is aware of the others thoughts and they work thru their communication issues lmao

beneath six layers of silk by darkredloveknot (enheduane) (E, 12k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Getting Together, Confessions, Curses, Embarrassment, Vulnerability, Swearing, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Honesty, Communication, beneath six layers of silk by darkredloveknot [podfic] by Rhea314 (Rhea) )

🔒 the language of flowers and silent things series by Reverie (cl410) (M, 107k, WangXian, LXC/NMJ, LWJ & Madam Lan, NHS & LWJ, LWJ & LXC, LWJ & NMJ, LWJ & NHS Friendship, Developing Relationship, POV LWJ, Minor Injuries, Autistic LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, aka the YZY warning, Genius WWX, Light Angst And Hurt/Comfort, WWX Protection Squad, Gusu Lan Sect, Slow Burn, Protective LWJ, LWJ-centric, Politics, Canon Divergence, No Sunshot Campaign, Cultivation Sect Politics, Protective WWX)

Rarely Pure and Never Simple by thunderwear (Not Rated, 3k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Truth Spells, Curses, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Post CQL, Getting Together)

So Why Not Crack Your Skull When the Mind Swells by greenteafiend (E, 13k, wangxian, Hurt/Comfort, Curses, Case Fic, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Confessions, Drunkenness)

Too Beautiful For Words, Will My Thoughts Suffice? by Watermelonsmellinfellon (T, 8k, wangxian, fluff, crushes, flirting, telepathy, falling in love, LWJ pov, drama, golden core reveal)

My Heart is Yours to Fill or Burst by anancites (E, 67k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Inspired By Cherry Magic, Telepathy, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Major Character Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Cherry Magic AU)

💖 Blossom by triedunture (E, 26k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Curses, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, virgin LWJ, Touch-Starved, Telepathy, Cherry Magic AU, Misunderstandings, Angst with a Happy Ending, sad masturbation, First Time, canon typical self harm, Bisexual Disaster WWX)

i'm the one for your fire by occultings (microcomets) (E, 43k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Mind Reading, Enemies to Lovers, it's only enemies to lovers in WWX's one braincell, Misunderstandings, Compulsory Heterosexuality, Whump, brief illness/injury, Pining, light bdsm in the first chap, Cherry Magic AU, Getting Together, Podfic Available)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[lady-of-tearshed]

Stupid Spring! Stupid allergies!

Lucien Vanserra x Reader

A/N: I'm currently suffering from allergies AND asthma. So I'm making it Lucien's problem. Bear with me, I wrote this with 4 hours of sleep. 🫡💕

Sumarry: You are visiting Lucien's old friend in Spring Court. Only, your allergies are being a pain in the ass, and you can't wait to get the fuck away from this Court of Sneezes and Tissues.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: None.

Divider made by @saradika-graphics 💕

Your eyes were dry from staring at the turning clock hands centered on the tapestry covered walls. You turned your head to the side of the bed, throwing an accusatory grimace at the extravagant pollen nest. People would most likely call that pollen nest a colorful and pleasant smelling bouquet of extravagant looking flowers, but to you, it was just a fucking pollen nest. And a big pain in your ass, considering your allergies and unbearable asthma. You take a deep breath and roll out of bed, sniffling. You shove the bouquet out of their vase, and carry it towards their tragic fate. You open up the window as quickly as possible, and throw them out of the window, closing it back before any pollen could sneak in. You look over Lucien’s side of the bed, and spot another one of this enemy's hideout. You yank the bunch of sadly beautiful flowers, almost making the vase smash onto the ground, and give that bouquet the same fate the other one succumbed from. You peer over the window, at the piled up flowers, and silently clasp your hand in content. You close the window, once again, and as if the flowers were getting revenge on you, despite their absence, you sneeze, and mutter a curse. 

The softness of the linen sheets welcomed you back in bed, and if it weren’t from those allergy symptoms, you would’ve fallen asleep like a baby, just like Lucien was. You roll on your side, staring at his beautiful features, and you sigh in content at the sight of him. You wiggled closer to him, watching his chest fall and rise, his lips slightly parted, and take in his scent. He smelled just like usual, but there was an additional smell of mint lingering on him, probably because he brushed his teeth before bed. His body was hot, so hot… He was hot in every sense of the word, actually. His thigh muscles looked like they had been carved by the Cauldron itself, you ran your fingers along those, his golden-brown skin shone under the moonlight filtering through the curtains. He shivered and grumbled as your hand started stroking his delicious thigh, and you can’t help but pout and pull your hand away at how grumpy your mate was when asleep. You took an exaggerated loud sigh, hoping Lucien would stir from his peaceful slumber to accompany you through your insomnia. 

“Lu,” You whisper through the silence at your first failed attempt to obtain his attention. The constant ticking of the clock echoed through the ridiculously huge bedroom of Tamlin's manor, it was the only sound breaking through the silence as you waited fo Lucien’s russet eye or golden prosthesis to open. That idiotic redhead was peacefully snoring beside you, and you swore that you could see drool pooling from his soft lips with the rising daylight that filtered through the pastel colored curtains. “Lu,” You whispered again, shaking your mate's shoulder a little to wake him up. Why wake him up? You didn't know. Maybe you just wanted him to suffer from the same lack of sleep he was putting you through by forcing you to come here, only to visit his old friend. It felt as if your nose was filled with snot, and your eyes filled with sand. How could something as small as stupid pollen make you feel as if you were on the verge of dying from the lack of oxygen properly entering your lungs? You gently nibble on Lucien's ear, and he grumbles, clicking his tongue and shoving his hand in the air as if he was chasing away a fly. “Sleep.” He whines sleepily, and you scoff. “Sleep?! You think I can sleep?!” 

He rolls on his side and yanks you into his arms, he wraps them around your waist, making sure to not crush your lungs. “M'love… You took those allergies and sleep tonics before bed, there's not much I can do even if you pull me out of the peaceful land of dreams,” You gasp out an offended sound, and Lucien sighs, just wanting to knock that dramatic attitude out of you and fall back asleep. “So what, when our children will be sick and need you in the future you'll just drug them and sleep through it?!” He narrowed one eye open at your slightly frustrated tone, a lazy grin appears on his face. “Love, we don't have children. You said you didn't even want them yet. Changing your mind now?” He purred, snuggling his face in your neck. You tried to scoot away from his embrace, but Lucien wasn't having it. The more you tried to wiggle out of his grip, the more his fingers mercilessly tickled your ribs. “Nope! I'm certainly not changing my mind so soon about having children. Lu- Stop it!” You wheezed, trying to hold back your chuckles because you knew that would only fuel him to continue. 

“Alright, alright. Now be a good girl and close those pretty eyes,” He locks his arms around your waist, holding your back tightly against his chest and pressing a lazy kiss at the top of your head, “We'll be taking our leave tomorrow, I'll inform Tamlin that my precious and strong mate has succumbed to pollen.” You mimic Lucien’s annoying tone under your breath, but his Fae ear caught your voice. “What was that?” He challenges you to do it again, but you only growl in defeat, sneezing once more. “That’s what I thought. Good night, I love you, my beautiful flower full of pollen.” He snickered, proud of the nickname he just now made up to tease you. You cross your arms, but bring one of his hands to kiss his knuckles, even if your cheeks were bright red from his constant mockeries. “Love you too, my big pain in the ass.” “Your very lovely ass.” He added, before falling asleep in a heartbeat. How fucking lucky he was to easily fall asleep like that, you thought. 

—

You stared blankly at the steaming mug of black coffee in front of you, and poured a ridiculous amount of maple syrup in it. Your eyes dart up in Tamlin's direction when you hear his choked laugh coming from his side of the table. As delighted you were to hear that spark of happiness coming back to your mate's dearest friend, you couldn't help that dark stare directed to him, matching the dark circles looming underneath your puffy eyelids. “Slept well?” “Wonderfully.” You and Lucien answer at the same time, the read-head's voice sounding way more cheery than your sarcastic and raspy one. You continued to eat in silence, and you kicked Lucien’s feet from under the table as if to say “tell him!”. Lucien cleared his throat, and spoke up, “We’re leaving for Dawn today, to visit Nuan.” Tamlin noded, a wicked smirk growing at the corner of his lips. “That’s wonderful, I’m sure Thesan and Nuan will be delighted to see you again and meet your mate, Lucien,” He bit his lip to stifle a laugh, and by the glimmer that shone in the High Lord’s irises, he knew that he was about to tease you a little. Tamlin's cheerful voice rang again, “I heard that they had trouble with pollen lately, too. There have been high winds in spring lately, and it might’ve made the pollen travel all the way there… Unfortunately.” You drop your spoon in your coffee, almost breaking the cup as you shoot a panicked glance towards your mate. But your expression immediately turns from a troubled to an annoyed one when you notice the two Fae males bursting into a fit of laughter, tears at the corner of their eyes. “Ha.Ha. Very funny you two.” 

At least now, Tamlin was happy. And Lucien was too, because currently, his friend was healing. And getting better. 

[dancingtotuyo]

drabble. what's that i see?

Woman | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: a unexpected discovery brings Joel acceptance.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy related things, grief, acceptance, fluff?

Notes: no beta, we die like Gabe, Chris, and Paul.

If you have checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader! The final part is out now!

Words: 865

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

The sun still sits below the horizon when a hand roams over your middle and the scruff of Joel’s beard scratches your neck. You don’t bother opening your eyes, a half-assed whine leaving your lips. He chuckles softly. “Just obeyin the rules, Sweetheart. About to head out.” He kisses your cheek. 

You crane your head back, eyes opening to small slits. He smiles at you. “Be safe,” you barely manage to say. 

Joel nods, minty breath hitting your lips as he kisses you. It’s soft and gentle. It feels like a lazy morning spent in bed, meant to lull you back asleep. “Always.” He kisses your head. “See you at dinner.” 

He stops in the doorway, looking back at your sleeping form. You're seven months along now, well rounded in your middle. Your ankles and fingers are swollen. He’s noticed the slight waddle develop in your gait as well. It all makes him smile. 

You’ve been taking things one day at a time, but neither have you made any preparations for when the baby gets here. No crib. No clothes. No discussions of a name. You still need time, even though the window rapidly is closing. 

Joel thinks about it silently sometimes, especially when he can feel them moving about, the small grunts that leave you when you get a fist to the bladder or a foot in your lungs. What will the baby look like? Will they have your eyes? His smile? Will it be a boy or a girl? 

You’re unconscious before the bedroom door clicks behind him. 

Patrol has picked this neighborhood over a hundred times in the last decade, but Joel and Tommy still stop. They still rummage through a couple houses. As time goes on, people have had to get more creative. Things that once seemed useless have renewed purpose. 

Joel hasn’t been in this house before. It’s a single story. Three bedrooms by his calculation. He rummages through linen closets and dresser drawers while Tommy goes through the kitchen. He finds a couple towels. They have a few holes, presumably from moths, but they can be cut down for rags. He finds a couple bars of soap still in boxes shoved to the back of one. 

The last door is stuck. He puts his shoulder into it twice before it gives way. His breath catches the moment he takes in the space. Dust floats around, flickering in the sunlight from the intact window. A crib sits in the corner, covered in dust. The sheets are faded with tiny pink flowers and the walls painted in pastel pink. 

He takes in a deep breath, blinking back tears. It’s eerily similar to the pink he’d painted Sarah’s walls right after her birth. He’d painted it over with purple a few years later once she expressed her preference. It brings forward a whole slew of emotions that he hadn’t realized were bubbling under the surface. 

What if you were carrying a girl? Would it feel like he was replacing her? Rationally, he knew that wasn’t the case. Ellie had carved her own spot in his heart. So had Carter. Would this be different? Would biology make a difference?

Joel clears his throat, pushing away the moisture from his eyes. It’s extra dusty in here, he reasons. 

There’s no closet in the room. He opens up the dresser. Once again, Joel freezes. Light muslin swaddles miraculously untouched by time. One has little yellow flowers against white, and the other has bouquets of pink flowers that match the sheets. They each have a solid color pair to match. He picks them up, expecting them to disintegrate in his hands, but they don’t. They only release little puffs of dust into the air as he shakes them out. 

The last one catches his eye, purple butterflies. Tears gather in his eyes again. There’s a tugging in his heart. Joel has never thought much about what comes after this life even before the outbreak when there was time to do so. So much of his life has been spent focusing on survival. Wherever Sarah might be, he knows she led him here. He turns around half expecting to see her smiling at him from the corner. 

It’s empty, but he still imagines her there. There’s no doubt in his mind you’re carrying his daughter. It’s a surety in his brain, and for the first time, he’s okay with the idea of a girl. Hell, it might be the first time that he’s truly at peace with this pregnancy. She won’t be a replacement or a placeholder for Sarah, but the little sister she spent years begging for. His heart will grow, create a new space just as it did for Ellie and Carter. He knows that because he can feel her telling him that. 

Joel nods to the empty corner clearing his throat. He wipes the moisture from his eyes, shoving the swaddles into his backpack. The drawer of clothes isn't as preserved but he manages to find a few options untouched by two decades of moths and other insects.

He carefully tucks the items into his pack. He’ll give them to you when you’re ready. 

[toshidou]

you are a legend for this, and i think everyone should be personally thanking you for this absolutely massive brained, pussy altering, dick twinging idea.

wc // 1.4k

tags // 18+ ONLY, afab reader (no pronouns mentioned), bottom!Ghost, top!reader, strap on, stomach bulge, overstimulation, crying, no aftercare written but i promise simon gets all the kisses and cuddles needed after <33

Harsh sounds of wet skin slapping obscenely together echoes against the pastel painted walls of your bedroom; the low light of a full moon casting a perfect spotlight on the mattress, highlighting every rippling muscle in the back of the man who lies under you. His fingers are gripping onto loose, scrunched sheets, knuckles white and veins popping, as though his tight hold on sullied bed linen is the last frayed thread keeping his sanity together.

"Fucking shit," parted lips practically whine, shining with drool in the dim light of the darkened sky above, painting a picture you commit to memory for a lonely night where your hand is your only solace.

“Feels good to get fucked, doesn’t it baby?” You croon, fingers caressing the scarred skin of his thighs, so hot to the touch, slick with sweat and lube, “Knew you’d like this, fuckin’ knew you’d be a slut for strap.” You don’t get a verbal response, just deep, intoxicating groans that reverberate through the mattress, positively drunk on power as you watch this military enigma, this well-respected, commanding figure fall apart from under you. Because of you.

You slow your hips, leaning back on your knees just to watch the way silicone so deliciously stretches his pink rim. Hungry eyes observing just how easily it swallows every inch given to it so fucking greedily, still fluttering around the base of your strap, as though all ten inches of thick cock buried within his body wasn’t enough, as if he somehow needs more.

Simon Riley looks nothing less than pornographic when he gets fucked, skin burning red, lips parted in the perfect little ‘o’, hips wantonly canting back against yours because he can think of nothing else but how fucking incredible he feels. And it’s not at all fair, because when he leaves you for weeks on end, all you can think about is this. How taut muscle ripples under your fingertips, so sensitive to every touch against his skin, no matter how feather-light. Haunted by the way his usually baritone growl pitches up, wrecked whines replacing low grunts with every forceful thrust.

“Turn over for me baby, want to see how pretty you look when you cum on my strap.”

Solid fingers unfurl from the sheets, leaving indents in their place as he shakily attempts to turn over, the only aid you offer coming in the form of pulling the silicone cock from his abused hole with a satisfying pop, reveling in his responding disgruntled huff.

His back hits the mattress not long after, built thighs automatically spreading, coaxing you like a siren call as you shuffle ever closer, fingernails dragging from his kneecap to his inner thigh, perfect red marks left in their wake. God, he’s a vision like this. Sultry, lidded eyes stare up at you, pupils engulfing his irises, leaving only vacant black in its place, gazing at you as though you are all he’s ever needed, as though he'd kiss the ground if he knew you'd walked on it. Thick, tattooed arms come to hook under his knees, pulling up until they meet rounded pecks, resting just under perked, dusty nipples. The sight alone has you leaking, your inner thighs soaked with arousal under the thick harness straps, clit throbbing with need, unstimulated and wanting. So desperately wanting. But you hardly feel it, no fingers against your sex could even come close to the feeling of lining up a silicone tip with his presented hole, clenching lewdly around air, beckoning you to fill him to the hilt once again.

Nothing, however, could have prepared you for the sight that awaits you as the strap sinks effortlessly into his hole. Flat, muscled skin gives way to plastic, rising in the perfect imprint of your cock, growing ever larger until hips meet flush against his ass. You can’t take your eyes of it, both hands moving down to push against his distended abdomen, desperate to check if your mind is deceiving you, if your strap is actually moulding his body into a perfect fleshlight, just for you.

“Fuckin’ hell, don’t-,” A hitch in his breath as your fingers curl over the bump, ignoring the harsh twitch of his cock as it bobs above your hand, “Don’t do that, don’t wanna cum yet.”

Molten eyes flick up to meet his head on, a challenge set like steel in your mind as you withdraw your hips, palms still pressing down against his now flat stomach. Chestnut brown hair hits the pillow the second you begin to fuck him with earnest, leaning your weight on your hands just to hear the frenzied curses and pleas that fall from his pretty lips, barely able to see past his chin from where his head is thrown back.

“Who said you were only cumming once tonight, Simon?” Your words punctuated with every sharp smack of hips against his ass and inner thighs, the skin stinging red with every brutal slap. With near perfect timing, Simon’s cries pitch up to a decibel you never thought possible from him, watching with nothing less than unconstrained awe as thick streams of white coat his skin all the way up to his sternum, dripping down onto your hands, his cock twitching helplessly as he comes untouched on your strap.

But you don’t relent, not for a second. Your hips don’t falter, fucking him through his climax until he’s shaking from overstimulation, his spent cock weeping pathetically where it rests on his abdomen, cum coated hands leaving his stomach only to play torturously with the dark red head of his dick.

It takes you a moment to realise, so caught up in his pleasure that you don’t notice his chin tilt down, not until you hear it. A sniffle. One glance is all it takes to see that you’ve reduced Simon to tears, wide yearning eyes shine so perfectly in the moonlight, pretty tear tracks running down red blotched cheeks, streaming down his jugular where they pool in indented collarbones. You’ve never wanted to lick something more in your entire life, knowing without doubt that salted tears would melt to saccharine sugar on your tongue, the taste of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

The sight only spurs you on further, thrusts increasing to a near feverish pace, chasing a high that will never come for you, but you don’t care, nothing else matters in this moment more than the man who lays under you, twitching, squirming, and crying, begging for more, sobbing for less, desperate for you. You can’t choose where to look, given an impossible choice of staring at his wrecked face, or the ever-present bulge that raises at every cant of your hips, eventually settling for the latter, eyes near drilling holes into the imprint of your strap from where it’s buried within him.

Pathetic, whimpered babbles drip from Simon’s lips, his eyes unfocused, blurred by tears and blinded by overwhelming pleasure, unable to do anything but lie there and take it, take everything you’re willing to give him with no complaints, just unconditional obedience. And fuck, does it suit him, he wears submission like he’s made for it, crafted so perfectly to give everything that he is over to your trusted hands. It makes you feel like a God.

It only takes a fingertip, dragged from his balls up to his frenulum before he’s pushed over the edge once again, his red, swollen hole spasming around unyielding plastic, sucking your strap in, forcing you to remain still as weak spurts of cum drips down the bloated skin of his abs, joining dried seed from his previous climax, painting the perfect picture of bliss on his skin.

And whilst Simon lies there, chest heaving and eyes painted with pretty stars formed by unshed tears, you can’t help but lean to the side and grab your phone, capturing the moment with shaking hands.

After all, you’ll need this photo for when Simon is away again, to remind yourself that you are the only person on the face of this Earth to ever have earned his submission. To ever reduce him to a mess of his own release and tears.

And as you throw your phone to the side, lowering your chest to lay flush with his, lips meeting in a soft, adoring kiss, you know he’s all you’ll ever need and so, so much more.

[legolasbadass]

Italian Holiday

Summary: A few weeks before Richard leaves for Boston, he and Lorelei go on holiday in Italy to make the most of the summer and the time they have left together.

This story takes between the penultimate and last chapter of Office Hours and contains major spoilers for that story, so make sure you read it first!

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 3.8K

Rating: E

A/N: Hello, dear readers! You guys didn't really believe I was done writing about Richard and Lorelei, did you? I love them too much to say goodbye so soon!

So how about a fluffy (and smutty - it is Richard and Lorelei, after all 😈) story about their Italian holiday in the summer before Richard's departure to Boston? Special thanks to my dear @lathalea for her support and feedback on this one 💙 Please reblog, like, comment - I will post more chapters if there is interest!

P.S. This chapter is veeeeery smutty. You have been warned 😈

Read on AO3

A chorus of seagulls welcomes Richard and me to our Italian paradise. After a long day of travelling, I am absolutely exhausted, and the humidity takes my breath away as we make our way through the streets crowded with tourists, our suitcases rolling on the uneven cobblestones behind us. But nothing can stop me from admiring the beauty of Monterosso. 

As we walk through the Old Town's narrow streets, marvelling at the pastel-terraced houses cascading down the hillside against the cloudless azure sky, we pass by countless quaint cafes and trattorias. The hubbub of conversations mingles with the clinking of glasses as hints of garlic, tomatoes, and freshly baked bread hang in the air. My stomach suddenly growls, reminding me that I only had a meagre lunch at the airport hours ago, and I reluctantly walk away from the alluring scents. 

Richard and I rented a small flat for the week, and as we unlock the door to our sanctuary, we step into a room that embraces the essence of seaside tranquillity. Pale, billowing curtains adorn the large windows, filtering the golden sunlight that spills onto the pale green walls and the soft furnishings. Tucked into one corner next to the sitting area is a small but well-equipped kitchenette; I already look forward to cooking simple meals to enjoy on the balcony, which offers a stunning view of the sea. But right now, all I can see is the large bed adorned with white linen and plush pillows. Kicking off my shoes, I throw myself onto the bed with a relieved sigh, too exhausted from travel and the unforgiving heat to care that I am still wearing the clothes I wore on the plane and on the train. 

Behind me, Richard chuckles, then playfully pinches my bum before walking away. The patio door slides open before he calls out, “Oh wow—come look at the view!” 

“Hm,” I mumble in response, pressing my face deeper into the cool linen. 

“Lorelei.” Richard speaks my name slowly in a playful reprimand. The creaking floorboards warn me of his approach, but I am still surprised when he lifts me off the bed. 

“Richard!” I exclaim, half groaning and half giggling as he carries me onto the small balcony and sets me back on my feet. 

I gasp. Beyond the terracotta roofs of the city and the rugged cliffs to our right lies the sea, its lacy waves sparkling under the late afternoon sun. As I admire the scenery, Richard wraps his arms around me from behind, pulling me flush against him, and I smile as he presses a soft kiss atop my head. 

“I’m so happy to be here with you,” he says tenderly. 

“Me too,” I reply before turning around to face him. 

Though the view of the coastal town is mesmerizing, Richard is even more so; the wind tousles the soft waves of his hair, and the golden sun highlights the silver streaks in his beard, making it impossible for me to resist him. Raising myself on my tiptoes, I wrap my arms around his neck and press my lips to his in a languid, open-mouthed kiss. This holiday is meant to be a retreat during which we can ignore the rest of the world and our jobs and pretend like we have all the time in the world to devote to each other. And yet, as his tongue caresses mine, I am reminded that each kiss, each tender touch we share, only brings us closer to his departure.

Oblivious to my thoughts, Richard breaks the kiss and nuzzles my nose before saying, “If you keep kissing me like that we’ll never leave this place.” 

“I don’t see a problem with that,” I reply with a chuckle, causing him to smirk. 

“I’m starving, and I thought you were, too,” he points out.

“Well, I do need to take a shower before going to a restaurant…” I say as I suggestively run a hand down his chest, stopping just before the hem of his trousers. 

Richard’s eyes darken. “What a coincidence, so do I,” he replies with a mischievous grin, and before I know it, our lips meet again in a heated kiss as we stand under the water, pressed against each other in the small shower. 

***

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back and change into trainers?” Richard asks, glancing at my heels as I nearly stumble on the uneven cobblestone. 

“No,” I reply, holding onto his arm more tightly. “I want to look nice!” 

Richard frees himself from my grip to wrap his arm around my shoulders instead, pulling me close as he says, “Sweetheart, you are always the most beautiful woman in the room, regardless of what you wear.” 

I should be accustomed to his compliments by now, but I cannot help but blush. “Well, heels also make it easier to kiss you.” 

He chuckles. “Is it not attractive when I have to bend in half to reach your height?” 

“Bend in half—I’m not that short!” I retort, and our laughter echoes through the narrow street as we continue to tease each other. 

After a short walk, we arrive at a quaint restaurant with a view of the beach, now bathed in the soft pink glow of the setting sun. The scent of grilled seafood and garlic wafts through the air, enticing our senses while the waves murmur softly, providing a soothing soundtrack to the evening. We take a seat at a table outside and begin by ordering a plate of antipasti and drinks to alleviate the scorching heat. Soon, the waiter returns with our food, a colourful array of bruschetta, marinated vegetables, cheese, and olives, along with our much anticipated Aperol spritzes. I am impatient to take a long sip and dig into our food, but first, Richard raises his glass. 

“Cheers, love!” Richard says and clinks our glasses.

“Cheers!” I echo before taking a long sip of the bitter orange cocktail—the perfect remedy to the Italian heat. “Here’s to the start of our holiday!” 

He smiles softly, then reaches out for his phone. “I want to take a photo of you.”

“Why?” I ask with a frown. He knows how much I dislike having my picture taken. 

“Because I don’t ever want to forget how beautiful you are tonight.” 

Despite my embarrassment, I soften at his words and nod, offering a shy smile as he frames the shot. 

“There. Now I’ll be able to look back at this moment whenever I miss you while I’m in Boston.” I try not to let my pain show, but he catches my eyes and frowns. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said that.” 

Swallowing past the sudden tightness in my throat, I say, “It’s okay. We can talk about it. I mean—it’s such an amazing opportunity! I don’t want you to feel like you have to pretend it’s not happening for my sake.” 

Still gazing into my eyes, Richard reaches out to grab my hand, caressing my knuckles with his thumb. “I know. And thank you for being so supportive—I don’t know what I’d do without you.” We share a tender smile. “But I don’t want to stress about all that this week. While we’re here, Oxford and Harvard don’t exist. It’s just you and me.” 

“I like the sound of that,” I reply softly as I squeeze his hand, then let go to take another sip of spritz. “So, what would you like to do tomorrow?”

“We could hike to one of the other towns.”

“In this heat? Are you mad?” 

Richard chuckles as he takes a sip from his own drink. “Well, if we’re going to be drinking wine and eating pizza, pasta, and gelato all week, we have to burn calories somehow.” 

“I’m sure we can find other ways to burn calories.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively as his knees brush against mine under the table, and I have to bite my lips to stop myself from smiling. “Swimming! I meant swimming, of course.”

“Of course.” He winks, then reaches under the table to caress my thigh through the thin fabric of my dress. Gazing back into his eyes, I grab an olive and bring it to my lips, making sure to slowly lick my finger in the process. Richard swallows heavily, and I can tell he is about to say something tantalizing that will keep me frustrated for the rest of the evening—but then our waiter arrives to take our orders. 

The night unfolds in a series of lingering glances and teasing touches, and wine flows freely as we indulge in delicious food. As the last of our dessert disappears and the bill is settled, Richard wraps his arm around my waist, and we make our way back to our flat. The air hums with desire and anticipation as we fumble with the keys, and no sooner than the door is unlocked, I find myself being pulled inside and pushed against its hard surface as it is shut closed. 

Richard’s lips find mine in a fervent kiss that leaves me breathless, our tongues tangling together as his large hands roam my body, caressing the curve of my hips. One hand slides higher, finding the swell of one breast and squeezing it, causing me to arch against him. I can feel his warmth through my clothes, and my nipple hardens, demanding his mouth’s attention. The alcohol flowing through my veins enhances every sensation; I already feel myself growing wet for him, and when he coaxes me to wrap my legs around him and tentatively thrusts against me, the whole room seems to spin around us, and a desperate moan escapes my lips. 

He abandons my mouth to seek my neck and playfully bites the sensitive spot below my ear, causing me to whimper. Impatiently, I reach for his shirt, but I only manage to unbutton it halfway. He, too, is growing desperate, and when he brings his hands to my bum and lifts me into his arms to carry me to the bed, I am certain he will pin me to the mattress and immediately indulge in the pleasure we both seek. 

But Richard has other plans. 

He carefully sets me down on the edge of the bed, then kneels before me on the floor, looking up at me with a tender smile that makes my heart flutter despite the hundreds of times he has smiled at me in this manner before. I should not be surprised; Richard has a way of making every glance, every touch feel like the first time, as if he is discovering me anew with each moment, and as he wraps his hand around one of my legs, caressing it softly before moving down to my ankle, I sigh, my heart thrumming wildly in my chest even though he has barely begun. 

Unhurriedly, he undoes the straps of my heels, letting his fingers caress my skin, then carefully sets the shoes aside. He is still watching my face when he lifts one foot to press a lingering kiss on my ankle, then on the other, with a nearly overwhelming level of tenderness. Warmth spreads through me as his hands move higher, slipping under my dress to knead the muscles of my calves and thighs, paving the way for his kisses. He smirks when a trembling sigh tumbles from my lips. Damn him. He knows exactly what he is doing—knows exactly that he can turn me into a puddle with only these gentle touches, and he is fully abusing this power now. He also knows I cannot stop myself from begging for more. 

“Richard…” I whisper as he presses a series of kisses on my inner thigh, my skirt now bundled on my lap. “Please…” 

He chuckles against my skin, then looks up to meet my gaze. “You can beg all you want, sweetheart—I’m taking my time with you tonight.” 

I whimper in frustration, losing all ability to speak as he fumbles with my skirt to kiss higher along my thighs. To my delight, he soon grows frustrated and seeks the hidden zipper at the back of my dress. Once the fabric is loose enough, he pulls it over my head and tosses it to the floor along with my bra, leaving me completely bare before him save for my green lace knickers. He hastily removes his own clothes, keeping only his black briefs, before joining me in the bed as I lie on my back. But then he returns to taking his damn time, leaning back to admire me under the low light of the bedside lamps. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” he muses, slightly breathless as he eyes my heaving breasts. Almost as if he cannot stop himself, he reaches out to flick one nipple with his thumb, and it hardens obediently under his care. 

Swallowing back a moan, I look up at the ceiling and gather the strength to say, “So you’re punishing me for it?”

Richard laughs, then leans in, letting his beard scratch my skin as he whispers in my ear. “You’re so impatient.” His voice has reached that dangerously low timbre, and the lust coating it is reflected in his eyes when he meets my gaze, now so close that his nose brushes against mine. 

He does not give me a chance to respond before capturing my mouth in a searing kiss, tugging on my bottom lip with his teeth. As his tongue tangles with mine, I wrap my arms around his neck, and he lets me pull him closer before focusing his attention on my jaw, then my neck, and down toward the valley between my breasts. He lingers on my nipples, and I arch into him, craving more of the pleasure he offers me so passionately. 

After covering my entire body with kisses, his tongue grazes my navel. I spread my legs in anticipation, and he smirks against my skin in appreciation, kissing the delicate skin where my thigh meets my hip, then my inner thigh, slowly inching closer to where I need him the most. He looks up to meet my eyes when he finally reaches for my soaked knickers, letting the lace caress my legs as he tugs them down, sending shivers down my spine. 

The first touch of his lips on my clit is sweet and electrifying, leaving me panting and begging for more. He caresses my folds, coating me in my slick arousal before slipping his tongue inside me, his beard grinding against my delicate skin. 

“You’re better than any dessert, darling,” he says in a low, rumbling tone, his voice vibrating against me. 

Breathless, I somehow manage to laugh. “What a cheesy line—surely you can do better than that.” Richard raises one eyebrow. “Oh, I know that look. It’s the ‘I’m in trouble’ look.” 

“You sure are,” he growls in response, gently nipping the inside of my thigh. “Maybe I will punish you after all.” 

I chuckle, but the sound turns into a desperate moan when he returns to feasting on me. His tongue continues to lazily circle my clit, and I hold onto his hair and move against him, demanding more, even though I know he will not change his tactic. And indeed, he immediately grabs hold of my hips, his strong fingers digging into my hipbones as he pins me to the bed. This is what he wants. He wants to take his time, to tease me mercilessly and make me beg, and it is not a hard game for him to play; he knows exactly how to make me squirm, where to lick, and how to press his tongue to have me on the edge of release in no time. But just as I am on the verge of shattering, he pulls away, leaving me panting and aching with need. 

“Richard!” I whimper in frustration, throwing my head back into the mattress, my body thrumming with arousal. 

He has the nerve to smirk. 

“I just love watching you squirm and hearing you beg,” he says, sending heat rushing through me. I want to hold back in punishment for torturing me so, but my body betrays me as soon as he slips two long fingers inside me, slowly pushing in and out, and my hips helplessly move against him as my mouth falls open. “That’s it. Just like that, sweetheart.” 

He continues to torment me, his fingers curling inside me with precision while his thumb circles my clit with maddening slowness, only to stop once more when I am on the edge of climax. He brings me to the brink and back down like this twice more before he removes his briefs and crawls atop me, allowing me to feel just how much he desires me. By this point, I am so aroused and sensitive that the mere weight of his body sends shivers through me, and when he finally pushes his hips forward, I groan, the sweet friction of his hardness unhurriedly sliding into me nearly too much to handle. I am already so close, and he knows that. He knows it, yet he still will not give me what I want; he will not relinquish control, not even when I wrap my legs around him, inviting him deeper. And as if he has not teased me enough, he stills, letting me adjust to him, waiting until my whole body hums with the need for release, and then he pulls almost all the way out only to slide back in, remaining painfully slow, purposely avoiding any steady rhythm that I could ride to my satisfaction.

I hold onto his broad shoulders, my nails digging into his skin hard enough to leave marks, but I am too far gone to worry about hurting him. Nothing else matters but his powerful thrusts and the rapidly growing tension in my loins. I am barely aware of what I am saying between gasps and moans, devoid of any conscious thought other than not wanting him to stop. I am begging him with my whole body not to stop, to please let me come at last. 

“You’re so desperate, aren’t you?” he groans, raking his teeth along the shell of my ear. 

I whimper, not knowing how much more teasing I can stand. “Richard, please…” 

He smirks. “Please what?” 

“Please, Richard. Please let me come.” 

He quickens his pace ever so slightly, thrusting deeper into me, and for a moment, I think he will finally give me what I want. But just when I need him the most, he slows down and pulls out, and I nearly sob from the frustration. 

I gaze up at him with pleading eyes before he captures my swollen lips in a kiss that is equally rough and soothing, a promise that he intends to give me all the pleasure I seek and more. Then, to my confusion, he rises from the bed. I only understand his intention when he urges me to turn around so that I am on my hands and knees, and I shiver as he spreads my legs open, pushing down on the small of my back to cause my bum to arch. 

The hairs on his thighs brush my skin as he grips my hips firmly, pressing himself against me with a low growl. I cling to the white sheets as his hardness teases my entrance, and then he pushes inside without hesitation, and I cry out from the pure bliss of being stretched around him like this. Pleasure coils tightly in the pit of my stomach as he fills me completely, overwhelming my senses. 

“You’ll be a good girl and come for me this time, alright?” he rasps out as he starts to move, pushing in and out. 

I whine helplessly, nodding my head. My hair is now a tangled mess around my face.  

“Say it.” 

“Yes.” 

He chuckles. “Yes, what?” 

“Yes, I’ll be your good girl, Richard,” I say breathlessly, my voice breaking, and he moans, a low and throaty sound that reverberates through me. 

“That’s right, you’re my good girl.” 

I have no idea how he can still be in control of himself when I feel like I am losing my mind, ready to shatter at any moment. He starts to thrust into me for real now, and I moan his name, surrendering to him and the pummeling force of his body. I find myself moving helplessly along with him, reduced to an animalistic need for release. 

“You’re doing so good, Lorelei. Such a good girl.” 

He pounds into me with renewed urgency, his movements becoming erratic as he chases his own climax. With each pass, he grazes that spot that makes me see stars, and the tension deep within me is almost unbearable, so much so that I cannot even beg anymore. 

But then, finally, the words I have been pleading for caress my ears. 

“Come for me, darling.” 

My body obeys him instantly, and with a strangled cry, I shatter, the heat coiled in my belly exploding into stars. My muscles clench around him as I continue to move against him, riding out each tingling wave of pleasure. Richard soon follows me over the edge, his body shuddering against mine as he spills himself inside me with a guttural groan. 

For a while, there is nothing but the wild thrumming of my heart echoing through me, my body humming with the aftershock of my long-overdue climax. I am barely conscious of Richard pulling away until I feel a damp cloth between my thighs and then a soft kiss on my hip. A few moments later, he takes me into his arms and lays me down at the head of the bed, tucking me in before pressing himself against me.

“You alright?”

“Hm.” 

He chuckles and kisses my forehead. 

“For a moment, I thought I might pass out,” I admit with a soft giggle as I wrap one arm around him, burying my face in his chest. 

“Yeah?” I can hear the pride in his voice, and I raise my head to playfully bite his neck. 

“So how many calories do you think we just burned?” 

His chest rumbles with his laughter. “Probably enough to make up for tonight’s dessert. But maybe not enough to justify the pastries we’ll have for breakfast tomorrow.” 

I laugh, his husky tone leaving me with no doubt as to his meaning. “Oh, no—whatever will we do?” 

Richard grins mischievously and leans in to grace my lips with a tender kiss, one of his hands caressing my back as I hug him tight. We remain in this embrace for a long time, exchanging soft kisses until, eventually, the exhaustion of the day catches up to us, and I snuggle even closer to him, letting the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest lull me to sleep. 

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[freuleinanna]

good night, spaceman

posting a random domestic doctordonna ficlet because my heart cannot contain it, honestly?? it's short and silly, something about settling in one of the first nights, but shhh mama need to let it out. read it as platonic or romantic, i don't really care. i know my preferences, but hey, if it works for you? coolio. also, if you drop a request in my asks, chances are, i'll write something else

"Whatcha doing?" he frowns from the doorframe.

Inside, fabric flies and his minds instantly sings parachutes! – no, nope. Why would there be parachutes? Pastel colours settle down quite mundanely. He stifles a disappointed sigh.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Donna retorts, bowing over it, arms at work. "Changing the bed!"

A beat of silence.

"Why?"

She stops. The Doctor tenses instinctively. Shouting Donna is the default setup. The TARDIS (shuddering to her timecore, he imagines) bangs the swearing filter back on the instant that woman steps inside again. Silence, though? Now, that's trouble.

"How do you sleep?"

He scratches his cheek, sincerely wondering.

"I don't, usually."

Another pause. A blatant I-am-so-done-with-your-Martian-things look, ominously familiar, sets over Donna's face. He tenses more, only for a quick nod to follow.

"Yeah, that checks out."

"Right, then... D'you need help?"

"That's bamboo linen," she points out.

Huh.

Is that something he should understand?

That's… new. Usually it's him baffling others with random words, not the other way around. At the risk of getting annihilated, albeit verbally, but actually he wouldn't bet that verbally only, the Doctor steps closer and reaches for the other end of the bedsheet.

"I'll just?.."

"Hands off, you!"

"Blimey!" he shakes his palm.

"That's actually fancy!" The Doctor's hand is still stinging with a slap. Donna half-grins at him, some secret laughter warming her eyes. "Spacemen who consistently ruin their ship aren't trusted around fancy stuff. And don't gimme that look, mate. I wasn't there the last few times, and neither was that coffee."

Well, moments like this, then. He'll be collecting them. That's gonna be a new habit, instead of collecting heartbreaks. Laughing again - and with Donna! Grinning back, hands in pockets, the Doctor decides to hold on to it. On the darkest nights, when thoughts run bitter and endless, he used to count the stars – the only light across the empty vastness of the space. Now he can count sparkles in his best friend's eyes. What a life! What a beautiful, beautiful life.

"I'll just stand there, then?"

"Yeah, try not to explode from doing nothing," she huffs, still smiling, "or else I'll disown you."

"Disown? When did you own me?"

He watches Donna roll her eyes and sigh with her whole chest while finishing the job.

"Day one."

Linens get smoothed over, and Donna's hands glide across the fabric, adding the last touch. She looks over. Neither of them can stop an idiotic little smile appear, and the Doctor welcomes it with both his hearts, for her and for himself. He nods in agreement, shining brighter than the sun. And he's been to the sun. Well, some of them, at least.

"Sounds about right."

"You bet, Spaceman."

She's going to leave for the night. Before doing so, however, Donna does walk over. Full of surprises, her. She tidies his collar, and frowns a little, and darts him a look that's simultaneously worried and caring.

"Listen, you. If anything happens. If your honestly severe sleep deprivation, I don't know, decides to burst into a horror show, or something…"

"Wait, what?"

"I mean, if you have nightmares–"

"Oh, come on! I'm not a five-year-old–"

"Yeah, you're worse!" she cuts him off, showing her You're So In Trouble face for a brief moment. Her every line softens. She's searching his eyes for something, clearly grappling for words, but cannot seem to find befitting ones. Then just sniffs her nose and finishes matter-of-factly. "Rose used to have them. Poor kid was dreaming your space nonsense… well, our space nonsense. All I'm saying is, I'm a light sleeper when I need to be. There."

She pushes a cushion in his chest, and the Doctor sways a little. Wihout missing a beat, his other hand is around Donna's shoulders. Brilliant, rude, kind-hearted Donna Noble. The one who brought him home.

"Thank you," he whispers.

"Good night, Spaceman."

And for the first time in literal ages, he's actually excited to have a boring, ordinary, good night.