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ginnyw-potter · 2 years

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The Talk 2.0

The mention of Hinny's first time made me come up with a few more headcanons and this drabble came to be :)

Ginny greeted her mother and sat down at the kitchen table and started on her breakfast.

“So Ginny, since your brothers are all out, I thought we could have a little talk…”

Ginny liked neither the content of the sentence nor how she had said it. She looked up from her breakfast carefully and eyed her mother, trying to guess which way the conversation was going to go. “...Yes?”

“Well, since you and Harry are back together…”

No, no. A thousand alarm bells were going off because this was not going in a good direction.

“And you two seem rather serious … I just thought we could revisit our talk from a few years back…”

Ginny could feel her cheeks glowing but at least her mother looked uncomfortable too. “Mom, you don’t need to-” she tried but her mother was having none of it.

“No, Ginny, this is important. Because your first time… with someone, that’s …”

Ginny was glad her mother was not using Harry’s name because that would make it worse but she needed her mother to stop talking right now.

“That’s a big moment and I want you to be prepared,” her mom said, barely looking her in the eye.

“Please, stop,” she begged her mom.

“No, just let me speak for a moment. When you have your first time-”

She just needed to tell her mom then, it was the only way to get this to stop. “Youreafewweekstoolate.”

Her mom looked at her. “What was that?”

Ginny looked down at the table and bit through the bullet. “If you want to talk about my first time, you’re too late.” She dared to glance at her mother, knowing she was red in the face. “By a few weeks…”

“Ginny!” her mom let out in surprise.

Ginny bit her lip.

“When?”

“I- June…?” she said, hoping her mom did not want to hear a specific date.

“Did Harry force you to…?”

Now she looked straight at her mom. “Of course not, he would never!”

“Are you being careful?” her mom asked more sternly now.

“Of course, mom. I do listen when you tell me things,” she said. “I’ve been ordering Potions through owl order, Merlin knows what the papers will write when I go into an Apothecary and buy that.”

Her mom sighed. “You shouldn’t have to worry about that when you’re young, what papers write…”

“Well, that’s how it is, so I better get used to it.” Harry was all they wrote about these days and even without being with Harry, she had now become a known face too for her own acts of resistance during the war.

“Right… so you don’t need me to…?

“No, I am fine, mom.” She then thought she’d save Ron the embarrassment. “If you want to have a similar talk with Ron, you’d also be … too late.”

“Yes, that I am aware of,” she responded. “He’s not as good at sneaking as you are… and Harry I suppose.”

Ginny nodded. “He was never light-footed, was he?”

Her mom shook her head and then looked a bit more serious. “So you and Harry are absolutely fine?”

“Yes, it’s nice when the man who possessed you isn’t trying to kill your boyfriend, for one.” That joke did not land well with her mother, but it wasn’t untrue. “We’re great,” she offered then.

Molly nodded and stood up again and Ginny glanced down at her breakfast she had almost forgotten. She found she had lost her appetite.

When Harry walked into the kitchen a little while later, Ginny was glad her mom had found something else to do. She’d rather not have both of them in the same room for at least a few hours.

He bent down and kissed her softly, then noticed her expression. “Woah, are you okay?” he asked immediately.

Ginny checked if her mother was out of earshot but she seemed to be several floors up. “It’s fine my mom just-”

Harry sat down beside her, his eyes focused on her and she wished he’d look anywhere else.

“My mom tried to have another sex talk with me, to prepare me for my first time.” Ginny’s voice dropped lower as she said it. At least she got some satisfaction out of it when his cheeks went pink too. If she was embarrassed, everyone else had to be too.

“Oh.”

“So to avoid the whole talk I just had to come clean and tell her she was too late.” She covered her face with both her hands, still mortified. She could feel Harry shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“Well,” he said after a moment of silence. “She didn’t immediately come up and curse off my bits, so she didn’t take the news too badly?”

Ginny glanced at him over her fingers, before dropping her hands entirely. “She’s not naive, Harry. She asked if we were being safe,” she said, now choosing to prod her fork around her plate. “Apparently she is not ready for Potter babies.”

“I mean, that’s fair,” Harry responded.

“It was fine but the whole thing was so embarrassing and if you could just… not be in the same room as my mom for the next few hours, days or weeks, that would be better for all of us,” she said dramatically, slumping into her chair.

Harry smiled at her. “You do have a thing for dramatics, don’t you?”

“You always take up all the attention in a room, I’ve got to make my presence known somehow,” she said, now teasing him.

“All my attention is always going to you, though,” he told her, reaching out to her.

She stopped his hand. “Don’t. All I will be thinking about is my mom. Give it a few more minutes.”

He moved his hand to her head instead and pressed a kiss against her temple. “You’re not eating?” he asked now.

“No.” She shook her head. “For some unknown reason, I have lost my appetite.”

Harry scooped some food on her fork and zoomed it towards her face. “Here comes the aeroplane!”

“Aeroplane?” she asked warily.

“What do you wizards say?” he asked, the fork waiting in front of her face.

“Broom, Hippogriff, Dragon, take your pick. I am still not eating.”

“Come on,” he tried, the fork prodding against her lips. “Open up.”

Ginny closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “That’s a little more innuendo than I need, Harry.”

He gasped. “Well, get your mind out of the gutter, young lady! Whatever will your mother say!”

Surely he must have seen the serving of eggs landing on his face coming, he most certainly deserved it.

He wiped the eggs off his face and then took his glasses off to do a cleaning charm on them. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to play with your food?”

“You started!” she shot back.

Harry put his glasses back on and looked at her and they both burst out laughing. They both were too busy laughing that they forgot all about what had started it.

“Morning, Mrs Weasley,” Harry said, wiping his tears, still slightly laughing.

“Good morning, Harry,” Mrs Weasley greeted him back. “What’s so funny?”

Both of their laughter faltered immediately. Their eyes met for a moment.

“I was trying to convince Ginny to eat something, it did not go over well,” he said. “Maybe got an egg to the face.”

“Gee, thanks for ratting me out, Harry,” Ginny responded, but she was glad he had said something because she had been coming up blank.

“You haven’t eaten anything yourself,” Mrs Weasley noted.

Harry glanced down at his empty plate. “Ginny wasn’t eating when I came down, I honestly forgot about myself.”

Ginny tried not to scowl at Harry’s obvious attempt to be charming because he knew he had to win some points back with her mother. Ginny looked at her mom and to her surprise, it was working.

“Well, you both better have some breakfast then.”

Ginny started scooping the remnants of her egg into her mouth. “See, then you’re both happy and I can finally have some peace.” She sat there with a mouthful of egg, trying to work it down her throat. Her mother looked unimpressed.

Harry scooped some food on his plate too. Her mom looked satisfied and left the kitchen again. Ginny was still busy with the egg.

“How’s swallowing going?” he asked softly.

Ginny’s eyes widened as she inhaled sharply and a piece of egg lodged itself in her windpipe. Next thing she knew she was coughing, spraying bits of egg everywhere as she tried to get air into her lungs and the egg out of her throat. Harry was kind enough to slap her on her back a few times.

The last bit of egg came loose and she could breathe again. Harry cleaned up the egg spray chaos with a wave of his wand as she caught her breath. She shot daggers at him. “I almost died, was that worth it?”

He smiled at her sheepishly. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I just hope that you know that I’ll make you pay for it.”

Harry looked at her far too fondly considering she had just announced her plan for revenge. “Please.”

#hinny #first time #fic #harry potter #ginny weasley #tw: sex mention #the innuendos are paid actors

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lily-janus · 10 months

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Communication Is Key

Summary: Logan has been shutting himself off from Janus which makes him extremely worried. One day, he decides to confront him.

Pairings: romantic loceit, platopnic dukeceit

Warnings: mentions of homophobia, grief, death mention, talk of past toxic behaviours, miscommunication, yelling and arguing, Remus being his protective and gross self, angstttt. Let me know if there's anything I missed.

Word count: 1,812

For @loceitweek day 4 conflict/resolution

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"...leave a message after the bip."

Janus let out a tired sigh as his call to Logan reached voicemail… again.

He looked around the restaurant and out the window to hopefully catch sight of him, but no dice.

He checked the time again… ah hour and a half after the time they agreed to meet at.

Giving up, assuming Logan got caught up at work and forgot about their date once again, Janus got up and left for his apartment.

He knows he shouldn't take this to heart, he knows Logan, knows how he thinks. It's not that he cares about work more than Janus, he just can't leave work until everything's done for the day. If not, he won't be able to give Janus, or anyone, his full attention.

It's not that part that bothers Janus, though, he was well aware of that side of Logan when they started dating. It's that he doesn't even bother to even notify him that he'll be late… that.. he doesn't talk to Janus anymore, not really.

What bothers Janus… is that Logan seems to be putting up walls around himself and not letting Janus in anymore. And, more than that, he doesn't understand why. Things were going really well… at least, that's what he thought, clearly he was wrong.

"Hey, Lovebirds- oh…" Remus' grin was wiped away when he saw only Janus entering the apartment, without Logan. "Stood you up again, didn't he?"

Janus didn't say anything, but his silence and expression seemed to be enough of an answer.

"Why aren't you ditching him again? How long are you going to let him ghost you like that?!" Remus growled in anger, "he shouldn't be treating you like this, Jan!"

Janus grimaced, "something's bothering him… I just know it… if he'd just talk to me…" he trailed off with a sigh.

His phone buzzed and Janus saw it was Logan calling. He hesitated for a moment, the pety part of him wanting to let him go to voicemail, but he answered in the end.

"I am so sorry, Janus, I had this emergency at work and I couldn't-"

"It's okay." Janus said tiredly.

"...it is?" Logan sounded surprised, and a little taken aback.

"Just… come to my place when you can, okay? I want to talk to you." Janus said, hoping he didn't sound too harsh.

"Oh… yeah, of course, I'll be there in exactly 30 minutes and 40 seconds. Logan said.

…

True to his word, Logan arrived just like he said, for once being punctual for something other than work.

He knocked on the door exactly 30 minutes and 40 seconds after their call ended, but Remus got to the door before Janus.

"Don't break him, please…" Janus shook his head. And he went to sit by the kitchen table, knowing there's no stopping Remus.

Remus grinned at him as he turned the handle, "no promises!"

He opened the door, "Listen, dork-face, if you keep treating my best friend like that I will cut your dick, cook it and eat it while making you watch, got that?"

"...as grossly specific as ever, Remus, I got it." Logan said, sounding a bit fond. Remus had a weird way of growing on you, Janus knew that from experience.

"...can I come in now?" Logan asked after a while of Remus not moving aside to let him through.

"You can try, but I-"

"Leave my boyfriend alone, would you, Remus dear?" Janus said with the shake of his head.

Remus pouted but moved aside, "boyfriends actually show up to dates…" he mattered before going to his room to give them 'privacy', he's probably going to listen in, this apartment's thin walls allowing no secrets.

Despite everything, Janus couldn't help a small smile gracing his lips when he saw Logan, the guy was too cute for his own good… how is he supposed to stay mad at those brilliant blue eyes?

No, you're not mad. He reminded himself. You're worried.

"I can sense I'm in trouble." Logan said lightly, attempting poor humor to lift the tension between them… it didn't work.

Janus bit his lip, now that Logan was here, he wasn't sure how to approach the subject.

In the end, as Logan sat down in front of him, he just let out a tired breath, "look, I'm not your teacher and I'm not your parent… I'm not going to scold you or lecture you…. I'm just worried…" he trailed off.

Logan frowned, "worried? About what?"

At that, Janus snapped, and he got up sharply, slamming his fists on the table in frustration, "about you, obviously!"

Logan jumped, looking up at Janus with wide eyes, "m-me? But I'm-"

"If you say fine I'm going to break something." Janus cut him off, "you can keep up the act all you want Logan, but I know something's wrong, and I can't help unless I know what it is."

Logan was silent for a long moment before saying, very quietly, "I appreciate the concern but, I'm really okay… no need for you to worry."

Janus buried his face in his hands, not like he didn't expect this, but still…

"Really? No need to worry? I can hardly recognize you! You don't talk to me anymore! And I don't know why! …did I do something to drive you away? I used to do that before I met you but… I worked on it… am I doing it again?" The last question was to himself more than to Logan. Is he reverting back to his toxic traits without realizing it?

"What? N-no, Janus you did nothing wrong I just…" Logan said immediately, trailing off with a sigh, "I… it's not something you can fix, Janus…"

Janus blinked, sitting back down and taking Logan's hand gently. Did Logan finally say something about what was bothering him the last few months? Finally?

He swallowed, "maybe not, but I can listen, what is it?" Janus said as gently as he could. He didn't want to push Logan but he also wanted to know very badly.

Logan was silent for a long moment, then Janus noticed his eyes getting shiny and wet behind his glasses and, before he realized what was happening, Logan was crying.

Janus hates when Logan cries, it's the worst sound in the world for him, the sound of sadness and misery coming from the person he loves so very deeply is… very upsetting.

He quickly gets up and pulls Logan up into his arms, hugging him tightly, letting Logan cling to him and sob into his shoulder.

"I-it's m-my dad…" Logan says between sobs and Janus' nails dig into Logan's back a bit unconsciously at the mention of that man.

Logan's homophobic dad that sent him to therapy sessions and had endless arguing with him after he came out. And, finally, ignoring him completely after he started dating guys.

"...what about him?" Janus tried his best to keep his voice even and not dripping with anger.

"He… he…" Logan sniffed, pulling back to look Janus in the eyes, "...he's dead, Janus… m-my father died…"

Janus' eyes widened in surprise, that… was not the answer he was expecting. But, the more Janus thought about it, the more Logan's behavior made sense. The missed calls, getting caught up at work, the meaningless small talk… he was…

"You were trying to keep yourself busy to distract yourself from thinking about it, didn't you?" Janus said softly, sitting them both back down but keeping one of Logan's hands in his so he could rub it soothingly.

Logan sniffed again, nodding, "I… I don't know how to feel about it… I don't even know how I'm supposed to feel about it…" his voice was still rasp and shaky, but Janus nodded, listening intently. "We haven't been in contact for so long and suddenly I get a call from my sister that he's just… gone." Logan continued.

"What about…" Janus started but Logan finished the question for him.

"The funeral?" Logan let out an empty chuckle, "he wouldn't have wanted me there…" he said bitterly, "he said it himself… he doesn't have a son…"

Janus nodded again, for now not saying much and letting Logan say what he needs to say.

"But now… now he's dead, is it wrong to keep resenting him? Am I a bad person if I don't feel bad for a dead man? …should I feel bad? All I felt for my father was resentment, from even before I came out, even though that made him ten times worse, he never made an effort to understand me, he just wanted me to be the perfect copy of himself." Logan rambled on, it's nothing Janus hadn't heard before, though the death part was new.

"But… despite everything… Now that I think about it, I do feel a sense of loss…" Logan frowned, "I think a part of me kept hoping he'll 'come around'... that he'll attempt to make amends…" Logan took in a shaky breath, "now that he's gone… that hope is gone too… I'll never have the dad I wanted…"

Logan finished, looking up at Janus with damp eyes, "Janus… I'm truly sorry for the way I treated you, my father's death is not an excuse for me to push you away like that… the last thing I want is to hurt you."

Janus sighed, shaking his head and leaning closer to kiss Logan on the cheek, "it's okay, I'm glad you were able to talk to me about it eventually, even if there's nothing I can do to fix the problem, I'm always here to listen." He offered Logan a small smile, "no more walls between us, okay?"

Logan nodded, returning the smile, "it's a deal."

Janus then smirked as he thought of something, "but that doesn't mean you're off the hook." He said, which earned him Logan's adorably confused face. "You still have a lot of missed dates that you owe me." Janus grinned mischievously.

Logan's eyes widened slightly and he sighed, "this is going to cost me, isn't it?"

Janus finally gave Logan a deep and real kiss on the lips before pulling back to say, "that, my dearest, is a promise." He chuckled.

"Well, in that case, I better get started now." Logan smiled.

Janus raised an interested eyebrow, "oh? What do you have in mind?"

Logan got up and Janus followed, "you'll see, can't ruin the surprise, where's the fun in that?"

Janus laughed as they walked out of the apartment, "I'm starting to regret teaching you that."

"Teaching me what?" Logan asked curiously.

Janus smirked, "fun."

Logan snorted, "I was fun before I met you."

Janus chuckled, "sure you were, Teach."

Logan pushed him lightly, "you, sir, are the worst."

Janus took Logan's hand and placed a kiss on the back of it, "I love you too, Lo."

#sanders sides #logan sanders #ts janus sanders #romantic loceit #platonic dukeceit #tw homophobia #cw death mention #tw yelling #tw arguing #loceitweek2023 #day 4: conflict/resolution #Lily writes #cw innuendo

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emmikay · 1 year

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Rum Tum Tugger: Quick question about Misto, does anyone know if he has any Maine Coon in him?

Alonzo: No one respond.

Skimbleshanks: No one say anything.

Rum Tum Tugger: Why? I’m just curious if Misto has some Maine Coon in him.

Jellylorum: Silence.

(pause)

Plato: I don’t think he does-

Rum Tum Tugger: WOULD HE LIKE SOME!?

Alonzo, Skimbleshanks, Jellylorum: PLATO!

Mistoffelees: (cackling)

#cats the musical #rum tum tugger #alonzo #skimbleshanks #jellylorum #plato #mister mistoffelees #tuggoffelees #innuendo #tw sex mention #incorrect quotes #source: parks and rec

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cursedchildofchaos · 2 years

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On a loooooooong drive (passenger), so have more

I apologize in advance for some of these

Ahem, * phones...gosh, Richy XD

#duskwood #duskwood jessy #richy duskwood #dan duskwood #phil duskwood #cleo duskwood #thomas duskwood #jake duskwood #hannah duskwood #lilly duskwood #tw innuendo #tw dark humor #tw spoilers #tw spoliers #tw animals #tw eating mention

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snowe-zolynn-rogers · 2 months

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Solar: What in the fuck is this?

Ruin, getting kissed by DJ: Listen! I can explain!

Solar: Nope, y’all fuckin. I’m putting it on the dry erase board that you got a boyfriend.

#sun and moon show #sams #five nights at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf solar #fnaf ruin eclipse #fnaf dj music man #incorrect sun and moon show quotes #incorrect sams quotes #incorrect fnaf quotes #incorrect quotes #source: my brain #aka my missing 8am post #from october 10th #tw innuendo mention #tw sex mention #tw cursing

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sams-infection-au · 17 days

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Why is she having moon swings then Monty.

Omfg did it break?

I don't know! -Monty

Did it break, Monty? -Crescent

I don't think so. I mean, I didn't really check after... -Monty

Oh my god, you infected her AND got her pregnant!? -Crescent

Cres. Crescent, please hold me back or else I will get in there and probably get bit. -Sun

#montgomery gator #fnaf crescent #fnaf sun #fnaf earth #tw innuendo mention

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sayitaliano · 11 months

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youtube

ORO E ARGENTO | ENSI ft SAMUEL

Siamo nati liberi figli di un mondo violento We are born free, children of a violent world La ricchezza che ci salverà The richness that will save us Non è fatta di oro e d'argento isn't made of gold and silver Siamo nati liberi We are born free Come il sole, la pioggia ed il vento Like the sun, the rain and the wind La certezza che ci guiderà The certainty that will lead us Non è fatta di oro e d'argento Isn't made of gold and silver

Abbiamo gli stessi limiti, siamo mortali We have the same limits, we are mortals Guardiamo il cielo da qua sotto sognando le ali We look at the sky from down here dreaming of (having) wings Siamo nati liberi, siamo tutti uguali We are born free, we are all the same Ma abbiamo creato un mondo che But we created a world that Ci ha reso schiavi made us slaves E siamo così stupidi e influenzabili And we're so stupid and easily influenced Che le cose più inutili That the most useless things Ora sono indispensabili Now are essential E diventiamo simili a robot, lobotomizzati And we become similar to robots, lobotomized Senza cuore che batte Without a heart that beats Però ultra accessoriati But fully-loaded (super-equipped) Ti anestetizza ciò che It anesthetizes you whatever that All'apparenza ti soddisfa Apparently satisfies you E tiene la coscienza zitta, metabolizza And keeps your conscience silent, metabolize Perché sta andando tutto a fuoco mentre dormi Because everything is burning down while you're sleeping Non solo nei tuoi sogni, alzati e corri not just in your dreams, get up and run

Il cielo piange, il mondo annega The sky cries, the world drowns Nella violenza che ci sputa e in the violence that spits on us and Dopo se ne frega then doesn't care La formula della felicità nessuno The formual of happiness nobody Ce la spiega explains it to us La rincorriamo dall'alfa all'omega We run after it from alpha to omega La ricreiamo in Terra sotto varie forme We re-create it on Earth under many shapes Ma è solo un surrogato che But it's only a surrogate that In testa proietta ombre in the mind projects shadows La realtà è più forte e Reality is stronger and Strappa al libro delle pagine Rips some pages from the book Inferno e Paradiso in equilibrio Hell and Heaven in balance Fra le favole In between fairytales Siamo solo polvere nell'universo We're only dust in the Universe E verremo spazzati dal soffio del tempo And we'll be swept away from the breath of time Non cercare un senso Do not search for a meaning Le cose hanno il valore che gli diamo Things have the worth we give to them La vera ricchezza è dentro di noi The real richness is inside of us Non in quello che abbiamo Not in what we have

Forse un giorno troverai una nuova strada Maybe one day you will find a new road Mentre le ultime certezze si dissolvono While the latest certainties will dissolve E quel giorno fuggirai senza alcun rimpianto And on that day you'll run away with no regret Dalla tiepida prigione in cui stai morendo From the warm prison in which you're dying

#tw sex innuendo in the video #tw fire mention #it #italian #langblr #italiano #italian language #italian langblr #language #languages #music #musica #italian music #traduzioni #musica italiana #ensi #Youtube

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ask-the-celestial-family · 11 months

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Oh don't worry Eclipse, I've already adopted you, Bloody, Harvest, Sun, Moon, Nebula, Ganymede, and Star! And technically Moon's Killcode, and also Zenith but that one isn't official... yet. -🐟 Anon

Sun is going on a sleep-around-and-find-out endeavor. How the he’ll did you manage to adopt him? Blindside him in the shower? -Eclipse🧡

#kill lunar au #fnaf eclipse #fnaf sun #eclipse answers #🐟 anon #tw innuendo mention #tw sex mention

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mooishbeam · 7 months

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『♡』 In the Ring

♡ featuring: boxer!wriothesley x manager!reader

♡ summary: its hard managing a boxer full time. maybe it's time you relieve that stress. wc: 6.8k+ (???>":>?)

♡ cw/tw: mentions of trauma, mentions of violence, rough sex, overstim, face-sitting, size kink, unintentional edging, hair pulling, mentions of choking, argument, confessed feelings, slow burn, kinda toxic?

notes: can u tell how down bad i am for wriothesley. also do yall like the smaller text cause I do. jing yuan fluff next :)) art by sxnalien on twitter! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

For a second, the crowd stills. Bright intense lamps illuminate the sweltering squared circle, buoyant under the nimble movement of the boxers. They trade blows, bobbing and throwing each devastating hook with an even deadlier counter. No one took a hit for the past minutes, and the audience scoots to the edge of their seats at the sheer stamina of the two. Both dripping sweat, barely holding on between the merciless clock and their steadfast opponent. You can almost hear the breeze of swift jabs cutting wind against their jaws. The one with blue gloves can barely manage to guard himself, with a swollen face and wobbly legs, while the crimson gloves deal relentless punches. The crowd shouts. Unintelligible echoes, some that pray for the win, others grieving the money they’re about to lose. He’s caught on the ropes, and attempts a wild swing to save himself, to save his career. Red gloves weaves effortlessly and delivers a brutal crush to his bloodied nose and possibly busted mouthpiece. The crack is resounding, it makes the commentators cringe. His skull flies back, and he comes crashing down from his dizzying tower. The head-first fall vibrates beneath the feet of investors in proximity.

DING DING DING

Mass uproar ensues. They jump out of their seats, flailing their arms, joy and pain in equilibrium.

“And he is out! It’s all over!” the commentator yells. Confetti floats golden dust from the ceiling. The victor stalks the ropes before hopping on them, his gloves raised in the air. Glistening, high off elation, but somehow composed in his attitude, akin to a wolf.

“A savage knockout from the untouchable world champion, the king of the ring, Wriooothesley!”

“Wrio, Wrio, Wrio!” they chant. You’re standing near the ropes, already identifying which joints you’ll need to observe after his victory lap. It’s hectic, and you’re jotting down the state of his figure. Past experiences sew through each deep scar carving his rugged biceps and abs, the bruises display early signs of discoloration. He’s tall on the unseen throne, it feels like you’re there with him. A million eyes in that vast stadium, and yet, those midwinter eyes ebbed in silver only look at you.

Your beginnings as a manager were tumultuous. You could barely comprehend how out of your league you were working for a renowned agency fresh out of college. Though you found quick success in your ability to grab the attention of investors through public relations, you weren’t equipped just yet with the hindsight in preparing for scandals. The other athletes you worked with served no problem, and so you never had to worry about their appeal. Higher ups praised your extensive portfolio, and at such a young age, it was even more commendable. You earned it, fame and respect, interviews and gossip—a delicate dance. You were always busy, assisting your clients throughout the day and maintaining their presence while they slept. It was hard work, but you loved doing it.

That was until you worked with amateur boxer, Childe.

A snappy, overconfident lightweight fighter with no regard for anything or anyone. He had an unmistakable void in his eyes, but you fought for him ceaselessly, to prove that he wasn’t the cold person he portrayed himself as. You bore with his flirtatious compliments and innuendos, the need to focus him whenever you documented his afflictions, and he’d not-so-subtly flex his biceps. Childe was unnecessarily violent with underhanded tactics. The media knew this and did everything to amplify that bellicose story. You’d combat it, negate it, but he only fed the flames with threats of retaliation. Taking his phone wasn’t enough, and you couldn’t get through to him. It was only a matter of time before he went off the deep end.

The day you slept, you discovered a restlessness you’d endure indefinitely. The flickering glow of your device woke you at midnight as hundreds of notifications congested your screen. 128 missed calls from your agency, 50 from news sources, and none from Childe. When you processed the damage from his deplorable stunt, you nearly hurled your phone out the window. He posted revenge porn, and evidently turned off his phone. Surely, there’d be a way to fix this. The chances seemed to dissolve with each text turning green. You started pacing, battling with morality and loyalty and anger. What he did was disgusting, but it’s your job to save him, right? Is he worth saving? You spoke with 4 managers at once, switching through motives and bickering until morning. As you flipped through the television, another emotion struck you.

There he was, on a tasteless gossip channel. An interview you didn’t arrange, with a man you’ve never seen before. And he was...crying? The sob story emitting from his deceitful lips was almost impressive. Childe went on about how “demanding and horrible” you were backstage. The crocodile tears dried up through dodgy anecdotes, but it was enough to have people hooked. You were allegedly physically and emotionally abusive. He was too scared to speak up due to your position and he just couldn’t bear it any longer. Then he dropped the bomb; he blamed you for his post. You forced him to do it, jealous of his previous partners, emphasizing how enamored you were of him. The questionable tears began to fall again, but this time he covered his mouth, withholding the duping smile crawling on his face.

You were filled with blinding rage, unable to control the fury at which your remote connected with the screen. It was everywhere now, social media websites booming with live opinions. He had no reason to slander you, and you couldn’t pinpoint why he chose to hurt you like this. You cried for him, shared stories of childhood and family. The knife you used to protect him was firm in your back, twisting and digging with each disgusting message in your inbox. You had no game plan to conduct, and no tears left to cry.

Within a week, you finally understood how cruel this industry could be. Within a week, you were no longer on top. You lost clients fast. It spread like wildfire and not a single outlet spared an ear for your side. People you called friends, coworkers, hadn’t replied to your messages. When you got back to work, the rooms were silent as you passed. You could feel their judgement, whispers rattled with rumors and accusations. They waited for the tiniest slip-up and pounced like hyenas—you were eaten alive by their pitiful stares. You attempted to tell your truth multiple times throughout the week, but it was consistently rejected. The headlines were eye-catching:

“Manager From Hell: Childe Tells All!”

“He Cries: A Story of Love and Jealousy”

Your stomach churned to the magazines being shown. Despite the great amount of loss you suffered, you were thankful for the one person that believed you, your boss.

“Childe is a lying little snake. The media knows that, too.”

“Then why is this happening?”

“Money. That story is making bank right now. But I know for a fact you wouldn’t do this” he reassured.

“Thank you, sir. But...I lost everything; I just don’t know what to do.” The weariness was heavy in your voice.

“I have someone you can manage. It won’t be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.” You were unsure of yourself now, and he continued.

“You’re one of my best. If you want to climb out of this, now’s your chance.” Yes, you were unsure, drowning in doubt. But if the only way to get above water was to keep swimming, you wouldn’t give up so easily.

Wriothesley wasn’t exactly known for his kindness. Crude, cocky, maybe even spoiled were descriptions that circulated in the tabloids. He had a knack for pissing reporters off by not answering questions or humming over their voice with a shit-eating grin on his face. Women loved him, however, throwing bras and phone numbers written on scrap as the condemned “bad boy” departed post-game. They screamed his name at once, and he’d done nothing to deserve it. He relished infamy—that way, it was much harder to pry into his private life.

It had to be a coincidence that it was someone you fangirled over. In college, your eyes were glued to the screen every Sunday, waiting for Wriothesely’s post-conference and behind the scenes interviews. He didn’t speak often, but just the sight of those inky strands streaked with ash made your heart flutter featherlight in your chest.

When you first approached him, he was just as arrogant as you’d expect.

“Good evening!” you beamed. You caught him outside the gym, and he still had his headphones in. Full volume and blankly staring as you went on about the opportunity, silent under the blaring music. He took one earbud out when you finished.

“Hm? Who’re you?”

You were slightly annoyed. “Let me reintroduce myself, I’m (Y/N). Your new manager.”

“No. Bye.” He began to walk past you without an ounce of care. You couldn’t lose it like this.

“Ah, wait!” He turned half-heartedly.

“Listen, I get it. You don’t want to be bossed around. But honestly, your reputation is shit. That can’t be good for business.” you persuaded. He towered over you, the figure of a Greek giant peeked through the compression top as he lazily watched you.

“So? Why do you care?” he remarked.

“I’ll help you. Sponsors, advertisements, whatever you want. You’re good, but you can be so much better. Let’s make money together.” You held your hand out, awaiting a handshake of approval. He merely glanced at your limp wrist.

“Help? You’re obviously not doing this for free.”

“Of course not. Give a little, take a little. I don’t do charity cases” you shrugged.

He groaned, raking his fingers through his thick mane. At the very least, he hadn’t walked away yet. “I'd prefer for my life to be private.”

“Then I’ll guarantee your privacy.”

“Really?” he scoffed. “What can you give me besides empty promises?”

“Anything you desire. Work with me, and I’ll make it happen.” That offer enticed him. No one had been this persistent with him yet, he scared off any manager that dared succor him. It was slightly entertaining, the way you burned ambition in your eyes, you were so easy to read. Most people wouldn’t look directly at him, and here you were, ready to follow him home if that’s what it took. He chuckled, and his massive hand reached for yours.

You shook hands, and your fates were sealed.

That was a year ago, and ever since then he’s been a thorn in your side. Nonstop drama and rectifying consumed your life. You didn’t think a man who spoke so little in public could talk so much around you. Whenever you argue—which is a frequent occurrence—his smirk grew wider at your frustration. You weren’t sure why you ever liked him in the first place. He only puts in effort when it comes to sparring, but you’re determined to ameliorate his standing, and in turn, yours.

The minute you open the doors to the hall, the sound of pummeled sandbags, clanking metal, and sneakers skidding across the floor roars in your ears. Some men are dialed in on abusing the inanimate objects, the rest tense through repetitions of dumbbell curls with a hiss. You're in quick strides, the phone arm's length away from you as the sponsor on the other end screams. Another petty drama surrounding Wriothesley grabs the attention of the internet. Luckily, you have thorough experience remedying this.

“What are you going to do? You’re fucking with my money!” you hear the faint voice. You bring the phone back to your ear.

“Don’t I always deal with it? He fights, I make up for the other half. Give me a few hours.”

“I’m not going to wa-” You hang up at the response.

You propel the double doors free into a large room with a boxing ring in the center. A group of trainers swarm the perimeter, you can barely see through.

“Don’t be scared!” one of them taunt towards the sparring partner, who has an unthinkable panic creeping in goosebumps dotting his skin. Each sloppy dodge tilts him more and more off balance against the strikes. Wriothesley has a powerful stature, with his back curving in a way that accentuates the rough muscle shaping his spine. You drone an annoyed sigh at the commotion and push yourself through them.

“Move it, move!” you yell, before jostling your way to the front of the ring.

“Wriothesley! Times up.” He turns his head to the side, unintentionally sparing his partner and glares at you.

“Two minutes.”

“No. Now.” you command. He looks up at nothing, as if considering his options if he cusses you out. Then he begrudgingly drops the gloves and pulls himself under the ropes. The group disperses from the lack of action and he’s mere inches from you now. Sometimes you forget how to breathe in his half-naked presence.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He mumbles while drying his head with a towel. His colossal forearms are raised over his head, highlighting the happy trail thick down his abdomen and tufts of hair on his armpits.

“You. How many times do I have to tell you not to train during recovery?” you seethe.

“Damn. Must’ve slipped my mind.” He doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest.

“Well then, I’ll be sure to remind you hourly.”

“Nah, I’m good. Hearing you once a day is enough.” He tosses the towel to you like his dutiful servant and grabs his water bottle. The liquid drips down his chin and on his shorts, hanging below his v-line.

Your eyebrow twitches from withheld vexation. “If you don’t want to hear me twice, I suggest you do what I tell you. We need to talk.” A heavy sigh leaves him as he stretches, and he passes you the water bottle. If you had the strength to collapse the bottle with one hand, you would. “Lead the way” he goads.

Wriothesley follows you through the backdoor of the gym to a secluded alleyway. When you get there, he immediately pulls out a cigarette you didn’t know he had. You were aware he smokes occasionally, but seeing it physically coaxed a strange worry in your gut. You twist your phone to him, to display evidence of him instigating an argument with Childe on social media. He reads in silence, briefly laughing at the recollection of his own comebacks, then lights the cigarette.

“What’s this? Didn’t I say keep a low profile?” you reprimand.

He drags in a deep breath of nicotine, and you eye the foul scent with distaste. He blows it above your unhappy face. “Calm down. Once a month thing. That fucker's testing me.”

“This can’t happen again, Wriothesley.” He ignores you to continue his mumbling. “I should break his neck like a twig. He’s lucky he didn’t say that shit to my face, fucking punk.” he grouses. You're struggling to gather your thoughts, the cigarette compacted between his thick fingers irritates you.

“We all appreciate your restraint, however-” you get closer, and yank the stick out his hand.

“No-!” Before he can finish, you promptly smudge it underneath your shoe. You aren’t sure how he’d react, but you didn’t expect him to sulk like a puppy.

“You aren’t doing this shit while I’m here.”

“Oh my god” he pouts, throwing his hands into his face and pulling them down.

“You’re lucky I don’t report it to the doctor. None of this, ever again.”

“Fuck, alright just...” he lets out a defeated sigh. “What do you want me to do about it? Apologize publicly?” You need him to do nothing; neither agency wants controversy, and it’d most likely be swept under the rug in just a couple days. You point his water bottle to him.

“Nope, I’ll handle it. Just sit there and be pretty.” you reassure. He leans down to your height with a sweet smile and even sweeter gaze.

“I do that well, don’t I?” he quips.

“You manage.” He latches onto the water bottle, and drinks from it in your hand while looking at you. A soft heat envelops you beyond words that never reach your lips.

“Listen to what I’m saying. Low. Profile.” Wriothesley comes up from thirst, dragging his tongue along the straw to the top, and licks his blushed lips. He delights in your flustered reaction.

“Low. Profile.” he repeats in a sarcastic drawl.

Later in the week, you receive a call in your office. It was fairly busy today, with coworkers constantly “checking in”, more so to see Wriothesley sitting across from you. He had no reason to be here, and you were surprised at his arrival. Be it boredom or a certain longing, a dull swell pulsed in his chest once he saw your overworked smile.

“Hello, this is (Y/N) of Boxe Association. May I know who I’m speaking with?” Wriothesley’s ears perk up at your sudden professionalism, and he mimics your cadence.

“Good afternoon, it’s Isadora.” Isadora was an event coordinator you previously worked with before your controversy. You understood that she stopped communicating to protect her business, but the pain lingered. You twirl the phone cord around your fingers, and meet eyes with Wriothesley, who’s laid back in the chair, his arms behind his head.

“Oh. Hey, it’s been a while.” you say. You turn your swivel chair away from him to continue the conversation. His eyebrow twitches slightly with an unconscious scowl, and he walks towards your chair.

“It has. I’m calling because I have a proposition that might interest you. I believe a meet and greet would be appropriate for your client. A large chunk of his fanbase are young adult women, however, he’s also popular with children.” He spins the chair around with a firm hand and presses his cheek against the phone.

“That’s true.” You side eye him, and without skipping a beat, mush his nosey face away. His hot breath on your digits makes your skin tingle.

“Who is that” he mumbles. You'd never seen Wriothesley interact with children, and you have every reason to be hesitant.

“Hmm...any positive activity with children is good publicity. I’ll consider it. I’ll let you know by tonight.” The second you hang up, you release his face.

“Why are you being annoying-”

“Who were you talking to” he chides.

“Isadora. She’s an event coordinator.” His clenched jaw unwinds. “She wants to do a meet and greet with you and a few kids. If we go through with this, I’ll have a camera crew and some reporters there. It’ll be good for your image.”

“Okay.” he agrees. That was quick.

“...Are you sure? Kids are loud and obnoxious a lot of the time.”

“So? Fine by me. I can teach them how to fight.” Your skin crawls at the thought of Wriothesley launching a child through a wall. “That won’t be necessary.”

“It’ll be fun.” The more he assures you, the more uneasy you feel.

“Wriothesley, I’m serious. Don’t screw this up” you plead. He holds his pinky out. “I won't.” His loose interpretation of promises was dubious at best, but you had no other options, and this might be your only opening. You curl to his word.

After parleying the finer details, you broadcast a raffle for young fans to meet Wriothesley. The traffic to the website was overwhelming, and you quickly began sorting out tickets for the favored winners.

Fortunately, the next couple of weeks were par for the course.

It’s the night before the event, and you’re getting ready for bed. You sit at your desk in a big T-shirt and do your daily review of personal data. As you're scrolling through and identifying what needs improvement, you get a notification on your phone.

“Breaking News: Boxer Bar Fight!” Curious, you open the tab to a video. It makes your breath stall, sweating frantically. You can’t think clearly, and your shaky hands can barely increase the volume. Unidentifiable noises and wobbly camerawork made it impossible to catch anything besides those familiar inky black strands, throwing punches in a drunken stupor at a defenseless man. Your previous conundrum flashes through your memory in a horrific stop-motion; the duping smile on his face.

No. It’s happening all over again. Why is he at a bar? You messaged him before he went to bed. He never goes to bars. Why now, the night before the event? It’s late, he doesn’t go anywhere without telling you.

He promised.

None of it made sense as you threw on any sweatpants in your drawer and ran out the door. You can’t wait until morning. Disaster punctures and tears any rational decision you contemplate. Shouting silently within your mind, a crashing rage—or sadness—boils in your nervous stomach. You’re tunnel vision in a taxi on the way to his address.

When you get there, you bang on the door with a fury that vibrates throughout the archway. His home is extravagant, with two cars and an expansive driveway. You bang again.

“Wriothesley!” He finally opens the door. He’s still half asleep, pajama pants low on his waist, groggily leaning against the arch.

“(Y/N)? Uh, what’s up?” He slurs in a deep slumbering voice through heavy eyelids. You barge in without saying anything. “Make yourself at home, I guess.”

The interior is just as opulent as the exterior, it almost looks untouched. Every corner has a case or shelf stacked with ornate trophies and medals of excellence. It was the home of someone who achieved peak perfection and reveled in it. He follows you to his living room, bewildered at your furious expression. You play the video in front of him, and he watches with that same puzzled attitude that makes you angrier. You try taking deep breaths to compose yourself, but they halt shallowly.

“What the fuck is this?” you accuse.

“What? I don’t know.” “Like hell you don’t know, this shit is on every homepage. Are you serious?”

The cranky boxer pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. You show up at his house, and it’s to badger him about a rumor. Your temperament only heats the smoldering ember fueled by incessant claims. He covers his mouth, physically stopping the involuntary response.

“Okay” he says, and blurts a facetious chuckle. Your heart thumps in your chest and ears.

“Oh, It’s a fucking joke? I bust my ass to save your career and you’re laughing?” you snap, voice increasing in volume until it reaches a broken peak. He returns with the same energy.

“When did I ask you to fix anything? Did you ever think that maybe I don’t fucking need you-”

“You can barely control your smoking habits you pompous ass-”

“I would if you didn’t nag me all the time. Whining and complaining, it’s fucking annoying!” he yells. Neither of you meant the words spilling out the bubbling surface, but your tongues were solely seasoned with the next spiteful jab.

“Yes, whining! Because all you need to do is be on the straight and narrow, but you take nothing seriously, Wriothesley, and that’s exactly why-”

“Exactly why what? Why your career went to shit so you’re piggybacking off mine?”

Your battle stops. You can’t find the words to rebuttal. All the opinions of your colleagues, the media, Wriothesley, and yourself coagulate into a lump that fills the tightening throat. Pride comforts tears brimming your eyes.

He pauses, as though he came to reality. An apology attempts to form on his lips, but it never manifests. “(Y/N), I didn’t-”

“See you in the morning” you choked. You walk to the door, and he reaches out to the infinite space thick between you two.

You didn’t sleep the entire night. It’s morning, and you’re exhausted. You consistently replayed the quarrel in your head through the taxi ride home, and when you strived for rest, it plagued your mind. Your coffee is untouched during your morning routine, a movement comparable to zombies. You don’t bother to confirm if Wriothesely is at the building—either way you owe it to the event holders to be there.

You arrive just before the children file into the training room. Thankfully, Wriothesley is there in the center. Live cameras from reporters and parents border the walls; if something were to occur, it would be irreversible. Your head suddenly hurts.

Perhaps playing it up for his reputation, the smile stretched across his face is a sunny warmth you’ve never seen from him. He waves to them, and they erupt with screams. To your astonishment, he gets on his knees to be eye level with them. They all jump into his arms at once, and he topples over onto the mat.

And he’s laughing. This grumpy asshole fighter is laughing. A hearty, genuine laugh as he wraps his sturdy arms around all of them and picks them up at once. He whirls them around and they orchestrate high-pitched giggles. “Ready to have some fun?” he chortles. They say yes to varying degrees of excitement, and the meet and greet proceeds.

You can’t help but smile when he frolics with the kids. They chase him with boxing gloves, he pretends to fall dramatically. Dogpiling him, he lets out a shrill scream of defeat. He manages to work in proper defense techniques while they jump him like a test dummy. He tosses each kid in the air whenever they ask, and never tells them no. You receive another call from Isadora amid your admiration, and you step outside.

“Hey! Good news, these views are off the charts and the internet is really in his favor right now” she congratulates.

“That’s great...what about the video from last night? Did you see it?” you ask.

“Video...oh, that! Don’t worry, it’s confirmed fake.” What? Oh no. Immediate regret stirs in your blood, and you force the phone away to catch your breath. You feel utterly stupid.

“Hello?” You quickly bring the phone back to your ear. “Yea, sorry. I have to go; I’ll call you later.” you insist. You can’t facepalm any harder. You make your way back to the training room, where the kids decorate his gloves with iridescent stickers. Wriothesley occasionally looks at you, but you can’t bear to show your guilty face.

When the event is over, you both make sure to hug every child on the way out and thank the parent for coming. You’re sorting through mountains of requests people made to see Wriothesley again, and you mute your phone over the influx of emails. Peeking at the broadcast, under the footage in bold letters:

“(Y/N) Back from the Dead?”

It wasn’t the most flattering title, but it proved that public perception was salvageable. You emit a sigh of relief, for you and Wriothesley. As you’re packing your things to exit, he blocks the door with his body.

“Can we talk?” You were dreading this discussion, but agreed, nonetheless. The ride to his home is silent, you grapple with a proper apology.

You lean against the kitchen bar, while he’s laxing on the couch. Sleep deprivation torments you, causes you to wander as you fill in papers from sponsors. You can’t see the way Wriothesley steals glances at your slack figure curving to the marble. He eventually spoke.

“So, um.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. You did a good job today Wriothesley, you should be proud.” You flash a meek smile. He fumbles with his thumbs uncomfortably.

“I am. Aren’t I the best?” he boasts.

“You are” you say. The lack of sleep beckons you to a spur of honesty as you scribble. “You have stunning form, perfect accuracy, and immeasurable talent. Not just anyone can do that.” you return. He gazes at you, that dull swell pumping in his veins again. The cozy radiance of lights brightens your tired eyes.

“You’re a big fan, huh?” he chuckles.

“Of course, I used to watch you in college. I had a major crush on you” you snort. “Everything you are is amazing, but you know this. So cut it out.” He sits on the armrest, swallowing your confessions. The room is entirely too hot, he needs alleviation—he needs you.

“Sorry. For what I said.”

“Forget it. It's my fault, I was careless. I apologize.” you admit.

“You know I didn’t do it, right?”

“I know.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know.” you reassure.

“What if some other bullshit controversy comes out. Then what?” You stop writing to give him your full attention.

“Then, I’ll trust you. We’ve gotten this far. Even if no one else does, even if for some reason I lose my job and I’m not your manager anymore, I’ll trust you, Wriothesley.” you reveal. He doesn’t move. Wriothesley knew he wasn’t deserving of trust, and he’d made a plethora of mistakes throughout your arrangement. You had every right to leave him long ago. Nobody gave him the time of day or cared for his wellbeing like you did, but he couldn’t reciprocate. Even so, here he kneels, at the feet of an angel that shows him undying mercy.

Wriothesley stalks at you, but you remain. He looms over you, pinning you to the counter with both arms, inches from your face. It isn’t a threatening force, but one that begs for confirmation. That slated storm searches for a specific craving, you feel his chest rising and falling laden with yours.

“You’re too close” you quiver. The bitter musk and vanilla enveloping your senses makes you foggy, it lingers through the whole house.

“Tell me to leave.” His mouth slants to you, and he waits expectingly. You ogle his features, the scratches of a warrior celebrated across his hardy torso. His hair brushes against your forehead, imperfect and uniquely beautiful. Why were you mad, again?

“Tell me to back off, (Y/N)” he pleads. The pads of your fingers lightly caress his ear, then his jaw.

“Please” he whispers. Your thumb grazes his bottom lip, and he succumbs to the urge.

You collide fervently, lips coated in definitive desire. Dancing with rough, bruising kisses that don’t make space for air. It smears on your face, dips down your neck and swiftly returns to your lonely mouth. The pressure of the counter bar burns across your lower back from his weight, but those mind-numbing kisses soften any injury. You bite his lip when he pulls away, and he groans. Suddenly, he lifts you effortlessly with his hands on your ass, and you clash teeth and tongue in a passionate challenge. He demands entry, and you moan into the wet mass intertwining through sloppy kisses. It explores your mouth, sending throbs to your nerves and subdues any control you have left. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, but you yearn for deeper contact. He licks up the organ, and spots moist, hungry kisses on your jaw. You both take a fleeting breath before converging again. You find passage in his hair and suck staining rose-colored marks on his neck while he carries you to the bedroom.

“You’ve been waiting for this, hm? Slutty groupie” Wriothesley moans. You drag kisses along the shell of his ear. He tosses you onto the fluffy bedding and haphazardly strips to his underwear. The wide mirror opposite his bed gives you a glimpse of his thighs and shapely bottom hugging the briefs. You’re supposed to be undressing, but that thronging bulge made for a titan makes you nervous for what’s to come. He palms the erection to soothe the ache and climbs over you. He’s somewhat gentle, careful with the bulk of his body as he cradles your face for more kisses. The way he looks at you, a covet softness or misted lust tantalizing the wetness pooling in your panties. He moves to your neck, French kissing down your throat and on your collarbone. You feel like a virgin again, heart racing from every graze of his fingers and lips. His calloused digits grope the plush fat of your thighs, and gradually reach the hem of your skirt. You snake your hands over his pecs and abs and read the muscles. Moaning into each other's mouths, indulging every part of your bodies as you’ve wanted to do for months. He pulls your skirt off and you hold your button-down over your exposed panties. Heat spreads in your body, and he amuses at your sudden bashfulness.

“Oh…you’re shy?” he teases, before popping the buttons off with a brutal rip. “Wrio!” you yelp. That’s the first time you called Wriothesley a nickname; he must’ve died and went to heaven. The lace gift wrapped around your breasts taunts him, and he buries his face immediately. He nips the sensitive skin and snaps the clasp off. “Cute. Need to feel you” he husks. He twirls the bud in his mouth, while manipulating the other between his girthy fingers. Alternating among loving hickies and harsh tugs of his teeth on your nipple. You whine, and his laugh tickles your raw skin. He flips over on his back and steadies you on top of him. Discards the rest of your top, and let’s out a shaky groan.

“You’ve never been this speechless” he says. You smile and kiss his puffy lips, your hands kneading his chest. “You’re so pretty” you coo. He huffs while rubbing circles on your waist, eyeing your inner thighs covered in juices.

“Then come fuck my pretty face.” He slips under the waistband and tweaks the fabric, but you grip his wrists. “Wait! Let me shower first- “

“You said you'd give me anything I desire, remember that? Keep your promise." He yanks the thin material down your legs in your weak clutches, trailing a string of drool that sticks to your labia. “C’mere” he grunts and lifts you towards his face. Your thighs are soft on either side of him, and you still in his grasp. He lolls his tongue out, but you’re reluctant to fully sit. “I’m heavy” you murmur.

“Shut up.” He embraces your body, and you have no choice but to settle in his warmth. He keeps you flush with his flat tongue, swiping up and down the squishy flesh molding to his mouth. You writhe in his grasp, but he continues to lap at your clit with a starving lust. Wriothesely soaks in your velvet skin and perfumed essence dribbling down his chin. He doesn’t come up for air, and your brain is mush over him, his lips slurping your quivering cunt. A buzzing intensity courses through your twitching stomach. You rut your hips against his mouth, and he maintains his position while you use him. You’re grinding on his tongue, absent-mindedly biting your lips and mewling endlessly as you bring yourself closer to climax. He hums while sucking the nub and the vibrations make you cry out.

“Wrio, ‘m coming” you whine. You hump his mouth until you come undone in a pulsating finish. His hands restrain you, greedily devouring the newly found honey as it pours out. You ride it through while he curls the tip of his tongue at your opening. Without warning, you feel the pink muscle push in your recovering vulva. “S-Shit, Wrio” you whimper, trembling on him as he drives inside. He seizes the back of your thighs and begins to bounce you up and down the mushy appendage slowly stretching you. The sensation is overwhelming, his nose skims your oversensitive clit each time you drop, and you sob. Wriothesley moves faster, your hands entangle in his hair. You babble please’s repeatedly, gazing sensually at each other as the coil winds in your gut. More, more. Then it snaps, an abrupt shock, clenching on his tongue as you cream. He raises your lower half; the wetness collecting in your convulsing heat makes his cock strain more than it already suffered.

“Such a cute slut” Wriothesley husks. Your numb legs can’t navigate on their own, so he places you on your stomach. “We’re not done.” He springs his throbbing length free. The veins are consistent, prominent up his shaft to the angry red crown—9 inches begging to be inside you. Fresh precome trickles down his tip and he sighs at the bloated pain in his hefty balls. You arch your back, presenting yourself to his awaiting size. When he doesn’t enter you turn to him impatiently and he smirks.

“Put it in” you whine. Wriothesley spreads your backside, and watches you clench around the ghost of him. He glazes himself with your slick, and moans from the feeling of your puffy lips cuddling his cock. “It’s not every day a fan gets to sleep with me. Be grateful.” he teases. He pumps through your squashed thighs, the head prodding your nub while he forces your chest flush with the bed. After he thoroughly coats himself, he nudges the bulbous tip to your entrance.

Wriothesley sinks into your sex. You’re gripping him like a vice despite the searing soreness of your body accommodating the scale. The fevered sleeve nearly makes him crash to the hilt, but he stutters gradually to relieve your discomfort. He hits the base and shudders. You feel unbelievably stuffed, as if it’s squirming in your cervix. Then he starts at a savage pace. He’s using you like a flesh-light, balls smacking your overwhelmed tender nub with a carnal impulse. His moans spill uncontrollably as he watches your rippling ass and viscous webs blend together, clinging to his cock and forming a cloudy froth at the base. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets; you can’t think or feel anything that isn’t him, core surging with intense want.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, gonna snap my dick off. Ah- gonna make sure you can’t walk t-tomorrow. Then- hah- then you won’t be able to find anyone who fucks you like this, who makes you come like this.” He’s rambling and stuttering, completely incoherent the closer he gets. He glances at the mirror, then at you. You feel your hair jerked back by his massive hand, and lock eyes with Wriothesley in his drunken haze. “Stop, it’s embarrassing!” you slur. You’re both sheened with sweat, disheveled bodies satiating the hunger in any way you can.

“Shh, you hear that?” The squelching slam of passion echoes in the room, sopping down your leg through his pummeling thrusts. Your back bends unnaturally as though it were folded in half. “You’re so fucking hot, so needy for me.” His veins adorn your walls, you start to tear up from the mixture of pleasure and pain. He notices your tears and holds you up so that your back is flush with his chest.

“It hurts?” he questions, stalling his movement. You feel him twitch. “No, feels s’good Wrio. More” you mewl. He chuckles, and gently wraps his hand around your throat before pumping again.

“Too good? Am I the best you’ve ever had? Say it.” He moves faster, free hand rubbing your clit. Your knees buckle and eyes roll back to your skull, he takes in the scene of your convulsing figure in the mirror. “S’best I’ve ever had, please ‘m so close!” you rasp, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He chases his high, panting animalistically in your ear.

“Shit- look how desperate you are. Want me to come inside? Y-yea, I bet you fucking do”

“‘M coming!” you babble.

“Good. Make a mess.” he commands. Fire trails up your limbs, and you tighten before falling apart. Fluttering around him, taking him deeper while you come on his sack. Wriothesley pursues his sputtering hips, spurting thick globs that paint you white. He whimpers as you milk his spasming length dry and presses tired kisses along your shoulder blade. When he comes down from his apex, he turns you over on your back. It’s hard for him to not be proud of your boneless existence sprawled on his bed. You’re both breathing hard in silence, and he leaves for a couple minutes. You’re stunned when he returns with a damp rag to clean you up, and some dark substance in a mug.

You find the strength to sit up while he wipes your lower areas. “Where are my clothes?”

“...For what?” he mumbles.

“To leave?” It seemed like common sense to you—boxers usually don’t go for long-term relationships, and so you assumed it to be a one-night stand. You dip over the edge of the bed and locate your skirt, but Wriothesely hops up and snatches it before you can. “I’ll put it in the wash. Relax.”

“I didn’t know you were so hospitable. Do you do this for every girl?” you tease. He gets visibly upset, and shoves the cup from the dresser in your hands. “Don’t piss me off. Now, drink. I’ll order food.”

Multicolored sunset flaking through the sheer curtains frames his stature while he’s on the phone. You sip the tea, it’s a vile grainy taste. For a moment you imagine what life could be like with him by your side—poor quality tea and an awful temper. In your pleasant aftermath, it doesn’t seem bad at all.

#genshin smut #genshin au #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley headcanons #wriothesley #fontaine #genshin x reader #genshin impact

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anonymooseforever007 · 1 year

Text

Wanna Buy You A Drink

(Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: It's been five months since Bob's seen his wife, and aside from Natasha he had yet to mention her to his team. He calls it privacy, she jokes it's internalised possessiveness. But tonight, with Penny's help at the Hard Deck, more than one person is in for a surprise. After all, who doesn't love a good innuendo?

A/N- Hi y'all! No TWs I think, a good few innuendos and one joke about making babies but nothing actually happens. I've been trying to finish this one for a while and am very happy with how it turned out! P.S incase y'all didn't know the Thunderbirds are the US Air Force's professional flight team that does really amazing tricks and skills and the Blue Angels are the ones for the US Navy! Both groups are so amazing to see in person and I just wanted to make a little Navy Vs. Air Force rivalry joke about them!😊 Enjoy❤️

WC- 3.8k

Main Masterlist

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He didn't know you were coming.... or so soon at least.

The last time you had spoken to your husband was a few days ago while trying to find a flight to San Diego for next month. The two of you had texted of course, and you had even gotten a few awkwardly taken selfies of the man with the sunset behind him. Neither you nor your husband enjoyed having your photo taken, so seeing him take time to step out of his usual comfort zone was always touching. Besides, you would never tell him (nor would he tell you), but there was a growing album in your phone of sneakily taken photos, though blanket holes or around house walls when the other wasn't looking. These little albums you each had "hidden" helped the burden of the distance seem less harsh, especially in the times when Bob's job kept him farther way than usual.

Despite the top secret mission he had been sent on being completed, your husband was still assigned to say in the city for an undetermined amount of time. Evidently the higher ups decided they liked how well the crew had flown and wanted to keep them together. Tired of being alone and wanting to have a little fun in the Sunny City, you decided to make an early appearance. Luckily, you had already managed to find a job in the city that was just a different branch of where you worked before. They were also kind enough to give you a two weeks leave of your own to make the move and see your husband. Your husband knew you would to join at some point, only he thought you wouldn't be getting in until late next month. So he would be very surprised in a few hours when he found you at one of the navy's top aviator hangouts that night.

It was a bar called the Hard Deck. You remembered your husband mentioning it a few times through your communications, as where him and his fellow officers liked to go after a long day. A quick google search rendered a fruitful find, and ten minutes after getting your rental car, you were on your way. It barely 5:30 by the time your reached the bar, Aviators and Civilians alike had just begun to pour through the bar doors. But by 6:00 you were sure the place would be packed. So you quickly searched for a seat, always rubbing your right thumb over your left wrist to calm your nerves.

In the centre of the building, a beautiful older beautiful woman moved around the main bar serving drinks with ease. 'Penny' you though to yourself, remembering Bob mentioning her a few times when the bar came up. Apparently in addition to running the bar she also had close connections to the the Top Gun program herself, namely with a certain Captain who helped lead the last Mission. You smiled to yourself as you saw the sign by the bar serving a warning to those who would disrespect women or the navy. Maybe this woman could help you with your fun. When it became your turn to order you smiled at Penny...

"Hi! I was actually hoping I could send a drink to someone else if that would be alright?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bob was tired. There was no particular reason why he was tired today, he just was. Training had gone smoothly and Hangman hadn't been too much of an pain either. All and All, today had actually been one of the least stressful days since he first arrived nearly five months ago. But for some reason Bob just felt off today, he chalked it up to having not spoken to you in a few days. Speaking to you always made him feel better, even when it was only for a few minutes. And having not seen you in person for five months made him long for something from you even more.

But these last few days had been busy, and then earlier today he had tried calling, but it hadn't gone through. This didn't worry him too much as he knew you occasionally turned your phone off during days when you really needed to focus on work. Though it was unusual for you to be working so late, seeing as your time zone was a few hours ahead of his and he called at 4:30 his time. Since the call didn't go though he decide that the "secret" photo album he had of you would have to suffice for now. Neither of you liked having your photo taken, but quick images taken half under the counter and while one slept always made the other smile.

He had been so busy looking at photos he almost didn't notice the group's nightly arrival to the Hard Deck until Phoenix nudged him. Giving him that half secret smile showing she knew what he was looking at. While the rest of the group (and even Maverick to a degree) thought Bob was incapable of talking to a woman without stuttering, Tasha knew otherwise. Bob hadn't even tried to hide it when she had asked why he seemed so fond of rubbing his right thumb over his sleeved left wrist night the group met. She had done it in private, of course, and only wondered if it was a nervous habit of her new WSO. And it was a habit....only not Bob's.

It was something you had always done even before you got married, a comforting repetitive habit that both you and your husband shared. But it also held a deeper meaning as it held the symbol your love.

When the two of you first decided to get married a few years ago you hadn't gotten rings, or at least ones you'd wear on a daily basis. Both your jobs often required plenty of hands on work, and you had both been worried about losing the rings during the day. So instead, a cheaper pair of matching rings was bought and a new tradition was made. Each of you carried the other's ring in your wallet. That way, even when far apart you could have a piece of the other with you. And when the two of you met up face to face again you'd once more exchange rings.

But even that wasn't all.

The pair of you had wanted something more so you had decided to get matching tattoos. They were small and identical and despite almost breaking Bob's hand holding it while getting yours (from fear of needles) the small design was now one of your greatest comforts. On the inside of each of y'all's left wrist were two small stick figures holding hands on a paper airplane. At first glance it may have seems silly to any stranger passing by. But to you and Bob it was everything.

Bob had been the one to draw stick "You" and you had drawn stick "Bob" with his little glasses. You had also drawn the paper airplane as stickmen were the extent of Bob's artistic skills. Besides, the paper plane you believed would be funny at the time. A memorial of how you two had first met in high school, when your paper plane had accidentally collided with his face instead of your friend's desk during class one day. You hadn't even known he wanted to be a pilot until months later, but when you did learn he was quick to comment how one day he'd be more than happy to take you up in a plane, as long as your weren't the one flying it again (he didn't think his face could take it). Years later you still found it funny and Bob would sometimes catch you laughing to yourself tracing the black lines on his wrist while lying in bed. A moment of peace before you two would have been parted again. Bob didn't regret what he did for a job, and neither did you, but that didn't stop you two from wishing to be together more.

Again Tasha nudged him, breaking Bob out of his reverie before the pair headed into the crowded bar. It was just after 6:15 and already packed. Bob knew he'd rather head home and try calling you again, but he had also promised Fanboy one more pool rematch, since Hangman had busted into their last one. Luckily, even though the bar itself was crowded, the pool tables were open.

A few minutes into the game, Hangman and Coyote went to order a round of drinks and came back talking. Apparently there was some "Gorgeous Doll" (Jake's words) sitting at the bar and the pair of aviators were arguing over who'd get the chance to "woo" her first.

Bob wasn't paying too much attention to their conversation or very interested in finding out more about this mystery woman. As far was he was concerned not even Dolly Parton could top your beauty and Bob would openly admit that he'd had a minor(ish) crush on the country singer since he was a kid. It had even become a running joke between your families, the battle for Bob's heart between you and Dolly.

When he'd gotten his wisdom teeth out at 17, his mother told him someone had come to see him. Poor Bob about cried upon realising it was you instead of Mrs. Parton, his "Angel Voiced Beloved". Oh how you wish his brother still had that video tape, but unfortunately it had "mysteriously vanished" after Bob had overheard his sisters mention trying to get it for the wedding video. But more fortunately, the drugs wore off and soo enough he'd come back to his senses, and since that one night you'd been the only one for him. And luckily for him, he'd been the only one for you.

So even if he was slightly curious to see which of his friends would attempt their flirtations, or which ones would fail, for now he didn't put too much thought into it. The quicker he won the game the quicker he could try calling you again.

Soon enough Hangman was called back over to the bar to retrieve the group's drinks and they once again settled in to continue the game. Bob was once again winning, and Javy sat aside beginning to wish he hadn't placed such a bet tonight while Tasha and Callie were already making plans in their heads for what to do with their prize money. The only ball Bob had left to hit was the eight ball, and thanks to a lucky slip on Fanboy's part, it was a shot as perfect as it was easy.

Javy cursed under his breath while Tasha and Callie high-fived, and Rooster cheered raising his glass up almost dumping his drink on Jake's head. Fanboy hung his head in defeat while Bob just grinned. Bob wasn't a bragging man but he still did like to win...a lot. The Squad may have thought of Bob as the quiet and passive WSO, but they had yet to see how competitive he could be when challenged. They had seen plenty of dog fights in the sky, but nothing compared to the vicious chaos between the Floyd family when it came to the annual gingerbread house competition. Under that sweet smile and those large glasses hid an overly excited man-child basking in his victory. Ok... so maybe it had been a good idea to come tonight. Bob couldn't wait to call his wife and tell her about his achievement. After all she was the one who taught him to play.

A few minutes later the group of aviators had settled down again and a new game started. This time Rooster was up against Maverick himself, which always proved to be a good show, full of sneaky cheating and playful jibes. Bob was sitting by Callie and Tasha taking his share of the winnings. It was only 6:30 now and he knew his night owl of a wife wouldn't be asleep for a few more hours so he decided to watch a few more games between his friends before calling a cab home.

Hangman and Coyote were still debating over whose turn it was to talk to the new woman at the bar. Evidently, they'd noticed her reoccurring glances towards the squad during the first game and were sure she was interested in one of them two. And to drive their beliefs further, the glances had been accompanied by a playful smirk "directed" to the two men who'd placed themselves behind an oblivious Bob as them game went on.

It was a few minutes later Penny walk up to the Aviators carrying a drink in her hand and smirk on her face.

"Someone sent over a drink for one you lot," she said, at once turning the entire groups' attention towards her. After all who didn't like a free drink? Usually the drinks in question were for sent for Tasha or Callie, the only two women in the whole squad, but occasionally one of the other aviators would be the recipient. No one would forget the time Ruben got a drink from a 60 something year old women in a sparkly dress. And it appeared this would be one of those times.

With a smirk on her face she turned, setting the colorful drink down saying,

"Lieutenant Bob Floyd someone wants you to have sex on the beach."

Aside from quite humming of ice machine and the clatter of Maverick's pool stick it seemed as if all the sound has been sucked out of the Hard Deck. As if Penny's words has been some wicked spell freezing, all the group's inhabitants where stood still. A little ways away from the group, a woman sat with a growing grin on her face as she watched everything unfold. Just as Bob opened his mouth, his face now a red as his wife's lipstick, Penny delivered the final 'blow'.

"It's double strong too, so I'd say someone really wants you to have it."

Bob looked like a fish. A really cute six foot tall fish with military issued glasses but still a fish. His eyes were wide and his mouth kept opening slightly before closing as if the words in his head were fully composed of silent letters. If one were to look into Bob's head and read his mind they'd be able read the flurry of responses and polite refusals streaming through his brain. It wasn't the first time he'd been sent a drink, but that never stopped him from going speechless when it happened. Now Bob was a married man. A very happily married man, but he still had an awful habit of getting flustered anytime showed interest in him. It was something that Y/N took special pleasure in, and there were times they went out with friends when she'd pretend she didn't know him just so she could relentlessly flirt and turn him red. To be fair he'd also done it to her a few times, but she had a habit of taking any flirting he did as a challenge. And then, while their friends fake gagged and smirked behind their backs, the night would be filled with flirty winks and innuendos until someone gave in and "agreed" to take the other to "their place".....wait a mi....

"I hope you don't mind I took the liberty of getting you a refreshment. Thought you might have deserved it after that wonderful win."

Bob was grinning like an idiot before he even finished turning his head to the approaching voice. He didn't get out of his seat though as his head fell back to the ceiling with a hand over his face as the last of the embarrassment left him. Turning his head back to the women he smiled again as he began to laugh. He turned his body more towards her and noticed the dress she was wearing. Damn he loved that dress. It was the one she wore when they had gotten engaged. Looking at her lips she appeared to have the same lipstick on too.

"I hate you."

Words said without malice, quite the oppose actually, brought another laugh to Y/N's lips as after months apart she finally got to stand in-front of her husband. Eyes never leaving her husband's, she places a hand over her heart and gave a dramatic gasp.

"Well that is the most heartbreaking news I've ever heard darling. You see I was so impressed with your skills earlier, I was ALL set to propose. See I even got you a ring," and with that Y/N pulled her left hand back from her chest and revealed Bob's ring which had been sitting in her wallet for months now. Well, aside from almost every day when she'd fidget with it in her hands while on the phone with him or just because she missed him. And a little farther up from her palm was a small tattoo of two tiny stick people holding hands on a paper plane. In the back ground, Phoenix let out a small sound of joy of her own as she finally understood what was happening. Quickly she leaned over and explained to Callie, who also started to laugh. The rest of the aviators still stood in shock, not sure what was going on. They only knew that for some reason Bob "Blushes at the word boobies" Floyd was getting the attention of one very pretty women, apparently because he could play pool.

Bob only stared at her hand for a moment longer before he finally stood from his chair and wrapped the woman in front of him in his arms. Spinning her around once before kissing her cheek he pulled back.

"Well, I guess I'll have to rethink my words then ma'am. In fact, I think I got a ring right here that may fit your style," he replied grinning as he pulled Y/N's ring out of his own pocket and wallet with a practiced ease done many times before. "You'll have to forgive me for not kneeling to do it now, I'll get my ass chewed out if I dirty this uniform," he joked looking down to the woman in his arms smiling back.

"It may not be typical or proper, but I certainly wouldn't want anything to happen to that lovely ass of yours....so I guess I'll accept," Y/N joked back, drawing out a few words for added affect, not really caring about the propriety of it just ecstatic to be with her other half again.

"PROPER?! I haven't seen you in five months and the first think you do is send someone to tell me you really want me to have sex on the beach. How's that's proper for ya! Not even a hello first," Bob laughed. As surprised as he was initially, he really did miss this little game of y'all's. It brought out a cheekier side of him his friends usually didn't see.

"Alrighty then," stepping back and picking up the drink in question with a smirk, Y/N raised it to her husband's eyesight, "Hello, Lieutenant Bob Floyd would you like to have sex on the beach?"

"Well I just don't know if that's something I can answer in public Mrs Floyd," he replied cheekily, still starting at his wife.

"MRS.FLOYD"

That was the collective statement from the remaining aviators as the couple was finally brought out of their own little world. Turing to face the company Bob stood with his arm around Y/N's waist proudly like a child at Christmas.

"Yeah, Mrs. Floyd. Been that way since I became the luckiest man on earth."

"And since I became the luckiest women. But all ah y'all are welcome to call me Y/N. Or you know... Mrs. Baby on Board. Though I guess we haven't gotten to that part yet, but, it has been five months after all."

Tasha followed, closely by Callie, was the first to approach as Rooster's pool stick fell to the table and Maverick started wacking a sputtering Jake on the back, after the latter choked on his drink with the final sentence.

"Hi, I'm Natasha and this is Callie, callsigns Phoenix and Halo. I'm your husband's ..."

Before Natasha could even finish she was wrapped in a hug by Y/N.

"Ohh I know you!! Bobbie talks about you all the time! You're Black Widow! It's so nice to meet you!!"

"Black Widow," someone asked from the side, while Bob began to chuckle under his breath.

"Ohh right, sorry. I have a hard time with remembering names, so I like to make up helpful nicknames with Bob to remind me of who is who. Like Natasha is Black Widow because of Natasha Romanoff; and Callie is Catwoman because of Callico Cats; and there's also a Rocket Raccoon for whoever's Bradley; and I have a Peter Pan beca...."

"Yep I think they get it darling. No need to divulge all our secrets." Bob interrupted nervously, not quite wanting his team to know all his secrets yet. He'd also NEVER tell them that when you first learned about his job you'd compared him to the Thunderbirds. I mean the audacity of it all! Everyone knew the Blue Angles were superior! Those were some fighting words Bob assured you at the time. Callie and Tasha burst into grins, liking this more and more, while Y/N looked back a her husband with a fake look of innocence in her eyes. Meanwhile Penny, still with the group, wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes as Maverick gaped and Rooster got into a debate with Mickey if he was hotter than Bradley Cooper. Soon the laughter died down and Maverick stepped forward sticking out his hand.

"Well it sounds like you seem very good at giving callsigns of your own. Maybe we'll have to put you in charge of naming the new recruits Y/N. My callsign's Maverick but I'm guessing you know me as Peter Pan."

"Pleasure to meet you Maverick. I might just have to take you up in that offer. Heard a lot about you too. All of you in fact. I'm sorry for interrupting your game earlier, I've been waiting to do that for a long time. Your friend Penny was a brilliant help too." Y/N smiled and shook his hand. He had a welcoming smile that reminded her of her own father. She also sent a smile towards Penny who returned it with her own and took a step closer to Maverick.

"No problem at all, it always nice to see couple's meeting again. I must admit the drink was a nice touch. Never seen an idea that creative yet."

Stepping back towards her husband who put his waist around her once again, "Why thank you captain, I do suppose it's nice someone appreciates a good innuendo." Bob gave a small groan, but smiled as he buried his head into his wife's shoulder whispering how he did appreciate it and would show her how much later. Out of the corner of her eye Y/N caught a few more aviators still staring, though they seemed much less confused, now slowly settling in to of their quiet friend being married. "Though I believe there's a few more introduction left as well," She mentioned as she stepped towards the remaining group and shot a mischievous grin towards her husband, asking him a question without words.

"Oh just do it, they're gonna know eventually I guess," Bob laughed and looked at his wife with an equally mischievous look, finally taking a sip of his drink. After all, she'd probably let the names slip one day. This was going to be great. Hearing her next words, Jake choked on his drink again.

"Alrighty then. Which one of y'all boys is Statefarm?"

#bob floyd x reader #bob floyd #top gun maverick #top gun maverick imagine #Bob Floyd imagine #Bob x reader #Robert Floyd #robert floyd x reader

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