🎐

千里之行，始于足下

[laceatelier]

yuxin ⊹ 雨欣 ⊹ any prns ⊹ please moot me

꒰ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ꒱ masterlist

꒰ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ꒱ laceatelier - writing ノ yapxin - shitposting ノ yuxinmail - asks

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 ! longer wrio fic!! — 14/07

© LACEATELIER 2025 - 2026 do not repost, edit, or translate any of my work

tumblr & ao3 r my only accounts

[laceatelier]

[laceatelier]

oh my god

[laceatelier]

✦ hsr masterlist

BLADE

drabbles

nsfw : untitled 1

PHAINON ⤷ letters | 1.8k words tags 𓏵 ex bf! phainon/reader; angst; pre 3.4

he’s injured and refuses medical care from anyone but you. despite being his ex, you reluctantly come to help but discover a few letters while searching for medical equipment.

[laceatelier]

✦ gi masterlist

K. AYATO ⤷ betrothal | 1.0k words tags 𓏵 ayato/retainer reader; fluff; indirect proposal

ayato has no patience for the endless stream of noble ladies contesting for his hand, but when his retainer asks about his type—after sifting through files of betrothal applicants—his answer sounds suspiciously like… them.

[laceatelier]

✦ bllk masterlist

V. HUGO ⤷ block 204 row 39 seat 134 | 1.2k words tags 𓏵 ex! hugo; dubcon kiss; possessive hugo

despite knowing your ex is a football player , you buy game tickets to a football match and you see him—hugo. as long as you don't make a scene he shouldn't spot you , you're in a sea of people , anyways.. right?

M. KAISER ⤷ merchandise | 1.0k words tags 𓏵 established relationship; banter; fluff

buying a knock off kaiser jersey which has the wrong number

⤷ you, again | 3.1k words tags 𓏵 childhood friends to situationship; second chance romance; smut

poverty taught you not to ask questions when opportunity comes knocking; when a translation agency offers an absurd amount of money for a temporary assignment, you accept immediately. so, what do you do when you glaze over the fine print and become your childhood best friend’s translator?

drabbles

sfw : voicemails

R. ITOSHI ⤷ misinterpreted | 0.9k words tags 𓏵 established relationship; accusations of cheating; fluff

the dots connect themselves. convinced that his girlfriend (you) has harboured a secret relationship with his rival, isagi, rin confronts you—only to discover the truth is far less scandalous and has rearranged every assumption rin made.

S. ITOSHI ⤷ merchandise | 0.9k words tags 𓏵 established relationship; banter; fluff

going to sae's soccer game and coming across a stall selling u20 merch and you cave and end up buying merchandise of sae’s japan u20 uniform

[laceatelier]

✦ masterlist

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐓

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐊𝐀𝐈: 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐋

[laceatelier]

redoing my masterlist and looking thru my older pieces of work i wanna cry

[babydollmee]

cant wait to see this glorious duke in any fics. 😋😋

[laceatelier]

i want to make an ao3 acc

[laceatelier]

finished cyberpunk i feel like writing angst

[laceatelier]

hey why is there no chris prince x reader stuff here i need to do something

[laceatelier]

✦ you, again — kaiser x reader

poverty taught you not to ask questions when opportunity comes knocking; when a translation agency offers an absurd amount of money for a temporary assignment, you accept immediately. so, what do you do when you glaze over the fine print and become your childhood best friend’s translator?

tags ⟢ michael kaiser / reader ; afab reader ; fem reader ; second chance romance ; employer/employee if u squint ; smut ; p in v ; mainly vanilla stuff ; not proof read ; fluff

word count ⟢ 3 . 1 k

author's note ⟢ sort of wanted to extend on the desperate kaiser here LOL yayamrata i thought abt you while writing this

You hadn’t anticipated seeing him again. In fact, you hadn’t pondered about him—Kaiser—in years. The guy who grew up in the same run-down neighbourhood as you, the guy who’d walked you to and from school. Well, before you left. Left because your parents got better jobs elsewhere.

The constant moving wasn't entirely devoid of benefits. New cities meant new languages, and before long, you had become something of a polyglot. Still, none of that justified how a single email spiralled into this. Here you were, standing outside Bastard München's headquarters—one of Germany’s most prestigious football clubs.

The building loomed over you, a stark reminder of the massive gap in talent between you and all these footballers. After a moment of hesitation, you walked through the revolving doors.

The next half an hour passed in a blur of paperwork. Staff members steered you through hallways lined with trophies and framed photographs. With every step, the weight of your new job sank in a little deeper.

"Your assigned player should already be waiting," a staff member informed you as they stopped outside a door. You nodded, smiling awkwardly. You took the folder handed to you. Your heart pounded even harder now.

Assigned player. Right. The entire rationale behind why you were here. Taking a steadying breath, you pushed the door open—and your knees almost buckled under you.

You do a double-take, head looking down at your folder, then shooting back up to look at the football player in front of you. Michael Kaiser. The same man from your youth? No, no. Perhaps merely an eerie doppelganger?

You would’ve forgotten about Kaiser if it weren’t for the validity of his standing before you right now. His hair was dyed, dyed! He looked taller, more mature, better. It was a far cry from the scrawny blonde boy from your childhood.

All you saw behind the costly suit, pristine conference room, and rose tattoo was a person from your childhood. The boy who once sat beside you on the curb, who’d share his sandwich because neither of you had enough to eat. The boy who declared that one day he’d be rich and powerful.

Rich and powerful enough to leave. Enough to never fret again. Enough to take you with him.

Your tongue swiped over your dry lips. You introduced yourself, extending an arm to shake his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mr Kaiser."

His hand didn't clasp over yours immediately. Kaiser stood with an unreadable expression. His blue eyes flickered with resentment.

“Yeah, real nice.” Kaiser scoffed.

“I'll be your new translator. I look forward to collaborating with you.”Your fingers plucked a piece of paper from your folder. You handed him a sleek sheet of the itinerary. His eyes narrowed at the long list of appointments.

“I don’t need a translator.” He paused. “I don't need you.”

“I survived just fine without you before.” Kaiser folded his arms. His now hardened eyes locked onto yours. By now, you can divulge that he has recognised you. There are innumerable non-work-related queries you have. What happened to that father of his? What on earth happened once you moved? Does he abhor you? When did he get that tattoo?

Swallowing the lump in your throat and omitting all the questions you have about him, you speak.

“I'm here to do a job; none of this is personal. You have an interview with a Japanese broadcaster this evening. You can either cooperate with me or make a fool of yourself on live television.”

Kaiser’s stern face seems to drop instantly at your harsh tone and seems just as quickly to grow somehow more grim. “Alright.”

To the average person, Kaiser’s attitude towards you would have been awfully malcontent. But if any of his teammates had seen how he responded to your chiding, Kaiser may as well have been as assertive as a puppy.

The interview goes like any other interview. Questions about Kaiser’s recent performance, ambitions, challenges, and the like.

The two of you stood outside in the city. 8:51 PM glowed on your phone. Despite the cacophonic traffic, the cold wind—almost as cold as Kaiser’s attitude—and the shutters of paparazzi cameras, all you could focus on was the scowling man beside you—the scowling man who drew you beneath the protection of his arm. Cameras exploded everywhere. Kaiser angled his body between you and the cameras. While steering you through the crowd to his chauffeur, his other arm pushed away the cameras. The space between you two is small enough now that you can hear him curse under his breath. And smell his cologne.

It's infuriating. He seems so unaffected in spite of what he was doing. It was as if protecting you was simply a biological mechanism of his. It's additionally more infuriating that a small part of you hopes that maybe you two would encounter the paparazzi again so that you could be this close to Kaiser once more.

Upon reaching Kaiser’s chauffeur’s car, you leaned your head back with a sigh of relief. Your gaze was set on the city lights that contrasted with the night sky throughout the drive. Now and then, you caught Kaiser glancing at you.

“They’re still following us,” the driver muttered.

Kaiser sighed. “Of course they are. Nosy animals.”

A few minutes later, Kaiser says something that makes you whip your head back in astonishment. “We’re not taking you home.”

“Pardon?”

“If they see where you live, they’ll never leave you alone,” Kaiser reasoned, his voice monotone as if he were discussing the weather. “You’ll stay at my place.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but nothing came out. He was right; it'd be hazardous for the paparazzi to know where you lived. Kaiser turned his head towards you, a slight smirk on his face.

“Don't get too excited. It’s one night.”

“I wasn't.”

“Mhm.”

The ultimate feeling you had as a kid was pity. Pity because you remember the face Kaiser had back then, when you told him you were leaving. Leaving him. Every night since then, when he would go home to his father, all he thought about was how his one safe space was gone. You couldn’t bear the thought of the abuse happening to Kaiser and how helpless you were.

The ding of the elevator snapped you out of your trance, and when Kaiser opened the door to his penthouse. You’re more relieved than shocked that he’s finally out of that house. Surprise planted your feet in the entryway, unable to move.

You’ve been alone with Kaiser before, but that was either when you were kids or in his office, where he grumbles about paperwork. But this? What were you meant to do?

Your eyes watched Kaiser casually hook his jacket on the hanger and place his shoes on the shoe rack.

“So,” your voice quivers, “guest room?”

“I don’t have one.”

You blinked. “You have this whole apartment and no guest room?”

Kaiser lets out an exhale through his nose at that, as if your proposition of sleeping anywhere where he wasn’t personally offended him. Looking back at you, he replied. “I guess not.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch then.” You conclude.

“My couch is broken.”

You finally walked into the penthouse and got a good glimpse of the living room. “It looks fine.”

“It’s not.”

“Since when?”

“Since now.”

Your face dropped, and you couldn’t help but incredulously chuckle.

“Sleep in my room.” Kaiser’s given up on concealing the desperate tone in his voice.

“You’re a hundred per cent sure you have no guest room, and the couch is really broken?”

“Yes!”

“Alright…” You had to repress the slight smile threatening to tug at your lips at how distraught this 187cm man was over whether you’d sleep in his bed or not as you followed Kaiser to his room.

“Goodnight, Mr Kaiser.” After the whole commotion of today, you almost fell asleep the moment your head hit that pillow.

He’s quiet again.

“Don't call me that.”

You cock a brow.

“You used to call me Mihya. What’s with the sudden change? Call me Mihya.” His hands wrapped around your torso, taut, and your body stiffened on instinct. If it weren't for the poorly lit bedroom, you might have caught a glimpse of the way his lips folded into a slight pout.

“You’re my employer; wouldn't it be shameful to call you by a nickname?” You chuckled, trying to inch away and pry his insistent hands off of you. Internally, you’d bask in his touch all day, but you know etiquette comes first.

“Do you have a boyfriend.” His arms tightened, deliberately halting your attempt to move.

“What?”

“Are you seeing anyone? Is that why you won’t call me that?” He murmured, hiding his face in the crook of your neck to maybe muffle his voice, and hide how utterly pathetic he sounded.

“Forget it,” Kaiser huffed. He rolled over so his back faced you. Yet, he shot up again, as if behind his cold words something more tender for you had manifested. “You’re translating for me tomorrow, right? Right?”

You nod.

“Good.” He lay back down.

The lack of space between you and Kaiser the morning after was scandalous. The feeling of his forehead on yours was something you could not have predicted would come out of this. His hair fell in burnished strands, curling upon you two like a curtain. Chirps of birds faded as you involuntarily focused in on the sound of Kaiser's breathing, how his tattoo stretched as his arm tensed. His eyes closed, and another deep exhale left his mouth. Your breath hitched as his hand trailed down your arm, which quickly found your hand with speed like he was begging to touch you.

“Don’t act on nostalgia,” you whispered.

“I’m not.”

“We shouldn’t do this—”

“Don’t.” His voice softened immediately. “Not if you’re going to say I’m your employer again.”

A beat of silence followed, tense and fragile.

“Please,” he added, quieter now, tightening his grip around your fingers as if that alone could keep you from pulling away, physically and emotionally.

“Mihya.”

One single word. That one nickname coming from your lips pierced his heart. His entire composure seemed to falter for a second, no longer the arrogant striker anymore, only Michael.

"You're right." He peeled himself off you promptly, walking across the room to gather his clothes. Kaiser wasn't someone who gave away his emotions freely, not then, when you two were kids, and not now, where he seemed to masquerade around in pride and wealth.

“I shouldn’t have asked you that last night,” he murmured.

“Asked me what?” You sit up.

He bit the inside of his cheek, hand threading through his hair, thinking about an answer. “About whether you had someone else.”

You’ve been Kaiser’s translator for a few months now. Were there times where the line between co-workers and something more blurred? Most definitely. Were there times you’ve softened his words to make him seem more temperate? Perhaps. But now, you wonder whether all that sugar-coating has distorted your own perception.

“Wear my shirt.” Kaiser nudged a copy of his jersey towards you.

“Huh?”

“My shirt. Wear it.”

“What? Why? I'm your translator; people know I work for Bastard München. Why would I need a shirt?” you scoffed.

“The sun’s beating down onto the stadium; shirt’s more, um, air conditioning.” He nudged the jersey a bit closer

“I'm not that hot.”

“Just be a doll and wear it, won't you?”

You reached for the jersey, mostly just to end the conversation.

“There. Happy?”

Kaiser watched as you pulled it on, the smallest satisfied smile appearing on his face.

“Much. It looks good on you—anything looks good on you."

The jersey was different from your usual uniform with the Bastard Mũnchen crest. 'KAISER' was nicely printed on the back; the gold letters glimmered in the sun. To you, it wasn't much. Yet, Kaiser saw it as an oath of loyalty. He liked knowing people knew you were associated with him.

"You should go warm up," you suggested. Kaiser's usually regal posture dropped immediately.

"I want to stay with you a bit more."

"You can after." You leaned back in your chair, watching the lights on your phone glow as you watched him jog onto the field.

The game went fine. Kaiser had a tantrum over his teammate not passing to him. During the post-match interview, the cacophony of camera shutters and fans’ conversations made it hard for you to hear Kaiser. It was bearable, sure. But you were almost convinced Kaiser was exaggerating the noise solely to lean down and get closer to you, or, as he said, “to hear you better.”

Furthermore, you've exhausted all your energy from spending the entire day trying to ignore Kaiser’s piercing gaze since you reluctantly wore his jersey. Getting back to his penthouse felt like a breath of fresh air.

"Mihya.” You rolled over to face him on the bed.

"Mm?"

"What are we?"

Kaiser halted, his lips slightly parted in calculation before quickly morphing into a smile that didn't seem to meet his eyes. "We're us. What else is there to say?”

You gaze towards him under your lashes, a sigh of impatience leaving you. “I’m serious. Stop hiding things from me.”

"Don’t fret your pretty mind over it.” Kaiser crawled on top of you, his lips closing over yours, as if to dissuade any morsel of protest from you. He’s quick to deepen the kiss, indulging in the susceptibility of your astonishment—greedy man.

He planted a hand by your head, his free hand tilting your chin up with such care you would have expected him to be handling fine china. Kaiser’s knee arrived to rest upon your slightly parted legs, as if emphasising the immense unscrupulous control he had over your flustered mind.

He was massive above you; you were transfixed not only by shock but by the lust pooling in your lower stomach. You weren't able to move—you couldn't imagine wanting to. Warm breath brushed against your lips as Kaiser pulled away, only to breathe.

"Answer my question—" Your arms thrashed. Kaiser gripped your wrist, pinning it down to the bedding beneath you two.

“I’ll show you what we are.”

Without haste, like redemption to a sinner, he captured your lips once again. This one was heavier, as if thunder itself had beckoned. Unhurriedly, Kaiser’s lips drove down heavier.

Too caught up with his hand on your thigh, you instinctively parted your lips in response to his tongue brushing against your lips. Your hand—at least not the one being crushed by Kaiser’s grasp beneath the weight of how desperately he needed you—held onto his back, searching for purchase.

"You're so pretty." Kaiser exhaled, resting his forehead against yours. He placed another kiss on the corner of your mouth, trailing down with open-mouthed kisses and stopping at where your neck met your shoulder.

Simultaneously, his hands slipped down your torso, peeling off your clothes—still leaving his jersey on—and settling upon the swell of your hips. Then, another firm grind upwards. Tracing down the back of your thigh, Kaiser angled your hips up and slowly lowered his head.

It started with a graze of his lips against your folds, then escalated into his tongue dipped into you before dragging upward to circle your swollen little nub, leading into a soft suckle on it. His arms hooked under your thighs, bringing you closer so he could bury himself deeper into your pussy.

“Mihya!” Your hands threaded through Kaiser’s hair; instinctively, your hips bucked

“Now, now.” His coos vibrated against your pussy, arms coming to situate your warmth closer to him, slipping a finger past your folds with his mouth still on your clit. The moment his fingers crooked and brushed against that gummy spot, your back arched, Kaiser’s lips curled into a predatory smirk.

“You shouldn’t get so greedy,” mused Kaiser, pulling away to circle your clit in torturous circles. Any remaining retort dissolved into pathetic whimpers as he began to scissor his fingers inside you, causing you to jerk against his hand involuntarily. Every piston of his fingers was immobilising; unyielding. Just as your thighs clamped around his wrist and your body trembled with electric shocks of pure lust, Kaiser pulled his fingers away.

“Mihya..” A whine that sounded more pitiable than you’d like to admit left your lips.

“Patience, mein schatz.” And with that, Kaiser flipped you onto your stomach without warning.

“Prettiest girl I've ever seen. I'll give this pussy the cock she deserves, hm?” The sound of unbuckling and the hymn of a belt clattering against the floor snapped you out of your trance. Sure, Kaiser’s poised, but this poise does not seem to be even the slightest bit present as Kaiser’s cock bullied its way through your cunt.

A heavy exhale left Kaiser once he bottomed out, his tense shoulders slowly relaxing. The gentle rocking of his hips quickly escalated into sloppy, feverous thrusts.

He fucked you like he was trying to prove something, like he was trying to convince himself more than convince you that you would have still loved him even if he refused to get his feelings sorted out.

Your tongue lolled out, your nails frantically scratching down Kaiser's forearm with every brutal drive of his hips, earning you an amused tch. The way your walls narrowed down on his length had not helped convince him of the supposed suspicion you harboured.

Your head was too fuzzy to string together anything intelligent. You’ve underestimated this footballer—he's rearranged your guts and made you see stars and gods you don’t even believe in.

“So pretty, all for me, yes?"

"Mm, all yours."

You blubbered in response, words dying in your throat, head falling back against the pillow. Loud ah, ah, ah’s echoed throughout the room with every merciless drag of Kaiser's length.

With his head buried in the crook of your neck and his large hands on your hips, forcing you back onto his cock; grip had been so tight that marks would undoubtedly be left—maybe it was Kaiser's way of ensuring that your fate would be eternally tangled with his.

Kaiser will refuse to tell you, but the more he can feel his veins rub against your walls, the more he loses the remaining shreds of dignity preventing him from flipping you onto your back and driving his hips into your G-spot till you're fucked senseless and have passed out either from cumming or crying out his name.

There’s too much going on; you can feel him in your cervix, you swear. Before you know it, that sly striker has already ripped an orgasm out of you.

“Too much,” you can barely mutter out, your body quivering. Your walls fluttered around his cock before his hips frantically sped up again, greedily chasing his own climax. Did this man also think you had the stamina of a fellow athlete? You felt like you were going to pass out! His bicep tightened around your face, pounding deeper into you.

“Come on, you can give me one more, can’t you?” He rasped.

Later, you woke up to an empty apartment.

Kaiser's side of the bed was empty.

The coffee machine looked recently used.

© LACEATELIER 2025 - 2026 do not repost, edit, or translate any of my work

[laceatelier]

ex husband neuvillette who does everything he can to make sure your last name is still registered as his’s in legal files and etc

[laceatelier]

blade x reader — smut

blade/reader ; plot what plot ; smut ; p in v ; head lock ; implied mating press ; afab reader ; fem reader ; not proofread

“You think you can entertain other men like a slut? Hah?” Blade grunted. The merciless pace of his hips quickened, as if he were trying to mould your walls to the size of his raging cock.

You don’t know how long you two have been going, only that you’ve ultimately given up on fighting back. He has you pinned flat on the bed. Your head’s locked between his muscular bicep with just enough pressure to not hurt but to remind you you’re his. Each drag of his cock is dizzying, only tightening the coil in your lower stomach. Blade immediately clocks the sudden fluttering of your walls, his usually blank face curling into a predatory grin.

“All that just to get fucked properly?” he mused, his free hand slithering down to circle your clit. “Could’ve just asked.”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“Oh, really?”

“Really!”

Blade suddenly stops. Your body quickly betrays you with how your walls instantly pulse around him, trying to coax any movement from him, earning you an amused chuckle.

“See?” He thrusts upwards.

“Your cunt doesn't lie as much as your mouth does,” Blade teased. The torturous circles of his calloused fingers paired with his accelerating thrusts made your body tremble. Your eyes rolled in ecstasy. Any retort you had left dissolved into whines and whimpers as his fingers sped up just right. Your walls clamp onto him in response. Blade scoffed a quiet tsk as he lifted his fingers off your clit, depriving you of what you needed most—excluding the literal dick buried inside of you, how needy.

He grabbed your face to kiss your lips before you could answer properly, like he wanted you unable to rebuke him so that he had a reason to fuck you harder. Tears prickled at the edges of your eyes at that—cruel man. Blade growled against your slack mouth.

The kiss was nothing but teeth and saliva, with how Blade’s teeth clashed against yours. An unkempt fight of need. He bites your lower lip, hard, before seizing your mouth with his tongue. Blade kisses like a dehydrated man with water, drinking in your moans.

Even when you try to pull away, before you have the slightest second to recalibrate, he tightens the bicep around your neck to kiss you harder. From under your eyelashes, you see how the edges of Blade’s figure blur with the lack of air you're getting. All sense of feeling in your limbs slowly dissolves when you attempt to keep up with his rapid thrusts, along with his kisses. While you felt like you might pass out, there's no other place you’d rather be right now.

“Well? Answer me, little lady,” Blade chided, emphasising his point with a cruel drive of his hips towards your pelvis. Your body jerks at the sensation.

“Me and, ah, him, were just having a conversation. Ye—ah, conversation!“ you babble, choking on your own words when Blade pulls out till just his tip remained snuggled between your folds, before proceeding to slam his whole length to the hilt. His erratic pace quickened to frenzied ruts of his hips against yours.

“ ‘m gonna cum so deep inside you.” Blade’s words barely register with your fucked-out brain. All you can think about is the lewd sound of skin against skin and his plunging thrusts. His tip swipes over your G-spot, and immediately your body crumpled, inviting him to fuck you with even more vigour.

“Blade! I-I’m g’nna, ah, ah!”

“You’re what? Come on, use your words.”

An orgasm racks through your body before you can reply. You see white. He doesn't stop moving, though. Your nails claw at his forearm, the sheets, anything, just for the slightest bit of purchase. Your legs kick, your vision grows spotty with blossoming black dots as you fall into a dangerous balance between pleasure and overstimulation.

“I’m not done.” His large hands tightened around your waist, flipping you onto your back. Blade’s not one for patience. That’s obvious with how he’s already pounding into you like he’ll die if he goes one second without being inside of you; not even letting you take a breather!

“Wait! I’m still—” Blade kisses you silent, effectively shutting you up while simultaneously placing one leg onto his shoulder; finding a deeper angle to bully your G-spot more. Whines spill out of your mouth, hips involuntarily bucking against Blade—chasing his thrusts. You can feel Blade so deeply that you think every vein of his cock has left a permanent imprint on your walls.

“That guy,” Blade snarls, “I’ll rip his eyes out, I swear. You’re all mine.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I wouldn't need to be if I weren’t in love with such a promiscuous woman.” His hand traces down to the back of your thigh, firmly gripping it to fold both of your legs to your chest. The newfound position meant that his hips only pounded into you deeper—and you could feel his length impaling you. The sensation is dizzying. Your tongue lolls out. Blade wipes away the subtle drool from your jaw. Attempting to make yourself look presentable was one of your least important concerns when you were literally being dicked down by a man with an 8.13B bounty.

“I’m not promiscuous at all,” your voice wobbled, the pillow case beneath your head crumpling between your limp hands.

“Mm, is that so, doll?” He rasped against your ear, pecking your cheek before emptying himself inside you with one last thrust.

© LACEATELIER 2025 - 2026 do not repost, edit, or translate any of my work

moots if you’ve read this i’m so sorry i swear i’m not usually this horny

[laceatelier]

oh my god

[laceatelier]

i’m gonna have to redo all my hyperlinks cus i changed my user fml