#black hobble skirt

[wear-this-for-me-sweetie]

Heading into the weekend feeling like a naughty nasty mistress.

#black skirt suit #black hobble skirt #black heels #black gloves #red lips #black handbag #pearl necklace

[thecuriousquest]

My Daughter, My Little Girl

Platonic Yandere Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader

Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @chickennugnugnug @palesweetscherryblossom

Warnings: Platonic yandere, NSFW (spanking punishment), non-consensual spanking, spanking of a teenager, bare bottom spanking, Gojo is trying so hard to adopt you, injured reader from fighting, reader’s parents died, Gojo is a patronizing asshole

Master List

—————————————————————————

Satoru Gojo drags you all the way back to the high school and into the classroom by your upper arm. You limp awkwardly due to your injured leg and foot, trailing slightly behind him. Keeping up with his wide gait is proving to be tough for you. He’s extremely displeased with you, but what did he expect? He never allows you to go on missions, and you’ve been at this fucking school for six months now!

He lets go of you once he closes the shoji door. It slides shut, and he whirls on you with covered eyes. His mouth is set in a firm line, his usual smile replaced with one of pure condescension.

“Look at you, almost shredded to the bone.” He grabs you by the jaw, squeezing your cheeks as they puff around his fingertips. “What was a little girl like you thinking you could do against a grade two curse? You went out on a mission you weren’t approved for, risked your life, got all nice and banged up. Albeit, I never intended to approve of you going on any missions. That’s not the reason why I brought you here.”

You furrow your browns, not understanding what he’s talking about. “What? Why did you bring me here if you don’t plan on letting me go on missions?”

“Well, you see, you have potential. No, not as a sorcerer. You’re far too weak for that life. You have potential for something else: a special place in my life…wait for it — as my daughter! Yay!”

A few beats of silence go by where you simply look at him with fear and anger.

“You don’t seem too excited. Don’t worry. Once we get your punishment over with, I’m sure we can find some way to bond. Get to know each other a little. What do you say?” He pokes you in the ribs.

“I’m not your daughter, and I never will be!”

“Aw, you’re breaking your old man’s heart here. Well, either way, your ass still has a date with my hand, so why don’t you go on and hobble up to the desk over there?”

Limping past him, you shudder a deep sigh as you look at the hard surface that you’re meant to bend over. He can’t seriously do this to you. It has to go against some kind of school regulation.

When you arrive, you give him an unsure look.

“You can bend over now you know?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?”

“Hmmm, not that I can recall, but keep on talking like that to your Papa, and I’ll have to stick a bar of soap in your mouth. Wouldn’t want that, right? I’d suggest keeping the curses to a minimum and just trying to behave.”

You’re so angry that you grab your hair and stomp your uninjured foot. “You’re not my Papa! Stop it!”

“Oh-ho-ho, getting a little pouty now are we? Someone’s gonna need a nap after this.”

Gojo instantly appears right behind you, pushing you down onto the desk. Your hips bump against the edges uncomfortably, and you hate how easy this was for him.

You try to take it stoically, biting the inside of your cheek as his heavy hand mercilessly scorches your backside. You feel like you might burst into tiny pieces if you don’t scream, but you hold that feeling in, shoving it down to the very bottom of your being.

“Hm, must not be doing it hard enough,” he says behind you.

Your eyes grow wide, and you turn to look over your shoulder at him. Not hard enough? No, no, he’s spanking you so hard to begin with!

Lifting your skirt to reveal your black, sheer tights, his palm cracks down like lightning, and this time, oh, this time you can’t help but howl.

“Are you even allowed to do this, Sensei?!”

“Uh, obviously, I can do whatever I want.”

Still cracking jokes.

You clench your fists with fury. “Oh, you’re just the worst!”

“You know-“ he lands a particularly hefty blow to your right thigh, “you never were that great with insults.”

“Fuck you, damnit!”

He stops spanking you and simply cages you with his hands on both sides of your waist. He leans in against the shell of your ear, scolding you. “Hey now, this is a high school to learn about how to defeat curses, not a place to throw them around in.”

You scream into your folded arms when he takes the final steps in lowering your tights and panties. You try to reach back to block him from doing so, but all he does is swat your hand away.

“Settle down, we still have a while to go.”

Shaking your head, you sob at him. “No! I don’t want anymore!”

“How about this: if you say ‘I’m sorry, Daddy’, then I’ll stop. Deal?”

No. Absolutely not. No way in fucking hell!

“Get bent, old man…”

You’re not sure why THAT came out of your mouth, but you’re pretty sure it was the wrong thing to say because Gojo immediately starts targeting the most sensitive part of your bottom and thighs.

“Why do you even want me to be your daughter?!”

Satoru’s hand never pauses as he answers, “Because you’re just such a little bat shit crazy cutie, and it’s obvious that you need a dad in your life. I wouldn’t want anyone else taking that role.”

It’s getting to a rough point where you don’t think you can take this much longer. The words to end this punishment are tempting to say, right on the tip of your tongue as tears cascade down your scarlet cheeks. Should you just relent and say them? You might not even have to mean them. You could just say it to end this fucking stupid spanking.

Fuck, Sensei is such a damn asshole!

But you can’t. You can’t do it. You feel it would be so disrespectful to your papa’s memory, the one who died when you were twelve. He was a great papa, and your mama was the best too. You had such great parents, but they’re gone, and now your sensei is trying to take your father’s place.

It strikes your heart, and it makes you cry even harder. Your shoulders shake as you wail and howl into the desk. No, no, no!

You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to.

But the absolute burn in your hide is too much.

It would be disrespectful to your papa’s memory!

Satoru’s hand is coming down even harder against your raw skin.

And then he does something absolutely wicked. Sensei drags the tips of his nails lightly over your well-punished flesh.

Your eyes widen as you yelp from the sensation. It feels like everything, down to the last nerve, has been amplified.

One more smack, two more, three more. It’s all raw, and the burn is deeper and more lively now than it was before.

You clench your nails into your palms and wail, “I’m sorry, Daddy!”

His hand suddenly stops. “I didn’t quite catch that. Wanna repeat it?”

Oh, the smug asshole!

You gulp down breaths and sobs, you try to wait until your throat is clear. “I…I’m sorry…Daddy…”

Fuck, you didn’t know you could blush any harder than before.

“Awww, it’s okay, sweetie. Daddy forgives you.” He helps you up off the desk and holds you in his long arms. “You just cry it all out. Go on. That’s a good girl.”

As you stand there, your skirt falls back into place. However, your tights and underwear remain at mid thigh.

You hate how patronizing he’s being. Condescension drips from his tongue like venom, and you want to punch him in the dick.

But the comfort’s nice, and at least he’s not inflicting pain on you anymore.

“How about you go take that nap now, hm? How does that sound?”

You nod in response. Anything to get away from him right now.

But he doesn’t let you off that easily. No, he pats the seat of your skirt as a warning.

“Yes, Daddy. It sounds good.”

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere themes #triggering content #triggering themes #jujutsu kaisen #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jjk gojo #satoru gojo #gojo saturo #gojou satoru x reader #yandere satoru gojo #yandere gojo #yandere gojo satoru #platonic yandere father #platonic yandere #platonic yandere gojo

[kaciidubs]

Versace Crowned Prince

❣ Summary: A fashion weekend with the Prince of Versace, what more could you have asked for? ❣  ❣ Word Count: 2.7k ❣ Warnings: Implied Black! Reader, smut with feelings, fluff, mention of alcohol ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Hyunjin is referred to as My Prince/Versace Prince, Hyune, Baby, Reader is referred to as My Goddess/Love/Muse, this one turned out very romantic, he brings out a faux poetic side of me ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

If you could describe the past few days as anything, it would be a dream - no, a fairytale, a life you never thought you’d find yourself living yet here you were, going up in a fancy elevator to a fancy hotel room with your dashingly handsome boyfriend after attending a party honoring one of the most well known fashion events for one of the biggest brands in the world.

“Did you have fun?”

You hummed happily, leaning your head against Hyunjin’s leather jacket clad shoulder as your conscience floated through the warm buzz of the drinks you had at the party - not quite drunk, but a pleasant tipsy that strung your words together and made your giggles that much more frequent.

“Mm, yeah - it was amazing.” You drawled, squeezing his hand that was currently entwined with your own, “I already know you had fun, Mister Versace Prince.”

He scoffed out a laugh, pulling you to stand in front of him as he leaned against the elevator wall, “It was only fun because you were there, my love.” His fingers caressed the smooth, ruched fabric near the waist of your skirt, “Thank you for coming with me.”

The warmth of his palms seeped straight through your clothes and settled on the skin underneath, sparking goosebumps to spread along your arms while your alcohol addled brain soared with your - ironically - heightened senses.

Sliding your hands up his chest, wrinkling the designer shirt in your path, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders as a dazed smirk curled your lips. “Going to Milan to watch a Versace fashion show with my breathtakingly gorgeous, ambassador boyfriend,” playing with the hair at the back of his head, you tilted yours to the side, “how could I have said no?”

It was bold, being in this position in the elevator where one unexpected stop could spoil everything, but neither of you seemed to care, not with the way his hold on your waist tightened as he leaned forward to fully invite himself into your space.

“Does that mean you’ll be my plus one for the next event?”

His husky murmur made your toes curl in your heels, though you didn’t back down, arching into him with a gaze that could only be read as a challenge.

“If the prince requests my presence, then so be it.” Gaze flicking to his full lips, you leaned in just enough to graze them, “Anything for you.”

The chime of the elevator floated through the charged atmosphere and Hyunjin chuckled, a low, sultry sound that made your heart flutter.

Untangling himself from your hold, he slid his hand into your own before leading you through the sliding doors toward the specially booked suite that had been your home since the beginning of the eventful week.

With a swipe of the key card - which wasn’t easy with your barely muffled giggles and wandering hands - you were finally welcome to the privacy of four walls yet again; stumbling through the door with your new goal set on removing your heels first and foremost.

Hobbling your way to the large king bed, you watched as he shrugged off his leather jacket in record time, breathing a sigh of relief as he dropped it to the couch before unceremoniously following suit with a loud “Oof”.

You giggled to yourself, managing to undo the straps to let each shoe fall one at a time, humming softly as you flexed your slightly achy feet until something shiny caught your eye.

Resting atop his suitcase was a familiar golden crown he’d received mere hours earlier, and you found yourself padding over to the accessory instantly.

The second your hands touched the plastic gold, you instantly brought it to your head and placed it atop your curls, feeling the coils cushion the new weight before sauntering around the back of the couch with an extra sway in your hips.

“How do I look?” Placing your hands on your hips, you carefully angled your head like the models you’d seen on the runway, “Am I fitting enough for the prince of Versace?”

You’d expected a fit of giggles, a bemused chuckle even, but when your eyes met his, you were subject to a gaze that had your breath catching in your throat.

Hyunjin’s hungry stare traced your face before trailing down, taking in the black corset top that was so simple in design, yet held a level of elegance on your body that he couldn’t begin to comprehend as it further accentuated the curve of your waist while the neckline cradled your breasts. Observing further, his tongue peaked out to lick his lips as he scanned the skirt that was just under his fingers mere moments ago, admiring the design as if it were a sheet artistically draped around your hips, yet despising the tantalizing hint of your right upper thigh in its slight asymmetrical fitting - it had taken an ungodly amount of willpower to keep himself from leaving the party early just so he could get you to himself.

All of that, paired wonderfully with gold accessories that matched his shirt and the accessories he had on himself, combined into a recipe for his downfall - and, boy, was he falling.

“Fitting enough for me?” He breathed as his eyes flicked up to meet your own, “Baby, you should’ve been out on that runway,” reaching his hand out, his fingers wrapped around your own before gently tugging you closer, “if it were my show, you would be the only model I’d need.”

His sentiments sent waves of chills down your spine, though it did nothing but feed the growing desire the high of the alcohol left in your system, curling in your abdomen and sprouting warmth that bloomed like a spring flower.

Wetting your lips, you squeezed his fingers softly, “Those are bold words from the Prince of Versace.”

The words fell in a whisper, dipped in honey and wrapped in the finest silk crafted by the wisest hands.

“I can only hope my words are enough for a goddess like you, my love.”

His voice was crowned in gold and anointed with the sweetest nectar, the sound dancing from lips that held their own form of enchantment.

“Why hope,” slipping your hand from his, you made a slow path to the side fastens and hidden zipper of your skirt, “when I can show you what your words do to me, my prince?”

It was all too easy to let the skirt fall to your polished toes, just as easy as it was to undo each tedious hook of the ribbed corset until you were able to take a fuller breath of the lust-tinted atmosphere - all the while, the golden crown remained in its place amongst your curls.

In the same breath, it was all too easy for him to undo his pants just enough to free his hardening length from the leather confines and boxer briefs.

You took your rightful place in his lap, a throne unlike any other, specially curated just for you, and eagerly accepted his confident touch; warm palms following the curve of your thighs to the width of your hips, up the flesh of your stomach to the dip in your waist, higher and higher until his fingers were playing with the simple gold necklace resting against your sternum.

“It’s a shame,” Hyunjin murmured, one hand working the necklace through his fingers while the other slid down to cup your breast, “even the most elite designer clothes don’t hold a candle to you wearing absolutely nothing.”

“You’re one to talk, Hyune,” bringing your hands to the hem of his shirt, you gently dragged the material up, “everything makes your candle burn brighter - it’s no contest.”

“Then let me take it off so we can burn together.” As his hands left your chest to meet the ones resting against his stomach, you tightened your hold on the hem of his shirt, prompting him to raise a brow. “My love?”

“I… I want you to keep them on.” Widening your stance against the couch, you dropped your hips to grind along the underside of his cock, the thin lace of your panties leaving nothing up to imagination. “Please, keep them on?”

Hissing out a short breath, his hips canted up into the slick mess dampening the gusset of lace, bringing a breathless chuckle from the depths of his chest.

“Anything for you.”

Anything for you - it echoed as you rose to your knees just enough to use your fingers to tug your panties to the side, paying no mind to the way it hugged your hips just a bit tighter in the process.

A slow drag of your bare cunt along the underside of his dick brought a shivering breath from the two of you, and he worked a hand between your thighs to catch the tip against your fluttering walls, licking his lips in preparation for what was to come next.

Breathless moans filled the room as you slowly sunk down, relishing the stretch you’d been craving since the beginning of the party - though, if you were honest with yourself, the desire had been simmering since the runway viewing.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, eyes trained on where you were both connected as his hand caressed your thigh.

Lifting your hand from his, your fingers instead found their new home on his chin, gently tilting his head back to have his fiery gaze meet your own, a new heat enveloping you in the process; igniting, burning.

“Gorgeous.” The word escaped him like a sacred prayer, a whisper intended only for the sole recipient before him.

You ran your thumb along his bottom lip, toying with the plump flesh before he dipped his chin to press a slow kiss to the pad, and if his effect on you wasn’t shown through the catch in your breath, then the clench of your pussy was a clear indicator.

There was a tentative roll of your hips, a slow rock to seat him as deep as he could go, before you began to ride him in languid, hypnotizing bounces - kindling the all consuming fire that only served to burn brighter and hotter with each bump and grind.

Hyunjin’s hands made their home on your hips, squeezing the supple flesh as he guided you with each rise and fall, his sharp gaze bouncing between your bliss-wrapped face, the sparkle of the jewelry whenever it caught the light just right, and the short glimpses of his arousal-coated dick leaving and entering your heavenly cunt.

Each panted moan that left you was mirrored by a breathless grunt by the man underneath you - an airy cry of his name floating by when his tip would graze that spongy spot just right, and a whimper working its way into the mix with each sinful roll of your hips.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, further wrinkling the designer article as you fought to keep yourself upright, your head dipping slightly as pleasure steadily rendered your limbs useless.

“Chin up, my love,” he moaned, velvety voice invoking your attention with ease, “keep your crown on for me.”

The crown - you’d forgotten about it the minute you sat in his lap, and him turning your demand on yourself had your abdomen clenching.

The subtle correction of your head hadn’t gone unnoticed, nor did the way you tried to spread your legs that tiny bit more to meet his hips more flush.

Licking his lips, Hyunjin moved his hands to your forearms before tugging gently, leading your torso to rest against his and the once thorough bounces turned into short back-and-forth rocks.

Resting your forehead against his, your lidded eyes met his with ease, countless emotions floating in the blown out brown of his irises, unsaid words understood through the beating of your hearts.

You brushed your lips against his, languishing in the feeling of them as if it were the first time all over again, until your body jolted with a sharp thrust that had your lazy kiss connecting.

Whatever sound that intended to leave you was now muffled against his mouth as the thrusts continued, his hands interlocking at the base of your spine as he fucked up into your heat, the soles of his feet digging into the poor leather of the couch for leverage.

The room was soon filled with the noise of straining leather, the wet drag of your walls along the length of his cock, and needy moans broken up by the messy smack of lips and tongue.

It wasn’t long until your body was trembling above his, your face dropping to his shoulder in hopes of catching the loud cries against his shirt, “H-Hyune, I’m- oh fuck, don’t stop-”

“I won’t,” the needless promise came through gritted teeth as he splayed his left hand against your lower back while his right slid to your ass cheek, squeezing the swell graciously, “come on, love, give it to me - please give it to me.”

Your body reacted before your mind could even process, the sound of threads snapping at the seams under your relentless tugging at his shirt going unnoticed as you came with a cry of his name on your tongue.

He did his best to ride you through your orgasm, but the rhythmic pulsing of your walls quickly shattered his resolve as he found himself chasing his own climax with heated breaths against your bare shoulder.

“Muse, I’m- I-” Hyunjin choked back a whine, trying to blink away the fog clouding this mind, “I-I’m gonna come, fuck-”

His arms wrapped around your back once more as he held you as tight as he could, rutting his hips against yours until he came with a shivering moan, coating your walls with his release.

Littering whatever place you could reach with kisses, you slowly lifted yourself up to admire his euphoria filled features; basking in the glow of his sweat-shined face and rosy cheeks, and marveling in the contrast of your lipgloss’s tint against his skin - that is, until your eyes trailed to his shirt.

Immediately recognizing the stain of your foundation against the black fabric, you didn’t try to hide the embarrassed laugh that breezed past your lips.

“I might’ve flown too close to the sun here, baby…”

Clocking the insinuation without bothering to look himself, he shook his head with a dazed smile on his perfect lips, “I don’t care - make a mess of it, ruin it, I’ll just get another one,” bringing his right hand to your face, he cupped your cheek softly, “and when that one gets messed up, I’ll buy another one.”

You scoffed incredulously, lips curling into a small smile, “The prince of Versace ruining his clothes for me? How scandalous.”

“If it’s by the request of my goddess, then so be it.” His eyes sparkled as he ushered you closer, leaning in just enough to graze your lips, “Anything for you.”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @ivyisnotokay, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @softkissfelix, @luvyev, @luminouskalopsia, @kpopsstuffs, @luvyev, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @laylasbunbunny, @zaethefangirl, @chxnb97, @4-chan-inpadella

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

#skz smut #stray kids smut #hwang hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #black reader insert #black! reader

[buckleysbitch]

Regina George esque reader who is in a situationship with Hazel and hazel fucks reader into admitting they have genuine feelings for Hazel, loser Hazel because that’s still hot to me

HOLY SHIT YES

listen to hazels spotify here, and her taylor swift jam session here ₊ ⊹₊ ⊹

reqs are open!

18+ under the cut

your life is spent terrorizing the halls of rockbridge in mini skirts and high heels. you’re untouchable, able to do anything that you please. teachers and students alike cower at the sound of your high heels click clacking through the hallway.

but, one girl never cowers.

you adore her; her shaggy brunette hair, her soft skin, the way she always smelled of musk and ivy. you love the fact that she was a loser, escaping your high profile life in between the sheets.

but she doesn’t know just how much you love her.

you were the queen of rockbridge, how are you supposed to come out guns ablazing that not only are you fucking the resident loser lesbian, but you’re in love with her? feelings are always be kept down, and you must keep a level head. nothing can get in your way with that mindset.

the sound of the bell ringing coincided with hazel slamming you against the wall of the janitors closet, pinning you down with her muscular arms.

“miss me?”

“you wish.” you spat back at her.

“my house, eight?” she asks, lips centimeters away from yours, teasing you.

“only if you promise to not be a fucking tease.” desperately grinding your heat into her thigh.

“oh baby,” she replies, “you know i don’t make promises like that.”

you hobble out, readjusting your skirt, and school continues like normal, besides hazel obviously checking you out in 6th period, to which you roll your eyes and scoff at her. it’s near impossible to do that to her, to crush her soul like that. all you want to do is run over and apologize and kiss her better.

a super moon just peeks out out from behind the clouds as you park in hazels driveway. as always, she whisks you away up into her room, stripping you before you could even think twice.

“hazel…please…” she kisses you passionately, hands still working clumsily to unbutton your skirt and discard it.

“lay down for me, angel.” god rest the soul who ever disrespects hazel callahan, so you obey. “being such a tease for me today, hm? with that little skirt, and that fucking top…” her sentence trails off as her tongue flicks across your nipple, making you groan loudly.

“you’re a cunt.”

“i know baby, but someone has to be brave enough to put the princess in her place.” hazel dips down, her rings cooling your heat, feeling your wetness. “and what might all that be for?”

“you….” you exhale into her as she slips two fingers in almost agonizingly slow. “h-h-hazel….” your eyes instinctively shut, until you suddenly remember her rule about eye contact.

“ah ah ah, eyes on me, got it?” her pumps begin to get increasingly harder, your knuckles going as white as the sheets in fists. she might look like a loser on the outside, but she knows what she’s capable of, and god does she get it hot taming the queen bee.

“alright angel, you get your reward now for being good and keeping eye contact, okay?” you nod as she leans down and plunges her face into between your legs, making you howl and writhe underneath her. there’s nothing in this world like hazels tongue. just as she gets into a rhythm, her two fingers curl up inside your walls again, making you shriek.

everything is black, all you can feel is your orgasm incoming.

“hazel- i’m- im….”

“come for me bab-“

“i’m- iloveyou…iloveyou….”

riding the high from your orgasm off, you return to earth, where hazel is staring over you with those saucer-like eyes of hers.

“did…okay i might just be hearing things…but did you say you love me?” your face goes red, realizing what you’d done, but you can’t lie to the girl.

“y-yeah….uhm..i think i should leave.” you start to gather your clothes, but as you’re rushing out, you knock right into hazel.

“it’s okay….i’m not upset…i….i need you. not just in this way,” she gestures towards the bed, “but like, in a…a new way. if- if you want to try. i’m really good at keeping secrets…”

“hazel, you know we can’t….”

“why? because jeff is gonna cream in his pants from seeing two girls together?” she sits you down on the bed, holding your hand. “i like you, so so much. i like that you’re mean, i like that you have a soft spot for me that you think isn’t obvious at all but it totally is, i like that you are so confident, i like that you’re creative….i like everything about you. i want to make this work, but only if you’re open to it….”

you nod, and connect your lips, feeling a new sense, a new spark, between you.

“you melt my heart, hazel callahan.”

#this is so cheesy but i don’t even care #hazel callahan #hazel callahan blurb #hazel callahan fanfiction #hazel callahan headcanons #hazel callahan imagine #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan x you #hazel callahan brainrot #hazel callahan smut #hazel callahan au #bottoms 2023

[aint-shitt]

this is a real omorashi story (18+ only!)

there was this kid austin that I dated on and off. we had a lot of sexual chemistry and always went back to hooking up for years after high school, even. he was a drummer with tan skin and long black hair.

when we started hooking up our senior year, we quickly discovered that we both had piss kinks. and so it began…

dirty texting led to pictures and video chatting, until finally, we decided to start holding at school together. we would hold it all day, and then go back to my house when school let out. my parents wouldn’t be home til a few hours later, so we’d go down to the basement, make out a ton, and wet our pants in front of each other.

this one time though, I’ll never forget...

we had decided to start holding the night before a school day, by texting each other to drink a full glass of water before bed, and then we could NOT PEE in the morning, just continue to hold it all day.

so we did. we both held it all day, texting each other each period to check in.

we went to a private school in a pretty rural area. I waited for him after school at “the spot” (this little creek just off school property, surrounded by trees and always deserted) in my school uniform: a white button-down shirt, a knee-length green skirt, white crew socks and black shoes. from there, we would walk no more than ten minutes to my house.

I was doing alright - only mildly desperate, as I chose not to drink that much of anything on this day to make it easier on myself… still though, I shifted from foot to foot as I waited for him, teased by the sound of the creek.

I was surprised as he suddenly hobbled over and threw his backpack down, huffing and puffing and swearing. he wore the guys’ version of our uniform: white shirt, green pants.

“fuck, I’m not gonna fucking make it. I barely made it through last period. FUCK. I am going to have to piss right here,” he said, frantically squeezing the head of his cock through his pants.

I watched him, intrigued. “aw, is it really that hard to hold it? you’re not gonna make it to my house?”

“no. fuck.” he took a moment to glance at me standing there pretty casually. “why aren’t you as desperate as me?? did you cheat?”

“no! I never peed today… I just… also haven’t really drank anything.”

“what!! no fair! I fucking drank soda and water all day, and last night - oh my god,” he moaned. his eyes got wide. he started frantically undoing his belt, his breath hitching. “oh my god, I’m already pissing. FUCK.”

I saw a shiny little dark patch quickly appear on his crotch. I felt myself get a little wet, imagining it spurting out…

“stop.” I told him, touching his arm while he still fumbled with his belt buckle.

he looked at me, with tears in his eyes, I swear. “what????” he demanded.

I quickly looked around to make sure there was still nobody in sight. nope, just trees.

I bit my lip and ran my hand down his arm, to his hand, to his crotch. I started gently stroking the fly of his pants.

he made an extremely hot guttural sound, like “nnnggghhhhhhhh” and closed his eyes.

I felt his warm crotch with the back and then front of my hand, rubbing up and down, harder, feeling his cock stiffen through his pants.

“ughh god… that’s really helping, actually.”

we caught each others’ eyes a moment and smiled. being hard always helped him hold longer…

…but how much longer?

we took a few steps over to a large tree.

I stood in front of him, his back pressed against the tree, my knee slightly between his legs.

my hand continued to fondle the front of his pants as he moaned softly. I looked down at that wet spot, which was still really small. for now.

“ugh, you’re making me wanna cum…”

I laughed softly and kept rubbing him. he grasped the back of my head and pulled me into a kiss, pushing his back against the tree and jerking his clothed dick into my hand more.

we kissed for like, ten seconds. then I started fumbling with the button of his pants. my knuckles must’ve pressed into his bladder a little, because he suddenly groaned desperately.

“ah, ah…” he broke the kiss and hissed through his teeth, as I felt a little warm pee leak into his pants… into my hand. it was just enough to soak the fabric and widen the diameter of that wet spot. my eyes widened in amazement, suddenly feeling a little wetness of my own slip into my panties.

he panted. “fuck. I can’t hold anymore. I’m going to fucking piss my pants right here.”

“really? you’re going to pee in your pants, you can’t hold it?” I asked sympathetically.

“no I can’t fucking hold it.”

“you’re sooo desperate to pee, it just wants to burst out of your cock right now?”

“yes - AH - fuck -”

he looked down at his pants. I followed his gaze. a skinny dark stain was appearing all down his left leg, and I could just barely hear a faint hissing sound.

I watched in awe for about three seconds, before whispering close to his ear, “okay, stop. get control now, you can do it.”

he closed his eyes and gulped. I saw the veins in his neck bulge as he prayed to the heavens to gain control. fuck, he looked hot.

and gain control, he did.

panting, he rolled his eyes to the back of his head and furrowed his brow. my hand was still there on his cock, slightly wetter than before, but I confirmed he had stopped the leak.

…for now.

“good job.” I said. but I knew his bladder ached. he had so much more left inside.

I went back to fiddling with his button fly, but then had a better idea.

I stepped about three feet away and stood in front of him. "keep holding and do what I say. okay?"

“huh??” he groaned.

“unzip your pants.”

he stared at me. his hands went gingerly to his zipper, and he slowly undid it.

“fuuuuck,” he breathed, rolling his eyes. this simple motion, unzipping his pants, sent all the more TIME TO PEE signals to his brain.

he squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed himself with both hands through his light grey boxer briefs as he impatiently awaited my next command. he pressed his legs together, hips shaking side to side quickly.

“okay, now what??” he whined.

I smiled, absolutely fucking loving this, staring at his hands firmly grasping that tantalizing bulge in his soaked underwear.

"now what?” he repeated, impatiently.

"what, you still have more pee? but you leaked so much already, just look at your pants…"

"PLEASE, I have to piss - fuck - ah- I'm going to really explode in about five seconds,” he spat, his hands never leaving his cock, the veins in his arms bulging.

"take it out and put your hands behind your head.”

he looked at me desperately. “babe, I - I can't let go of my dick, it's all gonna come out."

"you can do it. take your cock out and let me see it. put your hands behind your head. and do not lose control."

he shook his head desperately. “I can't babe, I can't, fuck… oh god!" he squeezed his eyes closed and gripped his penis hard, and I watched with delight as another spurt escaped him. the spurt was so strong, it shot right through the light-colored boxer briefs and made a little arc through the air.

he gasped and palmed his cock with both hands, more pee shooting up onto his shirt, out to the sides, onto his pants, as he desperately trying to regain control. he reached inside his boxers and threw his head back, starting to jack his dick.

"what are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, it helps me hold it… you know that…"

"is your cock hard? are you actually turned on by this?? you're turned on by having to pee so badly?"

"…..yes, I love it…" he said, continuing to jack it in front of me.

"you like feeling so full of piss? and then not going to a toilet, but just holding it? holding it until you're so desperate, that you start leaking in your underwear?"

"…yeah, I, ah-"

"you like losing control? wetting yourself?? you like having accidents, don't you? but they're not accidents are they, they're on purpose?”

he rubbed his dick to my filthy talk, which was still hidden by the soaked fabric of his boxer briefs. "…yes, I like it…" he gasped.

"let me see it."

he pulled the boxer briefs down finally, tucking the waistband under his balls, showing me that glorious wet cock. it was hard and weeping. he kept stroking it.

“OKAY now, stop. fucking. jacking off."

"if I stop, I'm going to lose control. I’m gonna pee,” he whimpered, fully stroking his erect cock, so much liquid still pressing inside of him.

"stop touching yourself right now."

he stopped the motion, but kept squeezing his dick, his eyes squeezed shut.

"let go of your cock and put your hands behind your head.”

he whimpered, really whimpered, but obeyed my command. his hard, glistening dick now hung half-hard in the cool air, peeking outside of his unzipped pants.

it was a real sight, him leaning against that tree, totally flustered, hair a mess, dark piss patches marking his shirt and pants. his dick hung there, twitching weakly, as he panted.

he looked right into my eyes. "I have so much more piss inside me, you have no idea. please… please let me pee…”

"keep holding it," I said, crossing my arms and staring at him.

he made a sobbing sound and his dick twitched heavenly. he stared up at the trees and mouthed ‘fuck.’

I stared at his beautiful genitals, intrigued by them, so different than my own. I bit my lip and reached up my knee-length skirt. my panties were hot and damp, and I gently rubbed myself as I stared at him.

he noticed me. through shuddering breaths, he said “you like what you see?”

“just focus on holding it,” I commanded him. but I lifted my skirt slowly, showing him my damp white panties. and through my intense arousal, I felt my own desperation grow.

"dear god…" he said at the sight of me, and started to lowering his hands from behind his head.

"don't you dare touch yourself," I spat. "put your hands back behind your head and hold them there."

he pressed his lips together and lifted his hands to grab the back of his head again, squeezing his eyes shut. but I noticed a little weak piss mixed with precum dribble out of the end of his gorgeous penis.

"oh no, are you leaking a little bit?"

"mm-hmm…" he moaned frantically, another larger dribble leaking out.

then another. he panted and gulped. "fuck, I can't, I - UGH - "

both our mouths both dropped open as a hard stream of piss shot out of him, across the distance between us, and jetted against my midsection, soaking my shirt and skirt. I stepped to the side and watched it continue to shoot out, creating a huge arc and loudly landing on the leaves several feet away.

“FUCK - I can’t - I can't stop it, ah - I'm peeing - ah"

I stepped over to him. I placed my hand on his cock and gently held it for him.

"nnnngyesssss…" he said, the hard stream of piss still hissing out.

I held his cock with one hand and dared my other one to palm the head, feeling that hot piss shoot into my hand and allowing it to splash out to the sides, up and down, onto both our clothes, the ground, everywhere…

fifteen seconds passed, and I couldn't believe he was still pissing. hard.

"wow. can you get control now for me?"

"nghhh…" he moaned, and started hitching his breath. i felt his dick flex. the stream slowed, stopped and started a couple of times, and then he had regained control.

"that's good baby, good job…." I devilishly pulled his boxer briefs back up over his dick and started to pull his pants back together, although I knew…

“OHMYGOD no, I can't -"

piss was shooting out of him again, soaking his boxer briefs and the legs of his pants entirely. he let out a primal groan of relief, finally letting himself really go.

I admired him as he continued to totally drench his clothes, before I pulled the briefs back down over his dick and set that stream free again. I held his cock and played with him encouragingly, as he continued pissing and moaning for almost a full minute longer.

when the stream finally slowed and stopped in my hand, I gently rubbed him in praise. his cock re-hardened to its fullest expression.

I lifted my gaze to his eyes, starting to rhythmically stroke him. he stared at me with exhausted lust.

"babe," I said.

"yeah?" he mumbled.

"I have to pee, too… really badly."

he grinned.

#omorashi #bladder control #pee kink #full bladder #piss holding #piss kink

[pet-slut-chrissy]

Mistress @owner-of-pet-slut-chrissy often wants me to write about our playtimes because they are embarrassing but this one also shows how much it means to me to wear Her collar.  She requires me to have it on and locked every time She has me edge and especially every time i cum or else i risk a harsh punishment.

so a few days ago She was in a mood to push me hard, starting with a lot of early teasing.. She locked my collar on, put the princess plug lush and ben wa balls in, had the lush randomly going off and on as we talked about a variety of things.  every time i started whimpering and even thought about asking Her if i could cum She would stop, then slowly start up again.. after an hour of this i was completely frustrated and desperate when She just unlocked and removed my collar and told me She would see me a little later..

now it was an hour later and i was dressed to please Her, wearing my shiny black vinyl teddy, grey hobble skirt and black knee high spike heel boots, and still clenching both the lush and my plug.  She told me to tie a rope to my collar and set it outside my cage, the rope leading inside, then i crawled in.  we unzipped the crotch of my teddy, buckled the wand harness on then came the worst part.. She put the nipple clamps on my pussy lips and tied it to the rope to the collar outside my cage.. She said we were going to play my favorite game A-Z, but of course i would not be allowed to cum until my collar was on..  oh, and the wand was going to be turned on whenever i worked at pulling the collar in to the cage and i wasn’t allowed to use my hands.. wait, what??  i was panicking when She told me that i was only allowed to pull the rope get my collar in using the pussy clamps, the heels of my boots or my teeth..  the next 15 or 20 minutes were a blur, i can just imagine how i looked when the wand turned on and i tried to pull the collar, first with my hips pulling the cord by the clamps, then trying to hook it it with my heels then finally putting my mouth down and pulling it with my teeth.. we would do a few letters then i would be begging Her to turn the wand off, i was panting and my pussy was twitching every time then we would pick up again, over and over.. i panicked and cried for Her to turn the wand off when i got the collar to the edge of the cage and it got stuck!  She had a little bit of mercy and let me use my hands to grab it put it on and padlock it with the timer lock for the day, then we continued the game.  however i was told i was not allowed to cum until we got to Z.  somehow i made it, of course the threat of being belted if i came without permission was on my mind.  i was fighting so hard not to cum so when we finished i absolutely exploded with one then right into another 

while i was recovering from these first two orgasms Mistress decided that it would be a good time to see if i remembered some of my positions..  the wand was pulsing and i was trying to think when i blurted out FDAU.. She had me get in position then cum again, then a second position Bitch but not allowed to cum..  Third position with an orgasm and fourth without, and finally i remembered a fifth position, was standing in the corner and She had me cum again..  i was trembling and begging Her to turn the wand off, that i couldn’t take any more, and asking Her to let me lay on the floor, She said i could but only if i gave Her one more..  i somehow managed to find it!  between the teasing session earlier and fighting so hard not to cum for so long then finally being able to let go, i was completely spent..  thank You Mistress for another wonderful playtime & having me as Your collared pet, and I’m especially happy that You came so many times more than i did

[perereiii]

Agnes!!!

And her ref sheet, of course.

Nerd out about the details in her outfit under cut!

OKAY LETS DO THIS

Aside from the little notes on the drawing, I want to cover design choices down here. Generally speaking, the outfit is historically inspired from here, consisting of a 1918 styled dress suit and shoes from that link in particular; though I’ll have images from there below. The split skirt, as seen below,

Comes from a desire to Do More Shit (not that the skirt was always restrictive—there’s a reason there the hobble skirt of 1907 fell off quickly—but it was much harder to ride a horse or a bike in a skirt). The split skirt was more popular between 1900-1914, as breeches (pants that end a bit below the knee, sometimes known as knickers or plus fours) gained popularity after WWI. I haven’t seen a suit dress combined with a split skirt before, though I’m sure it’s happened, and knowing Agnes, she’ll be fighting just as much as Alastor! The shoes generally pull from below,

I was debating how I wanted the pink/black to be, but I landed on the pink on the top because these shoes generally have a lighter top and darker bottom. Also, it puts something in between the already fully black skirt.

Agnes’ eyeglasses were changed from the monocle specifically because the pince-nez glasses style was more popular in the 1920s over the monocle (though thicker, “typical” glasses were also in vogue).

Her hair is the least historically inspired. I originally wanted to go with the stereotypical, sharp edged flapper bob, but that just didn’t mesh well with what her outfit was. I also wanted to keep the general shape of Alastor’s hair, which led to the shape of her hair near her forehead. The rest is meant to look like a very simplified hairstyle from circa 1918.

As for why I picked 1918, there’s a few reasons. One, from what I’ve seen, people tend to pick their favoured style when they’re around 20 years old. Alastor/Agnes died in 1933, both being around their mid 30s. That would make both likely born between 1895-1900 (though I always go with 1898). Flash forward 20 years, that’s 1918. Two, gotta get that split skirt somehow! And something tells me that Agnes was never into knickers being worn in situations outside of, say, golf. And finally, three, Alastor’s/Agnes’ outfit is NOT the box-like figure that the 20s and early 30s favoured, rather, Alastor’s animated with an hourglass figure (I’m considering the bottom of his suit the bottom half of the hourglass because it’s so large) which is more in line with the S figure of the 1900s.

The suit dresses I took inspiration from,

Would be these (Side note, hats could be weird). While they’re also rather boxy, using the magic of cartoonification, the waist can be shrunk in an absurd amount to fit Agnes’ appearance.

She has gloves, obviously. Not sure why Alastor lacks gloves (you can see in art that his forearms fade from his face skin tone to black, with red tips) but Agnes has gloves.

Her collar is just as stiff as Alastor’s, too. While the highly starched collars of the 1900s/10s were left for men (starched collars were left for men in general, really) I thought it’d look good with what she already has going on.

That’s about it for my nerding out. You better enjoy her (/joking threat).

#wrote her blurb in like 2 minutes. little disorganized but it gets the idea across #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel art #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel redesign #hazbin alastor #hazbin art #hazbin fanart #hazbin redesign #fem!alastor #hmmm #tw eye contact #she is staring directly into your soul #please look at her! it took a while to draw all of this

[everlythequestionabletomboy]

UPDATE LOG 4.2.3 MASTERLIST

Beyond this is the things they added to the 4.2.3 upd of DoL

Please send me an ask if you want me to add something or I missed one

Images/stories I still need

SPRITES

PC SPRITE

Bodytypes

Masc., Fem., and Andro.

Chest/breast sprites

Made the breasts have better visibility

Flattest chest size looks flatter on combat sprite

Added breast sprites to lace nightgown, virgin killer, ball gown, evening gown, open shoulder sweater, pink nurse, plastic nurse, skimpy lolita outfits, open shoulder crop top

TATTOOS

Tattoo Parlour

Any unlocked bodywriting can be turned into a tattoo, even if it's not on the PC

Island

New Triangle, Square, and Circle tattoos [look at the Island page for more info]

HAIR

New

All down

Fishtail braid (left, right, twins)

Half-up

Ribbon tail sides

Low tail

Thick ponytail

Reworked

None

FRINGE

New

Short air vents

Side pinned

Dreadlocks bun

Emo/Emo Left/Emo Right

Reworked

Ruffled

CLOTHES

Outfits

Traditional Maid Dress

Victorian Maid Dress

Shrine Maiden Robes

Virgin Killer Dress

Halter Sundress

Leather Dress

Upper

Cat hoodie

Ao dai Top

School cardigan

School blouse

Polo shirt

Color block crop top

Band t-shirt

Boxy t-shirt

Remade Serafuku

Classic Serafuku

Gakuran

Lower

Ao dai trousers

Plaid school skirt

Plaid school trousers

Plaid school shorts

School pinafore

Plaid school pinafore

Wide leg trousers

Straight leg trousers

Yoga pants

Jean miniskirt

Dolphin shorts

Under outfits

Turtleneck Leotard

Under upper

None 😔

Under lower

Tie Side Bikini Bottoms

Highwaisted microkini bottoms

Legs

Sheer Leggings

Stripped kneesocks

Patterned dress socks

Polka dot socks

Sports socks

Rib-knit socks

Rib-knit ankle socks

Feet

Canvas Loafers

ACCESSORIES

Hats

Hairpins (butterfly + star)

Conical hat

Raccoon cap

Fur cap

Bat beanie

Mini pumpkin

Face

Gas Mask

Doggy Muzzle

Eyepatch

Medical Eyepatch

Monocle

Neck

Love Locket

Fur boa

Hands

Work gloves

ICONS ADDED

Locations

Temple garden, moor, farmlands, temp office, altar, secret path, the churchyard, the dilapidated shop, Eden's cabin, brothel stage [pt1]

Garden plots, stream, gloryhole, park fountain, asylum, sea rocks, waterfall, thicket, Great Hawk's nest, and perch [pt 2]

Rainwater pool, Eden's bed, lake campsite, fishing rock, archaeological field office, Remy's Estate, Great Hawk's tower, Ruins,

Animals

Black Dog

Actions

Riding a horse, question mark for inquires, searching for pots in lake, excersizing/hobbling in heels, gliding, entering town, searching for a mark, praying, and renting a stall [pt 1]

Getting in/out/refusing rides, trick or treating, sitting on the school stump, diving, descending/ascending in water, leaving water, and fixing Eden's cabin [pt 2]

Digging, showering, practise shooting, undo bindings, daydreaming, tilling, watching TV, chatting, singing, and plundering [pt 3]

Making tops/bottoms out of seaweed, meditating, relaxing

Events

Trial of purity

Clothes

Patient gown

Items

Milk, breast milk, chicken eggs, truffles, temple pew, dog treat, bronze key, library desk, soap [pt1]

Lichen, cosmetics, small/medium/large/huge exotic/huge decor fish tanks, auto feeder, tank decor, and sewer safe [pt 2]

Antique watch, grass, antique crystal, scrap, stimulants, torch, fertiliser, antique candlestick, rubble, and mud [pt 3]

Spiderwebs [pt 4]

Objects

Salves, sink, computer, rug, broom, dustpan, gift boxes, wolf chew toy, padlock [pt 1]

Cash register, Eden's valentine's day gift, Eden's coatstand, condom vending machine [pt 2]

Tending

Milk

Breast milk

Chicken eggs

Truffles

Ghostshrooms

"Take all"

Shop

Fetish collar icon is updated

LOCATION ART

Pirate ship

Island

Old Church

Sepulchre

Dilapidated Shop

Meadow

GAME MECHANICS

WORLD MECHANICS

Settings

"Split by Gender Apperance" changed to "Set/Ignore Sexual Orientation

Crime

Split into 10 categories; Assault, Coercion, Destruction of Property, Indecent Exposure, Obstruction of Justice, Prostitution, Resisting Arrest, Thievery, Petty Thievery, and Trespassing.

Crimes the PC has commited would be read out before punishment

Can adjust each crime in the cheat menu

Can view the crime stats in the stat menu

PARASITES

Ear Slime

Added an event that prevents PC to wear under lower garments, unless given directly to them

Sleeping event at Alex's farm

Sleeping event if you study at school naked

Alternate abduction event at the dog pound

At Remy's Farm, it would attempt to force you on all fours and eat grass

May force you to have sex with dolphins

Ear slime tasks are now in the Journal menu

Clit Parasite

Alternative masturbation options if PC has a clit parasite

MASTURBATION

Skip Button

Added a skip button that brings you to the next orgasm

PREGNANCY

Alex the Farmer

Avaliable pregnancy candidate [+more]

Crossdressing Fame

Can lower fame more if seen as a female are pregnant

Paternity Test

Option to do it at the Hospital

SHOPS

Hide Option

Can now choose to hide unavailable items in the shop

FEATS

New

Gilded Spear

Lost World

Face of a Guardian

Wild Monarch

Naturalised

Prehistoric Landscape

SOFT BAD ENDNG

The Island

How to enter, how to escape [+more]

UI

Stats

Sensitivity values can be viewed in the "Extra Stats" tab under "Characteristics"

Options

Confirmation dialouge appears when you try to exit/refresh the page [is on by default in ironman mode]. Can toggle it in the Advanced tab

CHEAT MENU

Clothes

Destroy, repair, dry, and drench clothes at once is added

Visuals

Breast and Cum Values have been replaced with sliders

Pregnancy

More additional options for pregnancy cheats

Teleport

Farmland tp is added

ENCOUNTERS

Double Penetration

Unique cum images is added

Anal

Improved xray sprites

Lower Underwear

Able to pull it to the side during encounters

EVENTS

Hitchiking

"Driving Lesson"

Pillory

Rimming and Watersports outcomes

Whipping and buttplug outcomes

Blackjack

Rimming outcomes

Spa

Rimming outcomes

Car Sex

NPCs will ask if PC needs to be dropped off anywhere after

Chalet

Prostitution opt. added

WARDOBE

Wardrobe Outfit Editor

Added a random color option

Filters

Warmth filter is added

LOCATIONS

ORPHANAGE

Whitney can upgrade the Loft

SCHOOL

Mason

Repeatable scene where he unlocks the chastity belt Winter put on you

Untying your bonds before swim class generates slightly random dialouge

Changing Rooms

PCs thoughts of being in the wrong changing room are more diverse, changes based on Crossdressing Rep

PC is no longer rejected immediately when looking like the opposite gender and is given weird stares and comments

Crossdressing Fame/Rep

Chance to lower crossdressing fame after not

THE POUND

Dog Happiness

Added a description of the dogs happiness on the main screen

NPCS/ANIMALS

WOLVES

Wolf Pack

PC is more comfortable naked around the wolves in the wolf pack

Wolf Cave

You can submit to wolves that advance towards you in the cave

BAILEY

Punishment(?)

Will now deliver PC to the tutorial person if PC stays at the orphanage for the first whole week

ZEPHYR THE PIRATE

Named NPC that is found during the Disguised Escape option

ITEMS

SEX TOYS

Fleshy color option is added to sex toys and strap ons

Fleshy color sidebar renderer is added [no idea what that means]

PLANTS

Flowers/Seeds

Plumeria, tendable [view the Island page for more info]

EXTRAS/MISC

ABILITIES

Clothes

Can tie cardigan around waist

Able to lower suspenders

#degrees of lewdity #bailey the caretaker #zephyr the pirate #update log #dol spoilers #dol 4.2.3 update #eden the hunter #soooo many icons #and clothes #they put so much into this update fr

[reborrowing]

a mouse in the basement - part 1/?

sorry for starting 546 stories instead of finishing things. kind of. this isn't as writery for me to work on. chapters linked in my pinned

David has been imprisoned. He's not sure where, he's not sure why, but he has no chance of freeing himself. Except now he's not quite alone. Kikitok links are here, if you want to try and puzzle out what the borrower character is saying throughout (more relevant later, honestly) word count: ~800 content: kidnapping & captivity, blood/injury, restraints, ~language barrier~ kind of a disclaimer note that arguably this should go on my whump blog instead of here, thematically speaking. But the point is more to flex my conlang (even if that's not yet obvious in this piece) and this blog is where I've been putting Kíkítok. I'm not really including particularly graphic violence or torture etc anyway

The only things to do in the basement were sleep and wonder why he’d been brought here. David was tired of both. The first few days, he had wrestled with the chain around his ankles and the ties around his wrist. He’d resigned himself to the aches of having his arms pinned behind his back for hours. He’d waddled around the perimeter in search of an escape. He hadn’t found one. He hadn’t even found a reason why he was here.

He didn’t think he was important enough to warrant a ransom and whoever was holding him down here only bothered to acknowledge him for about forty-five minutes per day. That was only to keep him fed. He imagined all kinds of horrible scenarios about being sold and enslaved or killed off for his organs, but he’d been down here for weeks. He didn’t have dignity but he wasn't really being humiliated either. Nothing happened, he was just locked in this crushing, monotonous isolation.

David slipped back into consciousness and stared up at the thin window on the far wall. It was still dark out. He hummed to himself, imagining words he couldn’t form through the duct tape over his mouth.

Something fell past the window.

It was such a brief flash that in any other context, if there was anything else happening, David wouldn’t have even noticed it. Something small and metal plinked across the floor. After several days of pretending to watch paint dry for entertainment, it may as well have been a fireworks show.

He didn’t waste the energy to stand and shuffled across the basement on his knees, chains clattering behind him. On the floor, almost glittering in the moonlight, was a thumbtack that hadn’t been there before. David hobbled forward towards it, trying to imagine something he could do with it. It was the only sharp thing he’d found down here and he really wanted it to be useful in some way, but it was too short to pick his cuffs or the locks around his ankles, even if he had the dexterity to try. He left it where it lay.

Another flash of movement drew his eyes to a small shadow along the wall.

Mouse, he thought at first, then, what the hell?!

The creature there was mouse-sized, as they hunched against the wall it was clear they had a perfectly humanoid shape, even covered up in a tiny gray dress. It was just that they couldn’t be more than a few inches tall. Tiny black eyes glittered up from underneath a miniature hood.

Is this real? Did the man upstairs do this to you? Is this what I’m here for?

They stared at each other for several seconds, both looking terrified. The creature—person?—took several steps to the right to start looking for an escape. David wished she would find one, but knew there was no way out but up, even for a mouse.

“Ah-I’m sorry. Pease, don’t hurt me,” the tiny thing gasped.

David shook his head no, eyes wide. He automatically started to protest that he would ever do such a thing but the duct tape over his mouth caught the words before they could get out. All he could do was stare at the poor thing.

Whatever she was, her situation was at least as bad as David’s, probably worse. Her skirt and her coat, which was fastened with a single button nearly the size of her head, were both dripping wet. She clutched at her side as if in pain and her already tiny steps were slowed by a severe limp.

David sat down and tried to look as harmless as possible (he felt most of this had already been done for him, what with the restraints). He wished he could do more to try and calm the woman's nerves. Communication was next to impossible with both hands and tongue held back. He nodded his head towards himself in a “come here” gesture that was much vaguer than he’d like.

The little woman shook her head and continued her hobbling retreat.

David leaned forward and tried again. You’re freezing, he thought as he watched her squeeze himself behind a table leg and hunker down. The cement floors would only make the cold worse. He mimed shivering as best as he could with his arms behind his back and nodded towards her, then stopped as he nodded back toward himself. Let me help you.

“I’m sorry, piyískasara wun. I’m sorry.”

David furrowed his brow as he tried to parse what the woman said before registering it as another language. He leaned back and sighed.

He refused to let the little stranger die. If he couldn’t help directly, he could still share. The shitty camping cot he’d been allowed had come with an equally shitty fleece blanket, the sort you leave in the closet for decades. Slowly and awkwardly, he kicked it across the room. It was thin and hardly any comfort to David, but it would be more than excessive for the mouse-woman on the other side of the room, presuming she was real.

#gt #g/t #giant tiny #g/t writing #gt writing #giant/tiny #borrowers #my writing #kíkítok #a mouse in the basement

[bridgertontess]

The Best

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Author’s Note: Just a little fluff Benedict story. AU. This is my first try at writing Bridgerton fanfiction. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 

Summary: You are an up-and-coming art agent in NYC and Benedict Bridgerton is your most talented client- and one of your best friends. You’ve scheduled two art showings in one evening. You arrive very late to Benedict’s art show which is a source of frustration for both of you. AU. 4.5 k. Fluffy fluff. 

“Where are you?”

You shook the raindrops off your cell phone to ensure you were reading Benedict's text message clearly.

Damn thunderstorm …. you thought to yourself.

If only you hadn’t forgotten your coat and umbrella at Sebastian’s art show, you wouldn’t have to fight the thunderstorm you found yourself in to make it to Benedict on time. Even though you were new to the job as an art agent, you knew better than to schedule two art shows in one evening. Your stomach tightened at the thought that Benedict may pay the price for your ambition.

You considered texting Benedict back but decided it would detain you even more. You would be at Benedict's art show soon enough, bringing with you pathetic excuses and abuses of your friendship. Benedict's artistic talent was astonishing and you were proud to have him as one of your best clients. As he quickly became one of your best friends in the city, you discovered that his artistic endeavors weren't his only talents. His kindness and charm set him apart from most of the people you met in New York. 

Occupied New York City cabs whizzed down the street next to the sidewalk. Not only would you never be able to get a cab on such a busy Friday night, but each cab also seemed to mock you by spraying you with cold water from the street puddles as they sped by.

One more block. Don't give up now.

You drew a deep breath and redoubled your efforts. At some point, you lost the heel on your left pump. You couldn't be bothered with its recovery.

Your body nearly slammed into the glass door of the gallery. Stepping back, you pulled the door open aggressively thanks to the adrenaline that was coursing full speed ahead in your bloodstream. Your gasp echoed through the barren lobby. You blinked the droplets of water from your eyelashes to make sure your eyes weren't playing tricks on you. Instead of a hoard of artists and collectors, you saw sculptures from past art shows. The easels that held signs announcing Benedict’s art show were still where you had placed them the day before as the two of you took your time readying the lobby and adjacent gallery for tonight's show. 

The empty bar against the wall instantly beckoned you. Ignoring your meandering stride, you hobbled your way toward it in search of brain-numbing wine. Glancing over the counter to the other side of the bar, you saw the unopened boxes of Benedict's favorite chardonnay that you had ordered for the event.

First things first.

Supporting yourself against the counter of the bar, you quickly tried to make yourself look remotely presentable. You tugged the dripping hem of your short black skirt and adjusted your water-soaked red sweater. You had taken extra care that morning to look especially professional for the day's art shows. Being new to the profession, you knew you had a lot to prove to a lot of people. You smoothed your drenched hair in a pathetic attempt to deceive yourself into believing that you could still pull off a fabulous look for the art show. 

And for Benedict. 

You searched for a living breathing person among the sculptures and statues while you internally searched for a reason why the lobby would be empty of guests. 

You caught sight of Benedict standing alone in the corner of the foyer that led to the inner gallery where his work was being displayed. A shudder went up your spine as you tried to convince yourself that you were shaking due to the frigid thunderstorm rather than the fact that you were still wrangling with an imposing infatuation with him since your mutual friend Granville introduced you months before. 

His stare was transfixed on the screen of his cell phone as if he was expecting it to beep with an incoming text. He glanced upward in frustration when it remained silent. While gulping from the oversized wine glass in his other hand, he put his phone into the pocket of his custom-tailored jacket.

He held his usual casual stance despite the growing irritation with the silent phone. You had grown familiar with his usual attire of paint-splattered jeans and frayed t-shirts. So, his dapper look that evening provided yet another layer to your attraction for him. His fitted black pants and crisp white shirt beneath his jacket hugged his toned frame. If any of the artwork in the building were to ever come to life, they would have been jealous of this masterpiece of a man. 

Why did he have to be so stylish and attractive tonight?

You placed your cell phone on the counter of the bar, drawing Benedict's attention in your direction. His rapid-fire blinks told you that you were a sight he wasn't expecting. Just a few short hours earlier, you allowed yourself to fantasize about stunning him with your appearance. As his mouth gaped open and his eyebrows rose, you knew you had reached that goal- just not in the way you had hoped. You heard his audible intake of breath as he did a double take of your chaotic condition. 

Way to make a graceful entrance.

His quick long strides brought him to where you stood leaning against the abandoned bar. He stole a glance at the puddle of water collecting at your feet. 

"What happened to you? Are you ok?" he asked as the edge in his voice cut through the lobby. He shook his head as he scanned your body from head to toe and back again. He quickly took another drink from his wine glass before setting it on the counter. Unable to resist, you reached for his glass and took a swig of his wine for yourself before returning it to the counter. 

You began to unleash a manic narrative on your evening to that point, gasping for breath between each phrase. “I'm sorry... Sebastian knew I only had time for a quick drop in… he kept pulling me in a million directions..I don’t know why I thought that I could make two art shows in one night… and then, the storm…”

Breathe. 

He took off his jacket and helped you into it without breaking his gaze on you. His jacket was still warm from the heat of his body. You caught his distinctive scent as it enveloped you. You knew it well. After every Netflix mathathon you had shared, he regularly left his scent of vetiver, sandalwood, and his natural musk on your afghan that you kept on your sofa. 

During our marathons, it didn't matter that he preferred foreign films and you were all about rom-coms. The two of you made it work over a bowl full of M&M's. However, you often spent your marathons watching him as he arranged the candies according to color in the palm of his hand before eating them all in one big gulp. You had made a habit of fooling yourself into believing that you always looked away quick enough so that he never saw your stares.

“Better?” he asked as he pulled the jacket tighter around your body, startling you from your memory of when you were confident that you could always work things out in the name of friendship.

A weak smile was your only answer as guilt continued to bubble inside of you.

Crossing his arms across his chest, he opened his mouth to speak. Instead, he looked away with his mouth silently gaped open. His long fingers massaged the back of his neck as he shook his head. 

He finally found his words. “I can't believe that you took such a risk tonight. I know tonight was important to you. It was important to us.” As he unbuttoned his cuffs and began to push his sleeves up his forearms, he pulled his lips back, seemingly to keep from saying anything more.

You stumbled a step backward struggling to keep your breathing even. Closing your eyes, you could no longer bear to see the frustration written across his face. Just as it was unlike you to take such a risk with both your careers, it was unlike him to express dissatisfaction so readily.

“Benedict, I can't believe it either.” Instinctually, you reached out your shaking hands to grab his in an attempt to apologize. You still couldn’t allow yourself a glance at his disappointed face. 

He sandwiched your cold hands in his, allowing his electric touch to warm them. His gesture of kindness paradoxically calmed and excited you at the same time. Taking a deep breath, you risked looking up to his face again. You caught his stare before he quickly looked away. The corners of his mouth turned upward. He had traded his frustration for concern as he pulled your hands against his body. You took an extra forward step for good measure.

Benedict cleared his throat. “I wish you would have called or texted. I had no idea what happened to you. I was really worried. If it weren't for you, I'd be lost.” 

“Well, I wasn't a very good agent tonight. I am truly sorry.” 

An exasperated sigh escaped him. “I’m not talking about your job as an agent. I meant that I would be lost...” He quickly looked away, seemingly searching for a way to end that sentence. He shook his head and seemed to abandon that search. 

He placed his hands on your shoulders, before allowing one of his hands to slip into the curve of your neck. “Don't be so hard on yourself. Being one of the newest art agents in the city brings with it a lot of pressure. You deserve better treatment than you received from Sebastian. He knew you were just dropping in quickly as a favor. He knew you were sure to get caught in that storm.”

You felt palpitations in your chest when it dawned on you that his frustration wasn’t because you had made a mistake by overscheduling yourself. His frustration came from the fact that he had been concerned for your well-being. 

“I am amazed by your understanding when you have every right not to be.” Your mind volleyed back and forth as you tried to decide if it was emotionally safe for you to hope once again that his concern for you indicated more than friendship. Giving in to your desire for Benedict meant risking your professional relationship as well as your friendship. 

But wouldn't it be worth it? 

He pulled your soaked hair away from the back of your neck and moved it toward your shoulder. He squeezed the water from it and you watched as his eyes tracked a raindrop down your chest into the plunging neckline of your favorite red sweater. You pulled a quick breath into your lungs as he was brave enough to trace its path with his fingertips which were still slightly stained with paint from his other inborn passion. Since the moment he came into your life, you had longed for his tender touch. You had fantasized about feeling his touch on your skin, but you never let yourself believe that it would actually happen. 

He. Is. Worth. The. Risk. 

"Still cold?" he asked huskily as he brought his gaze back up to your eyes. 

“Hot” you breathed before you could stop yourself -even though your teeth were still chattering. 

He fluidly bent down to contain you in an embrace while he nuzzled his 5 o'clock shadow into your neck. You felt the traction of his cheek pull along the side of your neck as his parted lips landed motionless on the corner of your mouth. You breathed in his exhale of sweet wine.

He hesitated for a moment that felt like a lifetime before blessing your lips with a tentative kiss. Passion and fear waged a war in your mind. As he pulled his face back, you were provided with the freedom to touch his smooth lips with your fingertip. He pressed his lips against the pad of your finger while stroking your face with the back of his hand. 

It no longer mattered that he saw you staring. You drank in his face without fear. You were no longer concerned that you were risking potential heartache to give in to your desire for him. His eyes held your stare with one of his own. You reached up and pulled his face down toward you. Passion had won. 

As you turned your head to ready yourself to kiss his beckoning mouth, he unexpectedly mirrored your head tilt with his. You quickly recovered by tilting your head in the other direction again to avoid a dreaded nose crash. You feverishly gave him a decidedly deliberate kiss on his mouth. 

He shakily inhaled as if he was preparing to dive into a pool. He plunged into your mouth with a desire that had been squelched for far too long. Clutching his hair, you pulled him even further into your kiss. You grabbed his shoulders as if you were drowning in a wave of your own passion. 

You pulled your face upward to steady the panting gasps of your breathing. He took advantage of the access to your throat and planted staccato kisses up and down each side of your neck. He was mapping your body with his mouth as if he had been planning it since the moment you met. 

Stopping for a moment, he breathed into your skin “Are you sure...” You didn't allow him to finish his question before forcefully pushing a kiss onto his words. You parted your lips as an invitation to him to invade your mouth. He cradled your head in the palm of his hand as he accepted your silent request. As he darted his tongue into your mouth, you answered with an exploration of my own. You didn't want the kissing to end in case he had notions of telling you that it was a mistake as soon as your kisses subsided. You wanted to pull in every moment for the kisses seemed too important to end. 

“Finally,” he said into the shared breaths between you. 

Finally. 

The crack of the lightning from beyond the doors gave you a brief and unexpected firework show. The rumbling roll of thunder that followed shook you from the bliss of finally allowing yourself to give in to the charms of his man. You both peered beyond the doors to discover that the downpour was growing even worse. 

“I’m impressed that you took it upon yourself to run through that storm,” Benedict suddenly remarked. “I imagine getting a taxi would be impossible on a night like tonight. I have to give you credit for your efforts.” Benedict absentmindedly glided his fingertips across your collarbone as he continued to look at the menacing storm.

“I work hard for my favorite client,” you answered as you returned to staring at this man’s dazzling face. 

Your mind awoke to the fact that your newfound passion was preventing you from entering the gallery where Benedict’s work was displayed. You longed to make up for your tardiness by at least completing his art show triumphantly. 

"But,” you began, “we shouldn’t keep everyone waiting even longer. Let's go to the gallery that has your work. I invited some art collectors that I can't wait for you to meet. Maybe I can do some damage control and they will consider me fashionably late." You glanced down at your disheveled appearance and added “Well, on second thought, I might not be able to pull off “fashionably.” 

Your joke fell flat. "Too late,” he winced. “It's over." Glancing around the lobby, you immediately felt foolish for not realizing this sooner. 

You grabbed my cell phone from the counter and took a passing glance at the time.

"Already?" You took yet another look at the time. 

"You can't will your phone to turn back time by looking at it again," he laughed. You dropped your phone back onto the counter with a little more force than you intended. 

"Where did everyone go? I had so many things lined up for you.” You stole a glance at one of the signs you had placed throughout the lobby the day before. 

Benedict tenderly took your face in his hands and directed your attention back to him. “Listen to me. The show was a success. I had some really good leads. But everyone started leaving early to beat the storm.” He nodded in the direction of the glass doors where the storm continued to try to beat its way in. “Granville was here but he left too. He took with him his posse of art friends to celebrate the enthusiasm of art collectors everywhere.” 

“And you didn't leave with them? I've never known you to pass up a good party, Benedict” 

“And miss this sight? This is not your usual look,” he smiled before turning thoughtful. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.” 

“Me? Alright? Well, I've proven tonight that this is debatable” you sighed.

“Hey now,” he comforted while bending down to assure that you were making eye contact, “neither of our careers is ruined over one rained out art show. We are both too good at what we do for that to happen.”

“Benedict, you are the best,” you smiled.

“Okay. If you say so.” 

You nodded quickly to indicate that this was exactly what you thought. “Well,” you confessed in an attempt to redeem yourself, “while I was at Sebastian's show, I sold that amazing landscape that you finished last week. So tonight wasn’t a total loss.”

“Tonight will never be a total loss.” He took a handful of your hair and squeezed more water from it. An awareness came over his face as he realized what you had just said about his painting. His eyebrows rose as he cackled. “Wait! You actually sold MY painting at another artist's show? That is really ballsy!” 

His laugh made your heart flutter as you let yourself grow just a bit proud of yourself. “I know my priorities. You are my priority. Your art sells itself.”

“Well, why are you getting commissions then?” he joked. He smiled with satisfaction.

You shivered.

As he circled his arms around your waist, his large open hands rubbed your back to warm you. Gradually, he gave way to slower strokes along your back. He stopped moving his hands completely as he pulled you closer to his body. You both froze in place. Lingering a stare into your eyes, he moved his fingertips to your face to gently brush away the raindrops that had beaded there.

He reached under his jacket that was now encompassing your body and grabbed at your flesh- each hand moving independently to cover as much of your body at once as possible. You reached around him and traced your open hand down his spine before grabbing the cloth of his shirt as if you could hold on to him and the moment forever. Your desperate desire compelled you to reach for his toned ass in a desperate attempt to pull his body even closer against yours. 

“HEY!”

A gruff voice from across the lobby startled both of you and you dropped your hands from each other as if you were schoolchildren caught kissing on the playground. You had forgotten that you weren’t alone in the world, much less alone in the building. You looked over and immediately recognized the security officer of the building. 

“If nobody is here for this thing, I can lock up as soon as you leave.”

You wanted nothing more but to leave and get Benedict someplace isolated so you could continue to discover each other with new touches and new kisses. 

“We are gone,” Benedict called back as you felt his ample hand grip your ass, away from the prying eyes of the guard. He leaned in and whispered in your ear, “I want you alone. All to myself. It’s been a long time coming.” 

An eager nod was your only response as your mind quickly flashed all the ways you had always imagined the two of you having each other. 

The guard left the room to turn off the light in the galleries or retrieve keys or whatever security guards do. You didn’t care at that moment. You just felt grateful that he was kicking you out of the building so the two of you could escape to someplace  private.

“So y/n, I guess this just means we have an excuse to plan another art show together.” 

“Well, that declaration is the best part of my day” 

“So far,” he said his voice low and seductive.

You tried to think of something clever to say, but his flirtation struck you so hard that you forgot how to speak. Your only answer was a frozen smile that you were sure bordered on demented. You pulled yourself together and exchanged your smile for a wink and wondered if that was any better.  

“So,” Benedict continued, “Granville has his celebration. It's our turn to celebrate.” He reached over and raised his nearly empty wine glass in my direction. “To selling MY painting at Sebastian's art show. To misadventures that lead to adventures. And finally,” he raised his glass higher as he added flirtatiously “to the way that sweater looks on you.” 

You bought yourself time by pressing your cold hands against your blushing cheeks to warm them. You needed to up your game beyond a demented smile and a wink if you had any hopes of matching his flirtations with your own. 

"Well," you began, "my coat and umbrella have indeed abandoned me and my heel is probably floating down 23rd street. Since they seem to be having quite a time tonight, I think it's only fair that we follow suit. So, what is this adventure you spoke of in your toast?" 

"Our usual go-to? A movie marathon at your place?”  

It was your turn to be inviting. “Well, maybe not quite so usual this time.” 

Raising an eyebrow, he commanded, “Uber it is. We need to get you someplace warm.”

Someplace hot.   

“Great,” you cheered, “I'll grab a bottle of your fave chardonnay. You deserve only the best” 

You pulled yourself up across the bar to reach for a bottle of wine. Because it was just out of reach, you wiggled your body further across the counter, flailing your arms toward the wine. Giddy at the idea that your night was not over yet, you giggled “To us!” as you continued to thrash across the counter of the bar. 

“What in the hell are you doing? What is THAT?” You heard him laugh as you continued to wiggle on your stomach. “You are leaving puddles of rainwater everywhere.” You felt his arms encircle your waist as he pulled you down from the bar. He spun you toward him as he pulled you into his body. He didn't let go, pressing himself harder against you. Every part of him felt hard against your body. You could no longer resist the feel of him. Not that you ever could.

Vetiver. Sandalwood. Musk.

You felt the earth move beneath you as you stumbled into him. Your damaged shoe sliding on the wet floor, coupled with finally succumbing to your desire for Benedict, knocked you off your balance. He reached down, hooking both your thighs from behind to lift your feet completely off the wet tile floor. Instinctually, you wrapped your legs around his waist. Without a word, Benedict pulled your shoes from your feet, each in its turn. He smirked, throwing the shoes across the floor and you both watched as they knocked over an easel that held a sign announcing his art show. 

You felt a sudden jolt as Benedict repositioned his hands to grab your butt to stabilize both of you. You laced your hands around his neck as he pressed his forehead against yours. Your rapid breathing was in perfect syncopation with his.

You pressed against his cheek as you whispered into his ear, “I've wanted to do this for a very long time.” Pulling his collar away from his neck, you lapped at his bare skin to pull the taste of him into your mouth. Goosebumps rose from his skin with each taste. 

He cleared his throat. “Me too,” he rasped. “And I want to keep doing that for a very long time.” 

As if to prove his point, he pushed his face into the bare chest above the scooped neckline of your sweater and traced his tongue along its neckline. You never imagined that his lips discovering your body could feel so blissful. 

You heard the insistent honking of a car horn outside the building but you couldn't bear to turn from Benedict to look outside. He glanced over your shoulder and you both knew that your Uber had arrived. You couldn't resist another lingering kiss. 

"Let's go," he breathed into your mouth with authority and you both knew his demand had more than one meaning. He easily reached one arm over the counter of the bar and grabbed a bottle of wine. Wrapping his arm tightly around you while holding the bottle in his hand, he said “Running barefoot through the storm is not on the agenda for tonight.” He smirked as he carried you into the raging storm. 

He literally threw you onto the backseat of the Uber, landing you butt first to the other side of the car with your legs across the backseat. He playfully stalked you on all fours crawling toward you across the seat. He called out your address to the driver without breaking his predatory eye contact. His white shirt had been drenched by pressing into your sweater during your make-out session and further by the storm. You couldn't wait to rip it open to reveal his chest. So, you didn't wait. You had waited long enough since the day that you met him.

The driver called back. "Between the storm and the traffic, you are in for a long ride" 

He climbed on top of your body which was soaked in every way possible. His usual cheeky nature couldn't remain at bay as he whispered into your ear "That's what she said". 

You both exploded with laughter as he said to the driver, "Take your time." He leaned into your neck and whispered against your ear "I know I will." 

A guttural sound escaped your lips. It could only be followed by your favorite sound in your vocabulary. 

Benedict…

“Benedict.” 

The sound of your own voice startled you as you realized that you had said it out loud instead of in your own thoughts. “You are the best,” you added. 

He answered by exploring your mouth with a deep soul kiss. As he pulled back from your lips, his trademark impish grin made another appearance across his face as if he was enjoying his own thoughts. 

“Well,” he smiled, “the best is yet to come.” 

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction

[therrerium-valkryonia]

Clock Out (MY Ver.)

(Title Inspired by: @rotrighthrough Ver. of the same name)

Veronica works at a very perverted environment and being in a mostly male powered monetary accountant, she was in a bad place but also she was slightly financially stable and could not take any chances being an German-Canadian immigrant, she was struggling in America and every decision could cost a lot and switching jobs and or countries is risky but she gets her money by her hourglass fit figure and heavily pregnant beauty but she is now in her private cubicle, 9 months pregnant and in labor and water broken thoroughly and only having 4 hours left in her shift, sitting uncomfortably in her chair with a contracting abdomen, distracted from her properly working as she is bearing the singeing pain. Veronica having the cursed wardrobe of tight latex underwear tightly rending her pussy and her leather mini-skirt being the shortest and tightest thing that she could wear making her feel more exposed and her tight black thighhighs makes things worse in more ways than one . Then her boss Mr. Trent catches her pained expression, grins and walks over to her. "Oh, Shit",

"Hey Ronnie, darling you good?" Veronica wanted to destroy this man "I'm doing great, thank you Mr. Trent" She said in a very humbly, staring away from the computer. Her boss rub his crusty, oily hands on the tense white tux shirt fabric on top of the very sensitive belly. "Great, Good to hear. Umm, If you don't mind could you get me a coffee, now would you." 'That Dick" Veronica slowly got up and even thou, she felt the baby plummet down when she stood up with the head now brimming beyond the vagina. Mr. Greed looking under her skirt and grabbing the head, " Have we got a little accident down under?". Veronica Grunting and pissed replies "No, sir." Mr. Greed Chuckles “Good, because if that bastard child is birthed in my office you’re ass is so fired.” Veronica's breath hitched but she nodded. "Good girl".

Veronica hobbling off to get Mr. Trent his coffee and curses to herself when she can't be heard. She reaches the coffee machine and leaned against the counter, breathing her way through a searing contraction. When it subsides, she's made the coffee and waddled it over to Mr. Greed, He gives her a hefty slap on her ass that made her quiver considerably, "Good girl". Smiling at her. Him looking under her skirt at her bulging lingerie and his grin widens considerably. "Do you want to quit now and cut your losses?". He asked snobbishly. Veronica shaking her head. "No, Sir." Her Boss hummed and smiled. "Then back to work, no need to waste time with chit chat".

Veronica returned to her desk to see that her chair had been removed. Her female coworker; Trinity notices her expression and giggles. "Boss says best you have a standing desk you lose weight." She looked Veronica up and down and grinned, eyes pounding at the babies bulging head between her jerking legs. She walked over to her and slid a hand under skirt, brushing her fingers over the baby's head. She was about to punish her but a searing contraction came over her and she grits her teeth and almost collapsing to her knees, resting in overwhelming urge to push. "Ay I'll give you my chair for a price". Trinity purred, groping the breasts of Veronica and making her leak out her fitted tux shirt. "F-Fuck off Trinity". She stammered "Ok Sorry, Jeez. I'll watch that the kid isn't out on company time, Mr. Trent will thank me." Veronica furrowing her brows and locates another swiveling chair and pulls it over to her desk. The minute she takes a seat however, she could feel the baby's head move forward fast, it throbbed against her tortured labia, pressing down against it forcing it back into her. Singing pain spread all over her body but she manages to ignore it and work as best as possible.

About 2 and a half hours later, she so thoroughly soaked her tux shirt was practically transparent. Her Contractions we're now back to back, giving her no respite from the wretching pain. her belly was as hard as a smooth rock, packed with suppressed contractions. She knew she 1:30 minutes left of work but she could feel her purple pussy burn that she fears that it might tear, the baby's head is pushing against the tight fabric of her panties. She could feel herself pushing and despite trying to stop, it was impossible. The thick fog of pain overtook her and her body started to push on it's own, the head and neck now fully out. Luckily her tight panties prevented the baby from coming out any further. She bit into her knuckles to silence her moans and groans.

Mr. Trent came over to her desk and leaned against it. "mind standing up for me, hun?" He asked with a grin. Veronica didn't even know if it was possible, the strain on her steel herd belly made sitting more painful than any other pain she ever felt before in her life, let alone standing. She braced against the table and stood up slowly, knees twitching. Mr. Trent Excited in watching her suffer, her face already red in heat and tiredness She looked down at his pants and bulge begins to form, 'Creep' He looked down at her translucent tux shirt and soaked chest, then took a look under her leather mini-skirt, now covered in birthing fluid. "You remember our deal, right." He said mockingly. Veronica gritting her teeth and nodded. Mr. Trent giving her a hard slap on her belly sending a hellish pain throughout it and forcing her to squat down, pushing hard, however the stretched out fabric had no more give and after a few minutes of squatting and panting, she shakily got up again, face flushed and sweaty. Mr. Greed chuckling "Y'know I can give a release right? Right now, you can quit now if you want" Mr. Trent's smirk brought back all the defiance back into Veronica and she stood as straight as she could, shaking her head. "I'm gonna need that said aloud doll face." Veronica swallowed a thick glob of spit and shakily said "N-No I- I can" another contraction struck her and she collapsed onto her knees, the baby pushing wildly against her swollen pussy. Mr. Trent kneeled down and looking under her skirt along with all 22 co-workers just surrounding her, all accepting that she has given up, well that's where they fucked up "I can wait a half hour to clock out just let me handle this baby would you?" All very surprised and disappointed return to their desks.

Veronica stood up and leaned against the desk and takes a seat, sitting against her smoldering tortured pussy and pushing the baby back slightly and in smoldering and singeing pain she rocks back and forth in her moving swiveling chair as to compensate for the pain, her diamond blue eyes starting to tear up, feeling the baby's shoulders but then her tight latex undergarments preventing it and it stings Veronica and no matter how she tries she can't stop the constant pain and she even flattened a scrunchie with her teeth to silence whatever noise of pain she makes. Veronica having only 12 and a half minutes left, now only 11 minutes left to go, she slowly gets up to get water and hears a snap and her tight underwear ripped open. The baby's head plummeting and she screeches out in agony but at an instant but even then all her co-workers and even Mr. Trent comes and crowds around Veronica taking turns looking under her ruined skirt and the barging head between it. "Looks there's not much choice now Ronnie, Just let it happen." her diamond eyes glanced over to the clock, 8 minutes. Fuck NO. She clamped a hand over wildly bulging pussy, now swelling and nearly purple along tear dropped shaped to prevent the baby from going any further. Blood and Labor fluids dripped and flowed between her fingers and she could the sweat between her black hairs and her knees trembling so much, she feared they wouldn't be enough. Only 5 minutes to go, she had this in the bag.

She got up and fell backwards against the wall and fell back down to her knees, hand on the babies head and crossing her legs as tightly as possible and the pain intensified drastically and made her hyper sensitive to everything. her female co-worker looked down at her fearfully and eagerly. 3 minutes.... 2 minutes.. shit. Her boss places both hands and prying her legs open, the baby falling out quickly but her hands pushing it back in, a searing and constant pain goes across her belly and vagina even more fluid and blood drops and flows down, 1 minute..... 45 seconds... 32 seconds and Veronica's vision starts blacking out but then she gets up after hearing 10 seconds.... 5 seconds..... 3 seconds, 2 seconds, 1 seconds and times up! "Impre-" Veronica waddles off quickly and tries to get to her car but a strong contraction makes her bend over and grip door and waddles quickly towards the storage room enters and closes the door as she walks down the dark hallway and sits down leans her back against the wall and grabs her thighs with both hands and widens them then pushes as hard as she can and the baby is born and she falls to her side and pulls her baby to her chest.

HR got a heavily aggressive email, got her a raise and her boss gets fired, so eyy. She won eventually.

#ask box #painful birth #birth denial #birth kink #birth #birth fic #birth story #labor kink #labor #pregnant kink #pregnancy kink #pregnant #pregnancy #giving birth #labor and delivery #huge pregnant belly #pushingbabybackin #clothing birth #office #public birth

[unusual-raccoon]

Lines in the Sand (Ch. 3) | by Unusual_Raccoon (JaceLuke)

@saintbehemoth, @greeksorceress, @livinginafantasysposts, @andromaxeoftroy, @bimyself06, @mondstaub1 Warnings: Dark Jacaerys Velaryon, Politically Savvy Jacaerys Velaryon, Possessive Jacaerys Velaryon, Obsessive Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra), Codependency, Anal Fingering, Dom/sub Undertones, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Allusions to Disordered Eating, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra) Lives, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Valyrian Culture & Customs (A Song of Ice and Fire), Summary: Part 5 of A Brother's Love Daemon has returned to Dragonstone and brings with him more than Lucerys ever could have wished to know. WC: 3,5k Ao3 Link

The entirety of the castle seems to rejoice at Daemon’s return, their foothold in the Riverlands secured with Harrenhal being taken from the Greens. Their black and blue quartered banners now hung from its gates.

All rejoice, all except for Lucerys.

It is decided that Mother will accompany Daemon on dragonback to their newly acquired outpost in the Riverlands. It would do the people well to see their rightful ruler beyond the walls of her keep, bold and unafraid; unlike the Usurper, who hid in his cups, between his mother’s skirts, or behind his brother’s dragon.

Mother insists on a dinner before her departure…as a family. The wording rankles like jagged stones in the soles of his shoes.

Family, family, family.

His brother’s voice is in his head, sharp teeth at his ear.

You are mine.

Yours, he thinks wrathfully. His gaze cuts scorching across the dining hall as he takes his seat with a raised chin. Platters and portions span from corner to corner of the long table, oozing opulence rarely seen in times of war. Yet, no amount of sumptuous meals could fill the space of Jacaerys’ empty seat.

Rhaena sits to his left, Joffrey upon his right, and he asks Daemon endless questions about Harrenhal. The week before that, he had asked Luke endless questions about the Vale and the North. Lucerys had entertained his younger brother’s curiosity with mild exasperation then. Now, he is angry with his brother, angry that Joffrey blindly idolizes their stepfather, and is angrier still that he had once done the same. The naive love of a fatherless boy.

The notion churns his stomach and sours his mouth, more than the rich scent of their meal does.

He shifts endlessly in his seat and feels the ache in his sore bottom regardless of his position.

Lucerys sees Baela for the first time since returning home. She has hacked her hair short, yet even that suits her. Something about it stokes his growing ire; his stepsister’s effortless beauty…

Short curls sit atop her head like a silver cloud.

She will marry him someday, Lucerys thinks, his jaw so tense he thinks it will crack; teeth will rattle loose like pearls scattered to the stone floor.

Mother sits at the table’s head, hobbled beneath the weight of her crown.

Thick wedges of a golden-crusted pie, stuffed with herb-roasted pheasant, grapes, and pine nuts are placed on each plate. It smells savory and earthen and sweet. His stomach gurgles, hunger apparent, but no ordinary flesh could suffice.

The accompanying wine served with their meal is not dulled with water, it is rather robust and tart and tastes of cherries. It looks like blood, thick and sweet.

Lucerys drinks two cups of it while pushing the innards from his piece of pheasant pie with a fork. He feels his courage nourished, fed by his budding inebriation.

He feels eyes on him and predicts his mother’s perpetually wet gaze, instead, he finds bitingly sharp violet eyes that gleam like steel and study him like prey…

Nausea burns in his throat and rage pulses in his blood.

Thin lips curl in a curious smile and Lucerys’ feels a building ache in his temples.

Drakarys, Arrax

Daemon lifts his own goblet of wine, sipping it slowly, seeming to savor the taste. Conversation is sparse around the table, all present are somber, lifeless. Save for Joffrey who talks and talks to the benefit of them all.

Lucerys cannot even enjoy the noise, he cannot enjoy a final meal with his mother before she departs, he cannot rejoice as all others do. His fingers coil tightly, his knuckles blanched white at the large signet ring that stares back at him; in its center is a three-headed dragon. It gleams under the glow of lit sconces and a thousand blushing candles in the dining hall. It’s steel grins; Mocking.

Violet eyes narrow, appraising. Knowing.

Lucerys shifts again desperate to avoid detection, wincing at the throb of discomfort that he feels in his rear.

He muddles a piece of slivered grape into a paste upon his plate with the side of his fork. He stabs a bit of pheasant meat and watches the prongs of his fork split the tender fibers.

He catches Daemon’s stare again briefly and his fingers twitch with the urge to peel away his skin, to rid himself of the prickle of his stepfather’s steely gaze. His nose curls in distaste.

What are you looking at? Lucerys thinks indignantly, what do you want?

Daemon’s ring idly taps against the side of his goblet, metal on metal, as Joffrey asks another question.

His cutlery is cast down with a noisy clatter. His hands shake. Mother, Rhaena, and Baela look at him in surprise, Daemon’s smirk only deepens.

“I am feeling unwell, may I be excused?” Lucerys asks as he stands briskly. His chair scraped against the stone floor. His words are sharp if a tiny bit slurred.

His mother’s eyes are on him, her expression is distant. She looks at him - through him, like he is Visenya like he might be on a pyre next…

The request seems to pain her. Still, his mother permits him to leave.

Lucerys feels ill within the walls of the castle, like any distance, no matter how far, is still too close.

His legs ache as he staggers onto the gray sands that lie beyond.

He cannot breathe.

The breeze is cool coming off of the bay. It is a respite from the raging fire in his blood.

The stale smell of sulfur at low tide strikes him like an open palm. He loathes the scent of the sea. He thinks of the plain dagger that sits in Jacaerys’ chambers, he can feel the phantom weight of the warm, leather-wrapped handle stuck to his palm with thickening blood…

There is no running from the feeling, the helplessness, but his legs move regardless.

The sea roars up beneath him, cold and jarring. Bellowing like the maw of a great beast, threatening to swallow him whole. The Future Lord of the Tides. He blinks the salt from his eyes like waking from a dream. His fire is snuffed out, rage supplanted by fear. It turns leaden in his stomach.

He gazes down at the nearness of the waves and is only spared its cold embrace by a small jut of slick black rock that the heels of his boots narrowly cling to…and the treated wood of a forked staff.

The limbs of ash wood hold him idle and keep him from dropping into the water like a stone.

He blinks up at dark, almond-shaped eyes, tears mixing with the sea water on his cheeks. He keens a sound of anguish and relief.

“Prince Lucerys?” The rolling lilt of Calys’ liquid High Valyrian is sun-warmed honey in his open mouth. For a moment, the taste is a reprieve that sates the endless chasm of his hunger - his want.

The young dragonkeeper stands before him, still dressed in the undyed garment of his order.

He imagines clenching white-knuckled fists in that unflattering cloth, cold and heavy from the sea breeze. He looks for the shape of Calys’ cock beneath the fabric. To fill his empty mouth with it. He yearns for a scrap of certainty to bind himself to amidst all of the wrong. 

He grimaces at memories that disintegrate between his fingers like ash under scrutiny too severe.

He yearns to distance himself from a truth that hurts, it winks at him cheekily like the glint of a thousand blushing candles off the steely grin of a signet ring - his ring.

He thinks of Arrax painted in cream and gold and the lovers that sat indolently at his feet.

Would you kneel for me, if I asked? He thinks to himself as he stares into Calys’ dark eyes. The thought is fleeting, lightning quick before the yawning maw of his hunger, his want surfaces once more.

You weren’t made for standing, his brother’s voice echoes in his head, pointed teeth are at his ear, you were made to kneel.

He envisions a velvet cushion embroidered in black and red before the throne. He licks his lips and finds the skin frayed, tasting of seawater and tart wine.

“The hour is late, my prince, you should return to the castle.”

Lucerys nods, cowed and very tired.

. . .

Lucerys does not return to his own chambers, he instead seeks comfort in Jace’s.

A shiver travels through him at the brush of a finger over the mended lock. The sound of it breaking echoes in his mind.

Tut, tut, tut.

That’s the sound the bed will make when I fuck you

He toys with the mechanism. He pulls the length of wrought iron in and out of the hammered hole meant to house it, in and out.

The metal is cold, the room is cold, he is cold.

Lucerys squirms beneath the neatly made bedding. Clumps of wet sand stick to the sheets in his haste.

His boots adorn the floor.

He feels safe cocooned in a nest of blankets. The pillow smells less like Jace than it did a few days prior.

Still, he savors it - the nearness, the intimacy. His warm breath fills the pocket of darkness he hides in.

He gasps at the contrast of his hand brushing featherlight against his warm belly, skin prickling as it sinks lower.

His body feels heavier, somehow. Decaying as he is. Bits fall away with each passing day and still, he feels heavier; burdened by a weight he cannot shed.

His fingers brush his cock, and he mewls into Jace’s pillow. His arousal stirs, half-hard; omnipresent. His breath is damp in the small space.

His hips inch forward, his fingers graze the underside of his erection, and the sensation sings.

Pleasure bolts white and pure, like lightning through Lucerys’ body. His sore hole clenches.

His hands feel nothing like his brother’s. Though the scent of Jacaerys has faded to little more than a dream in his mouth, its presence upon his pillow helps dull the worst of the disparity. If he closes his eyes tight, he can think of Jace touching him - hands hardened with calluses that inspire a stinging friction. He grips himself tighter, mimicking the pleasurepain only his beloved brother could bestow.

He huffs a pathetic little sound between wet lips. His hips rutting into his hand. The head of his cock poking through the circle of his fingers with shallow thrusts.

Sticky, pre-spend dribbles over his knuckles. A tacky spot forms against the bedding.

You’re leaking like a woman, his brother’s voice croons mockingly in his head. Yet, Lucerys sups upon his own humiliation gladly. He drinks it down, robust and tart like the wine served at supper. Something silken and warm takes root in his belly, the arch of his spine deepens and his cock twitches in the cage of his too-soft hand. His sore hole clenches, empty.

Leaking like your woman, Lucerys thinks to himself, a coquettish turn to his lips.

He pinches the weeping head of his cock, pleasurepain flashes in his belly like the kiss of glowing embers to oil.

He’s gasping, trembling, feverish on the verge of something awe-inspiring, like he might catch fire.

“Jace-”

The air is thin and every sound beyond the cover of the bedding thrown over his head is muffled.

The scrape of the wooden door against the stone is sudden and jarring, panic prickles icily like the dance of metal up his spine.

He feels trapped once more, frantically trying to right himself. He thrusts his head beyond the safety of his nest, his skin is damp and air stings bitingly cold at his cheeks.

The musk of sweat and pre-spend hangs in the air, damning proof of his transgressions.

His heart hammers hard in his chest, too hard. He is greeted by white-blonde hair and violet eyes. Thin lips curl in a smile. Those chilling eyes blink slowly, once, twice - horizontal, vertical. 

His stepfather hums a quiet laugh to himself like he is reminded of something humorous while standing in the doorway of Jacaerys’ bedchambers.

“I thought you might be in here,” Daemon says after a moment, pleased with himself. Lucerys’ arousal withers and dies, his stones ache.

Nausea burns thick in Luke’s throat. He didn’t want Daemon to think of him. He didn’t want Daemon to think of him in Jace’s room.

Lucerys can only hold the bedcovers beneath his chin with trembling hands. His trousers are still around his knees, he wants terribly to fix them.

“Your mother and I shall depart for the Riverlands soon,” He adds, eyes narrowing for a every moment Lucerys remains mute.

He takes a single step into Jacaerys’ chambers and Lucerys draws his knees to his chest with a gasp. He clutches the bedcovers tighter over his modesty.

He glares at his stepfather with tears brimming in his eyes. His throat aches with the effort it takes to keep from mewling. Still, Daemon is unperturbed, he steps closer.

“You worry her, you know that, don’t you?”

“Mother has more important things to worry about, she’s the queen, we’re at war-”

Daemon laughs at that. A snide little bark.

“And who do you think she is waging this war for? Herself?”

His teeth pull at the inside of his cheek to keep quiet. Luke can feel the pressure of his blunt nails digging into his palms through the thickness of Jacaerys’ quilt.

“You aren’t eating…” It isn’t a question, but an expressed observation. The concern sounds very inconvenient in Daemon’s mouth.

“Why?” He asks.

Daemon raises a white-gold brow. He taps a ringed finger against his chin, the steel flashes and Lucerys’ gaze burns. He blinks slowly, once, twice - horizontal, vertical. Lucerys’ ire swells and sinks quickly, angry and ashamed to have been baited so easily. His cheeks pulse with mortification.

“Did he command it of you?” Daemon asks, his white-gold head lowered as he speaks while he admires his ring - He - like a tiny piece of Jacaerys is still stuck upon it.

“No, of course not. The thought would terrify him.”

The words clash - they do not belong together. The thought of his brother, his Jace being terrified of anything is beyond outlandish. The poison drips from Daemon’s mouth with certainty though.

“Jace wouldn’t-“

He bites his tongue, he tastes copper.

“Is that what he would have you believe?” Daemon asks wryly.

He takes a step closer and the space of Jacaerys’ rooms seems to shrink. Serpentine black stone coils tight around him; squeezing the life from him.

Lucerys shifts back upon the bed, knees to his chest, trousers sagging down his shins. He pulls the quilt with him.

“He is many things, your brother, but fearless is not one of them.”

Lucerys glares at his stepfather, glares so hard he feels an ache in his temples.

He recalls the iron box that resides neatly upon a shelf. He recalls the dagger that sits within it. His fingers clench for the warm leather-wrapped handle. He had already maimed one uncle with that dagger, he thinks he could do it again. He imagines cleaving the boring little blade into Daemon’s throat, he imagines opening a crescent across the white flesh to match the smug curl of Daemon’s thin lips. He would sever that silver-blond head from his broad shoulders and present it in an offering to Jace when he returned home.

A token of his love.

His hole clenches around nothingness and he winces at the soreness he feels there.

A hand reaches for him suddenly, shattering the fantasy. A lock of his hair is held prisoner between Daemon’s fingers where he looms beside Jacaerys’ bed. Lucerys trembles, tears wet his cheeks, feeling as ferocious as a lamb.

Daemon’s violet eyes gleam like steel. He worries the dark hair between his fingers idly like he’d done it a thousand times before. There is mild curiosity in the touch. Disgust and arousal evident in the turn of his lips.

“You’re more her than anything else…it is a blessing.”

Her. Mother. Rhaenyra. Targaryen.

Else. The reality sits like a sword through the gut. Bastard. Strong.

Lucerys shivers, feeling the phantom caress of pointed teeth at his ear.

You are mine. Our mother may have borne you, but you ceased to be hers from the moment you left her womb.

His brother’s voice rings in his head, he presses his thighs together and imagines Jace still thrusting between them, just as he had that day in the godswood.

Yours, Lucerys thinks stubbornly. Head tilted in a silent defiance.

Daemon leers at him. He blinks slowly, once, twice - horizontal, vertical.

“What has he done to you?” Daemon asks with a restrained sort of glee. Nausea burns in Lucerys’ throat. The taste of bile and salt that washes upon his tongue reminds him of his brother.

A slight tug upon the curl between Daemon’s fingers pulls Lucerys’ head and he yelps, thighs pressed together. He no longer feels Jace between them.

“I-” Lucerys stammers, a hiccuping sob claws up his throat. He pulls back, ignorant of the pain that stings from the curl pulled taut between Daemon’s fingers. Lucerys’ hips shift down, and away, his bare bottom presses firmly to the bed regardless of the ache that he feels as a result.

Daemon’s smirk deepens.

He inhales through his nose, the musk of sweat and pre-spend still hanging in the air.

“You should eat,” Daemon remarks as he releases the lock of Lucerys’ hair from his hold. He absently wipes a hand upon his trousers like Lucerys is some flea-ridden animal. Like he is not quite human.

“If not for your sake,” he says, “then for his.”

Then quietly, his stepfather turns to leave. The building ache in his temples worsens and he imagines scrambling from the bed for Jace’s dagger. He imagines plunging it somewhere vital, into Daemon’s lower back for a kidney, or in the side of his neck for thick artery. He imagines making Rhaena cry again by orphaning her completely.

I know he’s your father, but he hurt my brother. You’ll forgive me, you always do.

Daemon idles by the bedside table nearest to the door, where the half-full sleeping vial resides. He produces a vial of his own from a velvet purse. It is a small stoppered glass bottle. The stain of the glass makes the color of the contents impossible to tell. He wants to inspect it, but wouldn’t dare show Daemon any hint of attention.

“He’ll know what to do with this.” his stepfather says.

He taps a finger against the corked top, a ringed finger, with intention.

“Lucerys?” Daemon calls, twisted partially to face him from his path to the door.

“Do be patient with your brother,” he intones with a tilt of his head, an everpresent smile curling upon thin lips, “he is a slow learner.”

He listens to the echo of Daemon’s footsteps as he leaves, absorbs himself in the quiet, in the absence of him as though it had never been. But he had been there. He leaves Lucerys with a glass bottle upon the bedside table and a hateful fire lurching in his veins.

. . .

He listens as his mother and Daemon eventually depart. The dual cries of Syrax and Ceraxes echoing in the dark sky.

He is nearly certain he can Arrax’s chittering call blending into the noise. The noise that he drifts off too with sand in the sheets and his trousers around his ankles.

He had not touched anything since Daemon left, not even himself. He feels petrified, like a insect stuck in amber.

Lucerys lays in the dark, his breath visible in the air. His grip is firm on the edge of the quilt.

His sleep is unbidden and heavy, like being pulled under water. He doesn’t want to sleep. He wants to slide the wrought iron bolt into the locking mechanism. He wants to fetch the dagger from Jace’s box.

He wants to feel safe in his home again.

The bed tilts beneath him. Weight settles over him. A solid cage of flesh and bone.

Daemon.

They hadn’t left, they hadn’t-

He thrashes in the dark.

You’re more her than anything else…

He’s gasping for air, his limbs are too heavy. He never got the dagger.

A hand presses over his mouth, his breath rushes hot and frantic against Daemon’s knuckles. Tears leak from the corners of his closed eyes. The grip tightens just short of painful.

“Don’t scream,” a voice warns in a whisper.

When the hand pulls away, he sucks down wet breaths, blinking through teary eyes in the dark.

He whimpers in anticipation of steely violet eyes that cut him to his core. Eyes watch him like prey. He coughs, phlegm sticks uncomfortably in his throat, clogging up his airways.

It is so dark, that even when his eyes adjust what he finds is darker than his closed eyes, darker than the night sky.

His chest constricts and he cries harder than before.

“Jace?”

. . .

A/N: A hard-earned birthday gift to myself. return of the king 👑🙌.

#my writing #jaceluke #jaceluke agenda #jacaerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon #jacaerys x lucerys #hotd fanfic #hotd #my fanfic: a brother's love

[angie-massei]

Polands fashion choices that make Lithuanias eyebrows frown:

1. Margiela Tabi Shoes

2. Jacquemus Le Chiquito bag (in lilac)

3. Chopines (Feliks had whole collection, first pair bought circa 1405 in Venice)

4. Black and white hobble skirt (by Poiret of course)

5. Belanciaga SS 1958 Sack Dress (black)

6. AKNVAS Olive dress

7. Oscar de la Renta butterfly mini dress

8. Kate Spade Showdog Fringed 3D dog crossbody (it creeps him out)

9. Ball dress by Jerzy Antkowiak (Moda Polska) that was originally for Miss Polonia and he has stolen it

#it will be updated #hetalia #aph poland #hws poland #aph lithuania #hws lithuania #lietpol #just thinking

[villa-kulla]

Hi yes, aware I haven't posted on tumblr in months, but June was just busy, and July was my first proper Eurotrip!! Went around Portugal, Spain, Italy, Austria, Belgium, and then back out again through Spain! ~Momentous~ Highlight reel that is in no way comprehensive:

Favourite food(s): Topfenstrudel in Salzburg, prosciutto/mozzarella in Venice, chili/lime plantain chips in Barcelona, fresh anchovies in Cinque Terre, raspberry donut in Lisbon, churros in Madrid, seafood paella in BCN, and honestly just some plain old hangover bacon/eggs in Venice while I slowly woke up after the festival going on (but yeah topfenstrudel was #1, when I took a bite I think I said something to effect of "are you kidding me")

Favourite drink: Love a bitter orange cocktail, so Italy was all about aperol spritzes, negronis, and americanos <3 Bonus points for the liter-sized beer steins in Salzburg too

Favourite hike: Cinque Terre with @enbouton! I just tried to keep up. Our Toledo hike was a close second though! Don Quixote realness

Most exciting moment: sitting in a square in Venice waiting for my best friend from when I lived in Korea to arrive, literally vibrating with excitement at seeing her again after 8 years omg (she lives in Australia but was in Europe too around the same time, and we made it WORK!)

Best tour: did a Sound of Music bike tour in Salzburg and it was an absolute delight. So was the beergarden date and [redacted] with my tour guide lmao heyo (context, we were extremely clickety from the get go much to the amusement of the rest of the tour group so it was like 'let's meet up when you're not literally at work lol'. He took me to a proper Austrian beer garden the next night and honestly, date for the ages lol, yay for fleeting love in foreign countries ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

Most serendipitous planning/non-planning: booked my first night in Venice completely unaware at the time there was a huge festival happening, and was on the right island for the fireworks. Also my timing worked out that I got to do Barcelona with a friend from home so that was fun too

Best museum: this glorious cathedral in Toledo, and also the Hergé museum just outside Brussels

Best restaurant: first proper dinner out with my friends in Venice at this restaurant by the Ponte dell'Accademia. The pic 3rd down on the left was the view and we ordered everything. *Runner-up was this fantastic little diner in Madrid that had churros and horchata and we ended up going twice lol

Travel bloopers: Italian rail strike and heat rash in Spain lol #attractive Oh and got screwed by one booking website lol but I'm hoping to get that refunded. Also my flights out to Europe were screwy!

Best travel eavesdropping: I overheard a waiter in Brussels speaking to an older woman who was very anxious about ordering something a specific way I think, and he replied in French "Madame, this is your house, order how you like" and I just thought that was a very classy thing to sayyyy

Most relaxing day: had a picnic/laundry/shopping/movie day in Padova and it was just the ticket. Also by the time I hit Barcelona I was pretty wiped out and made the executive decision to wait in no lines or do any busy tourist attractions in favour of beach time, and that was WISE

Travel tears: Saying goodbye to Aussie friend before my train to Vienna and watching her disappear back into the Venetian throng

Favourite outfit bought: your girl was backpacking so space was Limited, but got a little orange dress in BCN, a white/green blouse in Padova, and some silky trousers in Toledo I'm still summoning up the nerve to wear here. Oh and a raincoat my Brussels airbnb host offered to sell me for 20 euros and I'm pretty sure it was worth a LOT more than that lol but it was very chic!

Wardrobe win: this lightweight long black skirt with convenient leg slits for walking. Came in clutch many times

Wardrobe fail: My sneakers were great at first but the 5 terre hike cracked something in the soles and and I started getting agonizing blisters. By the time I hit Salzburg I hobbled off the train right into an h&m, bought the first affordable pair of sneakers I saw, and tossed the old ones out

Prettiest city: maybe Florence just because there seemed to be something unreasonably beautiful everywhere you turned your head. This could apply to most of Italy though.

Best vibes: Something about Salzburg!!! Mountains, opera, amazing food, cute tour guides, and misty skies...I'd have stayed longer if I could have instead of pushing on to Brussels, but my next bookings weren't refundable. Brussels was cool in its way but honestly just reminded me a lot of Montreal lol. Also Toledo had a nice relaxing atmosphere, I'd like to go back and spend more time in Spain for sure

Best miscommunication: the guy across from me on my train to Padua who saw me reading Moby Dick and asked "Are you reading that because of the whale?"... After some confusion he explained that the book apparently features in the movie The Whale lmao but I thought he was asking if I was reading it for the character of the whale?? asdfgh. I was like "...yeah I've heard the whale is great" lmao.

Best sleep: hand to god it was my party hostel in Barcelona lol. Rowdy downstairs, super quiet and comfy bunks upstairs.

Favourite city: Venice is going to win this one. Fireworks, festivals, seeing one of my best friends after 8 years, postcard views on every street, and late nights catching up and drinking wine listening to the water lapping at the canals? Absolute dream.

All around lovely trip and so glad I planned something instead of rotting away all summer! I hadn't travelled properly in aaaages, and it was a good mix of solo travel + travel with friends, and saw a solid amount of places too. I'm convinced the best way to travel is to talk to the people, eat their food, and just wander around and soak up the sights, and I feel like I got to do all those things and then some 🎉

Anyways I'll probs post a little more before work starts back up, but then I'll probably be taking another tumblr break! It was very nice to unplug and I also have some creative projects I'm working on, so I'm hoping to focus more on those this semester!

#shares #why do i have to go back to work #oh yeah so i can afford to travel in the first place lol

[corallapis]

‘Look,’ I whispered, ‘there’s Harold Acton.’

A tall plumpish young man loomed up, whom it was impossible to contemplate as an undergraduate; his umbrella was rolled cane-tight but no snugger than he was, into a long tube of a black overcoat with spilling from under it pleated trousers as wide as a skirt. As he advanced out of the swirling mist, it became clear that it was not just the weather, he was doing his own swirling. His advent was a sequence of hobble steps which seemed—his legs were of a good length—to be based on the ritual of some rompish religion; if his walk had not elegance, it would have been a waddle. He swayed to a standstill; in case his kind soft-coloured features might be mistaken for the face of youth, he had flanked them with a pair of long side-whiskers and topped them with a skittishly curled gray bowler. Bowing with the courtesy of another age and clime, he spoke, an English flawlessly italianated. 

‘I do most dreadfully beg your pardons this inclement night—though I have been resident a year, I find it too idio-tically diffi-cult to find my way about; I have been round Tom like a tee-toe-tum, too too madd-enning—where does our dear Dean hang out?’ 

He thanked me profusely, raised the bowler with a dazzling smile, and propelled himself Dean-ward, an Oriental diplomat off to leave a jeweled carte de visite. 

‘Jesus,’ said Evvers, ‘what's that?’ 

‘He's the Oxford aesthete,’ I informed him, ‘a Victorian, his rooms in Meadow are in lemon-yellow and he stands on his balcony and reads his poems through a megaphone to people passing, and he belongs to the Hypocrites Club with Brian Howard and Robert Byron and Evelyn Waugh and all that set; they call themselves the Post-War Generation and wear Hearts on their lapels as opposed to the pre-war Rupert Brooke lot who called themselves the Souls. They're supposed to eat new-born babies cooked in wine.’

—  Emlyn Williams, George: An Early Autobiography (1961)

#emlyn williams #harold acton #anthony blanche #evelyn waugh #brideshead revisited #brideshead #🕰️

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: current SUMMARY: while out doing a little pest control, emilio makes a friend. CONTENT: implications of past animal cruelty

The explosion of dust that came with driving a stake into an unbeating heart was less and less satisfying each time he did it. Once upon a time, he’d gotten something from it. Exhilaration, in the early days, when every beat of his own heart still felt strange, when he was still grappling with the fact that he was alive, he was breathing. In the immediate aftermath of the thing that should have killed you, before the weight of it kicked in, there was a strange sense of thrill to everything. Cheating death was exciting up until the exact moment where it wasn’t, and Emilio had passed it some time ago. Exhilaration had faded to dull satisfaction which had then faded into the endless sea of nothing he felt now. 

He watched that explosion of dust the same way someone might watch a drop of rain skirting down a window, the same way you’d watch paint dry. He didn’t get anything out of it anymore; it was just there. It just happened. Most things in life were like that.

The dust settled, a disorganized pile on the floor that blew around as the heater kicked on. Before the massacre, Emilio never would have gone after a vampire in their own home. It wasn’t a sense of respect that prevented any break-ins but rather a sense of self-preservation. Fighting a vampire on its own turf was always riskier. Fighting it in its own home, where it might have contingencies in place that you couldn’t account for, was a stupidly needless thing when you could just catch it out and about. It was an unnecessary hazard, because every vampire would leave their home eventually. Every vampire would be vulnerable sooner or later. Anyone with any kind of self preservation waited for that moment.

But Emilio’s self-preservation died years ago, in a house that should have been safe, surrounded by people who were meant to be protected. He’d left it to rot on the floorboards, left it to seep into the earth. There was nothing left of it now.

He sighed, shifting his weight off his bad leg and telling himself this was a successful hunt. He pushed away the bitter taste of disappointment on his tongue that always followed ‘successful hunts,’ the one that wished for something he wouldn’t say aloud. (It wouldn’t matter if he did say it aloud; he had no one to say it to. He’d made sure of that when he left Rhett behind. He’d made sure of that when he’d driven a blade into Lucio’s gut. He’d made sure.) 

Digging into his pocket, he fetched his cigarettes and lit one, closing his eyes and letting the smoke settle into his lungs. Smoking let him give a name to the ache in his chest, even if it was the wrong one. It felt a little better, that way. 

Something moved in the corner, and Emilio’s eyes snapped open, hand gripping a stake before he realized he’d retrieved it from his jacket pocket. There were no vampires left here — his senses made sure he knew that much — but there was something coming into the room, anyway. Slow, uncertain. Scared. Emilio was so tense that he was trembling, an ant standing under the shadow of a boot and waiting for it to drop. Did the vampire have a companion he didn’t know about? It wasn’t unheard of for them to shack up with other supernatural creatures, even the lethal, heartless ones like the pile of dust on the floor. Could be a fae of some kind, or a shifter. Or —

It hobbled into the room on three legs, so small he almost didn’t see it at first. Black fur, pointed ears, a wary gaze. It approached him with caution, the growl rumbling in the back of its throat hard to take seriously thanks to the tremble it was doing a bad job of suppressing. 

Slowly, deliberately, Emilio slipped the stake back into his jacket. He kneeled down — something his knee protested loudly, creaking and shooting a sharp stab of pain in all directions, rippling throughout his entire goddamn body — and held out a hand. The dog moved forward slowly, eyeing him like it was just waiting for him to lash out. It was afraid, he realized. Given who it belonged to, it probably had good reason to be.

The dog sniffed his hand once, still growling. He moved forward and it snapped, so fast that Emilio barely pulled back in time. It was skin and bones, just fur hanging off a frame so tiny it looked like the dog was in just as much danger of turning to dust as its former owner had been when Emilio shoved that stake into his chest. Missing pieces of itself, terrified of anything that might come close enough to hurt it, and snapping at any sudden move.

Maybe Emilio could relate.

He wasn’t even sure it was a deliberate thing, scooping up that tiny bundle of rage and fear, but it was in his arms before he had time to blink, the growls vibrating up his shoulder and the desperation clear as it wriggled in his grip. “Hey, hey,” he shushed it gently, giving the pile of dust a quick kick as he limped towards the door. “Estás bien. It’s okay. Todo está bien, no voy a hacerte daño.” Growls were replaced by whimpers as the dog seemed to realize it was stuck, and Emilio quickly exited the house. Feeling the dog tremble against him, he weighed the pros and cons of coming back later to burn the place down. He thought the pros category was likely going to come out on top. 

An hour and a half later, he was sitting on the floor of his apartment scooping kibble into a bowl. The girl at the pet store had been nice enough not to say anything when she’d noticed he’d brought the dog with him unleashed into the shop, tucked into his jacket and still mad at the world. She’d talked him through what he might need, and Emilio had pretended to be a person throughout, had nodded along and forced himself to listen, had come home with a bag full of shit that cost him more than he’d spent on the damn furniture in his apartment. A bag of food she told him would help the dog gain weight back. A bed that was softer than the bare mattress he had laying on the floor of the bedroom. A harness and leash. A tag with his address and phone number. A little green ball, a few toys with squeakers that would only get annoying if the damn dog ever stopped shaking long enough to do anything with them. Some treats that the pet store girl had sworn the dog would love. Even a goddamn bandanna that was around the dog’s neck, red plaid made of soft fabric. 

He wasn’t sure the dog gave a shit about any of it. He (because it was a he) had disappeared under the couch the moment Emilio set him on the floor, the occasional growl the only thing letting the hunter know the dog was there at all. The sound of the kibble hitting the plastic bowl echoed throughout the mostly empty apartment, and it took some effort for Emilio to get himself to his feet and into the kitchen to fill a second bowl with water. He set it near the first, settling back into the floor and just… staring, for a moment. Staring at the bowls, at the bed, at the bag of food with the picture of a dog that looked remarkably similar to the one cowering under his couch, albeit with one more leg. It all felt heavier than it ought to. 

(Flora had loved dogs. She’d begged for one. Emilio told himself that when they were on their own, he’d do that for her. As if getting a kid a puppy would make up for the fact that he’d taken her away from everything she knew, taken her away from her mother. There was never going to be a happy ending there, but him and Flora in a shitty apartment with a dog would have been better than this, even if she would have hated him.) 

He came back to himself without realizing he’d left at all, zoning back into the room around him as something moved in the corner of his vision. The light coming in through the window had changed enough to tell him that time had passed, and his eyes darted towards that movement. Somehow, it was both surprising and obvious to find the dog had come out from under the couch. The food bowl was empty now, the water dry, and the dog was staring at him. He wasn’t growling anymore. Emilio stared back. 

After a moment, the dog moved forward. He pushed his nose against Emilio’s hand, sniffing it. Then, never taking his eyes off the hunter’s face, the dog stuck out his tongue and delivered a firm lick against the back of Emilio’s hand before retreating back under the couch, moving unevenly on his three legs. 

Emilio stared after him for a moment, his throat tight. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, “okay. You’re welcome.” 

His chest still ached, but at least he’d have a reason to wake up in the morning. After all, he’d have to take the dog to the grassy area behind his apartment building if he didn’t want it pissing on his damn floor. 

#empty from the start #self para #animal cruelty tw #wickedswriting #s1 writing #season 1