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flowerandblood · 5 months

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The Taste of Shame (5)

[ dom!modern • Aemond x friend sister • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, aggression, possessive behaviors, remorse, feeling of shame ]

[ description: Aemond works as a professional dom, fulfilling the various fantasies of his female clients - however, he guards his privacy and does not enter into any relationships with them, recognizing that he does not want or need it. It turns out that what he wants and what he doesn’t no longer matter when he meets his friend’s younger sister for the first time. Slow burn, sexual tension, doubts related to sex work. ]

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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Nothing more than kisses and cuddles happened between them that night, and although he was dying of lust and desire feeling her so close, he felt surprisingly good about waking up feeling her warm, soft hand stroking his cheek.

He lay there for a while with his eyes closed, just focusing on how pleasant and innocent the experience was, so far from what he had been doing for the last four years of his life.

He felt a kind of peace and fulfilment, a relief that she was still with him, that she had given him the chance to show her what he really wanted.

He opened his eyelids slowly and hummed quietly, stroking her back lazily with his large hand − she smiled sleepily at him, her loose hair in a slight disarray that, however, only added to her charm.

He pulled her close to him and kissed her in a drawn-out manner with a soft click − she purred into his mouth with a smile, surprised. He sighed, pressing his forehead against hers, devastated by the fact that they both had to go to their classes.

He texted her as soon as he arrived at the university, wishing her a good day and thanking her for giving him another chance, that he was happy and that, if that's what she wanted, they could meet without sex for now, just to be in each other's embrace.

For the first time in a long time, he felt proud of himself.

He felt mature.

They had agreed to spend the weekend together, maybe go to the cinema, have a beer at some pub or watch a series at his house, just relax together.

Like a couple.

He pressed his lips together with satisfaction just thinking about the fact that the more he was honest with her the more he got the feeling that things would work out, that they both had a weakness for each other and that maybe something would come of it.

He didn't like the fact that she kept lying to her family about spending this time at her friend's house, but he understood that she didn't feel ready yet, neither of them talking about anything officially recognising that it was a tad too early.

That evening when she arrived at his place they set off straight for his favourite pub housed in an old, eclectic building full of old photographs and paintings.

They sat at the bar; he liked that she was dressed as usual, in high-waisted trousers with her T-shirt tucked in − this didn't make him feel obliged to dress smartly, finding sitting in his black trousers and tight sweatshirt appropriate.

They ordered themselves a drink each, glancing at the TV hanging above them, news from their country was just airing. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, tapping his finger on the tabletop, and felt his heart squeeze when she noticed this and smiled at him.

He felt like kissing her, but refrained.

"What are you thinking about?" She asked lightly and he swallowed loudly, flinching as the barman handed them their orders − he took a quick sip of his whisky and grunted.

"About how… how I'm glad I told you about it all then, after the lecture, you know?" He hummed, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, feeling hot in his lower abdomen at the thought that she was so close, that he was going to spend as much as two days with her.

He swallowed hard feeling the throbbing in his trousers, trying not to think about the fact that they would be sleeping in the same bed.

She smiled gratefully at his words, lowering her gaze − he stared at her admiring under the light how long and shiny her eyelashes were when she sat in that position.

"− I'm very happy too − you surprised me, but I felt that you were stifling something inside you and that you were suffering − the very first day I saw you outside our house −" She said softly, taking a slow sip of her drink, looking up at him after a moment.

He was silent for a while, just looking at her gentle face, at the expression of serenity that shone from it, that somehow gave him a sense of security.

"− I suffered for many reasons at the time −" He muttered in a slightly trembling voice. "− mostly because I realised that because of what I was doing, I could never have you −"

"− you have me −" She said with embarrassment, her eyebrows arched in slight amusement and a kind of tender emotion. "− you have broken into my heart and fill it completely −"

He licked his lower lip involuntarily, looking at her intensely, feeling her words in the form of heat on his cheeks and in his trousers − he found to his dismay that he had become completely hard and shifted in his seat. He stared at her for a moment with his lips slightly parted, unable to get a word out.

I think I'm falling in love with you, he thought, but nothing came out of his throat.

Ignoring the other people standing and sitting at the bar beside them, he cupped her cheek in his free hand, leaned over and kissed her, clinging to her soft, moist lips for a long moment, hearing her quiet sigh of delight. Her fingers ran over his hand and then kissed it, in a gesture so tender that he felt ashamed.

He had done such fucked-up things with those hands, and now her innocent, warm lips were kissing him as if he were a saint.

He had no idea how he was supposed to keep his hands to himself this night.

They both grunted, seeing the other's gazes on them, and moved away from each other, changing the subject.

They chatted for a while about her studies and the new book on modern philosophy she was reading when suddenly someone patted her on the back, two guys and a girl stood behind her smiling.

"Hi! It's lovely to see you, what are you doing here?" Asked the one who touched her, embracing her − her eyes lit up in joy at the sight of them and she quickly greeted them, licking her lips, glancing at him uncertainly.

She didn't know what to say.

"We went out for a beer together." She said shyly.

He turned his head away, impatient, hating being the centre of attention, angry that whoever this guy was was touching her as if he had known her for years.

"Aemond, these are my friends from the year, Paul, Mark and Rose." She introduced each of them after a moment.

He looked at them warily and nodded, unsure how to behave, annoyed that they couldn't just have a peace and quiet.

"Would you two sit down with us? We could join tables." Said the other boy, who he had just found out was called Paul − he felt himself starting to boil inside, he had a feeling that frustration was clearly visible on his face.

"No, thanks, we've made an appointment for two." She replied quickly, clearly feeling uncomfortable herself, Paul laughed and raised an eyebrow.

"A date?" He asked amused.

He put down his glass loudly and turned to him standing up from his seat, towering over him, the boy swallowed loudly, looking at him startled.

"Yes, it's a fucking date, do you have any more questions? Anything else you want to know, to describe to you in detail the plan for our evening, or did you get enough information? Hm?" He growled with a hint of menace, stepping towards him, forcing him to step back − he felt the grip of her hand on his arm holding him down.

"Aemond, please, he didn't mean it, it was just a joke." She mumbled pleadingly, clearly terrified, grabbing his hand.

"Sorry, mate, I didn't mean to piss you off. It was stupid, my tongue's too long sometimes. Okay?" He asked embarrassed and frightened by how decisive his response was, reaching out his hand to him.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and saw that she was looking at him hopefully, with a plea that he behave as he should.

He struggled to swallow his pride and rage and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly and warningly, looking him straight in the eye.

When he let him go the boy swallowed loudly, he and the other two moved towards the empty table wishing them a good evening.

They sat back down at the bar − he glanced at her seeing that she was pale, her hands trembling as she reached for her glass and took a sip of her drink.

"− I-I'm sorry about them − they're very nice, really −" She mumbled, and he swallowed quietly, fiddling with his glass, embarrassed by his sudden outburst, by the fact that he was acting like a jealous, insecure child.

He grunted without looking at her, rubbing the tip of his nose with the top of his hand.

"− I'm sorry too − for my outburst − I didn't mean to be unpleasant, I just − I just haven't seen you in a long time and I want to spend this time with you alone −" He choked out, licking his lower lip, feeling a squeeze in his stomach at the thought that she might think he was being aggressive and insane.

"I know. I want it too." She said softly and only then did he dare to look at her, her eyes expressing understanding and peace − he shuddered when she put her hand on his, leaning in, placing a soft, tender kiss on her soft skin.

As they were about to leave he hesitated and headed towards the table where her friends were sitting. He grunted quietly − Paul paused in mid-word and looked at him with concern.

"Sorry. My reaction was exaggerated. I didn't mean to be unpleasant." He said lowly, swallowing softly, looking away, feeling strangely exposed, his hands clenched into fists.

Paul twisted in his seat, looking at him surprised, and scratched his cheek.

"Come on, I shouldn't have joked like that. I hope you don't cross us off and maybe we can go out in a bigger group for a beer one day." He suggested. He hummed under his breath, nodded and headed for the exit.

As they left the pub he felt immediately as her warm, small hand grasped his and intertwined their fingers − he looked at her surprised, feeling that his cheeks were hot despite the coolness of the evening.

"− do you feel uncomfortable? −" She asked in a trembling voice, wanting to let him go, seeing his reaction − he quickly grabbed her again, entwining their fingers back together, squeezing her even tighter.

"− no − your hands are cold −" He muttered, not looking at her, just walking ahead, thinking only of how hard his heart was pounding.

He thought he felt like a teenager in high school who was holding the hand of a girl he had a crush on for the first time in his life.

Even though they had already slept together for some reason he now felt ashamed − there was something definitive in this gesture, some confirmation of what they both dared not talk about.

By the time they arrived at his flat it was late and they decided to go to bed. Watching her enter his bedroom in only his Tshirt he felt that he was all hard and swallowed with difficulty, looking away.

He wasn't sure he'd be able to bear it, he'd wanted her since she stepped into his doorway.

He put his arms around her as she snuggled into him, kissing the top of her head tenderly, stroking her smooth hair with his hand.

They lay like this in silence, however, he felt them both squirm, his manhood throbbed in his sweatpants and pressed against her body for a moment. He pulled away from her, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

"− I − I think I should sleep in the living room tonight −" He choked out with difficulty, feeling that he was hot, a cold sweat on his back − he had the impression that if he didn't leave the room immediately he would just throw himself at her.

She looked at him with furrowed brows, pain and defiance in her gaze.

"− why? − don't go −" She mumbled and he swallowed hard, looking her straight in the eye.

"− you know why −"

They stared at each other in silence for far too long − he felt them both breathing faster and faster, her puffy lips parted as his hands clamped tighter on her body.

He didn't know when her lips were on his, their fingers clenched painfully hard on their shirts − he pulled her to him and she moaned loudly into his throat feeling how hard he was, rocking her hips against him. They both began to pant into each other's mouths and with a quick, impatient movement he forced her to pull his shirt off her body.

"− fuck −" He growled looking at her bare flesh, her girlish curves, her soft breasts.

He didn't stop her when she reached for his T-shirt, looking at him pleadingly − he pulled it quickly over his head, throwing it to the floor, untying his sweatpants, looking at her with his mouth wide open, breathing fast.

"− will you let me ride you? −" She mumbled, trembling all over, her cheeks rosy with emotion.

He swallowed loudly and thought he would agree to anything to feel and cum inside her, desperate with desire, feeling like his cock was about to explode.

"− I − fuck, just come here −" He breathed out, laying on his back, gripping her upper arm and pulling her to himself. They looked at each other dreamily, panting loudly as she sat on top of him.

He tilted his head back and groaned low with pleasure as she guided the fat head of cock to her puffy slit, sliding it into her hot, fleshy core, not waiting a moment, resting her hands on his chest, her tight walls sucking on him greedily.

"− oh God − yes −" She mewled raising and sinking onto him with quick, sure slaps from which he ran out of breath.

He tightened his fingers on her waist, rooting into her with brutal, quick thrusts of his hips from which they both started to moan, her insides wonderfully tight and hot, all wet, allowing him to slide in and out of her with ease, making sure that with each of his thrusts his swollen manhood rubbed her where she needed it.

"− fuck − fuck − don't fucking stop −" He exhaled with difficulty, feeling that he had never wanted to come so badly in any woman before, slamming into her with quiet click of her moisture, his cock all slick from it, opening her wide again and again.

There was something final and raw about it, just pure desire.

"− Aemond − p-please −" She babbled, rubbing her upper wall with it's tip, each time she sank down on him giving his root a wonderful squeeze − his cock twitched and pulsed inside her every time she did this, in no other position had any woman teased him so wonderfully.

"− o-oh fuck − keep going − harder, right here, fuck, yes −" He gasped in pleasure, tilting his head back, feeling her speed up her pace − he clenched his fingers on the soft skin of her plump buttocks, forcing her to let him deep inside her, responding to her every motion with a thrust, panting loudly in desperate need of it.

He looked at her beautiful body glistening with sweat, her breasts bouncing softly with each of his stabs − he felt that he was a few pushes away from orgasm, her walls squeezing him like crazy, wanting to keep him inside her.

"− I-I − I'm gonna cum −" He choked out with difficulty, embarrassmed that his fulfillment was approaching so terrifyingly quickly, his cock twitched and throbbed heavily inside her as he rocked his hips, chasing his peak.

He gasped when her soft hand ran over his hot, sweaty cheek, their bare bodies slapping hard against each other again, again and again.

"− me too − oh God, Aemond, yes −" She mewled, tilting her head back with her eyes closed, moaning sweetly with pleasure, her plushy walls began to squeeze him, greedily sucking him inside.

He shuddered as he felt her insides clench on him in orgasm and just let go, filling her with his semen, clasping his hands tightly on her hips, rooting his seed deep inside her, gasping heavily with pleasure.

"− fuck-fuck-fuckkkk −" He mumbled, rocking his hips for a moment longer, feeling her hot body fall on top of him, her hot breath surrounding his face, her naked breasts pressed against his chest.

He slipped his hand quickly into her hair, the other stroking her back, panting loudly along with her, unsure if he had ever before in his life come as hard as he did now, when he was driven simply by pure, unbounded desire.

"− I'm sorry −" She whispered quietly, and he shook his head, not even having the strength to open his eyes.

"− no, baby − that was amazing −" He muttered, pressing his cheek against her head, focusing on how wonderful it was to be inside her, to feel her warm body with all of him, his half-soft manhood still twitching inside her. He hummed with contentment when he felt her moist lips brush his neck.

"Looks like we didn't last too long with our decision." She whispered with amusement and he snorted involuntarily, trailing his fingers down her bare back.

"Mmm."

They lay in silence, listening to the night sounds of the city outside the window and the quiet ticking of the clock, feeling at last relieved and at peace.

Something between them was different from their first night, the sex was different too, more open, wild, tender.

He realised that for the first time he had let go of control, allowed someone else to take the initiative.

Still, he didn't feel dominated or threatened − what she did was merely a manifestation of her desire, of how much she wanted him, letting him admire her, simply taking pleasure from her body.

He ran his fingers through her soft hair and hummed under his breath.

"We can do it again one day if you want. I enjoyed it." He murmured, placing a lazy, warm kiss on her forehead. She lifted her head and looked up at him, the tips of their noses almost touching.

"If you'd like to repeat what we did back then…you know, when I first came to you…then I think we could try it too. Once in a while." She said embarrassed, and he involuntarily licked his lower lip, unable to hide the dangerous gleam that appeared in his eye.

"− deal −"

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Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

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lexsssu · 5 months

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Bloom (Youko Kurama)

TAGS: Youko/Dragoness!reader, pet names, cunnilingus, breeding, oneshot Ao3 ver.

“Such a pretty little flower you have here, my dear...It’s even oozing such lascivious nectar. My, my...how lewd...”

“Nooo! Don’t look at it!!!”

“How can I not look when it’s twitching so desperately? I think the best way to make this flower bloom its most beautiful is to fertilize it. Don’t you think so?”

“Y-Youko…!”

The fox yokai only smirks in response as one of his demonic flora holds you in place with its vines, your prone naked body lifted several feet off the ground with your arms and legs spread wide. This position allowed nothing to be hidden from his view, just how he liked it.

A long finger rubs against the weeping slit, nodding in satisfaction at the abundant honey that dripped and easily coated his digit before licking it off, unwilling to allow it to go to waste when you worked so hard to produce it just for him. He enjoys the taste as much as the sight of you trembling in embarrassment as his tongue slowly laps up the fluids from his fingers.

“We can’t allow even a drop of this precious nectar to go to waste when it’s a delicacy,” he explains, placing his large hands onto your inner thighs as his thumbs land on the fleshy lips of your cunt in order to spread them wide and reveal the tender pink hole inside. “That is why I have brought it upon myself to make use of this precious commodity.”

Your protests die in your throat when the silver-haired fox proceeds to feast on your pussy like a man starved, lapping up the dripping slick before pressing his face into your twitching lips and sticking his tongue inside. Thighs trembling, you are powerless to do anything as Youko repeatedly shoved his tongue as far as it could go, scraping at the spongy walls as he swallowed down your nectar with gusto. The knot inside your lower stomach tightens impossibly with each second that passes at the mercy of the bandit until it snaps, crying out his name as he practically sucks your soul out of your body.

“Thank you for the meal, little Snapdragon. Such fine nectar you secrete…”

As much as he wanted to eat you forever, there were more pressing matters to attend to. Namely, his loins which painfully poked at his trousers in an effort to be released from their prison, eager to sink into the velvety soft heat of your warm, delicious cunt. Due to the both of you being attuned to your animalistic natures, him being a fox and you being a dragon, it was no wonder Youko was all the more aware of the heady mix of your arousal and his own in the air. Having his nose so close to your precious flower allowed him to smell the full force of your scent, enticing his body to release the long restrained urge to mate and knot a fertile female and have her bear his kits.

“...But I believe it is time for us to begin the main course”

Youko resisted the urge to purr as his vines began moving your body and setting it into the appropriate position with your chest pressed down against the piles of downy fur he’d skinned from his many successful hunts while you were propped up on your knees with legs spread wide. There was no way he was allowing the future mother of his kits to be taken roughly against the abrasive stone ground of your cave dwelling. From your scent alone he could easily tell that you were still pure, untouched by any other male which made him all the more adamant about making your first time one to remember fondly.

The rumble of his chest vibrated against your smaller back as he draped his larger body over your own, the action seemingly comforting you and yet urging you to submit at the same time. You could feel the hot and heavy cock that rubbed against your lower lips, going back and forth as it coated itself in your slick while his large hands gripped your plush waist.

“Sing for me, my pretty little flower”

A lusty moan escapes your lips when the fat head of his cock pierces into your untouched pussy, each gratifying inch slipping inside the unexplored territory until only the heavy sacs that hung below his proud length were left. There is a twinge of pain as your maidenhead was taken, but nothing your body can’t handle. Rather, your body responds enthusiastically to the intrusion, your cunt clamping down on the thick organ that spreads it wide open.

Kurama hissed at the moist sheath that seemed to happily welcome his member, nose flaring as the scent of your virgin’s blood and arousal mixed into a potent and heady mix that had him hammering into your pussy once he was sure you had adjusted to him.

The fox and the dragon continue to mate within the confines of their sealed den for the next several days, unwilling to part from each other until the male was absolutely sure that he had successfully flooded your womb with his seed and ensured the future of his lineage. Once he’d confirmed your condition, Kurama happily spent the next several days in yet another hedonistic frenzy of mating as a way to celebrate the happy event in your lives.

You had to threaten Youko to give you a break or else you’d ban him from touching you for a century.

Safe to say, he did heed your warning and finally allowed you to walk out of your den, but he made sure to hover protectively behind you all the time. Unwilling to allow any other male to get ideas about his mate.

You simply thought it was adorable.

#lexsssu writes #yu yu hakusho #yyh #yu yu hakusho kurama #youko kurama #youko kurama x reader #yu yu hakusho x reader #yyh youko x reader #crossposted on ao3

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thebadgerclan · 10 months

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What You Do To Me

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x reader x Kate Sharma

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: They can’t resist you...

Smut!

The look on Anthony’s face as you descended the staircase was priceless. The gown you’d selected for this evening’s ball boasted a near-scandalous neckline, displaying more cleavage than was strictly appropriate. Your hair was curled and tumbled over a shoulder rather than being pinned up, and your lips were painted scarlet. In a word, you looked ravishing. “My darling,” Anthony said, kissing your cheek. “God, you look incredible.” “Thank you, Anthony,” you replied, taking his arm.

“Kate is waiting in the carriage.” You nodded, following him out of the house and to the waiting carriage. Your other lover was waiting inside, gorgeous in a gown of lavender silk, and her eyes widened when she saw you. “Y/N, love, you look…” The Viscountess trailed off, extending a hand to you as you climbed into the carriage. Anthony followed, and a moment later, you were off.

You weren’t sure what led you to dress so seductively this evening: perhaps it was the fact that Anthony had barely looked at you in days, perhaps it was the fact that Kate had been so busy helping her sister in her courtship with the Prince, or perhaps it was simply because you wanted to feel pretty. Whatever the reason, it was clearly working, if the way your lovers were looking at you was any indication.

Anthony had his hand on your thigh, and his hand was slowly creeping upwards. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” he asked, and from the seat across from you, Kate let her foot drag up your leg. “Anthony?” “Don’t pretend, my dear. You know exactly what you’re doing to me.” He took your hand and guided it to his steadily growing bulge, which made you gasp softly.

He pulled you into a deep, needy kiss, and you were drawn into his embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Let me fuck you, beautiful,” Anthony said against your lips. “Let me have that sweet cunt of yours. Please, love, I won’t make it through the night.” How on earth could you deny him when he was kissing you so sweetly, when he made you so wet from just a single sentence?

You had barely breathed out a “yes” before Anthony was pushing you to your knees, hiking your skirts over your hips, and unfastening his trousers. “Lord, look how wet you are already,” he said, stroking his cock to full hardness before, pushing into you It had been days since he’d fucked you, and you were desperate. “Yes!” you screamed, not caring if the drivers or footmen heard. “Anthony, yes!”

Your lover grinned wickedly, setting a fast pace, and Kate knelt on the floor of the carriage, cupping your face in her hands. “We can’t have you being too loud, can we, love?” You shook your head, and just when you were about to cry out again, she kissed you, swallowing your moans of desire. Distantly, you wondered how you’d attend the ball in such a state, but the feeling of Anthony fucking you and Kate kissing you senseless had all rational thoughts leaving your mind.

“Anthony, please, I…” “Hush,” he chided. “You’ll get what I give you. Kate, darling? Keep our girl quiet.” A wicked glint appeared in the Viscountess’ eyes. “With pleasure, My Lord.” She pulled away from you and resumed her seat, lifting her skirts and baring her cunt to your view. Kate saw the hungry look in your eyes, and she smiled softly. “Go ahead, love.” With her permission, you began licking and sucking at her pussy with abandon.

Only minutes later, you felt your peak approaching, and you moaned in hopes of alerting Anthony. “It’s alright, my sweet,” he cooed, letting his hand rest on your neck. “Come for us, Y/N.” Your cunt squeezed around Anthony’s cock as you came, sending him over the edge, chasing his own pleasure. Kate succumbed to your ministrations soon after, leaving the three of you a panting, sweaty heap on the carriage floor.

One look at you told Kate there was no feasible way you could attend the ball, and there was no way neither she nor Anthony would go without you. The Viscount righted your skirts and helped you to sit, Kate pulling you into her arms. “Where are you going?” you asked, and Anthony squeezed your hand. “To thank our hosts for the invitation but to regretfully inform them that Kate has developed a rather severe headache on the way.” He kissed your cheek, then Kate’s. “I have plans for you two when we get home.”

#anthony bridgerton x reader x kate sharma #kanthony #poly!kanthony #anthony bridgerton x reader #kate sharma x reader #anthony x kate #kate x anthony #kate sharma x anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x kate sharma #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton reader insert

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unclewaynemunson · 1 year

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There was a soft knock on the door before Scott stepped into the trailer: one tap, a slight pause, then three rapid taps. Wayne would recognize that rhythm in his sleep by now.

Scott greeted him with a smile and a quick kiss on his mouth as soon as the door was closed behind him. He was wearing a maroon sweater vest over a button-down shirt with a striped pattern, and when Wayne let his gaze wander lower, he noticed the finger-shaped chalk stains that formed a white contrast against his gray trousers.

Steve and Eddie were occupying the couch, their limbs tangled into each other and matching teasing smiles on their faces as they were having a dramatically heated argument about something Wayne had already tuned out of a long time ago.

Wayne was weirdly nervous about the whole thing. Steve had been at the trailer for basically every Friday night since the summer, shortly after he and Eddie officially became a couple. The boy had become a familiar presence, just as much in on the rituals as Eddie and Wayne. But Scott had never been there with them yet. Sure, they had dinner together on Saturdays or an occasional weekday when Wayne didn’t have a nightshift to get to - but never on Friday. Never on Shabbat.

It's always been important to Wayne, Shabbat. Back when he worked at the quarry, he couldn't always be home on Friday evenings, but at the plant, no matter how shitty the job itself, he was blessed with the possibility to get his Friday nights and Saturdays off, with only a few exceptions.

It was part of his identity, even if it was something he's had to hide behind closed doors – he was used to hiding parts of his identity behind closed doors, anyway. This was only one of the many parts of himself that he had been taught to keep hidden for as long as he could remember.

But here Scott was, giving him a smile filled with happy expectation, accepting Wayne for all that he was without any effort. A miracle disguised in a sweater vest.

'I'm sorry, I didn't have time to get changed,' Scott said, a somewhat unfamiliar nervous edge to his voice, as if this was just as big of a deal for him as it was for Wayne. 'I was getting a bit worried that I wouldn't be dressed appropriately, but you told me how important it was to be on time for the candle lighting, so I didn't wanna risk running late... I told Mrs. Horowitz at the school that I was going to a Shabbat dinner and she told me I should be dressed nicely, but here I am wearing trousers covered in chalk stains.'

Before Wayne could even reply to that, Eddie bounced off the couch and greeted Scott by wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

'It's cute that you're so worried, Mr. Clarke, but even with your chalk stain pants, you're still easily overdressing all of us.'

'Hey!' Steve chimed in from his spot on the couch. 'What about my Shabbat khakis?'

Eddie cackled, his curls bouncing around his face as he rushed back to the couch and went to sit on Steve's lap, completely ignoring the empty space right next to him.

'The fact that you're calling them your “Shabbat khakis” is saying more than enough to prove my point, big boy,' he said, teasing but with a look in his eyes that was so fond it almost felt like Wayne was witnessing something too private.

He let his gaze wander back to Scott, who was looking slightly less tense as he presented Wayne with a bottle of wine.

'Oh, you didn't need to do that,' Wayne said automatically.

'It's kosher, I checked,' Scott told him, and Wayne couldn't help but softly shake his head at the man in front of him.

'You know we don't bother eatin' kosher,' he pointed out.

'I do,' Scott said, like it even surprised himself that he did. 'But I thought, with Shabbat...' His eyes flashed towards the boys on the couch, but they seemed to be too busy making heart-eyes at each other and giggling to pay much attention to the conversation the men were having. Still, he continued at a much lower volume, 'I have to admit I'm a little bit out my depth, Wayne. Mrs. Horowitz made it all sound much more formal than you did when you told me about it, so I guess I got a bit nervous about the whole thing.'

Wayne looked at Scott fondly, patted him on his shoulder in the hopes that that would set him more at ease.

'Yeah, if you do it properly it can all get a bit formal,' he admitted. 'But the Munsons are doin' it trailer park style. You're good.'

A smile started growing underneath Scott's mustache – a smile that still left Wayne slightly breathless whenever it appeared.

'Aight, why don't you come over here –' Wayne took both Scott's hands in his own to guide him towards the small table in the corner, '– so we can light the candles together?'

'Candle time!' Eddie yelled out as soon as his ear caught the word “candles.” He jumped up from Steve's lap and skipped over towards Wayne and Scott with Steve trailing behind him like a lovesick puppy.

'Usually the candles would be lit by the woman of the house,' Wayne explained to Scott, 'but we ain't had a woman of the house since, well, ever, so you'll have to make do with little ol' me, I'm afraid. We light the candles and say a blessing, and then we wish each other Shabbat shalom.'

'Are there always four candles?' Scott asked.

'Well, officially it's only one, if you're unmarried,' Wayne told him. 'But we been doin' two ever since Eddie moved here, and then I figured it'd be nice to get one for Steve as well, and now you're here, so...' He trailed off, suddenly feeling vulnerable by what this implied – but Scott only gave him that breathtaking beaming smile and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

Wayne let himself melt into the touch, but Eddie impatiently pointed towards his watch.

'C'mon, man, time to burn some shit,' he commanded, and Wayne slowly shook his head as he reached for the matches. Only Eddie could refer to this mitzvah as “burning some shit” with a straight face, as if it was the most badass thing in the world to light a couple of candles.

Wayne welcomed the familiar feeling of anticipation as he lit all four the candles, then discarded the still burning match in the ashtray. He covered his eyes with one hand, recited the blessing, and then opened his eyes to wish everyone around him a good shabbos.

'Shabbat shalom,' Scott said quietly, with an almost shy smile tugging at his mouth.

They all took a seat at the table, which could barely even fit three people, but Wayne didn't really mind sitting a bit too close to Scott anyway.

'What did the blessing mean?' Scott asked. And he looked so genuinely interested that Wayne found himself going into a whole monologue before he even knew it; not just about the meaning of the blessing, but also about the whole symbolism of the lighting of the candles in general and the stories behind the hymns they were about to sing. It felt good, to share this piece of himself with Scott, to have Scott hanging onto his every word and asking all kinds of questions.

Scott, a teacher in heart and soul, always loved launching into excited monologues about big scientific facts and theories, and while Wayne loved listening to him when that happened, it was surprisingly nice to be the one doing the teaching for a change.

Eddie sat out Wayne's explanation with a surprising amount of patience and Steve, for whom all of this was still relatively new too, seemed to listen to him just as attentively as Scott. When Wayne felt like he had been talking more than enough and Scott stopped asking any further questions, they all rose from their seats to continue with the Shalom Aleichem. Wayne tried not to look at Scott while he sang and instead focused on Eddie's voice merging with his own. Steve never sang it with them, feeling more comfortable listening instead, but Wayne always felt this connection with his nephew while the Hebrew words rolled off their tongues, connecting them with each other and with the community around them across generations and continents.

After they finished singing – Wayne's favorite part of the evening – he proceeded with the kiddush, pausing to explain to Scott what exactly was happening while he handed out the wine.

'And now we wash our hands,' Wayne continued. He guided Scott to the sink in their tiny kitchen, pouring water over his hands and reciting the blessing for him. He laid a finger on his lips to indicate to Scott that he shouldn't speak, and took his time to meticulously dry Scott's hands for him. He was quite aware of the fact that Scott could very well do that part by himself, but if he saw an excuse to hold those hands and treat them to a bit of tenderness, it was impossible not to take it. He tried to ignore the obnoxious eyebrow wiggle Eddie was sending him from over Scott’s head, clearly knowing exactly what Wayne was doing, and instead dedicated his full attention to Scott’s soft hands, grateful that none of them would be speaking right now and simply allowing himself to enjoy the moment.

He continued to observe quietly how Eddie and then Steve came up to the sink for the washing. Steve still said the words of the blessing in an unsure voice, even though he had been doing this for a while now, and as always, his gaze found Eddie's after the last word as if he was looking for confirmation that he hadn't messed up – and Eddie always answered that gaze with an encouraging nod and a soft smile around his lips.

When everyone was back at the table, Wayne proceeded to recite the last blessing before they could begin their meal, handing out pieces of challah to the others so that they could start eating and break the somewhat solemn silence.

They spent the rest of the evening enjoying their simple Shabbat meal. Neither Wayne nor Eddie were particularly gifted cooks, and more often than not had their Shabbat dinner been nothing but a plain mac'n cheese. But ever since Steve had started joining them, their menus had somewhat improved. Even though the boy wasn't a very experienced cook yet, he loved trying out new recipes and definitely knew his way around the kitchen better than Eddie and Wayne combined. So they all enjoyed the delicious fish prepared by Steve, paired with the wine Scott had brought, while easily chatting away about the week they'd had and their plans for the weekend.

Even though Wayne wasn't exactly what you'd call an observant Jew, he still valued the Shabbat tradition of contemplating the texts and stories that were so important to who they were and why they were doing what they did, so he told Scott and Steve about one of his favorite psalms and happily joined Eddie when the boy spontaneously started singing it.

'What did ya think?' Wayne asked when he followed Scott outside at the end of the evening. It ached a little bit, to let Scott go home; Wayne wished he had an actual bed to offer him, so they'd be able to enjoy each other's company a couple hours longer, possibly forever.

They were outside, so Scott didn't touch him, but his smile easily managed to light up the darkness around them.

'Thank you for sharing this with me,' he said in a soft voice.

Wayne wanted to say something along the lines of Thank you for coming, but that wouldn't quite cover what he was actually feeling, so instead, he stayed silent. Scott seemed to understand him anyway, though, because he let his hand slide over Wayne's arm before he got into his car and drove off into the darkness. It was barely a real touch, nothing but a friendly gesture shared between acquaintances to anyone who might be seeing them from behind the windows of their trailer. But to Wayne, it was everything: it was understanding, it was appreciation, it was gratitude, and most of all, it was a promise.

#we all love jewish!eddie so i figured it was time for some jewish!wayne content too #you can also consider this a big fat fuck you to the antisemitic harry potter game #clarkson my beloved #wayne munson #scott clarke #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #stranger things #fruity ficlet

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thedepthsoffandomminds · 2 months

Text

The guest pt 6

Masterlist

Jack walked away from his old friend, leaving Fagin in their shared room and marched down to the morgue and lower rooms in the hospital. His mind wandered to the two women in his life. Belle was most definitely beautiful and determined to become a surgeon, but is that enough? They had a sweet moment a few evenings before when Tinkler was particularly bad. He died that morning.

On the other hand there was y/n, easily the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, smarter than person he has known, yet you appeared to be quite mad. Or from the future a future where he was nothing but a story. Could he believe you? The way you had been dressed the first day he saw you at least gave some credence to your story. Still even if you were mad you had mentioned Nancy, no one here could put him and she together.

Jack ran his hand through his hair and turned back to his work, attempting to ignore all his thoughts.

*_*_*_*

Bored of time in bed you had walked downstairs in Government house, hearing voices in Edmund's office.

"Five-hundred gold sovereigns going missing on your watch is a bloody good reason to be shouting! Why the hell weren't you there, Gaines?" Edmund grumbled.

"You sent me on assignment, sir." Gaines says.

"The guards, they've all been...?"

"Searched and interrogated. Yes, sir. No culprit yet, but we will-"

" Find them! Flog everyone that was there. Stop the rot. Can't have 500 belly sovereigns go missing. There'll be a riot if I can't pay the soldiers."

"Yes, I understand, sir. I assure you, it's all in hand. With your leave."

"Go on." Gaines came storming through the doors stopping when he saw you. His eyes rake down your form, taking in the masculine trousers adorning your legs.

"Miss y/l/n"

"Good morning Captain, might I suggest you look closer to home?" You say, his curiosity gets the better of him and Gaines turns back to you.

"What does that mean?" He asks.

"Just, don't trust the people around you at home. Look a little closer." You say, folding your arms across your body and leaning one shoulder on the door frame. The Captain narrowed his eyes at you before turned on his heel and rushed off.

"Where's my Lancet?" You hear Belle ask.

"Your what?"

"Medical journal. Where?"

"Fanny borrowed some books. What about my library?"

"It's not like you read any of them!" She called back to her father as she came charging out.

"Belle, don't be too hard on Fanny. She is trying but she will get things wrong." You say grabbing her wrist. Belle sighed.

"So she has done something then?" Belle was aware that you knew things, sometimes things that you shouldn't and though the curiosity was killing her inside, she chose to simply use your knowledge, "I'm going into town today." You say to her.

"ahh perfect, I will need to as well, but I still need to do some research." She says

"I'll meet you there, at the hospital." You both agree and you dance away to the carriage waiting for you. Sitting there you looked at your arm, how the touch of fingers echoed in your mind. Both Jack's and Sneed's. How they were the same yet so different.

'no, you can't do this,' you thought to yourself, 'things must play out just as they did in the show'

You knew you were right, you had already deveated enough. You had no idea what being here would do to them, you or the show. Maybe you should have stayed tucked up in a room keeping away from everyone.

"Miss y/l/n, I wasn't aware you were coming here today." Sneed had opened the carriage door when it stopped. His hand reached out to help you step down, "I say, what unique attire you're wearing." He commented.

"Oh, yes, a little easier to move around. I'm sorry, like I said yesterday the hospital I work in insists women dress more appropriately for the high paced job." You give a small giggle and it appears to appease him somewhat. Sneed walked with you into the hospital.

"What brings you here today?" He asked.

"Oh, I needed to speak with Doctor Dawkins and his uncle. A private matter." You see Sneed's eyes darken at the mention of Jack's name.

"He isn't the man you think he is, y/n. Jack is... unsavoury."

"Don't worry, I know exactly who is, who he was and probably what he will be. Thank you Rainsford." You reassure him. Jack's voice sounds behind you and you quickly go to him leaving Sneed behind.

"Jack?" He looks at you, unable to speak for a moment.

"y/n you shouldn't, you...why are you here?" He asked looking around himself.

"I need to talk to you, and Fagin, quickly."

Jack sighs and pulls you into one of the back rooms.

"Jack, you tried to take the payroll right?" He frowned at you, "and you've squared yourself with Darius? Using his cheating thing?"

Jack took in a breath to speak but nothing came out, instead he moved closer to you, almost touching you.

"How do yo-...you weren't lying were you?" He whispered, you shake your head.

"No Jack I wasn't."

As if his body moved without his mind telling it, Jack reached up his hand to cup your jawline. Both of you took steps until your back touched the wall behind you.

"Jack" you whisper his name.

"You are remarkable." He whispers back to you. Your body wants to react, to lean your head just enough to press your lips to his.

"Wait, I came here for a reason. Listen you and Fagin need to get your stories straight. Gaines will be coming here and he thinks you stole the money."

"But we didn't." He says pressing himself closer to you.

"No, but his wife, she knew you were there for the soldiers she's trying to hide her affair. Just make sure you tell Gaines you're an only child, that Fagin is an uncle by marriage." You tell him, one hand resting on his chest.

"Okay." Jack agrees, his nose brushing over yours. With the hand you had on his chest you gently pushed Jack back.

"You must act completely normal today, nothing suspicious. I have to find Fagin." You say, stepping away from him. Jack held your wrist causing you to turn back to him.

"I want to speak with you more, please?" He asks with wide eyes.

"later." You nod and slip out of his grasp. You have to stop and catch your breath against the wall in the main corridor. You couldn't be sure if it was your medical condition or your body reacting to how close Jack had been to you.

A flash of an old frock coat catches your eye and you charge after Fagin, finding him sitting on a bench, in the courtyard outside the hospital.

"Fagin, I need you to listen to me. No, schemes or deviation okay." You speak sternly, "Gaines will be coming here. You and Jack need to keep your stories straight. You are his uncle by marriage. Jack is an only child. Okay? Do not change it in anyway."

With a side smile Fagin nodded, his eyes looking around himself. You clock Red coming in with a basket under her arm.

"Red boots." You whisper to the old man before watching Fagin saunter off. Sitting back on the bench you take a few moments to breathe slowly.

"I want Dawkins red-handed, you hear? Search every ward and cranny for the pay." Gaines' voice caught your attention and you watched him order his men just the way you had seen on screen. You tried to think of a way to slow the Captain down without changing too much of the scene.

"Captain Gaines?" You called over to him, marching over to him.

"you appear to be everywhere this morning, Miss y/l/n." He eyes you suspiciously.

"A lucky I am happy for, Captain. Have you had any yourself, in finding your lost coins?" You ask. His nose twitches with annoyance.

"Not yet, though I must thank you, you were right about looking at home. Seems the doctor was in attendance to my men." He says.

"Yes, I heard, you still owe money for that do you not?" You think quickly, "A dishonour to have a man such as yourself have to pay for keeping your men healthy. After all without you and the redcoats where would this town be?" You give his forearm a small squeeze and he looks at your hand before turning his eyes back to you.

"I do not disagree, though it is not often I hear the recognition."

"I have rarely come across a man as virtuous and righteous as yourself. This town would be a disaster without you." You hope the compliments would ease his disdain of anyone he would come across. Gaines dipped his head in a bow to you.

"You are extremely kind, miss. Now, may I ask why you are here at the hospital?"

"Oh, to see Doctor Sneed." You lie.

"very good. If you'll excuse me." Gaines gave you a smile that you would call almost sweet before he ran off. You knew you would have to waste time now visiting with Sneed so you rushed into the hospital to find him. He was in his office going over papers.

"Excuse me, Doctor Sneed?" You say knocking on the open door.

"Ahh, come in please. Have you concluded your business with Dawkins?" He asked, putting down the papers.

"I did. I just wanted to come in and thank you, thank you for your help over the last few days. When Lady Fanny found me I was disoriented, but you have been helpful to me." Sneed stood, gesturing to another chair for you to sit.

"I have to say, you are an extraordinary lady. You have an extensive knowledge of medical equipment and procedures, which would be a great help to any Doctor. You told.me of your father, but how would one contact the great man?" He asked.

"oh umm, no you can't. He um, he died when I was younger." You reply confused as to why he had asked.

"Oh, I am sorry, there is no other family then? Nothing of note?"

"No, I'm alone I suppose." You sigh.

"Well no matter. I mean, I am very sorry for your loss, but with my brother's generous gift within the nutmeg trade money would be no trouble. A dowry isn't necessary." He rambled on.

"Wait, a dowry? Rainsford are you...no." you stood up and half paced the room.

"No?"

"Look, you are a fine man but we just met. I hardly know you or anyone here truly." You say quickly .

"Then it is a matter of time?" He asks.

"No, I, umm. I'm sorry I don't...I should go." You say backing up to the door.

"Y/n, I am err,"

"No, Rainsford, I'm sorry, this was rather quick," you try to let him down easily, "I do not know if I wish to um, Join with anyone. Excuse me, Doctor." Your chest is squeezing tightly as you dart from the office, closing his door behind you.

Thank you for reading. ❤️

Let me know what you think!

@fandomfan-102 @deanstolemydragon

#jack dawkins x y/n #jack dawkins x reader #jack dawkins and belle #the artful dodger x reader

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rinamars · 8 months

Text

her eyes were wild

erwin smith x f!reader. 6.9k words. read on ao3

a prequel to in thrall.

or, how the commander acquired his pet, and how everyone fell in love with her.

(marley!erwin, implied sexual slavery, exhibitionism at its finest, possessive behaviour, public sex, deepthroating, you know the drill)

Her eyes were what captured his attention immediately.

In an endless row of frightened, whimpering girls, she stood calm and unafraid, almost proud. He had the opportunity to take any girl he wanted for himself, and he could have spent as many hours picking one out as he would have liked, but as soon as he gazed at those daring eyes, his decision was practically half made.

The dress they’d put on her was an ugly, unflattering thing, but it was also sheer enough to allow him to catch a glimpse of what lay underneath: smooth curves, supple, full breasts, and nipples that stood out on the rough fabric as if they’d been sculpted there, hardened by the cold temperature of the room. His hands itched to squeeze, to claim ownership. To part those soft lips of hers and push his fingers inside.

She became Commander Smith’s official companion the moment he pointed at her and said, “That one.”

It wasn’t until later that night that he finally got a proper eyeful. She’d been sent to the baths almost straightaway, and the sweet scent of expensive soaps and body oils preceded her entrance in the room. She was fully in the nude, just like he’d requested of the maids that had tended to her, and her still slightly damp hair framed her flushed face and her tits—which looked just as delicious as he’d imagined, if not more.

He sat on the bed and she walked to stand right in front of him, allowing herself to be looked at. And that angelic body truly deserved to be looked at, to be savoured slowly and thoroughly.

“You’re quite a sight, darling.”

Her sweet voice perfectly matched her appearance.

“Thank you.”

“It’s sir to you. You may also refer to me as master or Commander, if you prefer.”

“Understood, master.”

Did he imagine the slightly sardonic tinge in her tone? He must have, because she already looked so pliant and obedient, like a good girl. She even kneeled before him without having even been asked. Her tits swayed slightly when she did, and his cock twitched at the sight.

“You didn’t have to kneel just yet.”

“I apologize, sir. It just seemed appropriate.”

Ready to obey. Eager to please. He was going to have fun with that one.

He opened his legs to make more room between them.

“Come closer, angel.”

She crawled to bridge the distance between them. He ran his thumb along her full bottom lip, and her lips parted slightly, almost by reflex.

“As of tonight, you belong to me. I sense you already know what it entails. Do you?”

She nodded, looking just about ready to suck his thumb into her hot little mouth. He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“Yes, sir,” she finally enunciated. He gratified her with a smile.

“That’s right, you do. That is why you look like you would do anything I asked, hmm? Unbuckle my pants.”

Her dainty little fingers moved quickly and efficiently to work his trousers open, and then she looked at him, waiting for more instructions.

“Take my cock out.”

Her right hand wrapped around his length and he sighed, delighted. She freed it from its confines and looked at it, studying it, getting acquainted. Her avid curiosity was adorable.

“Like what you see, darling?”

Her eager eyes already said it all, but she still answered obligingly.

“I do, sir. You’re… really big.”

“And does that scare you?”

She was so small, after all. He already knew the tight clench of her cunt would be glorious.

“I shall do my best to make it fit, sir.” She looked up at him, daringly. “To the hilt.”

He smiled deviously as he thumbed her lip again. She was truly something else.

“In due time, angel. First, I was thinking of fucking that lovely face of yours. Do you think you can take it?”

“I would certainly like to try, sir.”

“Then open wide.”

He slid inside, and it was heaven. Her mouth was tight and hot, and it seemed like she needed no guidance: she immediately welcomed his cock down her throat, pulling back when she’d start to gag and immediately diving back in. It was a huge relief for him, who’d been hard ever since he’d picked her at the auction. His balls were hanging heavy and aching, and she immediately began to fondle them, almost as if he could read his mind. It was majestic.

“Good fucking girl. You already know how to take it so well.”

“Mm-hmm,” she moaned around him, and her voice vibrated against his cock, sending a wave of pleasure through his body.

He slid one large hand on her nape, guiding her movements, and she instantly took the hint and began to bob her head faster, moaning all throughout. That sound was like fine music to his ears.

Getting up from the bed and fucking her face with abandon made him even drunker on the feeling. She was a sweet little thing, moaning louder and louder each time he picked up speed, and the wet sounds produced by her mouth only made him even more delirious.

“That’s right,” he grunted, holding her head steadily. “That’s good. Oh, you’re such a good girl, aren’t you?”

She glowed at the praise. Thin lips stretched around his thick length, fiery eyes fixed on his as she let him move faster and faster.

He squeezed the base of his cock and pulled out of her mouth with a wet pop before he could come. His other hand cradled her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, still without looking away.

“Looks like your mouth can fit me just fine, hmm?”

“Uh-huh,” she whimpered, trying to latch her lips back onto him. He pushed her face back.

“Behave. You’re an impatient little slut, aren’t you?”

“For you, master.”

“We shall work on that. I’ll make an obedient, disciplined darling out of you. For now, though, I’ll enjoy what’s mine.” He pried her lips open to push his index and middle fingers inside, and she sucked on them happily. She protested when he took them out. “Obey. Stand up.”

She did, obediently. When he sat back down on the bed, his face was aligned with her tits, and he could allow himself the indulgence of grabbing handfuls of them, feeling how plump and soft they were. They looked ample on her slim frame, but they were still small enough to fit in his hands. He pressed his face between them, inhaled her intoxicating scent, and sank his teeth in her soft flesh. Her unblemished skin was a blank canvas, begging to be embroidered with teeth marks.

She let out a scream. Pain or pleasure, what was the difference, anyway?

“These are mine, too.”

He sucked on a hardened nipple next, and she sounded so out of it already.

“Yes—oh, yes!”

“Sit on my lap.”

His cock fit snugly between the warm, wet folds of her cunt. She gasped at the feeling and threw her head back, practically humping his lenght without actually sinking down on him.

“Hah—hnghh!”

She was slathering him with her arousal, undoubtedly in preparation of what was to come. Of what she clearly couldn’t wait for.

“Again, so greedy. I didn’t tell you to move just yet,” he admonished her, prompting her to still her movements, though he was in no way annoyed by her actions. In fact, he added, “But I’m about to fuck you for the first time, so I’ll let that slide. Keep bouncing on me, darling, let me feast on this wonderful sight.”

She moved again, doing these tiny jumps on top of him, and she truly looked perfect, face flushed, mouth agape and tits moving along with her, up and down, up and down. He squeezed her ass and grinded up against her harder, making her squeal when the tip of his cock caught the rim of her hole.

“Oh, please!”

There she is. He was sure she’d start begging unprompted, eager as she was.

“Use your words, love. Please what?”

“Fuck me—oh—fuck me!”

He was more than happy to oblige. “On your back. Spread your legs.”

That night, everyone at headquarters learnt that Commander Smith had a new pet, and that she was absolutely insatiable. Her enthusiastic moans filled everyone’s ears all night long, and they welcomed it eagerly, chasing relief between their own whores’ legs at the rhythm of her delighted mewls.

It was only well after the break of dawn that those debauched sounds finally ceased. He kept her folded in half for hours, claiming the space between her legs as his and only his, and she accepted him each time like it was the highest honour possible, because it was. Commander Smith was known by many to be the most powerful and influential man within the ranks of the Marleyan military—and likely beyond, too—which meant that being chosen as his companion—so is how they called their whores—was nothing short of a privilege.

Their routine in the beginning was simple and repetitive. She was to remain within the bounds of the Commander’s quarters at all times—all companions are on probation the first few weeks, to test their loyalty, so to speak—and, though she had been granted her own sleeping area, she shared her master’s bed every night, since she was usually too tired and weak to leave it after they finished fucking.

Her first meal of the day usually consisted in her master’s cock, which he thrust into her mouth all the way to the hilt shortly after waking up, fucking her mouth until he spilled down her throat. Watching her swallow it all was part of the fun: each time, he felt the possessiveness bloom within him, a devious sense of pride at the idea of owning this angel of a girl that eagerly gobbled his seed down like it was ambrosia.

No matter how busy he was during the day, he always made sure to set aside more than enough time to go back and forth between his office and his quarters to satisfy his urges. And hers as well, clearly: that sweet creature was always so full of surprises he simply longed to see how much further he could push her, what new levels of depravity she was willing to reach.

He’d been faithful to his domineering nature at first, to his intrinsic urge to claim and own, so he’d mainly bend her in half over his desk and take her from behind, manhandle her until he could have her from any angle he wanted and hear her scream in ecstasy.

He also tested her obedience, positioning her on his cock as he sat behind the desk and instructing her to behave and stay still, to keep him warm inside her tight cunt as he read letters and penned appropriate responses. The little angel just couldn’t keep quiet at first, always trying to get him deeper inside with tiny movements of her hips, and, though he loved hearing those little whimpers of desperation, that wasn’t the purpose of the act. He’d get up, throw her over the hard surface of his workspace and tan her ass until it was covered in red handprints.

Thanks to his lessons, she got better and better at being patient. And Smith always rewarded those who obeyed.

Letting her take the reins began as his way to praise her for being a good girl, his perfect little slut, but it was so titillating to watch her give herself pleasure that he ended up giving her that semblance of power more and more often. He let her ride him, and she did so with hunger, with need, moaning like she was singing a song, and it was always a sight too delectable not to feast upon.

With a voice as sweet as hers, it wasn’t long before her fame rose among the Commander’s subordinates and fellow officers. They didn’t get any chances to see her just yet, but hear her they could well enough. It was easy for them to fantasize. Rumours quickly spread across the base about how hungry for cock she must be for the Commander to make her scream like that every night, about how good of a fuck she likely was. They painted her as the kind of companion one could do absolutely anything to—and they wouldn’t have been wrong to think such things.

A lesser man would have been angry, hearing those rumours. Maybe even jealous. But Smith wasn’t a lesser man. He understood that those rumours were further proof of the power he held in his hands.

He was the Commander. He had the final say in all kinds of strategic decisions. People admired him. Envied him. Feared him. At times, loathed him. And now they wanted to fuck his woman, despite being fully aware that they couldn’t even wish to surpass him in that area, just like they couldn’t surpass him in strength or intellect.

They could keep dreaming, and he would take every opportunity to remind them that she was his. By taking her against the railing of his balcony one afternoon, he hoped the message could be loud and clear.

She perked up upon seeing him enter the room, take off his jacket and head towards her in long, determined strides. She squealed when he stuck his tongue down her throat and began to feel her breasts over the thin fabric of her dress. By the time he’d guided towards the balcony, stood behind her as she held onto the railing and ripped her soaked panties in half, she was a whimpering mess. And they hadn’t even begun yet.

“What do you see, darling?” he growled in her ear.

She couldn’t stop trying to grind against his crotch, starved for friction.

“I see the—hhgh—the t-training grounds, sir.”

It wasn’t an answer that satisfied him. He caught her earlobe between his teeth, making her shiver. “And? What else?”

“Hah—ah—”

“Use your words, angel.”

“I see—I see p-people. Soldiers. They’re… they’re looking at us, sir.”

“That’s right.” He finally grinded against her, giving her a taste of what she wanted. “They’re looking at us. You see, you’ve amassed quite a following. They hear your lovely voice, all the sounds you make when you let me have my way with you, and they wish they could fuck you, too. Would you let them fuck you, princess?”

“No—no!” She was grinding back harder now. “I would—not!”

Correct answer. “And why is that, hmm?”

“I only want you, m-master,” she cried out. “I only need your—I only need your cock!”

After having effortlessly unbuckled his pants with only one hand—he didn’t miss her delighted gasp as she heard the clinking sound of his belt—he finally freed his aching cock and slid it between her buttocks. It looked so big against her ass, and yet her tight little cunt always took him like it was nothing. He loved that contrast.

“Should we show them? That only I can make you sound like that?”

She pushed back again, demanding.

“Take me! Please—hah! Please!”

Smith’s icy blue eyes stared at the eager bystanders who’d begun to gather on the training grounds, summoned by the incoming show. His gaze was piercing through their heads as he entered her with one hard thrust, earning a delicious moan from her.

“Hah—oh—yes!”

He gripped her waist and began fucking her like an animal. The spectators all looked petrified. Some had begun to touch themselves over their clothes, doing a terrible job at concealing it.

“You’re mine, aren’t you? You’re mine.”

“Ye—yes!”

“Say it.” The wet sound of skin slapping against skin was driving him wild. “Say who you belong to.”

“I belong to—to you! Oh! Commander! Yours!”

“That’s it, you’re my good girl,” he praised her. “Mine.” Her delighted screams echoed around them. “Mine.” His grip was bruising, his pace brutal. “Mine.”

He preened when he saw how enraptured, how captivated their audience was when she came with a melodious shout. Despite the distance, he could tell that it was disappointment what he could read on their faces, crushing defeat at the realization that they’d never get to fuck the goddess they’d finally caught a glimpse of.

The Commander began to parade her around after that. She was finally allowed to leave his quarters, but only to follow him around everywhere he went. She joined him in every meeting, she was there during training, she never left his side. And he loved showing her off, he adored seeing the unfulfilled hunger in people’s eyes when they looked at her.

Their little escapade on the balcony ended up generating, in fact, even more rumors surrounding her and her relationship to the Commander. Everyone knew that the day in which he would bring her along to one of their frequent dinner parties was drawing near, and they couldn’t wait for it, because they would have been able to see her from up close, certainly witness her in action, or maybe, in a delusional flight of fancy, even cop a feel.

As soon as the Commander and his companion entered the large room where that night’s dinner party was being held, all eyes were on them. Or, more likely, they were on her irresistible form, on the way the sleeves of her chemise had slid off her shoulders to reveal soft skin—so brazenly bejeweled by the red marks of their passion—and the way her tight corset barely contained her tits.

They walked into the room, seemingly not caring about all the attention, and they took their seats: him, at the head of the table, and her, on his lap.

He looked imperturbable as ever, while she looked like she was having the time of her life: she ate directly from his fingers, which she sucked clean if necessary, she tasted sweet, expensive wines, and she grinded happily against her master’s cock, squealing, whimpering and giggling drunkenly. It didn’t take long for the alcohol to have an effect on her. He had to grip her hips and hold her still after a while.

“Behave,” he growled in her ear, before taking another drag from his cigarette. “You’re humping me like a bitch in heat.”

“But—hah—” she tried to bounce on him again, but his grip tightened— “I want it!”

“I said behave.”

Only the need to preserve at least a semblance of propriety was preventing him from spearing her on his cock right then and there. He told himself he only had to wait another hour or so, until they reached the second half of that party—when things could get a lot more interesting.

Just another hour. But that slut wouldn’t stop begging to be fucked right there.

Who would have known, when the long, flowy skirt of her dress could hide them so well? Who would have judged, when everyone in the room would have done anything to be in his place?

Hidden by the table, he quickly freed his cock, already hard and ready, and slipped into the searing wetness of her cunt with ease. She was still stretched enough from when she rode him earlier that afternoon, and she wasn’t wearing any underwear, either. It was just too easy.

“Don’t make a sound,” he warned her as she tilted her head backwards, melting against his chest.

It must have been quite a feat for her, having to keep all of her moans in, but she’d learnt a lot since her first night there. She remained silent as she fucked herself in quick movements, and he leaned back against his chair, smoking the last of his cigarette.

“You’re being too conspicuous,” he warned her. “You’re moving too much. Everyone will know it’s my cock you’re bouncing on. Do you want everyone to know?”

If he’d asked that question to himself, his unflinching answer would have been yes. He was taking such a liking to mating in public, he loved the thrill of it, as well as that surge of possessiveness it sparked in him. He almost wanted someone to walk up to him, notice what was going on under the thin layer of her skirt, and feel intimidated by that assertion of dominance. He got drunk on the idea.

And he clearly wasn’t the only one.

“Ye—yeah,” she whimpered, delirious. “Yeah!”

She probably didn’t even know what she was answering to, such was the effect that wine and cock had on her. She’d tune out, only focusing on the feeling of being penetrated.

“What if someone walks up to us, hmm?” he whispered in her ear, making her quiver. “How can I speak to them if you’re here fucking yourself like a slut?”

“Don’t—don’t talk to them. Just f—oh—just fuck me.”

The assertiveness that rose in her whenever she got that lustful wasn’t one he could easily straighten out, but he didn’t really mind it.

He laughed through his nose. “You’re demanding, little one.” Then, he gripped her hips, holding her still. “Quiet. Someone’s coming over.”

General Magath took a seat next to them, the first to try to engage the Commander in conversation since he’d began fucking her. Magath was someone he couldn’t dismiss, but he knew he wouldn’t keep him busy for too long: no one discussed urgent matters on nights like those, and so the most Smith expected from him was the exchange of a few pleasantries, nothing more.

“It’s a fine night for a celebration, don’t you agree, Smith?”

“Remarkably so,” he agreed, as she clenched desperately around him. “Such amusements are always refreshing after a long day.”

Magath’s smile turned lascivious when he aimed his gaze at her. “Your lady here seems to agree, doesn’t she?”

She sank deeper on his cock under the guise of sitting up straighter, and gave Magath a blasé look.

“She does, she’s enjoying her night, naturally,” Smith quickly provided, “though this kind of entertainment has her easily bored.”

“That’s too bad,” Magath tutted. He was gawking hugrily at her breasts, more specifically at the spot where her right nipple was beginning to break free from the tight hold of the corset. “I’m sure the second part of the night will be more to her liking. That is something she and I would have in common. The two of you will be joining, won’t you?”

The General was getting a bit too cheeky for his taste.

Many officers would often allow their companions to entertain other men, either by getting on their knees for them or even actually lying with them, and, just like the General had alluded to, it was an especially common practice on nights like those. Not for the Commander, though.

He’d never been one too keen to share. None of his past companions had ever been allowed to touch or be touched by another man, and, if he didn’t want them anymore, he’d set them free rather than pass them to someone else. His possessiveness should have been nothing new: so why was Magath eyeing her like she was his next meal? When did the Commander ever give the impression he was willing to share this one?

She might not have been his first companion, but he’d already decided she’d be the last. And that made her even less likely to be touched by hands than weren’t his.

“We will be there,” he smiled. A smile devoid of all warmth.

“Well,” the other man concluded, standing up, “I’ll see you later, Smith. Enjoy your night.”

“Likewise.”

She began to properly rock her hips again once the General was out of sight.

“What’s—hah—what’s later?”

“We’re just going to play cards, darling,” he explained, teasing her breasts with light caresses before properly fixing her corset. People were glancing at her from afar, he didn’t like it. “And I’m also going to play with you. How does that sound?”

She clenched around him and whimpered softly.

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” His fingers now caressed her lips, requesting entrance. “You’d like me to play with you in front of everyone, hmm?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” She welcomed his fingers inside her tight little mouth, sucking on them eagerly. “Mm-mhm.”

“I want them all to see you from up close, to see what a perfect little angel you are,” he smiled, feeling her tongue under his fingertips. “My perfect little angel.”

She moaned around his fingers and clenched around his cock again, her pretty eyes glazing over.

“I bet they’ll love you,” he whispered. “Even more than they already do.”

She looked just about ready to come, when Smith slipped out of her and reached under her skirt to tuck himself back into his pants. It was too sudden, and the poor thing almost burst into tears.

“Shh,” he soothed her. He latched his mouth onto her neck as an apology. “I’m saving it all for later, princess.”

Later finally turned into now when most of the soldiers began to head out and the officers moved to the adjacent room, accompanied, of course, by their companions. Before that, he’d let his sweet maiden take a nap against his chest, allowing her slight wine intoxication to wear off; when she roused, she looked just about ready to go again.

The avid look he’d seen earlier in Magath’s sunken eyes was now reflected on the faces of everyone present. They all kept glancing at her as she sat in her personal spot on the Commander’s lap, resting her back against his chest as he pretended to be fully immersed in the card game. She too seemed like she was focused on the cards he was holding, all quiet and still, but it became clear it was all a facade when she lifted her arms up under the pretense of a sleepy stretch and her tits finally popped out of her tight corset.

She wasn’t focused on the cards. In reality, she’d noticed their attention and was basking in it: the little thing truly liked to show off. And if she was that eager to play, he would fulfill his promise.

Some men groaned when her breasts were freed, others gestured for their companions to get on their laps, soft breasts perfectly at eye level. Smith had the decency to keep his own appreciation to himself, only letting her know by slipping his free hand under her skirt and gripping her thigh firmly, flesh against hot flesh.

The game went on. Liquor was poured, cigar smoke clouded the room, and her little hands gripped the edge of the table as she began to rock helplessly over his lap, grinding her ass down on his crotch.

“This isn’t enough, isn’t it?” he whispered in her ear, before teasing it with his tongue. “You need more, hmm?”

She let her head fall backwards on his shoulder and mewled.

“Give it to her, Smith, she seems desperate for it,” Magath suggested on the other side of the table. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the view that the previous encounter had only hinted at: free from their confines, her breasts bounced along her every movement, demanding attention.

When he began peppering her nape with kisses—soft and light, like they always were at first—her moans finally echoed in the dimly lit room, a captivating tune that made everyone groan and sigh. She lifted herself up from the Commander’s chest and stretched her arms and torso over the table, over the cards they were still supposed to be playing, presenting herself more properly for everyone to admire.

“Sweet thing,” the man sitting next to Smith growled. “How much more can you scream, huh?”

As he uttered those last words, he let his hand wander towards her, clearly eager to touch any part of her he could reach, but Smith was faster. He slapped that errant hand away, shooting him a dirty look.

“Who told you to touch her?” he snarled. The way his icy eyes stared the man down was bloodcurling. “Who told you you could touch her?”

“I—”

“Hands off. I won’t repeat myself.”

The other gulped, and immediately retreated his hand.

“She just seems very eager, Commander,” another one noted with a smirk. His right arm was moving rhythmically as he leisurely sat back in his chair. “Don’t you want to let her have some fun? She clearly wants it.”

Considering how vigorously that man was pumping himself under the table, it was clear it wasn’t her fun he had in mind, but rather his. But she wasn’t having any of it.

The way she clicked her tongue diverted everyone’s attention from the quarrel between the Commander and the other soldier. Smith turned her eyes back to her.

“As if any of you could touch me the way he does.”

It was the first time she’d spoken in front of someone other than the Commander—or rather, the first time her voice had articulated something other than delighted moans or desperate begging for more.

“As if any of you could fuck me the way he does,” she continued, her voice resembling a hiss. All ice had melted from the Commander’s now blazing eyes. He could have burned holes into those men’s heads, such was the intensity of his stare. “None of you are even half the man he is. Don’t you fucking lay a finger on me.”

That’s my girl, Smith thought, feeling a devious smirk rise on his lips. He hadn’t been expecting her to put them in their place and make the matter of her exclusivity clear to everyone, but he should have known she would have ended up surprising him yet again; for that, she deserved rewards unlike any he’d bestowed on her previously.

Everyone had fallen silent. Some looked shocked, others looked sullen, but all of them had that unsatisfied look in their eyes, like children who sulked after having been denied candy.

Magath was the one to break that tense silence.

“You got yourself a fiercely loyal one, Smith,” he chuckled. “They’re the best kind. Always the best ones to fuck.”

Smith looked at him, and didn’t miss the way his hand had also disappeared beneath the table.

Yeah, and you wish you were in my stead as well, don’t you? Pathetic old sleaze.

He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his shirtsleeves up to the elbows.

“You heard the lady, didn’t you?” He unlaced her corset completely so he could take it off and let it fall to the floor. “Take a good look. This is the closest you’ll ever get to experiencing what it’s like to lie with her.”

Her chemise, the last garment that covered her body, was next: he gripped the hem of the skirt and lifted it up, and she raised her arms obediently, allowing it to come off.

There she was, nude and sinfully enticing. The flickering light of the chandeliers bounced off her bare skin, making her look even more like an ethereal creature.

“Get up, love,” he whispered in her ear, making goosebumps bloom all over her delicate skin. “Go lie on the table for me. On your back.”

She immediately complied. She shoved the cards aside with nonchalance before hopping on the table and laying down, keeping her arms lifted over her head. Her legs widened almost automatically in the process, and she looked so inviting, so irresistible, that any kind of foreplay was the last thing on Smith’s mind at that moment.

“You just called her fiercely loyal, didn’t you, General Magath?” he inquired, standing up and slowly unbuttoning his trousers. “That’s a truly fitting definition. Loyal, devoted. There’s nothing that she wouldn’t do for me.”

He took his cock out, hard and heavy, and let it slide over her soaking cunt, so that everyone could take notice of the size difference. She mewled in delight and arched her back, chasing that long-awaited touch.

“If only you could get to be inside her.” How mean, saying that after having made it abundantly clear that that could never happen. He had to refrain himself from laughing at them. “You could fuck her for hours, and she’d still be so tight and lovely.”

He finally slid inside; he went in much slower than he typically did, because he wanted them to see it all, to watch as his enormous length disappeared in her little cunt. He didn’t stop until he was buried to the hilt, and grunted when his balls were finally flush with her ass. She moaned all the way.

“She would take you so well. It’s no small feat. But you can take it, can’t you, darling?”

“Ah—oh—mmh!”

He pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in, back into that searing heat. The wet sound of his hips hitting her skin echoed in the silent room while everyone watched, petrified.

“Words, love.”

“Ye—yes!”

He did it again. Slam. It was loud and wet, a sinful symphony.

“Yes…?”

“M-Master!” She clenched gloriously around his cock as he buried himself inside her once again. “Yes, Master! Yes!”

He was sinking so deep into her he could see the faint outline of his cock bulging her stomach every time he slammed back in.

“Look how much she loves it.” He was moving even faster now, the sound of skin slapping against skin louder and incessant. “She just can’t get enough. She’d spend all day with a cock buried between her legs if she could. You would, hmm?”

“Ye—yeah—hah—yes!”

“Or maybe—” he lifted her legs over his shoulders so that he could go even deeper, and she screamed— “maybe you’d rather spend all day with a cock in your mouth, hmm?”

“Only—yours!”

“Of course, my darling,” he cooed, shoving himself as deep inside of her as he possibly could and remaining there. That faint bulge became visible once again, and he caressed her stomach with one hand. No matter how many times they fornicated, it was always astounding how deep he could get. “You were made to take my cock, and mine alone.”

“Yours—ah, yours—”

She was so delirious that her words were slurred, the telltale sign that she was close to the edge. Her first orgasm of the night—because he certainly didn’t want to end the show there—was intense and glorious, it made her arch her back even more and release the most beguiling moan Smith had ever heard come from her mouth.

She was smiling, too, a sweet, satisfied smile that lit her whole face up. When she opened her eyes again, they looked like two flames in the dark, her gaze intense and alluring. Those wild, wild eyes that had him captivated from the very first moment he saw her were bewitching him all over again, wordlessly asking for more. It took him all his strength not to fill her with his seed right then and there.

Catching his breath, he slipped out of her, and she whined at that feeling of emptiness, keeping her legs wide open as if to entice him to enter her again.

“Once isn’t enough for you, hmm?”

In his peripheral vision, the other soldiers were still frozen and enraptured in their seats even if they had other girls in their arms, and the Commander liked what he saw. He enjoyed their disgruntlement.

“Turn around. Hang your head off the edge.”

Even in her new position she kept her legs spread wide, flaunting her cute little hole, all glistening and stretched open. It was hard to tell whether Magath and those sitting next to him were having the best or the worst time of their lives: the best for being so close to the gates of heaven, or the worst for being denied the chance to enter.

“Let’s show them how good you are at swallowing me whole, darling. Open up, breathe through your nose. Like that. That's a good girl.”

He kept one hand on her neck, using the other to guide himself into her mouth. His thrusts were shallow at first, allowing her to get used to the intrusion, but then he really got into it, and pushed himself further: her throat squeezed around him in a way that had him groan in appreciation, and he took his hand away from her neck so that everyone could see how perfectly she was taking him.

He fucks her face once, twice, three times, before pulling out so she could catch her breath. Her cheeks were wet from tears, spit and his precum, and she coughed a bit, but stretched her arms so that she could grip his thighs.

“Again,” she demanded, her sweet voice now hoarse from the exertion. “More.”

She was starving for it. When he fed her his cock again, he managed five whole thrusts before she started gagging. He suspected he could actually hurt her if they kept going like that, so he slid out, running his thumb on her lips to wipe off that mixture of fluids.

“Let’s not ruin your pretty voice when you’re not done singing yet,” he murmured when she whined, cradling her damp cheek. He looked around the room: every pair of eyes was still deeply focused on them. He leaned down to brush his lips against her ear. “Don’t you want them all to hear you, hmm?”

“S-Sir, please, please—”

As she laid there still, chest heaving as she caught her breath, he addressed their enraptured public once again.

“My perfect, insatiable little slut.” He sat back in his chair, lazily palming at his cock, which was still hard and ready. She got the implicit invitation and, with trembling limbs, hopped off the table. “Yes, love. Come here.”

Maybe that was where the show should have ended, with one round of rough coupling and some showing off of her deepthroating skills, which were just for him. Maybe, when his sweet girl came to sit in his lap, he should have wrapped her in his coat, picked her up in his arms and taken her to his quarters, so that he could pound her into the mattress in private and leave everyone libidinous and utterly frustrated. They should all have gotten the message by that point, after all.

But then she sank onto him with no forewarning and started riding him with fervour, consumed by feral lust and unbridled passion, and he decided he’d allow one last spectacle. For the sake of his pride, her pleasure and everyone else’s chagrin.

He delivered one harsh slap to her ass, just for show, and she mewled even louder, bounced even faster.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes—hah—yes!”

His left hand gripped her ass tightly, the other sank possessively into her unruly hair. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Mmh—ah! Ah! Ah!”

“Take it,” he growled, delirious. “Take it all.”

He began filling her up just seconds after she reached her own peak, and it felt devastating. Glorious. He felt like it was taking him ages to empty himself completely, but she took everything he had to give like she always did, with an eagerness that was absolutely endearing. Her body was utterly spent, but she surprised him yet again when she used the very last bit of energy she had left to turn around to face the other men in the room. Her head fell back against his shoulder, and she kept her legs properly spread so that everyone could see his seed dripping out of her, trickling down her thighs and onto the floor.

No words were spoken in the following minutes. The Commander reached for one of his cigars, lit it up and idly brought it to his mouth, letting the smoke twirl around them. A few seconds passed before she lifted her head to ask for a hit, and he let her have it, placing the cigar between her lips. She enjoyed the smoke and enjoyed his teeth grazing her neck, humming contentedly.

The silence lasted until the cigar was all burnt out. Then, Smith reached behind him for his coat, which he’d draped over the back of the chair, and wrapped his dozy darling in it like he’d intended to do. He effortlessly stood up with her in his arms, with the nonchalance of someone who hadn’t just fucked like an animal in front of a table full of people.

He didn’t even bother studying their faces this time; the fact that no one dared utter a single word was enough for him.

“Now, gentlemen, I hope you’ll excuse us, but we’ll retire for the evening. I definitely ought to join you for a game again in the future. Have a pleasant rest of the night.”

He strode towards the door without looking back and disappeared in the darkness of the corridor.

He couldn’t wipe the smirk off his face as he headed to his quarters. He’d risen through the ranks of the military faster than anyone his age, he held immeasurable influence, he had money, he had the looks, and now he owned the sweetest, most beautiful little whore Marley had to offer, an angel who was willing to do anything to declare who she belonged to and strengthen the power he held over everyone else.

He anticipated the delight of getting into a warm bath with her and then spending all night between her legs, lulling her to sleep with the melody of the bed creaking under their entwined bodies. And he looked forward to doing that every night, for all eternity.

#i'm weaker than i thought after all #erwin smith x reader #erwin smith x you #erwin smith smut #erwin smith x f!reader #mars writes

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aquilathefighter · 1 year

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Fluffbruary 24: Needle

Find all my @fluffbruary ficlets on AO3 here!

Fandom: The Sandman (2022)

Relationship: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

To put it simply, getting used to mortal clothes was a pain for Dream. For all his life, his clothes were dreamstuff, as much a part of him as any other part of his manifestation. There was no difference between the fabric of his jacket and his skin. All one unified being.

Since his retirement, he no longer has the power to summon clothes with a thought. When he first moved in with Hob, he dragged him to department store after department store, trying on itchy denim and polyester that brought him to tears in the changing room.

At first Hob didn’t understand. Why was he so upset at clothes? Hob never had any problems; anything was better than the rough materials he wore once upon a time.

When they finally arrived home, Dream explained how painful all the different fabrics and textures were to his newly human skin.

“For so long, my clothing was part of me. I find most textures… unappealing to my skin. It brings me close to…” Dream trailed off, searching his memory for the appropriate word. “Close to a meltdown, I believe.”

“Ah, I understand now. It’s a sensory issue. Come to think of it, I’ve got a colleague who’s mentioned the same type of thing. Let me shoot her a text and see if she’s got any ideas, alright?”

Dream nodded his head minutely, then buried himself in the soft blanket on their bed. Underneath, he’s cloaked in Hob’s clothes, soft and worn from years of use. The t-shirt he’s borrowed is a gaudy yellow, the smiley face screen-print virtually gone. He tore the tag out after Hob told him it was his now. It’s too big for his frame, the sleeves hitting his elbows and the hem covering most of his thighs. He prefers not to wear trousers when he can. The material irritates the sensitive skin of his legs, and they feel too restrictive on his body. It would be nice to have his own clothes, though.

Hob came back into the room, holding two cups of tea. Dream poked an arm out of the blanket, grateful to accept the beverage. Hob sat on the edge of the bed next to him.

“Okay, she messaged me back a list of fabrics that are generally approved for folks with your same issues. I see two options: one, we go back to the shops and look at every single tag until we find the right material, or two, we head to the fabric store, and you pick out what you like. I’ll make you some clothes. I do know how to sew, did a stint as a tailor once.”

Dream stared at Hob, deciding. The store-bought clothing would perhaps mean less labor, but more time spent out in public with loud strangers, bad music over tinny speakers, and the relentless buzz of fluorescent lighting. On the other hand, he’d have more control over the homemade clothes, no itchy tags and clothing perfectly fit to his specifications. But he doesn’t like making Hob do so much work, the man is busy enough as it is.

“I should prefer the clothing you would make me, beloved. If it is not too much.”

Hob wrapped an arm around him, squeezing Dream to his shoulder. Dream dropped his head to rest against Hob’s comforting warmth.

“Of course it’s not too much, Dream. I wouldn’t have offered it if I didn’t want to do it.” He pressed a kiss to Dream’s hair. “I want to do these things for you because I love you. I want you to have clothes that don’t make you want to put your head through a wall. And you don’t owe me anything in return, remember that.”

Dream nodded, trying to make himself believe it as hard as it is.

☆ ☆ ☆

They returned from the fabric store with several bags’ worth of fabric. All of it black, per Dream’s preference. They spread the cuts on the floor, sorting jersey from fleece, bamboo from linen. Piled alongside the material are skeins of yarn, lovely thin-weighted cashmere that Hob will knit into comfortable cardigans and seamless socks.

Dream has chosen several patterns that were to his preferences. Looser fits and elastic waists so he didn’t need to deal with the discomfort of buttons and zippers pressing against bare skin.

“It is a comfort that I will have much control over the fit of these garments,” Dream said when they were done organizing their haul.

“Glad to hear it, dove. I’ll have you try stuff on a bunch before it’s done. Hope that isn’t too annoying,” Hob chuckled, used to the complaints of clients.

“How could I find such a labor of love an annoyance?”

Hob blushed. “Dream, you can’t just say stuff like that. How-how am I supposed to work in these conditions,” he laughed.

“I will assure you that I will provide many breaks,” Dream said as he scooted closer to Hob on the couch. Hob relented to his advances, planting a kiss on his lips.

“Insatiable creature. I do want to get started on this tonight, so back off, foul tempter!” He nudged Dream as he hopped off the couch. “Hmm, shall we begin with this pattern?” he asked, holding up the package for a simple v neck shirt. Dream hummed in approval.

“Hop up, I gotta measure you. And be good, mister.”

Dream stood, staying still and patient as Hob manipulated the measuring tape about his body. Hob scribbled it all down in a fresh notebook that was to live next to the sewing table, which Hob had eagerly set up earlier in the day.

“All done! Why don’t you order us some take away while I get started cutting out the pattern?”

☆ ☆ ☆

While Dream headed down to meet the delivery driver outside, Hob began to set up the sewing machine. A fresh needle, new black thread loaded in the bobbin, the room awash in bright light so he could see in front of him. Hob had missed sewing with the machine. He would sew by hand on occasion, mending tears and quickly patching tears in his jeans, but the purr of the sewing machine was a different animal entirely. He been so excited when the first machines came out, you could make a new garment exponentially faster than ever before! People took it for granted these days. Hob preferred a simpler machine with just a few stitch settings, but still had an electric motor. He’s a man of modernity, after all.

Dream returned with the bag of food, tantalizing smells wafting through the door. Hob lifted up the presser foot and pulled the garment away from the machine, snipping the tails of thread with his tiny scissors. He held it up for Dream’s inspection.

“What do you think so far? I’ve only done one side and I’ve done the seam allowance as tiny as I can go.”

“Your skillset holds no bounds, Hob.” He gave a tiny smile, the kind that’s only for Hob’s eyes.

“High praise,” Hob grinned. “Now, what’d you get me?” He wiggles his fingers as he moves toward the table.

☆ ☆ ☆

Dream has become used to the rattling of the needle, up and down and up and down, interspersed by Hob humming or scolding the garment for not behaving or yelping when his thumb catches the end of a pin. The background noise is soothing as he goes about his day, reading or preparing a snack for Hob or working on his own projects. He’d expected it to be grating, like most machinery. But the sewing machine is not a screeching brake or rumbling jackhammer. It is a friend, a kindred spirit, another family member in the little home he and Hob have built for themselves. He is not jealous when it takes Hob’s attention, because Hob loves him. He is certain of this. And as his wardrobe has grown, he has felt the love in every stitch, every dart in his jackets, the neatly trimmed seams that don’t irritate his skin. Hob enjoyed creating these for him with nothing expected in return. Hob was pleased when he stopped insisting on doing something for him after every finished garment was handed over. He believed relationships were always an exchange until Hob. Until his labors of love and the friendly hum of a Singer.

#fluffbruary #dreamling #hob x dream #dream x hob #aquila writes #autistic!dream of the endless

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undreaming-fanfiction · 2 years

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Steddie Corpse Groom AU (1)

I'm sorry if there are any typos, I'm hardly able to focus because I'm in a fuckton of pain, but I wanted to share because hey, it's the spooky season! I'm also writing most of my stuff in hospital waiting rooms, so that's great. My brain is already planning this as a fanfic, but I'm too distracted to do any proper writing these days, so have a Burton-esque Steddie AU.

Hawkins, a small town in Indiana, undefined time. Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler are childhood friends of two well-established families. There is an expectation that they are going to get married - only the best for the Harringtons, the family line needs to continue and so on and so forth. Steve's parents are lawyers and, frankly, tyrants. Nancy's mother is a wonderful lady, but her father has no spine and Mr. Harrington basically announced that it would be beneficial for their families to merge via marriage. Both are respected, Mr. Wheeler works for the government, the Harringtons deal with law, their kids know each other...it's perfect.

It's not.

Steve and Nancy are friends, they used to be together, much to their parents' happiness, but they broke up a few years back. They just wanted different things in life and while it hurt, Steve has to admit they actually work better as friends. He still pretends to be with Nancy to help her conceal the fact that she's head over heels for the local librarian, Robin. Robin doesn't come from a prestigious family and she's a girl, so Steve takes Nancy on "dates", drops her off at Robin's and spends the rest of the "date" sitting by the piano, his restless fingers traveling over the keys and producing melancholic melodies. He wishes all the happiness for Nancy, he just hopes that one day he'd find companionship too. He's lonely, no one wants to talk to a Harrington. He sometimes thinks about a boy with wild hair and a wolfish grin he used to know, who taught him to play in secret because Steve's parents considered the instrument too soft for their only son. "I didn't raise some artsy weakling," scoffs Mr. Harrington when Steve mentions he'd like to take lessons, maybe even teach in the future. Hunting and sports, that is appropriate. Music? Useless in the world of the Harringtons.

The fragile balance continues for a while, but not long enough. One day, the parents sit Steve and Nancy down and tell them it's time, the wedding will happen soon. It doesn't matter when Steve and Nancy tell them they've broken up, marriage is a union of families, it cannot be based on something as fickle as feelings, Mr. Harrington says. Mrs. Wheeler looks like her heart is breaking for Nancy and Steve wonders if she maybe knows. But her marriage isn't about love too and her protests fall on deaf ears. The wedding is on.

Steve, Nancy and Robin, who also became Steve's close friend, try to come up with a plan. Maybe if they botch the wedding rehearsal badly enough, the Harringtons will back off, the threat of public embarrassment too severe to go through with their plan no matter what.

They give it all they've got. Nancy spills the ceremonial wine on Mrs. Harrington's white blouse and when "panicking" (Steve finds it hard to keep a straight face, the only time Nancy's nerves of steel ever experienced panic was when Robin confessed she loved her and Nancy blurted out "thank you" as a response), she sets her father's trousers on fire with a candle. Steve trips on the carpet and falls into the priest, ripping off his robe. Then he messes up his vows beautifully ("with this candle, I will...burn your sorrows?" he tries and very pointedly looks at Mr. Wheeler), but it's all for nothing. The fire is put out, the blouse is changed, the robe is put back on and Steve is sent away to practice his vows because "your lack of intellect isn't a sufficient excuse for your unwillingness to commit to the right thing", his father says.

And so Steve leaves. He walks around the woods around Hawkins and mumbles more and more ridiculous vows to himself ("with this hand I will punch my father’s perfectly shaved face. Your cup will never empty because we'll become alcoholics together if this stupid wedding ever happens"), tossing the ring into the air and kicking random branches and moss. Of course, he could just marry Nancy and continue the ruse, being the eternal third wheel to the girls' romance. They've talked about it at length, but it just wouldn't be fair, not to Nancy, not to Robin and definitely not to himself. Steve dreams of meeting that one right person, someone who'd make him feel truly alive, make him discover who he really is, although Hawkins probably isn't the place for that...if anywhere is.

He sits down by an old oak tree, the trunk and its roots long destroyed by lightning, and he starts humming a song. It takes him a while to remember the melody, but he does eventually, his voice gaining confidence and strength. It's the song the long-haired boy taught him, his own creation. Eddie, Steve remembers, his name was Eddie and he loved spending time together, until his father found out about them and forbade them ever meeting again, threatening the livelihood of Eddie's uncle. Steve often watched the boy walk past the Harrington residence, waving at his window, but he never dared to wave back, he couldn't bear to be another Harrington to destroy people's lives. The best he could do for Eddie was to pretend he didn’t exist, no matter how painful that was. Eventually, Eddie stopped coming around and Steve didn’t see him in their fancy part of the town anymore. Perhaps he moved away, away from the town’s bigotry, the threat of Harrington influence...away from him.

He's so caught up in the song he doesn't notice the slight movement of the ground. He just hums the song and wonders if Eddie ever published it, if he ever became famous, enchanted crowds with his dark eyes and wild personality. The boy he knew was ready to take on the world, no matter what life threw at him.

As the last note fades into the silence of the forest, Steve finally notices that something is shifting underneath his feet. He jumps up and tries to take a step to safety, he's so sure he just stepped on loose soil or something, but then a dirty claw grabs his ankle and tugs. No, not a claw - a hand. Steve screams, scrambling back, but the grip is strong and as he retreats, he doesn't just drag the hand with him, but a whole body. A corpse. Its clothes might have been black once, but they're dirty now, its long hair matted and tangled. He doesn't even know if it used to be a man or a woman. He can't see the face, but the skin is pale, with a blue tint (surprisingly intact, his brain supplies and he can't believe this is what it decided to focus on).

And when he thinks it couldn't get much worse, he’ll just run to Chief Hopper and report the weirdest discovery of a body possible, the corpse coughs, spits out a mouthful of soil and clambers to its feet, tossing its mane back. Steve probably forgets to breathe at this point and he drops the ring to the ground. He watches in horror as it rolls quietly towards the reanimated figure.

Eddie wipes his face and picks the ring up. "That for me, Harrington?" he grins through his dirt-covered teeth. "I expected at least one date, perhaps a dinner first, but beggars can't be choosers. I do."

#steddie #steddie au #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #stranger things au #strangerthingsau #strangerthingsdrabble #corpse bride au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #stranger things drabble #ronance

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witchofimber · 6 months

Note

trick or treat 🎃❤️‍🔥

One week after Lily and James broke up – tears, shouting, broken crockery – and six days after Remus walked away from Sirius for the last time – no tears, because nothing they did counted, right? - Sirius opened his door at a horrific half-past seven on a Saturday morning and found Lily, wan and haggard, leaning against his doorbell.

“Dorcas and Marlene only have a sofa and have really loud sex,” she said. “And Mary’s still living with her parents, and my family are – it doesn’t matter, but look, I understand if this is going to break your sacred vows of friendship with James, but - “

“I’m too hungover for this,” said Sirius. “The rents about two pounds eighty, but nothing works.”

“Aren’t you rich?”

“I’m living in bohemian squalor.”

Lily scrunched up her face, possibly catching a whiff of the kitchen. “Is it going to ruin your aesthetic if I fix shit?”

“Please. Do whatever the fuck you like.”

Sirius wouldn’t describe himself as mad at James, exactly.

You couldn’t be mad at James – no, plenty of people could be mad at James, but Sirius couldn’t. Vaguely irritated? Currently blaming most of his life problems on him? Enjoying watching him squirm? Yes to all three. But never anger, not really, which was why he was in The Pickled Stag (terrible pub, chosen purely for the name), signalling the barman for another and saying, “Are you really going to be grouchy because I didn’t let your ex be literally homeless? She’s my friend too.”

“I just think,” said James, “that, given the situation, it really would have been kinder of her to move to Bali.”

“Terrible choice, she’d burn in an instant,” said Remus. “Sweden. Iceland. Those are more Lily-appropriate places.”

“She can’t go anywhere cold, she can’t ski.” James picked up his shot glass, downed it in one, stared mournfully into the depths and then said, tearfully, “I was going to teach her to ski.”

“You can teach me,” said Peter.

“There you go,” said Sirius. “Pete is basically just Lily with worse hair.”

James, on the edge of a sob, said, “Pete, I’ve already taught you to ski five times. You cannot be taught.”

Remus was leaning over the bar, rapidly ordering enough shots to kill an elephant. His horrible trousers were stretched over his decidedly un-horrible arse. Sirius had to fire himself into the sun. He could not, could not, lust over a man in khaki slacks. A man who – dear god – was requesting Nanci Griffith on the tunes.

“Are you serious?” said Sirius.

“I thought that was - “ said Pete.

“Don’t,” said Remus, shaking out his hair. “My mum likes her, ok? It’s soothing music.”

“It’s the sad and sexless wail of the perma-virgin,” said Sirius.

“Not everything has to be about sex,” said Remus testily. “Sometimes things can just be nice, all right?”

“Who wants nice?” said Sirius, aware that he was stumbling into danger but slightly too drunk to stop. “I mean, give me passion any day.”

“Love is a lie,” mumbled James.

Sirius pointed at him. “See? He gets it.” He was grinding salt in the wound, deliberately nasty now. “No love for James. He doesn’t love anyone.”

“I love Lily.”

“He loves Lily,” said Sirius, gleeful.

Remus curled his lip. “The speed and consistency with which you manage to miss the point is genuinely astonishing. Prop James up, I’m going for a piss.”

“Merlin,” said Pete, looking between Remus’s back and Sirius. “What’s up with you?”

“There’s a monastery in St Bartelomo’s,” said James. “Very beautiful view. Lots of sea.”

“Fascinating,” said Sirius, with an intense premonition of dread. He pushed another shot towards James.

“The monks take a vow of silence.”

“Probably not for you, then.”

“What’s the point of speaking if I can’t say anything to her?”

“Human communication. Discussing the weather. Buying booze.”

“The monks of St Bartelomo’s brew their own wine.”

“Do they drink it?” said Pete.

James waveringly raised his glass and studied the irridiscent depths of his sambuca. “Perhaps further study is needed.”

“Perhaps,” said Sirius. “You’d make a shit monk, though.”

“If I can’t have her, perhaps God will comfort me,” said James, and then promptly threw up on his shoes.

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flowerandblood · 7 months

Text

Glass Cuts Deepest (4)

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ warnings: description of rape, angst, trauma, mention of sexual harassment, violence, swearing, self-destructive behavior ]

[ description: A female painting student is finally able to choose the specialisation she has dreamt of - stained glass. She wants to become a student of the best specialist in this field, but he, for some reason, refuses to accept female students into his workshop. She finds out that he once slapped a female student of one of the other professors. Nevertheless, she makes an attempt to find out what happened then and to convince him to teach her. Slow burn, sexual tension, dark, agressive Aemond, great childhood traumas. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

With difficulty, every day, he forced himself to get used to her presence, to the smell of her coconut shampoo when she walked past, to her voice when she spoke to her year mates.

He always worked with his back to her, without looking at her, and she worked, as promised, in the corner, at the last table, covered by a pillar so that he could not see her most of the time.

On the one hand he felt uncomfortable, but on the other he thought with some feeling of pride that maybe this would help him get out of his area of weakness and trauma, that maybe this important decision would make something change in him.

She only dared to approach him when she wanted to show him her project, but when she laid it down in front of him he noticed with disappointment that it was too contrived. There was too much going on, he thought, she was trying to prove to herself and him that she could create the most expressive, most complicated design possible.

"Overdone and tacky. This is not a competition for the most pompous baroque stained glass. Don't show me things like that again." He said dryly, returning to cutting glass. He heard her swallow loudly and walk away, leaving behind her scent of some new herbal shampoo.

Although he feared she would be a distraction to him and others, she behaved politely and decently, concentrating on her work, talking to her colleagues only during short breaks for tea or food.

She conformed to the rules and always cleaned her workstation thoroughly, she also dressed appropriately, usually wearing a large black t-shirt tucked into high-waisted black trousers, her hair either tied up in a braid or tied partially at the back of her head as the rest of her curls fell down her back.

As much as he didn't want it, she was the centre of his relentless attention, he waited for any stumble from her, any proof that she was faking it, that there was something different under that mask than she had shown so far.

It seemed to him, however, that the more days passed, the more relaxed and smiling she became. She worked on her new project while sitting with headphones in her ears and listening to music, bobbing her head to its rhythm, painting at her table, undeterred by his unpleasant comment.

Two days after their exchange of words, she approached him for the second time, again holding a piece of paper. He looked at her sternly, wanting to make sure she knew what she was doing.

"Are you sure you want to show me this?" He asked warningly, and she nodded quickly before placing her draft in front of him. He pressed his lips together, feeling his heart thump involuntarily in his chest.

Her design was beautiful.

Her composition, although not perfect, even in its sketchy outline with the colours she had chosen and the positioning of the figures made the whole thing look light, lifted. He noticed immediately that the figures of the Virgin and Christ were inspired by Raphael's Sistine Madonna and wanted to see if she would admit it.

"Were you inspired by someone?" He asked coolly and she nodded quickly, smiling softly.

"Yes, Raphael's Sistine Madonna."

He hummed under his breath, pleased that she'd confessed, and began to analyse what he saw before him.

"On the left and right the composition is too filled in. You need to leave those four apostles lower, give more space to the background. Let them form an arc under the figure of Our Lady, not half a circle." He spoke at once what he noticed, running his hand over her work, pointing to the parts he had in mind.

She watched his every move with rapt attention and nodded quickly, her eyes shining with delight, as if with her imagination's sight she could see that indeed his changes would make the whole thing look even better.

"Yes. You're right, Professor, I will." She said excitedly, looking at him with a sort of gratitude and joy from which he felt uncomfortable.

He felt some strange kind of warmth in his lower abdomen at the thought that this smile suited her.

That she was pretty.

She was a pretty girl.

He bit his lower lip, embarrassed and horrified at his thought, and lowered his gaze, returning to his work.

"That's all."

He was not helped in dismissing this thought by the fact that, a few hours later, he came across her in the canteen, seeing her in nothing but a floral strapless summer dress.

He was relieved to find that nothing was showing through from under it, but the very fact that he saw her, in his perspective, in such a negligee made him take a greedy sip of coffee and avoid her, trying not to think about the slight pulsing he felt in the lower part of his body.

When he had gathered all the projects he made an appointment with the bishop, who invited him to his curia. They had coffee together and then proceeded to discuss the designs he had brought him. The bishop was delighted with three of them and couldn't make up his mind.

"You are the artist, tell me what you think. Which one do you think is the best?" He asked him, glancing at him curiously, catching himself involuntarily by the large gold cross hanging from his neck.

He looked intensely at the design that Wright had done and fought with himself, at the same time wanting to admit that she had surprised him positively with such rapid progress and considered her design one of the best, on the other hand not wanting to admit it to himself or to him. He grunted out loud.

"Please choose for yourself, Father Bishop. I am not a fair judge in this matter because I am prejudiced against one of the female students." He said frankly, and the bishop looked at him curiously.

"A female student? I thought your workshop was almost a male convent." He laughed low, gripping his belly concealed beneath his purple robe, and he huffed under his breath.

"It was." He muttered, as he nodded his head in understanding and sighed heavily.

"This one." He pointed his finger at the Wright project, and he pressed his lips together with a loud, tense swallow. Bishop looked at him curiously.

"Did I just choose the project of this female student?" He asked amused, and he looked away, impatient.

"Yes." He replied dispassionately.

"If you wish, because of our long-standing collaboration, I will change my decision." He said softly, and he shook his head.

"No."

Whether he wanted it or not, he had to announce the results and how he divided the work. While it was certainly a great achievement and he thought she had done a good job himself, he knew that she wasn't ready to do such complicated things as she had designed and that she needed to practice the basics for now.

The backgrounds were the perfect opportunity to do so and he saw no reason why she should suffer or consider it a humiliation, especially as he was the one who was to take care of the faces, with a little help from Cregan with the figures of the apostles.

He was concerned, however, when he walked into their workshop one day and saw Jason Lannister standing over her. Although he was not happy that she was his student, he had decided to take her under his wing and felt responsible for her safety in every sense of the word.

Especially the kind he might have expected from Lannister.

As soon as he had left, he approached her with an unhurried step, standing on the other side of her table, asking dispassionately what he wanted, willing himself to be sure of his assumptions.

"To learn the secret of my success." She said without much emotion, concentrating on cutting out the papers. He felt a tightness in his throat at her words knowing what she was implying.

"What did you tell him?" He asked coolly, leaning over the table, wondering if she was expanding on some lie or rumour about him. She looked at him surprised and sighed quietly, numbering piece by piece.

"That he shouldn't measure everyone by his standards. His attitude towards his female students was one of the reasons I didn't want him to teach me." She said quietly, and he furrowed his brow, finding it amusing that she feared harassment from Jason Lannister, but begged a known female aggressor for a place in his workshop.

"And you came to ask for a place with a professor who hit his student?" He asked seriously, lowly, and she threw him an anxious, frightened look, he saw her clench and lick her lips, swallowing hard, cutting another piece of paper.

"And did you hit her, Professor?"

He stared at her for a long moment, wondering if he should go any deeper into the subject, if he should talk to her about it at all. He felt, however, that he wanted to know what she thought about it, how she really perceived him.

"Yes." He replied with fatigue and frustration at the same time.

She didn't answer him for a long moment, her hands shaking as she tried to cut another template with straight, sure slashes.

"Why did you do that?" She asked quietly, and he chuckled under his breath.

"Does it matter?" He asked, as if the answer was obvious.

Since when did it matter what you slapped someone for? In the eyes of the law, in the eyes of good manners, even if she acted like a monster, he had no right to touch her.

Women were untouchable.

Not like men.

After all, they were stronger.

"It matters if you did it for no reason or if you were trying to defend yourself against her, sir." She said uncertainly and he snorted at her words, amused.

"In what way could she harm me? Hit me?" He asked ironically, knowing that no one would ever recognise any of his explanations, that in many people's eyes there was no way that a woman could have harmed him, that she would have been at fault, unless she had thrown herself at him with a knife.

The woman had to commit the ultimate, sudden cruelty to be considered a real threat, when in the case of the men, verbal aggression was enough.

"Women can hurt men in all sorts of ways. It's just that they are hardly believed." She said quietly in a trembling voice and he felt his heart stop for a moment. He looked at her in disbelief, feeling a tightness in his throat, feeling sick again, as if he was about to vomit.

Women can hurt men in all sorts of ways.

It's just that they are hardly believed.

"I don't know if it's a good idea." He mumbled horrified, looking at her in shock, not understanding why she had come to his room, why she wouldn't let him alone.

She continued to nag him, encouraging him to rub oil on her back when she was sunbathing while his parents weren't looking, she untied her bikini top in front of him and let him look at her breasts.

He felt uncomfortable, excited and embarrassed at the same time, like when he watched pornographic films.

He felt that something was wrong.

"You are such a pretty boy, Aemond." She purred, trailing her slender fingers along his bare arm, he had just started going to the gym and was proud of having muscles, he wanted to look like a man already, even though he was only sixteen.

Her attention simultaneously boosted his ego but also overwhelmed him in a way that frightened him, so he involuntarily ran away from her or locked himself in his room when he heard her voice.

When she came to him that night, however, he forgot to turn the key in the lock of his door and never forgave himself for that.

The fact that if he had got up before bedtime and checked it, it would have never happened.

She came to him wearing only a strapless nightgown from under which practically everything was visible, the outline of her large breasts and her womb.

He looked at her terrified, thinking only of the fact that she could be his mother, that he felt sick, his hands trembling, his heart pounding like mad.

He didn't know what to do, what to say, he didn't want to offend her, he just wanted her to leave.

"Easy. Your eye, your scars don't bother me at all." She said softly, in a low, sensual voice, slipping the straps off her shoulders, revealing her naked body to him, at which he stared in horror, feeling his head humming, finding it difficult to catch his breath.

"Why are you so tense?" She laughed softly, quietly, as if it was funny, sitting down on top of him, sliding the duvet off him, and he shook his head when he felt her grab the material of his sweatpants.

"No. My parents will hear. Please." He mumbled, not wanting to come off as weak, as a man who couldn't satisfy a woman, but all he felt was terror, he felt like his heart was about to burst out of his chest, cold sweat running down his hot back.

"Shhh. Just stay still and let me take care of myself." She whispered, as if this was going to be their sweet secret, her hand exploring what was underneath the fabric and running her fingers over his manhood, clamping her fingers firmly onto it.

He pressed his lips together, holding back a moan of horror and discomfort as he felt himself involuntarily pulsing under her hand, betraying him and his body, responding automatically to her mechanical, determined movements.

"Look, see? You wouldn't be so hard if you didn't want it. It's okay, sweetheart." She cooed, as if speaking to a small child, and when she thought he was ready, she simply slid him inside her.

He looked away from her, pressing his lips together as he looked towards the window, thinking only of how a real man would enjoy this, that he had watched endless pornographic films depicting such a scenario and trying to focus on it, however, all he felt was a burning wetness under his eyelids and his body trembling.

She raised and lowered herself on top of him, panting loudly, whispering that she had wanted this for a very long time and that she knew he had too, but that it was okay, that she would take care of him now, that he was such a good boy.

He felt her hands on his torso, on his shoulders, on his cheek, her intense perfume that she must have lathered herself with before coming to him made him feel sick.

He threw up suddenly, and she almost screamed, getting off him, panting heavily.

"What the fuck?"

He sobbed pathetically, panting heavily, and it was only then that she realised how much she had misjudged the situation. She swallowed loudly, quickly dressing her nightgown back up.

"Relax, it's okay, nothing happened. Nothing happened." She repeated, but he didn't hear her, trembling all over, feeling that something inside him just died.

Women can hurt men in all sorts of ways.

He stared at her, feeling that his lower lip was trembling, his mouth twitched in a dangerous grin.

"You prefer to defend the abuser instead of the victim?"

She furrowed her brow at his words, clearly offended by his question.

"No. I just know her version of events. I wanted to hear yours before I decided what I thought of you, Professor. I thought it was only fair." She said with some kind of regret, and he felt his heart squeeze again, the thought that she would be sorely disappointed in him.

She would be disappointed in him just like his grandfather, his father, his mother, his siblings.

"There is no excuse for me. But I don't regret what I did. What do you think about it, Miss Wright?" He asked ironically, cocking his head, wanting to see what her answer would be, how she would try to justify him this time.

A sort of pain flashed across her face, her eyebrows arched in disapproval, her eyes expressing a pure, deep sadness from which he felt discomfort in his chest.

"That I feel sorry for you, Professor. Just like I feel sorry for that girl. I hope you find the decency to apologise to her one day. Excuse me, but I would like to focus on my work." She said calmly, lowering her gaze, going back to cutting again even though her hands were shaking.

He looked at her not believing what she said.

She dismissed him.

He pressed his lips together and walked out on his heel, grabbing his jacket on the fly.

He stepped out and lit his cigarette in a quick, aggressive movement, inhaling deeply, only now feeling how much his heart was pounding, how hard he was breathing, how his hands were trembling, droplets of sweat on his forehead.

He chuckled under his breath, rubbing the tip of his nose with the back of his hand, thinking how pathetic it was that he cared about her opinion.

She was nobody to him.

She could think whatever she wanted.

Nevertheless, he noticed that she had begun to avoid him. When he entered she would look away, pretend she didn't see him, that he didn't exist.

Even though he had only dreamed of it, her attitude now frustrated him.

She considered herself better than him, a saint, but he knew there were no perfect people.

If she wanted to despise him, so be it.

He decided to focus on his task, on making a faces for her project, which, despite his aversion towards her, he still liked. He easily found inspiration for the Twelve Apostles by sketching the figures of the older men in the town square one morning, standing by the fence.

There he had a whole plethora of interesting, expressive faces.

However, he had no idea what to do with the Mother of God.

Sometimes he would give her the face of his own mother or his sister, but he felt he had done this too many times, and he didn't want his work to look the same over and over again.

Sitting at his desk he glanced at his female student who despised him so much, watched her face in gentle concentration bent over her work, her warm gaze wrapped in a fan of long lashes directed at the glass she had just cut.

He wandered his eyes over her soft facial features, over her lips, her nose, her cheeks, her eyes, her neck, and felt like a voyeur.

He took his sketchbook in his hands and waited for the moment when she looked at him, wanting to make her face him, sketching her in the meantime in the position she was in now, just to catch the right proportions of her figure.

When she finally lifted her gaze to him he felt heat in his lower abdomen, she immediately averted her eyes, but that was enough for him, he saw what he wanted.

On the one hand he felt like a pervert, on the other he felt some kind of sick satisfaction analysing every last bit of her face, taking several of his sketches with him and creating the final one. When he had finished it and dressed it with the right robes surrounding her head he thought it looked perfect.

Her portrait was melancholic, serene, there was a kind of warmth and certainty emanating from her gaze at the same time, her lips slightly parted, as if she had just taken a breath, making her look full of life, only frozen in stillness, in the moment.

He figured that as soon as he finished painting he would throw away all his sketches of her, and if anyone asked if he had been inspired by her facial features he would deny it.

Halfway through his work he went out for a cigarette and, convinced that there was no one else in their workshop at such a late hour, left the door open.

When he returned, however, he froze, horrified, seeing her figure bent over his sketches, an expression of disbelief on her face.

Fuck.

Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.

"Get out." He growled harshly, enraged that she had seen this, that she now knew what he had done.

She wanted to say something, frightened, but he wouldn't let her finish, terrified of what she could do with her knowledge.

"Get. Out." He repeated warningly. She nodded and moved quickly towards the exit.

He didn't know what had tempted him to grab her tightly by her shoulder, he heard her draw in a quick, loud breath, terrified, he could smell her, herbal shampoo and some cheap hand cream.

"Don't ever come in here again without permission. Your painting room is next door. This is my private studio. Do you understand?" He burst out sharply and she nodded her head quickly, he could feel her whole body quivering. He let her go and she literally ran out, leaving him alone.

He walked over to the table, restraining himself with the remnants of his strength not to drop all the glasses and smash them to smithereens. He picked up the sketches with the depiction of her face and began to tear them to pieces one by one.

She meant nothing to him.

I hope you find the decency to apologise to her one day.

On his way out, heading for his car, he spotted Lyanna, the girl he had slapped then, also heading in the same direction. She was now in her final year of university and wasn't using shared workrooms, not wanting to run into him. As soon as she spotted him she furrowed her brow and turned away, tense.

"Wait." He called out after her, feeling his heart pounding, wondering what he was actually doing.

She stopped, looking at him terrified, breathing unevenly. He approached her slowly, stopped in front of her and sighed heavily, lighting a cigarette, taking a deep drag and letting the smoke out through his mouth.

"I'm sorry. For then. That I slapped you." He said, shaking the ash from his cigarette onto the ground with a flick of his finger, not looking at her but somewhere to the side, licking his lip nervously.

"The truth is, if I wasn't earning so much for the rector, I'd be out of a job straight away for it." He muttered, taking another drag and letting out a puff of smoke through his nose, unsure if he was actually apologising or explaining.

The girl looked at him in silence.

"I'm sorry too. For what I said back then. Jason brainwashed me pretty good." She muttered regretfully, not looking at him but somewhere to the side, thoughtfully.

"He was afraid of the fact that you were on his tail, that you wanted to destroy him. He made me believe that we were in love, that there was nothing wrong with that, but it wasn't until later that I noticed how he controlled me. I no longer have anything to do with him, only now do I understand how he manipulated me, and now I watch him do the same with younger girls." She said in a trembling voice, looking at her fingers, and he lowered his gaze, pressing the cigarette to his lips again, taking a deep drag.

"Have a nice day." He muttered, turning away, leaving her surprised.

She thought clearly that he felt like listening to her grief now, comforting her with a good word, that nothing had happened, that she was a victim too.

She had consented of her own free will and was suffering the consequences of her actions.

No one forced her.

She had a choice, and instead of the victims, the girls he molested when she wasn't looking, she chose herself.

He thought with amusement that he didn't feel better at all. That no one would find out about what he had done.

That she wouldn't now, after two years, have those defamatory articles retracted, wouldn't tell the other professors that they had come to an understanding, to give him a break.

Everything would be as it had been, except that all he knew now was that she was as stupid as all the other women he knew.

And then he thought of her face, that face which in his eyes already appeared as Our Lady in a golden cloud, giving the weary apostles the hope of heaven.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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thevillainswhore · 10 months

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A Second Chance: Part 1

Pairing: Ex-Husband!Nick Fowler x Ex-Wife!Reader

Summary: Love just wasn’t enough to keep your marriage together - Nick’s restless ambition to get the promotion in his career ended up driving an everlasting wedge between the two of you, and resulting in divorce. But when you come back home to New York after three years away in London, can Nick win back your heart?

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Mentions of s-exually explicit content, flashbacks, lots of fluff, maybe a tiny bit of angst? nothing too huge (yet).

A/N: Beta’d by @sgt-seabass, headers made by @saradika - so excited to be able to share my first story with you all! I had so much encouragement and support to begin writing and I appreciate it so much 💗 this is part one! not sure how many parts there will be altogether, but we go with it anyway 🤣 hope you enjoy!

People often asked Nick if he had heard of you before.

An Agent Recruitment Officer for Shield - hand picked by Fury himself for your hard ass attitude, along with a talent for training basic, low-level recruits and transforming them into the best agents anyone had seen.

A true force to be reckoned with.

Your name was in the whispers of the high-ranks of the CIA, impressed enough with your work ethic for offers to be thrown at you to join their team, only for you to politely decline ‘due to your loyalty to your own agency’. So of course Nick - a higher class CIA agent in the running for a director promotion at the time - had heard of you. The legend bestowed upon you didn’t allow many to wonder who you were.

But he would never forget the first time he met you.

A private gala to celebrate the new batch of Shield Agents cleared for active duty was an annual event - members from all agencies serving to protect invited too. Congratulations had been given to those who had completed the extensive year long training in order to serve the public and thank you’s for a successful year were designated to those who made it all possible.

That’s when Nick encountered you for the very first time - the spotlight directed onto you with applause for your groundbreaking achievements in training. The high slit of your silk black dress teased the side of your thigh enough to let his imagination run wild, ‘V’ neckline cutted down below your breasts, complimenting the shape of your body. Transfixed was appropriate to describe how he felt, your aura called to him like a siren to a sailor.

Nick needed you. The fixation he had harbored for you in such a short time should have frightened him, but he had already fallen too deep into your spell to ever want to come up for air.

As the live band music played after the end of the announcements, he set his champagne down onto the nearest surface without ever taking his eyes from you. Smoothing down the lapels of his jacket, he took off into your direction, his strides confident as he observed you catch his eye. Power oozed from you as you lifted your hand to halt the conversation with your group of friends.

There was interest in your gaze - Nick knew he was a very attractive man, the raise in your brow as you gave him a once over - evidence that you knew he was enchanting too.

He wasn’t afraid to use that to his advantage.

Nick stopped directly in front of you, your body fully turned to face him - a routine occurrence with men throwing themselves at you often. Intense eye contact was held between the two of you, your refusal to be any kind of submissive caused a tent to form in his trousers. Fuck, he had never met anyone like you.

You were dangerous and he loved it.

Nick sensed that the pair of you had gathered an audience of your co-workers, drawn to the spectacle he assumed was common for you at this point, and decided to be the one to cut the tension. “Hey. I just wanted to come over to congratulate you on your performance this year, Agent. Very impressive, if I do say so myself.”

A flash of disappointment crossed your face - you were expecting more from him. He needed to play his cards right. You didn’t need anyone, let alone a man, to tell you how you were doing your job - already fully aware of your excellence.

The tigress in you came out to play, “Yeah, well, you wouldn’t be the first to tell me that.”

If Nick were a regular man he would have cut his losses there. “Is that so, hm?” He questioned as he followed up with an invitation. “Well, can I be the first to ask for the pleasure to take you out to dinner?”

An amused huff of air broke free from your lips as you angled your head in dismissal, “and what makes you so sure I’d be interested in you? I don’t even know your name.” The women surrounding you started to snicker, jokes passed between themselves at your jab, expecting yet another stranger who wanted to try their luck with you to fumble and walk away in embarrassment like they all did.

But that was the thing. Nick wasn’t like the others. And he knew now that he had set his sights on you, there was no way he was going to be fool enough to let a woman like you slip through his fingers.

So, with unwavering confidence and no falter in his stance for your disregard, his eyes trailed salaciously up and down your form as he licked his lips - that damn smirk almost gave you whiplash when he smoothly replied back with, “oh sweetheart.. I’ll make sure you know my name by the end of the night. In fact, I can assure you that everyone in this building will know it too.”

Your eyes dilated as the rest of the world blurred around the both of you, the genuine surprise at his cockiness in your features was subtle along with the tiny gasp you let escape.

You would soon realise that Nick didn’t miss a thing.

He could tell no one had ever caught you off guard like that before - he wished more than ever to be able to know what you were thinking.

But, for now, you quickly shook back your composure, and he admired your unwillingness to lose the fiery game you were playing.

It seemed you had finally met your match.

Rivalling his smirk with a menacing one of your own, you bit your plump crimson lip, and it took all of Nick’s strength to hold back his groan, imagining that same shade of red decorating a ring around his cock - which proved to be more difficult when your honeyed drawl snapped him out of his dirty thoughts. “Is that a promise, handsome?”.

And right then, was the exact moment Nick knew he was gonna marry you.

He already established from his first glimpse of you that you were a fierce powerhouse with a rare beauty you wouldn’t find often in a lifetime. But your teasing back and forth and indescribable pull solidified the conclusion in his mind that one else would ever stand a chance to compete, could ever hope, to live up to your standard.

He was hooked. And soon enough, he hoped you would be too.

Nick often thought back on that night with fondness, monumentally grateful for the chance to have met you and bask in your presence. You really did change his life in the most perfect way imaginable, the glint from his wedding ring confirming agreement.

“Fowler, let’s go. You’re gonna be late.”

Snapping the ring box shut, he places the treasured jewelry back into his safe and locks it shut, sighing with resignation at the reminder of what’s awaiting him tonight.

“Oh don’t you take your strop out on me mister, I’m not the one who agreed to this.”

He levels his assistant with a deadpan look. It’s a good job he likes Elsie. She’s one of the only people who can get away with talking to him like that, uncaring of his brooding nature that everyone else tends to avoid. She’s stuck with him for two and a half years now, the sweet middle-aged lady full of fire with a need to boss him around.

Huh, reminds him of someone else.

He stands up, grabs his blue velvet suit blazer from the back of his chair to slide through his arms, and buttons it up, reaching under his shirt collar when done to tie the undone bow.

After a few failed attempts, Elsie steps forward with a fond shake of her head and smacks his hands away, perfecting it first try with years of experience.

“What would you do without me eh, kid?” Nick strives to keep a smile from reaching the surface, but he can’t help the genuine laugh that escapes him at her antics. Happy for that little bit of relief she gives him in the impending chaos.

She’d seen all the highs and most definitely all the lows of Nick in the whirlwind of the last three years. So much has happened that time seems to have flown by and yet dragged on too. But he’s a better man because of it - the vow he fulfilled to get his shit together after everything went downhill, seen through.

He’s proud of himself.

He likes to think you would be too.

That didn’t mean he was looking forward to his fate for the night. An invitation from Tony Stark accepted for his latest convention to showcase the most recent technology and gadgets available for order to relative agencies who were clean - he was actually excited about that part.

The worst part of his night would be playing lovey dovey to his ‘date’ (translate to spoiled brat) - a media stunt arranged by his publicist to try and restore his name in the world. Delusional. But he made a promise to be on his best behaviour to Elsie, and Nick makes good on his promises. He respected her too much not to.

So, with the balance of chivalry and the need to bite his tongue to keep from snapping, treading a thin line, he holds the car door open for the girl who’s name he can’t remember for the life of him, and plays his part - zoning out from her incoherent babble on the way to the event in the farce of being a good listener.

Instead he lets his mind wander off to another memory of the past - to some of the best days of his life - lips curving up into a gentle smile, as he lifts his right thumb to stroke over the left side of his chest.

The three months since Nick first met you had been nothing short of amazing. The dinner dates. The flowers he had delivered to you at least once a day with dirty teases written on hidden notes, overflowing your office and making those jealous of you seethe. Nick had not fallen short of wooing you, your heart willingly falling into the palm of his hands for him to take care of.

And so most people would be shocked to know that the two of you only had sex for the first time last night. Heated makeouts as you grinded against his cock on his lap, panting into the others mouth in hot desperation were no stranger to the end of your date night routine. But Nick was determined to prove he wanted your heart too, not just your body - he craved to understand your mind.

He was down bad for you and wasn’t ashamed for anyone to know it.

So, as he laid in bed the morning after your passionate night together, admiring how at peace you seemed snuggled into his chest, he noticed the ruby red lipstick mark printed perfectly on his skin above his heart.

An idea sprung to mind, needing no second consideration as he called his tattoo artist, requesting an urgent home visit and a hefty price offer.

Quiet footsteps towards the open doorway gave away your quest to see where your lover had disappeared to and he couldn’t help the smile growing on his face he tried to hide under the pretense of not knowing you were there. But Nick saw you from the corner of his eye, shock paralysing your body, as he leaned back in his expensive leather chair, tattoo needle inking his skin with the finishing details of the shape of your lips, your name in cursive taking place right next to it.

It was no surprise to him to hear you blurt out the first thing that came to mind.

“You’re fucking crazy, Nicki”.

He simply looked up at you, walking towards him with his unbuttoned shirt hung loose over your shoulders, something close to awe in your eyes and waved his hand in signal for the artist to leave.

With you and Nick alone, you brought your body to stand between his spread legs, lifting your pointer finger to delicately trace his new addition, goosebumps following the scrape of your nail. It fit so well, almost like it should have been there all along.

He rested his chin on your stomach, those big hands that eagerly touched every part of you, caressed the back of your thighs. Mischief in his eyes, he suddenly swiped your legs from under you, the deep chuckle at your startled squeal making your bare pussy drip against his crotch.

Content with you straddled in his lap, he deposited a single kiss to the curve of your neck, trailing his lips against your skin to whisper pure Romanian honey directly into your ear.

“Nebun după tine, îngerul meu.” - Crazy about you, my angel.

The screech of the car tires snaps Nick out of his daydream. Wishing he could go back to that moment in time, he looks out of the window to see they’ve arrived, flashing lights and red carpet triggering the anxiety that’s rippled through him at the thought of doing these events since he started coming alone.

Maybe if he had you by his side again, he would enjoy it.

“Are you going to get out or not?”. The irritating high pitched drone of his companion grates on him.

He doesn’t even try to cover up the huge sigh he lets out as he begins to step out of the car.

It was going to be a long night.

A/N: I know i mentioned posting Bucky fic first but this popped up out of nowhere! Buckys coming very soon, but I loved writing this and couldn’t wait to get it out 😅 also I posted this on mobile, so if anything looks out of place or weird, please let me know! thank you 😌

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tallymonster · 6 months

Text

Memories of Us Chapter 5

Chapter list: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

So from this point on I'm going to be uploading on a slower speed, probably about twice a week at most just to keep working on it a little bit. Thanks to all the reblogs, likes, comments, everything! Keeping me going here, and it's pretty great ❤️❤️

Thanks as always to my darling @micropoe10 who read this and pushed me to keep going.

Inspired by @cheesy-cryptid 's piece 💜

Chapter 5

"seemed to stop my breath"

The night of the gala had arrived and Octavia was already exhausted from all the preparation. Not even the work she did to set up the gallery was this frantic. It started with an afternoon of trying on at least 15 different dresses, followed by an appointment at a fancy salon Astarion set her up in.

He insisted on paying for it, even though she kept trying to talk him out of it "Octavia, please. I know how much I pay you, just take the gift. Besides you work for me, you represent the museum. You have to look not like how you usually do, it's a party, dear. So be a good girl and trust my personal team."

Her hair is done in a half up, three roses made out of her own hair placed carefully on the back, the rest in curls cascading her exposed shoulders. It takes a while, but when it's done it's perfect. The dress she ends up with flows to the floor, its off shoulder sleeves flutter as she glides downstairs. It's black with flowers embroidered on the edges and up the center.

She's waiting for Gale outside her home, the black cloak she's wearing over her shoulders blows gently in the breeze. She adjusts her hair and fixes her dress. Gale strolls around the corner, he walks up the small set of stairs up to Octavia's door. He's in a black fitted suit, silver embroidery going up the legs of the trousers, lapels, and sleeves of the jacket as well. He holds out a small bag with a small ribbon on it.

"I felt like this gift was an appropriate apology for the whole 'walking in on you sleeping in a mess of documents with our boss' and of course tonight's festivities! I figured this would make your hair even more elegant." Octavia slides the bow off the top of the small bag, she pulls out a velvet box containing a moon shaped hair pin.

"You really didn't have to do this, you know. It was only slightly embarrassing." They smile at each other and she hands Gale the box as she places the pin in between the rosettes in her hair. "Well, what do you think?" she asks. "Impeccable. Simply Exquisite." Gale has a faint blush across his cheeks. He clears his throat and extends an arm out to her.

"Thank you, truly. You and Mr. Ancunin really know how to make me feel appreciated. You two are the best friends I could ever ask for, and I've only known you for about two months. Now I feel like I have to get you some nice pens or something." She chuckles as she links her arm into Gale's as they start their walk to the museum.

He smiles and confides in her, "I also wanted to thank you for accepting my request to attend tonight's event with me. The idea of bringing my mother was tempting," he grimaces slightly "but I'm glad you are here in her stead." Gale lets out a laugh with slight embarrassment. "She and our family tressym loved making remarks while I was trying to get ready, something about having a good time and not coming home without a wife."

They laugh as they cross the road, the museum's entrance aglow with the other guests filing in. Octavia exhales and grips onto Gale's arm a bit tighter. "Don't worry, these things are usually more talking about our work than ourselves, you'll be fine. Besides you have me! I'll be right by your side, unless you don't want me to be. You can tell me to go away any time." He winks at her and she feels the nerves melt away somewhat. She nods and pulls him towards the entrance, "Alright then. Let's do this."

Tag list (thanks to everyone who has asked to be tagged, it's extremely flattering 🥰 if anyone else wants to be tagged let me know!)

@justporo

@satanicspinosaurus

@sleepy-timaeus

@tragedybunny

@davenswitcher

#bg3 #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 astarion #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #astarion bg3 #my fic #fic tag: headcanon #fic: memories of us #long fic #its almost party time #should i start dropping hints in the tags?#see if anyone reads them 👀

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tf-lover · 9 months

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Commissions!

Hey all! I've decided it's about time I open up writing commissions, so here's a little post detailing how it's going to work!

First off, sending me a message is going to be by far the easiest way to contact me about comissions, NOT asks. I'll want to talk you you a little about the idea before we go any further (see rules 2 and 3 below), so start there and we can figure out what's going on. Secondly, as I've already mentioned, please check out the rules below. Details on pricing is at the bottom (rule 4) so keep that in mind when getting in contact.

How many commissions I take on at once will depend largely on the level of interest and my own writing mood, but I'll try to keep an update either on this post, on my pinned one, or in my bio as to if I'm open to them at the moment or not.

Anyway, without further ado here's the rules for commissioning me. Make sure you read them!

Rules:

1. reserve the right to say no to commissions.

Regardless of the reason, I may not give one, if I say no it's a no. Maybe I don't like the idea, maybe I'm busy with life or other commissions, maybe I'm just not in the mood to write at the moment or am working on new stories. Don't constantly hound me asking if I've changed my mind, I will just block you without hesitation. (Use common sense here, if you want to politely ask again if my time/mood was the issue I'm not going to bite your head off.)

Also, please keep in mind I have a life outside of this. If you message me asking about a commission and I don't respond straight away I'm probably just busy or asleep. I will reply to everyone that enquires though, it just might take me a second.

2. Be creative, but realistic.

Requests that just say "Turn me into a jock!" will likely get a no. Make it a little more interesting, come up with a plot or throw some more tf's in there. Not that there's anything wrong with a good jock tf, but there's only so many I can write.

Be realistic about the length too. I can't fit a hugely detailed tf AND a plot in 1000 words, it just won't happen. I'll leave some examples of rough length linked below so you have a rough idea.

500 words (Caption Series - The Wrong Trousers)

1000 words (Caption Series - Tailored)

1500 words (Shifting Gear Part 1)

2000 words (For Men)

3000 words (The Morning After)

If you're insane super generous and want examples of longer pieces than that I'll happily refer you to some.

3. Things I won't do.

Some of these go without saying:

Underage

Feet

Bathroom stuff (watersports, scat etc)

Hardcore pain/violence/rape

Chastity

Hyper/non-realistic sizes

Animal tf's (furry stuff welcome though)

Heavy female focus (gender tf is fine in either way, but I'm primarily a MALE tf author)

Celebrity tf's (more below on this one)

Don't ask, I won't write them.

As mentioned, I don't generally do celebrity tf's. "Turn me into Chris Evans!" style stuff. As much as there are a lot of very attractive celebrities, it's just never really interested me to become them specifically; original characters are usually more my thing. There is of course some flexibility with this, so if you're not sure you can always ask. If the idea is good enough (and the guy hot enough) maybe I'll make an exception, the worst I can say is no after all.

4. Payment & Delivery.

I charge £0.04 per word, which is equivalent to £40 per 1000 words, or £20 for 500 words. Payment is via PayPal, in full, up front. I won't start writing until I've been paid.

In terms of delivery, I write in Google docs, so will send you both a viewable link to that document and a pdf of the final thing provided you give me an email to send the pdf to. Otherwise you can save a pdf of the story yourself from there.

5. Images & Posting.

Final word on images included in these. You're welcome to bring your own you'd like me to write around. If not, I'm happy to attempt to find one's I deem appropriate for the particular story if you'd like me to, but I make no promises. If I can't find something that works or you don't like the selections I offer I won't go to great lengths to find something. These are writing commissions in the end, so keep that in mind.

I'll also include a word on posting these commissions here. If you specifically don't want me to post yours please let me know at some point during the process, otherwise I may post some of them here and there when I feel like it after they've been delivered. If you're happy for me to post the commission but would like to remain anonymous (i.e. not tagged in the post) do let me know as well. This one is an easy one to forget, so I'll follow up with you on posting after I've delivered it.

- Tf Lover

Also, for those of you that don't want to or can't commission me, you can also tip me here on Tumblr, or over on ko-fi (link here)! You don't have to of course by any means, but any support people want to throw my way is always welcome.

#not a story #tf commissions

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skolworthy · 1 year

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Time Knows No Bounds - Part Two

Warnings: None that need apology

Info: When the font is like this, it means Ragnar is speaking in his native tongue. When he is speaking English it will just be italicized. The reader's text is just normal and anyone other than Ragnar or the reader will be in bold.

Spoilers: None, because this is completely my creation (apart from the character/legend of Ragnar Lothbrok and other historical names) it has nothing to really do with the tv series.

Plot: Ragnar, in this series, is unattached to anyone romantically. No Lagertha or Aslaug or any other baby momma's out there. No children. He has met and learned with Athelstan, because that contributes to his ability to speak with the reader. Other than that, he's just a simple gorgeous viking that lives on his farm in Kattegat, dreaming of adventure.

Summary: Now that you had a living, breathing piece of history fall into your lap...what were you supposed to do with him? Now that the brief taxi ride was over, it was time to survive the almost two hour train ride back home.

---------

The taxi ride to the train station was quieter than you thought it would be, Ragnar simply gazing out of the window and taking in everything as you passed it by. For someone suddenly thrown into a different time period, he was remaining incredibly calm. Though, you had absolutely no idea what was going on inside that head of his. The train station seemed to knock Ragnar out of his silent stupor, making waiting in line to obtain your tickets a difficulty. He had kept trying to wander off, his curiosity getting the better of him and you ended up at the point where you had a firm grip against his sleeve. Any time he began to move away from you, you gave it a tug and he would glance over at you, give that smirk and commented. "Desperate to keep me at your side?" To which you replied: "Hey, if you want to get lost in a completely different time period that you know nothing about, go right ahead." Promptly letting go of his sleeve, giving your own smirk up at him. As he had looked down at you, you couldn't help but notice a slight twinkle within his eye, perhaps of amusement due to your sassy quip, either way, it made your breath hitch inside your chest for a moment.

Despite having to be confined by your side, Ragnar still asked numerous questions about anything his eyes settled on. While you knew what everything that he was asking about was and how it worked, it was an entirely different matter when he would ask the purpose. Much like when a small child constantly asked 'Why?' when you had already answered the question. There even came a moment where Ragnar said that he needed to urinate, though he literally just said "I need to piss" and went over to the nearest potted tree in the train station and began to unlace his trousers, thankfully you managed to stop him. Again, like a toddler, you had to explain to him where to relieve himself that was appropriate and that in itself was a challenge. You had to describe the urinal and also tell him that he had to wash his hands, which he simply stared at you about. "Wash, why?" "There was a reason vikings and people from the past always died young: germs." you said as you described how the soap dispenser worked and the sink. Lord...maybe you ought to have someone that was about to go into the men's room help him out, perhaps they would believe he suffered from amnesia and forgot how to use the bathroom properly? Was that believable? Hell, you didn't know. Your mind once again went to 'Why am I doing this?' and you answered yourself once more with 'For science!'. Or at least for your huge sense of curiosity, that and you just knew that you couldn't abandon him in a cruel world like this. He would either end up dead, or...possibly even end up killing someone himself, he was viking after all and it was in their blood to fight.

The time came to wait for your train's arrival and you brought Ragnar over to the numbered gate and walked with him forward a bit, to where he was able to look down at the tracks, then his eyes moved to other trains that were on different tracks slowly running hither and yon. He pointed at the tracks and tilted his head. "This is how they move?" You gave a smile and nodded. "How?" "Electricity." He stared at you, bit his bottom lip slightly and then rubbed the back of his neck. "Eeeee...lec...tricity?" he said, actually doing a decent job with pronunciation, and you gave him a nod again. "A form of energy made up of charged particles." You knew that this would go completely over his head, but the facial expression he gave you was totally worth it and you gave a chuckle. "Sorry, I'm doing my best to answer your questions, but they just bring up more questions. This is the future, and we have evolved quite a bit since Viking times. Sometimes it's best not to ask questions, just to observe in wonder." Ragnar just smiled down at you, his bright blue eyes gazing into yours until he finally gave his own nod. "I do appreciate your effort in trying to educate me. I am afraid that I make a poor student." You grinned at him and then clapped him on the shoulder, which made his eyebrow raise a bit and his lips to curl upward more. "Don't worry, you'll catch up eventually. Or at least until we can get you back home." At this, you noted how his smile faltered ever so slightly, and a small flicker of disappointment appeared in his gaze.

The two of you stood there looking at one another for a few moments until the train passed by you on the tracks that you were standing near on the platform, startling you both. Ragnar's hand instinctively moved down to where his axe would have been, had you not convinced him to allow you to keep it in your bag. You had tagged it and bagged it, much like you would have an artifact for the museum, and once you showed the security guards your credentials and documentation from the museum stating that your team had been on an excavation nearby, they allowed the axe to remain within your bag. Not good to have a man wielding an axe board a train after all. The train came to a slow stop and then you took hold of Ragnar's sleeve again and moving him back some as the doors hissed open and people began to file out. "I have a perfectly good hand to guide me with, you know?" He said as he leaned down slightly and spoke the words into your ear, goosebumps forming on your skin from the feeling of his breath against it. "And yet, how do I know that you washed them like I told you to after relieving yourself, hmm?" At this you noticed a slight blush to Ragnar's face and your mouth opened slightly. "You didn't do it, did you?" You said, speaking to him like a mother would chastise their child. "Nothing was happening, so...I may have torn it off of the wall?" Your mouth opened more and your eyes widened. "What?!" You said in a hushed breath. "No one saw." You made a face of disbelief but then it began to contort into one of amusement as you tried to hold back your laughter, ultimately failing as a loud snort came out of you and you covered your mouth and shook your head. "I actually would have loved to see that." You said after having removed your hand from over your mouth and proceeded to giggle, your imagination bringing forth that image. Ragnar, sticking his hand under the sensor and waiting, nothing happening, waving his hand, then slamming his hand against the soap dispenser, then finally becoming so frustrated that he simply ripped it off of the wall, then shifty eyed, set it down and slid on out of the bathroom as if nothing had even happened. Oh, that would have been a sight.

You were about to turn and lead the way to the train when you noticed Ragnar looking down at you, his ever present smirk plastered on his face. "What?" you asked, your eyes shifting around for a moment. "Your laugh, I enjoy it. I am sure to make more mistakes, which I hope will make you laugh like that again." At first you thought that he was not serious, but the longer you looked up into his eyes, you were able to see the sincerity behind them. It was a good thing that you were not one to easily swoon, despite how gorgeous this man was...or how sweet the words were that came out of his mouth. He then held up his arm toward you a bit, clearly giving you permission to grab hold of his sleeve again to lead the way. Instead, you leaned to the side a bit, your arm and hand outstretched toward a sanitizing station and waited as it spat out foam upon your open palm. His eyebrows furrowed together as he watched you do this, and then you took his hands and lathered them up with yours, before you took hold of one of his hands and began to lead him toward the train door. Once the two of you had found some seats, you heaved out a sigh and sunk down into the cushion a bit, closing your eyes. Now that you were officially heading home, thoughts began to swirl within your brain of what to do next. What were you going to tell people, should they ask who Ragnar was? No doubt your friends and coworkers would check up to make sure that you had returned home safely, but now you had a man in tow. One that was strangely dressed, spoke in Old Norse (but thankfully knew some decent English), and also knew absolutely nothing about the world.

One thing was for sure: you needed to get Ragnar into some clothing that didn't raise questions, thankfully people that rode trains often saw some strange characters traveling, so the most you were met with at this point were questionable looks. First thing was first, once you were back in Copenhagen, you ought to take him to get some new (and modern) clothing. You knew that there was a nice vintage store not too far from the train station that you could easily walk to, and you knew that the staff there, while helpful, would keep from bothering you unlike a more upscale retail store. You took your phone from your pocket and began to type the store's website link into your internet browser, soon bringing up an array of clothing to the screen and you scrolled through them. Feeling a sudden pressure against your shoulder, you glanced over and up to find Ragnar leaning over from his seat to look at your phone, his eyebrows knitted together in curiosity. Smiling you continued to scroll with your finger. "See anything you like?" He tilted his head a little and then raised an eyebrow. "These are...clothes?" You grinned, still with your eyes upon the phone screen as you continued to peruse the selection. "Yes, you will need to have something different to wear, what you've got on will bring on a lot of attention in the big city." Ragnar gave a small snort. "What is wrong with attention?" "I just do not want to have to explain why you are dressed the way you are, why your hair is the way it is.." as you mentioned his hair, your hand went up and brought the braids forward a bit, looking at them more closely. You noted how it was almost like dreadlocks, bound together with cord down its length. Then your eyes went to the tattoos that wrapped around from one side of his head, around the back, and to the other side, your fingers moving from his hair to lightly trace against the patterns.

Upon looking at them, there was no mistake that they were viking tattoos, the symbols and patterns were some you had witnessed carved upon ancient relics and even upon parts of shipwrecked viking boats. There was speculation on how tattoos were done in ancient times, but there was no doubt that whatever method it was, it most likely proved to be quite painful. After a moment of further inspection of his tattoos, your eyes found his as he simply gazed down at you and you felt heat begin to rise beneath your cheeks, realizing what you had been doing. You quickly removed your fingers from his skin and cleared your throat, looking back down at the phone in your other hand. "I just do not want to have to deal with a lot of questions about where you came from, because it could go one of two ways: either they think we are both crazy and lock us up, or they will take you away and there will be no chance of getting back home." You said as your finger kept scrolling through the clothing site, until Ragnar's hand moved from his lap and took yours suddenly, bringing your attention back to him. He looked at you with what you could tell was concern. "You are serious?" You looked at his hand that was holding yours for a moment and then traveled your eyes up to meet his intense blue ones. "The world does not like things that it cannot explain." His blue eyes gazed into yours, searching them for more answers, but sadly you did not have anything else to give him other than what you knew. "It may sound silly to say this, but I think your best option when it comes to your safety, is to stay with me." Ragnar continued to look down at you, though his expression softened a bit and you felt him give your hand a gentle squeeze before he lifted them and held them upright between the two of you. You felt his breath against the back of your hand as he then said: "Then I shall not be leaving your side, y/n." It was a good thing that you were sitting down, for the way that he looked at you, and the way that he had said this, all but melted you into a puddle upon the floor.

The remainder of the train ride, you were able to put together a selection of clothing for Ragnar in your cart on the website. You purchased them and by the time that you both would reach Copenhagen and walk to the store, they would be bagged up and ready to go. Then the two of you just needed to hail another taxi and head back to your loft and at that point, decide what to do from there. The train eventually came to a stop and after letting everyone else get off of the train first, the two of you finally stood from your seats and headed to the doors, Ragnar close on your heels, apparently holding true to the whole 'not leaving your side' comment. You lead the way out of the train station, pausing for a moment once you were both outside and you turned to look at Ragnar, knowing that he was going to be in awe of the city that now surrounded you. He had been mesmerized from what he could see through the window on the train, but that was nothing in comparison to this. He did a slow turn, tilting his head to look at the tops of buildings and town homes and then finally he turned and looked at you, his mouth slightly open. "I promise, I will take you on a tour once we have had time to rest and for you to try on your clothes. I was just guessing on the sizes, so we will have to see what fits." You gave a nod of your head in the direction over your shoulder as you then began to turn to walk that way, Ragnar following suit. It didn't take long for you to arrive at the clothing store, where you asked him to stay right outside the door as you hurried in to get the bags of clothes. Thankfully nothing happened during the time it took you to do this, and Ragnar stayed put despite his escalating curiosity.

You held out one of the heavier bags toward him and he smirked, taking it from you and then followed after as you raised your hand as you stood by the edge of the road, a taxi pulling up alongside the curb not long after. Soon enough you were pulling up in front of the building that you lived in, quickly paying the driver before you motioned Ragnar to scoot out of the taxi, handing the bags that had been between you in the backseat. Then you dug in your satchel for your keys and opened the main door, holding it open for Ragnar, who had been tilting his head backward a bit to take in the height of the building before he realized you were entering it. He quickly followed after you, watching every move that you made as you went about checking your mail box in the main corridor and then headed up the stairs until you got to the top where your loft was. You unlocked the door and turned the handle, pushing the door open with your back and your foot a bit as you gave Ragnar a small smile. Once he came all the way inside, you let the door shut and then locked it once more, before letting the bags in your grip drop to the floor and you held your arms out to the side a little. "Well...home sweet home."

Tag List: @cullenswife @hypocritic-trash-baby @blueeclipsepaperstudent

*Gif not mine, credit goes to its' lovely creator: angelcb7

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the-fiction-witch · 9 months

Text

Nemesis P2

Media Maze runner AU

Character Newt (Adult)

Couple Newt X Reader

Rating Sexy Af

Concept Nemesis meet again

I fixed my dress a little, pulling down my car's mirror to check my face eyeliner still good, and highlight appropriately sparkly, god damn it! Lipstick on my teeth I quickly fixed it and grabbed my bag getting out of the car. I locked it behind me and headed towards the building hearing my heels clack against the pavement as I did. Once inside I found a table I signed in and checked my coat with the people there and I headed inside the large hall with a bad to one side and a band playing music on the other a wave of people all stood drinking and chatting but I struggled to recall any of them. I went to the bar and got myself a large glass of wine and kinda just sheepishly stood in the corner every so often someone would come up and speak to me some I knew and some I honestly didn't remember at all but I did my best to be nice until some guys approached me

"Oh my god- it can't be- y/n?" One asked

'yep that's me"

"Fuck- it's Minho"

"Oh my goodness sorry I didn't recognize you"

"That's cool barely anyone has, you look amazing"

"You too"

"Hey, Thomas! It's y/n" he calls

"Y/n! How the hell are ya" he smiled coming and giving me a hug

"I'm okay Thomas how are you?"

"Yeah yeah great, how have things been with you?"

"Well pretty busy,"

"Youlced away didn't you uni like halfway across the country"

"Yeah I did, it was fun to get myself a job there but I moved back to town just a couple of months ago with family stuff you know"

"Yeah yeah, uhh some of us never really left" Minho laughed

"What about you guys?"

"Well works a tone of shifts at the moment, saving up already maxed stuff out on the ring" he chuckled as Teresa arrived with a drink for him and he gave her a sweet Kiss

"Awww congratulations," I smiled "What about you Minho how have things been?"

"Working hard, head of the company now still looking for that special boy"

"Aww that's sweet"

"What about you? A special man hanging around?"

"No no, not for me"

"Oh shit I'm so stupid" Minho laughed, "one second," he says scampering off with Thomas and Teresa in tow I didn't know what was happening so I simply sipped my drink until

"And behold your arch nemesis!" Thomas laughed as he and Minho and found Newt.

He stood in a pair of brown dress shoes, a matching pair of suit trousers, a white button-down rolled to his elbows slightly unbuttoned, a drink in hand looking as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

I hadn't seen Newt since my last exam we avoided each other from then on until I moved away. Not like I'd forgotten him of course but I was just kinda surprised to see him after all these years.

"Y/n."

"Newt."

"I uh I didn't know you were back"

"Only a month or so ago"

"I see. You uhh you look good"

"Thank you, you too"

"Sorry I have to go," he says quickly heading to the door

At first, I was happy as our argument was finally won in his silence, but as I watched him leave I felt angry. He shouldn't get off that easy. Not for everything he's done to me.

I downed my drink and followed him out to the grey dark car park

"Hey!"

He stopped and turned around "What!"

"What the hell?"

"What!'

"You're just leaving? That's so childish!"

"Childish? I'm being an actual adult! And walking away from this childish situation"

"No! After all of the years of torment, you put me through YOU DO NOT! Get to walk away from me! Especially as I now know way more swear words!'

"Yeah, I do too. But you have caused me enough trouble in my life the last thing I need is an arrest for common assault" he complained

"I caused you trouble! You were a dick to me my whole life!"

"Me! You fucked my whole life up do you even have any idea!" He shouted before running a hand through his hair "You have no clue, do you? No no, you just packed your shit and fucked off, didn't you. You didn't give a shit about the mess you left behind"

"What are you talking about?"

"You fucked my life up. Everything you did"

"Don't blame me for how shit your life turned out that's on you!"

"You were always such a bitch to me!"

"Me! You were always a dick to me!'

"Well maybe I wouldn't have been a dick if you didn't treat me like shit"

“maybe I wouldn't have treated you like shit if you hadn't acted like a total asshole!'

“Ahhh you are such a cunt!”

“Dick!” “Whore!” “Asshole!”

But before either of us could say another word I felt a rather shocking feeling, I felt his smooth lips against my own as he kissed me sweetly but with a mountain of passion when he pulled back I kinda just stood a little taken back - “Uhhhh That, was, not a response I was expecting”

“Yeah, me either. Sorry just kinda-”

“No no uhhh it's fine just uhh caught me off guard there,” I said trying to keep my mind straight but all I could think about was ganking his stupid blonde head back to kiss me again

“Can I do it again?” he asks, breathy and as desperate to continue as I felt

“Yes please” I nodded he wasted no time after he heard those words his hands immediately took my waist and brought me back to his lips, my own settled on his neck and shoulders happily kissing him back, our kiss burnt with a passion I had never known before the years of anger, frustration, towards each other now left to stew for so long now exploded out of us like the lid of a pressure cooker, I couldn’t help but let loose a moan of pleasure and he did too as our kiss intensified, our lips opening more still moving against one another, his tongue slid across my bottom lip and I tugged on his hair in response which allowed him to move closer our tongues now battling one another and It became clear what this intense passion truly was. Anger. Rage. Years of pent frustration. When he pulled back enough to see me, not a single word was spoken between us he merely got his car keys from his pocket clicking the button which caused his car a few rows back to flash its lights and unlock. As quick as we could both move we bolted to his car I went for the passenger door but before I could reach the handle he pushed me hard against the door with a dark smirk on his face as he settled his knee between my legs pressing his body hard against my own pressing my body hard against the car as he stroked my jaw and then pulled me back into a heavy kiss, My own hands crawled up his shirt till I took a firm grip on him our kiss so intense that in the time between him unlocking the car and this moment it had relocked and our heavy kisses against the door had caused the car alarm to go off which of course made us pull back, he unlocked it again and opened the door for me offering his hand which I happily took as he helped me climb inside. The second I was inside he shut the door and came around to the driver's seat wasting no time to climb inside, slamming his door, for a moment we both just sat in his cold car gasping intensely, I smirked and kissed him this time which seemed to drive him crazy melting against his leather seat as he kissed me back, I went to undo his shirt but he stopped me grabbing my wrist. I pulled back confused but he simply started the car up straightening himself up as he drove off out of the space and out of the car park. The engine noise was low, He bit his lip as he drove both hands on the wheel in a vice-like grip, the radio and dashboard glowing orange in the darkness only broken up by the few streetlamps we passed, the radio on low playing some station I didn’t know.

It was painful to wait even if maybe the whole journey took ten minutes if that, he saw I was impatiently biting his lip as he moved his hand to my thigh giving it a firm squeeze almost digging his nails into my skin through my tights, he vocally groaned in annoyance as we reached a set of traffic lights that turned red moments before we arrived.

“Every Bloody Time” He complained but he turned his attention to me wasting no time to close the gap between us once again this time more intense his hand started at my neck but slowly slipped down my chest making a point to stroke over my breast as he went, then down my stomach rubbing on my hips, stroking across my ass and running down my thigh, his kisses moved from my lips to my neck kissing hard as his hand slipped under my dress now rubbing against the tights and my lace panties I gasped opening my eyes and I saw

“Green light Genius”

“Yeah you’ve been flashing them all night” he muttered between kisses

“The light idiot”

“Oh shit!” He jumped as he noticed too quickly pulling away and heading off, luckily it wasn’t long. He pulled up into a driveway.

He quickly turned the car off and jumped out I happily got out too and headed for the door which he happily threw me against kissing me hard as he unlocked the door the two of us almost fell inside as the door opened he kicked the door shut and immediately went for the zip on my dress but I pulled back

"Bedroom?"

"Up the stairs first door on the left," he says

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