shakespearesex

[shakespearesex]

kinks with the dune daddies

tags: nsfw, dune x f!reader, lemon

duncan idaho, gurney halleck, stilgar ben fifrawi

duncan idaho

Exhibitionism

Duncan is what i like to call an excitable man. his life is adrenaline-rushed and full of chaos, it makes sense why he’s so damn horny all the time. and it also makes sense why he likes to fuck with some risk factor.

the idea of getting caught sets him ablaze. if the thought passes his mind while he’s snapping his hips into you, he might bust.

so yeah, definitely not a shy guy.

loves pulling you down the corridor or around the corner to feel you in the shadows. loves to whisper filth into your ear, he’s crass and he’s bold. a dangerous mix

gets hard at the thought of someone walking in while his head is between your thighs

also probably wouldn’t hate having a third person watch as he rearranges your guts.

Hair Pulling

quit being a fucking coward and pull his hair. tug that man-bun is need be.

he will go absolutely feral. you’ve seen him pussy drunk, but you thought he actually had a stroke when you tugged on his hair while you rode him.

hair pulling accompanied by dirty talk? yeah where does he sign up for that?

sometimes his eyes will do this adorable thing where they roll up when you tug down on his locks.

gurney halleck

Corruption Kink

Old Man Gurney has a dirty little secret..

he knows he’s too old for you, but he just can’t help himself. you’re the sweetest part of his day, a constant that helps him slow down and let go. you’re so naive and innocent, it drove him up the fucking wall.

he tried his best at first. pushed down his own desires deep to the back of his head where they’d never be seen again.

but fuck, you were a temptation he couldn’t resist. he’s only human, at the end of the day. who can really blame him? and you made everything so easy, you felt like puddy in his hands.

the first time he fucks you, he’s soft and giving. setting a steady cadence and talking you through it, cursing under his breath about how good you make him feel.

the second time, he forgot himself really. he knew it when he met your watery gaze, his own eyes dark and hooded, almost predatory.

loves to do dirty things to you

like watching his cum drip out your fluttering pussy

and eating you out while there’s people in the next room

sneak into your room at night and make you squirm on his fingers

Size Kink

Gurney loves your body. every mark, every line, every curve. and he especially loves how small you are compared to his hulking self.

he’s so tough and strong, he needs to be. being with someone so soft and gentle in comparison, it’s exciting.

loves to throw you around a bit. pin you up against the wall as he rams into you, setting a steady cadence. he likes to hold your wrists above your head with just one of his hands, using the other to tease your clit. he enjoys looming over you, his face between you thighs and still brooding in comparison.

definitely will grind on you during combat training, using his strength to overpower you. when you tap out, don’t be surprised when he tosses you over his shoulder like it’s nothing.

stilgar ben fifrawi

Spitting

never give your water away? that’s rich coming from the man that will tap your jaw open and hawk-tuah right into your mouth.

no i’m being so serious right now

Stilgar loves it. he likes taking control, softly commanding you to open wide like the sweet girl he knows you are. and then spitting in your mouth and telling you to swallow. his eyes dark and focused on you

for me? instant cardiac arrest

he’s also not above spitting on your pussy. not even a little

he’ll eat your pussy for hours, claiming it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted and unable to help himself. and then he’ll spit on your fluttering hole like it’s no big deal

no big deal? bitch i just flatlined

Breeding Kink

oh Stilgar is 100% going to creampie you every time unless you say otherwise. his pull out game? nonexistent. he can’t help himself, how can he be expected to pull out when you’re pleading him not to stop?

he’ll whisper dirty things in your ear. promising you that he’s going to put a child in you, swearing that he’ll fuck you every night until you’re knocked up. he’s obsessed tbh

he gets so pussy drunk, he’ll start rambling about how much he loves your pussy and how he can’t wait to watch your tits grow heavy with milk.

also a man that will watch his seed drip out of you, completely mesmerized.

note: ha ha ha wow i haven’t written anything in so long and i forget how humbling writing smut is. holy spirit activate :,)

gifs used are not mine, all credit goes to original posters. message me if you wish to have your work removed from my posts.

also.. me having no dune knowledge? yuUup. if you think it’s ooc and not canonical— congratulations, you have a better attention span than me. bc i got too stoned, watched both movies (processed None of it!!!!). don’t care lol, i saw the hotties and said ima fix it up for the girlies. i write smut, it’s inherently unserious.

[shakespearesex]

Write for Stilgar and Gurney, you cowards. My old men deserve attention 💖 Otherwise, I'm taking this matter into my own hands

[shakespearesex]

Hannibal Lecter X gn! Reader

Could be read as either platonic or romantic

Warning: self harm, The reader is kind of crazy. This story is short.

Do not use my post without permission, that is stealing

The office was steeped in shadow and refinement, much like the man that owned it. The office itself was bigger than your apartment. It was making you feel like a rat from a swage. The man in front of you was dressed in a suit while you sat there in your baggy jeans and hoodie.

You were sitting on the edge of the leather chair. your elbows resting on your shins as you fiddled your fingers. Your eyes were focused on them, trying to ignore the man who was looking at you like you were a gazelle in the Savanna and he was the lion. He was looking at you, watching you, assessing you.

“You seem particularly troubled today, [Y/N]” Dr. Lecter’s voice was velvet, the kind that wrapped around you before you could realize that it had coiled around you too tightly. The question itself made Anger fester inside of you. A bitter laugh bubbled from inside of you, you didn’t pick up your gaze from your fingers that twitched around nothing.

“Troubled” you echoed, your voice low and restrained. “that’s a nice way to put it”

“You’re angry” Hannibal observed. your shoulders went rigged. Your fingers curled to form a fist, your nails digging into your palm. And when you finally spoke up, you were gritting your teeth “I cannot stop seeing them…it’s like, it’s like I close my eyes and they are the only thing I see. My fingers are stained with their blood.”

you couldn’t see it but feel how Hannibal’s gaze sharpened. The leather crouch beneath him groaned as he leaned forward to you. “And who are them?”

The question made something in you snap. Your head shot up to glare at. Hannibal could see your eyes burn with something wild and raw. “Does it even matter? İt's mine! It’s my family’s, friends? I-i don’t even know anymore.” Your voice broke as you spit out the words that burned your tongue. “I feel it. The blood, clinging to my skin” you had to stop yourself from speaking so your voice wouldn’t crack.

A silence took over the room as you tried to regain your confidence to speak. The silence was being broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing. Your hand trembled and you averted your gaze back to the ground. Hannibal rose from his chair slowly, measured steps carrying him towards your distressed Body. You didn’t react, too far gone in the torrent of whatever had broken free inside you.

“[Y/N],” Hannibal said softly, his voice threading through the chaos like a needle through cloth. “you do not feel guilty because of your intrusive thoughts, you feel guilty because of your lack of guilt”

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes wide at the true assessment of his words. “It’s not normal” you choke back a sob.

Hannibal stood beside You now, his presence looming yet calm. “Normalcy is overrated,” he replied. “You do not need to feel guilty over your thoughts. instead of fearing them you need to use them.”

“Use them? Are you fucking encouraging me to murder people?” Your disbelief came out as a shout. Yes, that was what Hannibal was suggesting but he couldn’t tell that to your face.

“You told me you paint”

“I mean, yeah” you shrugged one of your shoulders, not understanding the reason for this assessment. “I want you to paint your thoughts [Y/N]. thoughts that are intrusive can be damaging to the brain, especially if you bottle it up.”

A grounding hand clamped your shoulder “you do not need to hide from this feeling [Y/N]. You must simply understand it”

——

That night you found yourself in the basement you used as an art studio. The studio was dark save for the single cheap lightbulb that emitted light that tired one’s eyes quickly. Its glow was harsh on the scattered canvases around the room. Your eyes were red because of lack of sleep, and that cheap light. You stood at the center of the room, shirtless. Sweat clinging to your skin. You were slightly shivering from the cold that creeped inside the room from upstairs.

Your chest rose and fell with each harsh breath you took, you felt like you just ran a marathon even though you haven’t moved for some time now. Before you stood a white canvas, empty, blank. Waiting for you to make the first move. If you could just raise your brush and paint, the painting itself would reveal itself but your finger only twitched from where they stood at your sides.

You glared at the canvas like it was insulting you, mocking you. And maybe it was mocking you. You could hear laughing ringing in your ears. The razor blade trembled in your hand as you held it over your palm. Your breathing was shallow, rapid, the rush of adrenaline drowning out the sound of reason in your mind. The first cut was shallow, a thin line of crimson welling up almost immediately. You hissed through your teeth, clenching your jaw against the sting.

And then you pressed your hand against the canvas.

The blood smeared in uneven streaks, but it was enough. Enough to start. With each uneven streak you could feel your shoulders relax. It was starting to feel like you could control your breathing again. Laughter bubbled in your chest as finally figures emerged from the chaos, piece by piece, as though it had always been waiting there, hidden in the canvas, waiting for you to find it and suddenly all that money you wasted on therapy stopped feeling like waste.

The room smelled of iron, the metallic tang of blood thick in the air. your head swam, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. The smell was addicting, the way blood contrasted against the canvas was addicting.

You used your fingers to shade the branches of the trees, your thumb to smudge the lines of the swing. But your blood was drying too quickly, so you pressed your palm against the blade again, deeper this time. A sharper hiss of pain, a deeper pool of red followed suit.

By the time you were finished, your hands were trembling, your vision blurred from exhaustion and blood loss. You slumped back into your chair, staring at the painting before you.

Your childhood home stared back at you. The trees that surround your house, the swing that your brother used to love. It all stared at you. You were waiting for the fear, because everytime you dreamed of this memory dread followed behind it.

But it never came. Instead your heart felt light with relief and a twisted sense of triumph.

[shakespearesex]

Johnny Silverhand X Reader

The cursed thoughts

The pictures is not mine. Do not share my story in any other platform, that is stealing.

Warnings: Both characters are naked but there isn’t any sex. Panic attack, kind of. Soft!Johnny. The gender of the reader is not mentioned. My first language isn’t English.

The window that hanged on the wall was foggy from the temperature of the shower. The hot water was hitting your shoulders, your head resting against the wall in front of you. Your head was reeling with thoughts, memories of your past clawing at the walls of your brain. Like a beast trying to escape and take over your life again. And you fight back, you fight back so you won’t fall to the rock bottom again, you fight back the tears that swelled in your eyes and clouded your vision.

Your first clenched and with a roar that came out from the deepest depths of your heart punch the tile wall. A sobbed ripped itself from your throat.

Everything stilled when you felt two muscled arms wrapped themselves around your waist, “what the fuck did the wall did to you?” Johnny asked with an under tone of mirth. His naked body was pressing against your back, his thumb drawing circles on your warm skin. “Johnny” his name came out of your lips like a whisper, almost inaudible from the sound of the running water.

“Hm?” he hummed as he lean to press a kiss against your shoulder. The feeling of those soft lips against your shoulder made a shiver ran down your spine. The tears were still running down your cheek but you felted more grounded now that you were in Johnny’s embrace. With a hand you wiped away your tears and turn towards him. He looked so handsome under the water. His black hair was now wet sticking to his face, his dark eyes looking into your soul with an understanding that no person ever did. He had a stupidly soft smirk on his face, waiting for you to come back from those hunting memories.

You lean for a kiss and he accepted it full heartedly. You felt your heart speed up, like it was the first time you kissed. His lips moved with yours and you melted against his embrace.

This is the first story, snippet (?) that I ever posted anywhere. Might delete it later.

[shakespearesex]

I just saw the new Lion king movie (it was great) and fuck I can’t believe I am fanning over a fucking Lion! Kiros was great, I loved his character so much. If I don’t see any fanfic of him I might make it myself.

[shakespearesex]

That is true (I just came back from watching it)

I am literally willing to bet all my money that a majority of the audience wanting to watch Mufasa are Fannibals.

[shakespearesex]

Aaron im not answering that.

[shakespearesex]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 5

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Teen (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 3,064 of 13,013

Start | Prev

AO3 Link

Despite his promises, the ambassador – who I've come to know as Humak Tigelaar, a distant cousin of the Arjiki chieftain – never leaves the palace to explore the Emerald City. This is not the case for me. With good behavior at dinner and pleading my case over breakfast, the Wizard grants me permission to go to the children's home with an escort from one of the Royal Palace guards. The guard I've been provided with, Bruno, is not as tall as the Wizard, but well-built with broad shoulders and curls of brown hair that stick out from under his officer's cap. It is in fashion for most of the Royal Palace guards to have a mustache, but he is clean-shaven and seems to hold no regard for the way others look at him. He also has no interest in looking at me either, instead preferring to scan the crowd as we walk through the streets of the Emerald City. I try following his eyes, but find nothing more dangerous than some children playing stickball in an alleyway. I wonder if it was the Wizard who picked him out or Glafly, given the way he is taking all of this so seriously.

It could have been the Wizard, I think. I expected him to spend his time in the study connected to his bedroom, but after breakfast, he disappeared to the bottom levels of the palace. Maybe if today goes well, I could ask if I could follow him around while he does his magic and work for the day. It would certainly be more interesting than snooping around all of the gilded objects that I've seen and not getting a chance to even use a feather duster to help out my friends. If today goes well, I'll ask him tomorrow, I promise myself.

We reach the children's home and I palm the ribbon that I had stashed in my coat pocket as Bruno opens the well-worn door for me. The inside of the home is warm, with a fire roaring in the hearth that sits opposite the outdated reception desk. A unionist sister sits there, making notes in a ledger quickly before she lifts her head to see the cause of the chilled draft. A smile warms her face as she recognizes me.

"Are we here to see Fileah?" she asks.

"Yes, Sister Margaret," I nod. "I'm sorry that I couldn't have come earlier. I was-" I look to Bruno who is making very careful note of everything around the room as if memorizing it or checking it for traps. "-unavailable."

Sister Margaret looks at Bruno and then back to me. "Is this your... fiance? We don't have him on the approved list yet, I'm afraid."

My eyes go wide at the suggestion that straight-laced and unsociable Bruno is romantically involved with me. For all of his attentiveness, he seems to not have heard the ridiculous suggestion.

"No...No!" My words aren't coming to me as I try to find a way to politely explain that the Mighty and Powerful Wizard of Oz had decided to keep me as his... Plaything? Personal maid? Why was he keeping me? If I couldn't figure it out, how was I supposed to explain it to Sister Margaret? I settle for another lie, unhappy to add again to the total of untruths that I need to keep straight. "He's our cousin... from out of town. Just signed on to the force."

Sister Margaret squints to get a better look at him, maybe to see if there is any familial connection in a cheekbone or jawline. Satisfied, she pulls out an index card from one of her desk drawers and asks me for his information as she fills it in neatly. Bruno seems unfazed by this whole process, taking great note of the ornaments that hang from the boughs stuffed in a great wicker basket in the corner. He flicks a red glittery one, and I think he’s trying to find a way to turn it into a weapon.

Once "Cousin" Bruno is duly noted, Sister Margaret takes us to the dining room. The children are having lunch and it doesn't take long to spot Fileah. She's a wisp of an 8-year-old girl, all limbs with a scrawny neck and a nose that pokes out over her lips making her look like a rabbit. I wonder if I looked like her when I was her age, and decide that I didn't, not at least with our parents providing for us. Looking at the trays of the children I see that today's menu consists of salt and pepper potatoes cooked until they look more like clumps than potatoes, half of a hunk of bread that could have been used for a sandwich had their neighbor not had the other half, and a ball of meat that is gray from being boiled for too long.

Fileah looks up from her disappointing lunch when a small girl next to her tugs on her sleeve to point me out. I don't know how many visitors the other children get, but I had never seen someone visiting at the same time I had ever been there. It makes sense, in a way. Fileah and I are either lucky or unlucky, depending on how you look at it: lucky in the sense that I was old enough to declare my emancipation when our parents had died and I could bring her things from the outside, unlucky in that we were separated and I couldn't support her or let her live with me at the palace. Today, I feel as if we are lucky, as if things might be different soon. She smiles as I approach. I take a seat across from her at the dining table. Bruno makes an assessment of the dining hall, and seeing that the tallest possible threat comes only to his waist, sits down next to me.

"How's my favorite little rabbit?" I ask.

Fileah smiles at the old nickname. Even though she's only 8, I can't remember if I gave it to her or if our mother did when she was born. "You've been gone for a long time," she says.

Even though I had the entire walk from the palace to figure out what to say, I never came up with an answer. No doubt Bruno would be listening too and any oversharing of information would be reported straight back to Glafly and eventually the Wizard. Maybe the Wizard really could read minds as so many of the staff had wondered and he wouldn’t even need to wait to hear it from Glafly. Regardless, I keep my oath of secrecy about just how human he is that I promised when I went into his service, even if I didn’t work officially as a maid anymore. "The staff is having a restructuring," I settle on.

Fileah pushes a small lump of boiled potato around in some brown sauce, not looking me in the eyes. "I was worried that you forgot me." I can hear the hurt in her voice.

"I could never forget you!" I say. "As a matter of fact, I got you a present."

Her eyes are suddenly bright, wide, and looking at me, and I try my best to memorize every ounce of joy on her face. I fish out the ribbon before I can lose myself in the worry of when I might see her next. It's an emerald green with a golden brocade of peacocks. When I had gone back to my room last night, I finally got around to reading the note that had been left on the vanity.

Enjoy the ribbons - O

It took a bit of figuring out, but eventually, I was able to open the top of the vanity to see hundreds of different ribbons in all shades of green and gold, perched on display in a case like colorful macarons. Some I had pulled out and gasped, gawking over them as they had been inlaid with diamonds or sapphires. The entire vanity of them must have cost more than I would ever make in my lifetime, more than likely double. I had picked the one with the peacocks on it because I remembered how much she had liked seeing them at the zoo when I took her a few years back. She had loved them so much that she promised me one day she would grow up to come back and take care of them.

Fileah gasps, and she is hesitant to take the ribbon from my hands. "It's so pretty," she says.

"Do you want me to tie it in your hair?" I ask. I get up and go around to the other side of the table, pulling her two braids to the back of her head. Before I leave, I'll make sure to weave it into them so none of the kids can steal it, but for right now, I want everyone to see her and the beautiful peacocks fully on display.

"Is that your boyfriend?" Fileah asks as I'm looping the ribbon.

"Fileah!" I exclaim. I look around to see if Sister Margaret is anywhere near before I say anything. "This is Bruno. He's one of the palace guards. Our Wizard sent him with me." I finish tying the ribbon and take my place again at the other side of the dining table. “And as far as you know, he is our cousin.”

"I asked if he was your boyfriend," Fileah says. She gives him a good once over, staring him down as she skewers her overcooked potato. When he meets her eye, she says, "Have you ever killed anyone?"

"Animal or human?" he asks.

I kick Bruno under the table, trying to get both of them to stop the violent topic. My head is practically spinning as I look around to make sure that nobody else is listening to their conversation. It probably won't be of much use. There are two boys and a girl who are intently listening into the interrogation, lunches long forgotten.

"Umm," Fileah says, eyes cast upwards as if the correct answer was stored somewhere in her brain. "Can I ask both?"

The bloodthirsty curiosity brings a smile to his face and he laughs. He laughs. I can't believe that my scrawny rabbit of a sister has gotten Mr. No-Nonsense to laugh. "13 animals, 1 human," he says, "but I didn't 'kill' them."

Fileah's nose scrunches. "Well, they're dead right?"

"Yes," Bruno says.

"So you killed them," she says.

Bruno blinks and sighs. I know what he means. It's not like he planned their murder or anything, but Fileah doesn't know that. Fileah hasn't figured out that he's just doing his job and that it's rude to ask someone questions like that.

"Did you kill the Winkies that were at the gate?" the boy next to Fileah asks. Both Bruno and I are confused about that.

"Winkies?" he asks.

"Ms. Amrose said that's why the house has been so cold," the boy continues. "She said the Winkies came and took all of the firewood back."

"That's not what she said, you idiot," Fileah says.

"Fileah!”I exclaim. “We don't call people names. Say you're sorry." The rude ways of the other children are rubbing off on her, and I wish more than anything at this moment that I had the money and a place to take her out of the orphanage, but I don't. It's bad to speak ill of the dead, but I can't help but hate my father for taking out that stupid loan for his business and using the family house as collateral. I might have been able to scrape by and make mortgage payments on it, but once the bank repossessed it, I was forced to look for room and board and a wage all in one place.

"But it's true," Fileah protests. "Ms. Amrose didn't say anything about the Winkies coming to take the wood. She said her brother went down to the gates and they wouldn't let them have the wood."

"Well, it's still not nice," I say. The home is noticeably colder now that they’ve mentioned it. I hadn't realized because I had managed to finagle some warmer servant’s clothes out of Emily and found an emerald fur-lined coat and muff in the trunk at the end of my bed. I pull the fur tighter, trying to banish the confusing thoughts of my mismatched wardrobe and who put them together. Today is about Fileah.

"Do you know when we'll get our wood back?" Fileah asks me.

"I don't know," I say.

"Ms. Amrose's brother got hurt," she says. "She hasn't been here so much because she's staying at home taking care of him. I hope he gets better soon. She gives us sweets when the sisters aren't looking."

That piques my interest. "Did she say how he got hurt?"

Fileah doesn't answer that. Her only reply is the way she looks at Bruno. I hadn’t noticed, but Bruno himself has lost any sort of cheer he may have had from answering the children’s silly questions. I fear that I am certain of what happened to Ms. Amrose's brother, and certain that Bruno has had something to do with it.

"I think it's time to go," Bruno says. "I'm sure his Ozness will be missing you."

I smile, trying to feign ignorance. "Bruno, don't be silly, we just got here."

Fileah doesn't say anything, but she's still looking at Bruno. I wonder if she's afraid that he will hurt her too.

"Let's go," Bruno says. I don't fight him as he helps me up by my elbow, but do turn to him quickly before he can escort me out.

"I still need to redo her ribbon," I whisper.

"You can do that or you can help yourself and her by leaving," he says.

I bite my tongue, considering my choices, but there really aren't any, not at least when it comes to Fileah. I tell her goodbye and then promise her I'll be back before Lurlinemas as Bruno escorts me out of the dining hall.

"You'd really harm a child?" I ask as I sign us both out, thankful that Sister Margaret isn’t at her desk. He doesn't answer that.

When we get out on the front steps, he says, "Are you hungry?"

"I want to go back to the palace," I reply.

"There's a bakery just around the corner here," he says, pulling my elbow. Clearly, I'm not getting a say in this.

We pass shops filled with painted wooden toys, bright red and gold flowers, and all other trappings that ring out the presence of Lurlinemas. I consider asking Bruno to stop at the toy store, wanting to look for a proper present for my sister, or at least to have an eyewitness before he took me off to some back alley to kill me. Instead, I see our reflections in the window and am struck by the memory of being hauled off by the palace guard at the night market. At least Bruno hasn't got my hand bolted to my spine. Still, I get the sense that he wouldn't listen to any pleas for window shopping.

The bakery that he brings us to looks like someone had jammed it in between its taller bank and cobbler neighbors. It’s at least 10 feet shorter than them, and only about 10 feet wide brick to brick. It's painted a sickly green but makes up for the lack of curb appeal in the warm scents of yeast and saffron that waft from the front door to the cobblestones we're stepping off of. Inside, he orders us two saffron buns – the baker gives him them for free on some account of familiarity that I don't catch – and sets us down at the bistro table that's been shoved in the corner.

"Are you trying to take me on a date or something?" I ask. I’m shocked that I’m not dead yet, instead holding a sweet bun. The bun is so warm that if it weren't for my gloves, I'm sure it would be burning my hands. The yeasty and fragrant steam coming from it seems to be a warning.

"You need to tell your sister to forget what she heard," he says. He doesn't even bother pretending to eat his bun, the little white plate with the steaming treat on top sitting in the middle of the table.

"What? About Ms. Amrose's brother?" I ask.

"What happened at the gates... No one is supposed to know about that," he says lowly.

"Why are you telling me then?" I ask.

Bruno pulls the plate closer to him, and I think for a second he might actually want to eat the bun. "I’ve got family too. A little brother. I don't want her to get hurt or nothing," he says.

"Who would hurt Fileah?!" I say, trying to keep quiet despite my rising voice. "She's just a little girl."

"I've seen the Gale Force take people her age before. They were spies, but still..." He pushes the plate away again as if the subject has ruined his appetite.

"What happened at the gate?" I ask. I feel like I know, but still, I want to hear it from him.

"You'd do best to forget it," Bruno says. He pulls out his pocketwatch, checking the time.

"It was a riot, wasn't it?" I ask.

Bruno's eyes snap up to meet mine and the jade within them is burning. "She's just a girl! Don't go asking stupid questions that'll get you both killed." He strokes his non-existent mustache as if it would stop the harsh tone in his voice. "I'm risking my own job taking you here. If it were Leo... Just..." he pushes up from the cramped bistro table, the metal chair ringing out as it scrapes along the tile. "Come on. I'm supposed to have you back by two."

I go to stuff the saffron bun in my pocket, hoping to have it later, but he stops me, putting the bun back on the little white plate.

"Don't," he says. "Don't let anyone know you were here. Just make sure your sister stops, okay?"

And so we leave the bakery: the bakery that I don't know about and have never visited.

[shakespearesex]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 4

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Teen (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 2,559 of 9,949

Start | Prev

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Making myself useful after Emily locks me into the Wizard's apartment proves to be useless. Everything has already been done for the day, all the sheets changed, the floors mopped, and even the baseboards dusted. I look to see if I can possibly organize anything else. All of his drawers and closets are meticulously kept, shirts stiffly starched and socks folded into soft green squares. The comb and brush set are still on the dresser, so I straighten them to be perpendicular to the edge of it. I sigh as I look around the room, finding nothing else to even be fussed over.

I have only ever been in a select few rooms of the apartments – mostly his bedroom and the dining room – and always to complete the same chores every day. There were other people above me in rank who had more access to the full apartment, but I was always so busy every day and so eager to get all of my scrubbing and folding done that I never bothered to seek out what had been off-limits to me. It already unnerved me touching the sheets he slept on, so why would I want to go snooping around? He doesn’t quite frighten me as much as he used to, I think.

The wizard's bedroom has other doors besides the one that Emily had brought me through. To the north, there is the hallway that leads to the servants' stairs and the dining room. Directly attached to the bedroom is a bathroom and another door that I have never opened. I always assumed that it was extra storage space for out-of-season clothes.

When I test the handle for this strange door, I can't help but let out a quiet gasp. It’s a study that is about as big as the bedroom I had originally been locked in, but with a ceiling that is pulled so far up into a spire that I cannot see where the chain starts for the sharp gold geometric chandelier. What the chandelier does illuminate are high walls lined with books. A mahogany desk stands to my right, piled high with papers and more books. I shut the door behind me to get a good look at this new and wonderous place, not wanting the Wizard to sneak up on me.

I roll my eyes thinking about how slinking about like a snake and scaring maids on his staff seemed to be his preferred method of arrival. “Maid”. There is a sadness that I feel as if a chip is carved out of me, the splinter of wood that could be labeled as "maid". I hadn't done anything today to help earn my keep here, and the memory of Emily dirty and sore from a day's work had only deepened this feeling of being lost. The best I could offer up in equal was that my legs and everywhere else still stung slightly from the wax strips that they had ripped off of me. I go to the disorganized papers and books on the desk, glad to have found at least some distraction.

There are red leather-bound account books and papers that have been folded in thirds. Looking around the room, I find no home for them, no filing system readily apparent. I open the drawers and find nowhere to put them in the desk either, just cold and sharp green pens, an inkpot, sealing wax, and paper. What I don't expect to find is a golden locket. I hold the small trinket in the palm of my hand, letting my skin warm the cold metal. Inside, there are incredibly realistic paintings of a woman and a man, washed of any colors. I stare at it trying to place why they look familiar when I hear a door opening.

"They are not due for payment for another 50 days," the Wizard says.

I quickly shut the locket, dropping it back in the drawer and shutting it closed, just in time for him to come through the door. Esmet and a man in a sharp suit that was too short in the waistcoat with his satin top hat in hand are close behind. I flatten myself against the wall of books behind the desk but realize I stick out like a sore thumb with my overexposed skin in the provocative dress. Despite this, none of them seem to pay me any attention, the Wizard sitting down at the desk, shuffling through papers, the two other men taking seats in emerald leather chairs that are dimpled with golden buttons.

"Sir," the man in the suit says, "you have to understand, the Emerald City has been late on their payments for lumber for the past three quarters."

"This… this is not part of the agreement," he says. There is a tone of irritation in his voice that makes me want to run for the door and back into the safety of the boring and already kempt rooms. "Matter of fact, there was no agreement. What more do they need besides money? It gets there when it gets there. I can't help it if the damned country is covered in mountains."

"Undoubtedly, the city would pay them, sir," the strange man says, tugging down his waistcoat, "but as ambassador, I am telling you that the chieftain has ordered no shipments to enter the Emerald City unless payment is made upon arrival."

"This shouldn't be a problem," Esmet says, shifting in his chair. "The Emerald City has more than enough money. We could pay for the shipment fifty times over if they wanted it."

"Oh, we have more than enough money," the Wizard says, waving off the notion. "It just seems to me that I am being strong-armed at my own front door. I don't like being strong-armed at my own front door, do you Mr. Ambassador?"

The man's words tumble out as if they had tied themselves into knots in his mouth. His hands are busy mangling the brim of his hat: flattening it, curling it back up, outright folding it in toward the lining.

The Wizard rises, hands gripping the edge of his desk as he stares the ambassador in the eye. He laughs, and it’s the unnerving one that is a warning before the pounce from the grass. "If I didn't know any better, this distrust... it's like... like the warning sign of a rebellion. It would be an overture to war."

"The chieftain has no want for war, sir," the man laughs nervously. Perhaps he was always sweating, but the chandelier hanging directly over him has illuminated the top of his head that only offers a barren combover in protection. He bears a striking resemblance to an ice sculpture in the market square under the hot sun.

"Oh... Oh no, of course not," the Wizard says. "No, that would be foolish, wouldn't it?" There is that smile on his face, the same one from last night that he had aimed at me. I feel suddenly naked again and look down to see my hands gripping fistfuls of my tulle skirt so tight that I could see the bones of my knuckles. Quickly, I drop the fabric, worrying about damaging it, only to find that my hands have been using it to steady a shake that coursed through them.

"Maybe it would be best if I could go back to the chieftain and explain how things look?" the man said. "We have no want for war."

The Wizard let go of the desk, stalking over to where I stood against the wall. I know the others must hear how my heart pounds against my bare breast out of the fear that somehow he will involve me in this awful conflict. My brain concocts a horrible image of me bound and gagged in exchange for the lumber for the city, shipped off on the back of some dirty horse, never to see my sister again. Instead of seizing me, he winds a finger through a tendril of hair that had come loose from my braids. I force myself to look up at him, hoping that if he can see my eyes he might remember that I am human and spare me.

"I think that would be best," he says, not taking his eyes off of me. Here in the intimacy of our own shadows, his eyes have become so dark and deep that they are almost black. Any fear that had existed moments ago has now vanished as I let myself surrender whatever truths he might supernaturally find in my soul through my own eyes. "But we don't need to do that when we can send a letter by flight." He slowly unwinds his finger from the strand until it kisses the skin of my temple. When he turns from me to address the two men, I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. There is such a storm of emotions within me that I couldn't merely pick one, no more than one could stand outside and pick a singular raindrop in a hurricane. All I know is that I want his eyes back on me.

"You'll be our special guest, Mr. Ambassador," he says. "Please, please, take advantage of our wonderful city. There's so much to do that you could never see all of it." He pulls a golden cord that I hadn't noticed in the corner of the room. The door the Wizard had come through opens and the man I had met last night, the head officer, walks in. "Glafly, would you please take care of our dear ambassador here? He'll be needing a room and help getting around the city. It's been so long since he's visited us and we wouldn't want him getting lost." The way he says "lost" is aimed with precision at Glafly.

Glafly nods, stepping closer to the ambassador's chair. The ambassador rises, the brim of his top hat now fully mangled out of shape. He never takes his nervous eyes off the Wizard but follows after Glafly. The Wizard repays him in kind, watching them leave until the door closes. When it does, he opens the top drawer of his desk and withdraws a gilded green pen, inkpot, and piece of paper. He scrawls something quickly on it and doesn't wait for the ink to dry before creasing it in half. Holding the paper between his middle and index fingers, he says "Esmet, get this to the secretaries, quickly. I want this delivered as soon as possible."

Esmet takes the paper with a quick bow. "Yes, Your Wonderfulness." He leaves through the door that they came in.

Standing alone in the room with him, the silence is unbearable. I ask him, "Is he a prisoner?"

He turns to look at me. "Do you think he is?" he asks.

I pull myself off of the bookshelf, approaching the desk. "He can't leave the city, can he?"

The Wizard offers me the crook of his elbow, and I take it. My heart is leaping trying not to think too much about the similarities between the ambassador's situation and mine. He walks with me to the door that leads back to his bedroom. "I want you to attend dinner tonight with the ambassador. I really think you could… liven up his depressed presence."

"I," I stutter, "I have chores to do." It's a poor excuse given the spotless state of the apartment.

He doesn't say anything, rather humming some strange tune. I think that maybe it sounds like some Lurlinemas carol that I may have sung a long time ago, off-key in the voice of a child, but the lyrics never click. I look up at him – sweet Oz is he tall, I barely come up to his shoulders, my eyes level with his golden eye tie tack – and he seems lost in some pleasant thought as he guides me into the bedroom.

"Your Wonderfulness?" I ask.

He opens the jeweled box on the dresser, the one with the beetles on it, and produces a golden hair comb decorated with pointed emeralds fashioned into delicate flowers. "There is more to be done than just scrubbing floors and washing windows," he says leaning against the dresser. With how tall he is, it's more like sitting. He holds the comb in his lap, a gentle smirk on his face. "Do you know your place?"

My place could be anywhere, but I wish it was next to my sister. It's been more than a week since I last saw her, and I worry that she thinks that I have forgotten her. My place had been sharing a bed with Emily only yesterday. And yet today, in the study... When he stood over me, looking me fully in the eyes... Didn't I want that to be my place too? I pick at the fine tulle of my skirt because the safest thing that I can think to say is what I answer. "No."

He pushes off the dresser, watching me with those dark eyes as he approaches. I watch as the shadows on his face flicker in the light of the fireplace. Holding the golden comb, he removes the pins from my braids and I can hear them carelessly dropping to the floor with soft pings. He unwinds the locks of hair from the ribbon and drops the piece of satin as well, too focused on smoothing out the now loose strands. The comb is cold as he drags the fine metal tines against the side of my scalp, gathering up just enough hair before turning the comb back over, and fastening the hair away from my face.

"Do you know my place?" he asks lowly, admiring his handiwork. He grabs the mirror off the dresser, holding it up to me.

"Why was the ambassador allowed to see you?" I ask, casting my eyes to the floor. I can’t tell if it’s my own promiscuous image or his eyes that I’m avoiding.

He lowers the mirror, tracing the raised golden design on the back of it. "I don't tell everyone who I am. He thinks I'm just some statesman deputized for the Great and Mighty Oz."

"Most people don't know who you are," I say. He stops his tracing of the design, raising his eyes to me.

"The most well-known man in Oz, unknown? You really think so?" he asks.

I take the mirror from his hands, trying to get a good look at myself in the dying sunlight. Dinner would probably be served soon, and one shouldn't refuse an invitation from the master of the house. My reflection is dim, but I can see how my brows have been reshaped at the hands of the stylists, the way my skin seems to glow as if they had dusted off the top layer like an old bookshelf. All thanks to him. "Is this dress suitable for dinner?" I ask.

"Do you want to change?" he asks, cocking his head to the side.

"Not unless you want me to," I say.

He takes the mirror from me, sets it back down, and offers me his arm again. "Maybe later," he says. I hook my arm in his and his deep hum picks up the familiar tune from earlier as we walk down to the dining hall.

[shakespearesex]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 3

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Teen (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 2,306 of 7,390

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Being dealt with consists of yanking me from my bed, having my nightstand ransacked, and being plucked like a chicken down at the most expensive salon in Oz. After thorough torment and torture via wax strips, I get tossed into a room that I have never seen before but was on the same level as the Wizard's apartments. The better to keep an eye on me, I think.

The room is small but fit for perhaps a noblewoman staying a night or two at the palace: plenty fanciful with sage-papered walls but bare enough to discourage overstaying one's welcome. It consists of a small fireplace, a grand wardrobe that almost reaches the ceiling, a brass bed that is twice the width of my old one, and a vanity with a little note on top. I ignore the note, heading for the wardrobe. It's well past noon, and I'm sure there are still chores to be done. As much fun as this little excursion has been, I would like to eat dinner tonight.

The wardrobe pours out a scent of fresh citrus and I have to turn my head as my eyes and lips pucker. As the burst of cleanliness subsides, I go through the wardrobe. There is an embroidered green floor-length dress, some clothes that are suited for summers that are too hot, and some risque lingerie that makes me slam the doors closed with a wooden clatter. This room was meant for a noble lady, but I didn't think that they would have stuck me into one that was already occupied. Obviously, there has been a mistake.

When they had stuffed me in here, they hadn't given me any instructions and refused to answer any of my questions. The only answer I was able to get out of them was “I am not able to share that with you”. I open the door to see if I can find some help and am met with two palace guards who bark some threats that cause me to stumble back into the room. I shut the door again. There's a thick metallic slotting, and when I go to try the handle, it doesn't budge, instead rattling in futility.

My lip curls and I bear my teeth. I have to fight the urge to slam my balled-up fists on the door and scream obscenities, but I know they'd probably just come in and hit me over the head with the end of one of their swords or do something worse to get me to shut up. The Royal Palace guards were not exactly known for their kindness and compassion. I add “intelligence” to their not-list for refusing to even listen to the fact that I am occupying someone else's room.

Making a closer assessment of the space, I look for any potential doors that might have been missed. There is a bathroom door with a peacock carved into it, but nothing else of note. The only other exit is a window. I approach the paned glass, flipping the latch, and am met with a dizzying drop. From up here, the stretched-out cotton balls that make up the clouds wrap around the jeweled spirals of the royal palace like heavenly moss.

"It's a long way down."

I yelp, my palms slipping from the window sill. The fear cuts up through me with the air as I fall, standing all of my hairs straight up. I'm jerked back and I tumble to the floor, scrambling back to the wardrobe as I try to catch my breath. The Wizard is there, standing in front of the window with a barely concealed smile on his face and a glint of amusement in his eyes. I want to scream as anger rips through me. It's not right to feel that way towards our Wonderful ruler, but I can't see what he finds funny about the fact that I almost just died. All I'm able to get out is a strangled cry that sounds nowhere near close to "thank you".

"Were you trying to get some fresh air?" he says, offering me a hand.

I try to still my face as I put my trembling hand in his. "I'm... I'm in the wrong room," I say.

"You were almost on the ground," he says, pulling me to my feet. I find myself way too close to him, too aware of the way the cotton of his shirt is rising and falling with each breath. My brush with death is causing me to lose my head because – even though I know he is all-powerful and a blessing to us all – I feel like the person standing before me is a normal man with a beating heart just like the rest of us lowly citizens of Oz.

I clear my throat, trying to get my voice back to normal. "I was trying to find a way out."

The Wizard laughs at this, deeply and heartily. Despite my trembling, I can't help but let out my own breathy laugh too. It was rather silly to think about escaping out of a window that was closer to the sun than the ground. My hands and arms are slowly getting some of their warmth back in them, only moments ago having felt so numb. I can't help but feel thankful that I can share this laugh with him, and that I am still alive.

Whether from the adrenaline or all of the laughing, my stomach grumbles, reminding me of the pressing issue that is earning my dinner. I'm breathless, but I tell him that I'm in the wrong room, again.

"What?" he says. "Is there something wrong with your room? I had it redecorated." He goes to the wardrobe, smoothing a hand over the glossy oak finish of the doors. "Used to be all cobwebs and dust in here." He swipes at the air as if to bring down one of these supposed cobwebs.

"Your Wonderfulness," I start, "There are some lady's clothes in here. I am sorry to say that I went through them, but I-"

"Did you think that you would find something good to steal?" he says.

My cheeks heat red at the reminder of yesterday. I throw open the wardrobe doors to show him the clothes that someone had obviously left here during their last summer. "See for yourself," I huff.

Those amber eyes lock onto mine, a warning about my tone, but they quickly land on the dresses as he swipes the hangers along the rod. "I don't see anything out of place."

"These are not my clothes," I protest. "How am I supposed to go about cleaning?"

His "Ah" is almost inaudible as he fishes all the way back into the wardrobe and pulls out the sea-green gossamer dress. It looks ridiculous, with great puffs of tulle across the breast and shoulders, the skirt clearly meant for summertime the way I can see through it. I snatch it from him and shove it back into the closet.

"That is someone else's!" I say, feeling guilty that we are still going through the poor woman's clothes.

"No," he says, "that is the price for stealing."

I scrunch my brow together, utterly confused. I did not steal any of the garments. I even showed them to him! They were all here, 100 percent accounted for, and they could be shipped back home to whatever unfortunate countess had left them here and was probably not missing them. And what did I care what they cost?

The recognition on my face as the wheels turn in my head turns his benevolent features into a hellish delight, a grin that seems too sharp, the way he stands a little too comfortably. He takes the dress back out and puts the hanger into my hand. "I almost thought I was going to have to beat some sense into you," he says.

There is a knock at the door. I shove the see-through dress back into the closet just in time for the guards to open the door. It’s Emily on the other side of the threshold.

"Ah, yes!" he says. "Come, come in!" He pushes past me to usher in the unsure girl. I can see that there are charcoal stains on her apron from today's work, her palms ruddy and cracked with a dried trickle of blood creeping up her wrist. My stomach twists in a knot, wondering if I might be able to take the window exit after all. Here I was complaining about everything, but hadn't I been excused from the hard work of washing the floor and changing sheets? Hadn't I been getting primped and preened like a fanciful cockatoo in the finest salon in Oz? Emily seems to have the same idea, her mouth set in a hard line that tells me she is not happy about having to pick up my slack.

"I got you your little friend to help out," he beams, pushing her forward. "Not with your work, of course, but for dressing." He goes back to the closet and pulls out the offensive dress for what seems like the billionth time today. When he's not looking, I think, I'm going to burn it. He hands the wisp of a garment to Emily.

"Our friend here is confused," he tells Emily, "she had a little run-in with the window. Just make sure that she gets dressed. When you're done, set some wood on the hearth for a fire for later."

Emily's face scrunched up at the last part, "Your Wonderfulness, I'm afraid I can’t do that. Receiving has put a limit on firewood for the whole palace. They said something about a shortage? I'm not sure."

His eyes narrow and he knits his brow. He says, "Just get her dressed and bring her to my room when you're done." He leaves the room, checking his pocket watch as he steps out the door.

When the door shuts, any politeness Emily might have had leaves her features. She tosses the dress onto the bed, looking for a zipper. "So how'd you do it?" she bites.

"What?" I ask.

"Did you sleep with him?"

The suggestion knocks the wind out of me and I can't help but scoff for breath.

"Is he any good in bed?" she asks.

"That is our Wizard you are talking about!" I protest in a whisper, afraid that he will hear us if I speak any louder. "I did not sleep with him. I was at the market with you and then-" I stop myself, not wanting to admit that I got arrested for stealing. That would surely go over well with her that somehow I got all of this for trying to shoplift. "and then I ended up here, okay? I don't know."

Emily finds the zipper and slides it down, taking the dress off the hanger. She comes over to me and sneers. "Come on, off with it. Or are you too lazy to undress yourself too?"

I hesitate, but the need to prove that I'm not some layabout wins over any shame I might have at her seeing me naked; we had shared a bed after all and she had seen me dress in the common room before. I pull off the simple but warm shift they had given me at the salon, and she slips the dress over my head. I have to stop myself from running my hands over the airy ruffles and puffs that cover my chest and shoulders. The fabric was softer than any of the sheets I'd ever put on the Wizard's bed, and so light that I wondered if it was woven from the room’s old cobwebs.

"I saw you getting hauled off yesterday. When I came back you were in bed. What happened?" Emily asks again.

"I can't say," I lie. "They told me it was a secret." No, that's not true either. But I can hear his wails so far removed from this little and polite room. The wails of the boy that Emily had pranked and bullied and set up and framed because he was good at his job. I don't know why she did it. We all got paid the same, but if I had to guess, I'd say that she was afraid that he was going to make her look bad. "I don't want to be here," I add as an afterthought.

"Yeah, right," she says, zipping the dress up. I yelp as the zipper pinches a bit of skin on my side. If my arms weren't turning into gooseflesh from the cold, they were now.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" I almost genuinely want to know. Maybe she had some ideas that could get me out of this dress and room, and back into the comfort of my own clothes and our shared bed.

"Try throwing yourself out the window again," she says, hanging the hanger back up. "At least you won't have to worry about anything after you go splat. Try to aim for the officer's balcony. I don't want to be called to scrape up your puffy remains." She flicks a puff on my shoulder to emphasize her point.

I slam the door to the wardrobe and she locks eyes with me. She walks to the door in silence, never breaking eye contact, and quickly knocks on it. "You're not the first dummy to try and sleep her way to head maid," she says. The door opens. "Come on, let's go. I need to take you to his room." I follow after her, the gown doing nothing to protect me from the cold hallways of the palace. "Plus, that dress is offensive to the eyes. I don’t want to look at it any longer than I have to."

[shakespearesex]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 2

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Teen (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 2,899 of 5,084 Link to Chapter 1

AO3 Link

The Markets of Oz are normally packed during the daytime, ladies coming and going to get groceries and maybe a new dress or two, but they are flooded during the night markets of Lurlinemas. If you have the chance to look without getting swallowed in the waves of the crowd, you can see green lights strung from brick building to brick building (the bricks painted green for lack of renovation funds), newly built stalls in the main square that sold roasted quail for a quarter, and a great Spruce that had been brought in from Winkie Land, its top cresting just past the meager buildings that boxed in the square. Emily tugs me along as I admire the great golden star that was perched atop it, emeralds chiseled into the shape of snowflakes adorning each tip.

"If we move any slower they're going to run out of hot chocolate," she says, pulling me by my elbow.

The hot chocolate in the night market is one of a kind, spiced with warm cinnamon and sweetened to the point that it hurts your teeth. If I could have it year-round, I think I would like that very much, even if I did eventually get sick of it. I follow after her in our immediate quest, trying to shoulder oblivious men and women out of the way.

"How many presents do you need to get?" I ask as we get in line for the cocoa.

Emily pulls her green-gloved hands out of her pocket, silently ticking off her checklist on her fingers. "Six," she says.

I try not to drop my jaw at the idea of such wastefulness. I'm not sure there are six people that I could call friends, much less that I would be willing to spend my wages on for silly presents. In truth, there was one, but she would chastise me if I tried to get her anything. Still, I couldn't help but wish for something to get her.

We order our hot chocolate and sip it as we stroll through the sea, dipping and dodging any particularly rude costume choices. We had stuck to our uniforms, hiding them under the woolen pine-colored peacoats that were standard issue for when we had to lend an extra hand in shoveling off any balconies that got covered in snow during the wintertime. There was no option for us to have extra extra wide-brimmed hats or wired puffy sleeves that were the size of small dogs. Even if we had the option, I don't think that I would have done it on a regular market day, much less in the nights leading up to Lurlinemas.

Emily stops at an ornament seller and takes her time browsing the brilliant sun catchers and rhinestone-encrusted baubles. The glass and “sodering” (I’m sure it’s silver-colored glue) look far too flimsy, so I tell her I'm going to the next booth to look at ribbons and laces. The price of laces haven't gotten any better (in fact they had gone up by 6 cents) but I look at them anyway.

Most clothing could be mended, but there was only so much to be done about laces as they became more and more unraveled. If you had a friend in the mailroom, you could persuade them to let you borrow some rubber cement to stick the frays back together. If you didn't, you had to dip the tips of your laces in the wax of your candle at night. The wax didn't last nearly as long as the cement, usually cracking off within a day or two. I wasn’t friendly with anyone in the mail room, so I had slowly been shortening and dipping my laces until they just barely tied in a regular knot.

My eyes flicked over the shades of olive and forest and moss, until they had reached the box of ribbons. There is a skip in my heart as I remember how the Wizard had tied the ribbon in my hair just days ago. If I close my eyes, I can feel his hands guiding the ribbon up from the nape of my neck and the warmth that radiated from them as he tied the bow in place. If it is true or not, in my mind he has a smile when he looks at me after. I wonder if these ribbons would make him smile like the one I still have in my hair, if they would make him...

I have to look away from the ribbons for a brief moment. The thoughts I had of him since that day have not been pure and kind. They are selfish. I know that they will lead me down a path of trouble if I linger on them. I have my sister to think about and it would not do if I were to lose my job at the palace. I could not save her from the children's home, but they still let me visit her and send her things. I don't send her much, most of it disappears within a few days, but I bring her sweets if I have time to swing by the bakery after I am no longer needed for the day.

Looking back at the ribbons, I can't help but wish I could get one for her. I want her to feel as pretty as I did that day in the Wizard's bedroom. The kids would have a harder time taking the ribbon from her if I braided it into her hair, away from their jealous hands. My eyes flick up to the price card that is held in a coily golden wire stand. 200 cents! It's more than double the price of the laces.

I bite my lip, but my mind is already made up. I look at the shop lady, but she has her back turned attending to the till and adding pennies to it from a green paper sleeve. I snatch a pistachio-colored satin ribbon and shove it into the pocket of my peacoat. Quickly, I slip back out into the crowd of people, heading back to Emily in the ornament booth.

I'm jerked back, my forearm locked in an iron grip as it is hoisted high, so high above my head that I'm afraid my shoulder will dislocate.

"Hey!" I shout.

"There is zero tolerance for stealing in the Emerald City," The man says. I scrape my tiptoes against the ground to get a better look at him and realize that I've been detained by one of the Emerald City's Royal Guards. The green coat with gold trim and accents is unmistakable, accompanied by a sharp green officer's cap.

"I didn't steal," I lie.

He fishes into my coat pocket and pulls out the ribbon that I had stashed in there. "Is that so?" he says. My shoulder burns as he drags me back to the lace and ribbon booth, chucking the spooled-up ribbon back to the shop lady. "Sorry about that, Hazel. Street rat."

I can't help it as the words come flying out of my mouth, “I am not a street rat! I work at the palace!"

"Good," he says. "Then I know where to take you. Lets me get off my shift earlier at least."

He lowers my arm, only to twist it up behind my back, his other gloved hand grabbing hold of the collar of my coat. I shout at Emily, trying to fight against him as he marches us past the ornament booth, but I'm not sure she heard me. She has a confused look on her face as I'm dragged off, but she doesn't do anything to interfere. We may share a bed in this cold weather, but she's never been the type to stick her neck out for anyone, no matter how big or small the injustice. I wouldn't expect her to start with me.

By the time we get to the palace the hand behind my back is numb from the position and the cold air. The shame and fight has long since left my body, my mind trying to focus on how I will provide for my sister and me, or even if I will be allowed to see her again. Do they let criminals into the children's home? Would they even let me stay in the Emerald City? I try to remember what happened to criminals that were detained in the palace. There had been a boy in the kitchen who had been caught with a whole ham hock in his bag when the kitchen staff was closing up one night this past summer. It had been such a scandal -- it was all the staff could talk about for two whole weeks straight -- but in the end, I could not remember what had become of him, only his original crime that had been passed on by those who had been in the kitchen when the joint had been discovered.

We don't go through the main doors, neither the servant's entrance, but rather a side door that I had never seen before. It must have been for guard use only. They crawl the castle like an infestation of ants, so it only seems natural that they, like ants, would have cracks and crevices to aid their coming and going. It's dark, but soon I see that we are in the main entryway. If I can remember correctly, the guards' barracks and offices occupy the left wing from the audience room (convenience for removing unruly guests from the days of King Pastoria, I suppose). Most in the Wizard's personal service have no reason to go there.

The Wizard. There's a sort of heavy disappointment that sits like an oversized and cold jewel on my chest, deep beneath the layers of wool and scarves and uniform. It's not the disappointment that a child might feel under the disapproving eye of a parent, no. It is something entirely unfamiliar: an anger at myself that I might never see him again, that my last impression on him will be one of a thief. But wasn't that what I was? I had stolen the ribbon, no intention of paying.

The guard marches me up through the darkened emerald halls, passing the large pillars, the walls carved with their sharp geometric designs. I take in the sight of all of it knowing that it will be my last time seeing any of it. We're crossing the audience room, the heart of the entire palace, and nearly to the other side when I see him.

He's in a deep green almost black suit. The lapels of the jacket are peaked giving him the appearance of being even taller than he already is. He's talking to a stocky man, at least two heads shorter than him and twice as wide, wearing the uniform of the palace guards with a few additional golden cords strung over his chest that my jailer doesn't have.

I try walking faster, dragging the guard who had my arm pinned behind my back. I don't want him to see me like this. Better to just have all of my stuff gathered and thrown out the back door with me than to disgrace myself even further.

"Uh…Guard," a voice calls. I know it's his. I hate that I know that it's his.

My captor stops in his tracks, spinning us around to address the two men. "Captain," he says, giving a nod to the shorter man.

The Wizard has a confused if not irritated look on his face. I can tell that I've made him upset. How poorly must this reflect on the palace if members of his staff are getting arrested in the street? He says, "Are you going somewhere?"

The guard looks to the stocky man who gives him a subtle nod of the head. "Street rat," my captor says. "I caught her stealing in the market. I'm taking her to booking and calling the head of staff for the palace. She said she works here."

"Well, yeah," the Wizard says. "I can see that. Anyone can see that." He approaches me and pinches the thick wool of one of my coat lapels in between his thumb and forefinger. I try not to look too hard at the gold ring on his thumb as he drags it back and forth lazily against the material, stroking it as if to assess the warmth of the garment. "She's wearing a palace coat. Initials on it and everything."

My captor seems tongue-tied by this, I can hear his mouth open, a gasp for air as if to say something but nothing comes out. I dare to look up and see that the Wizard has his eyes locked on him. The way he's looking at him with those amber eyes reminds me of grade school, when we learned about the flora and fauna of Oz in biology. When talking of tigers, our teacher had told us that if you could see their eyes through the grass it was already too late. You had been stalked for hours before even noticing and they never got close enough for you to notice until you couldn't get away even if you tried. Foolishly, he tries, saying, "I need to take her to booking. She is a stain on the image of the palace."

The wizard drops my lapel and walks back to the officer that is now resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. It makes me nervous, but I'm not sure for who. Would they execute me right here in the audience chamber? I wouldn't be the first. The Wizard bends down and whispers something to the officer. I watch his eyes tick back and forth as he processes the secret.

"Guard," the officer says, "Leave her to me. I am sure you are wanted back in the square. Where there is one thief there is sure to be more."

I can't see his face, but I know that my captor is annoyed. He'd been hoping to clock out early and now he had to walk all the way back down to the market square. That brings a smile to my face as I hear the hesitant click of his boots and feel all the blood start rushing back into my arm as he lets me go.

We stand there, the three of us, until we hear the loud echo of the door shutting. The short man salutes the Wizard and makes his exit. The smile drops from my face as I realize what little law and witnesses there were had just walked out of the room, leaving me alone with the tiger.

"Stealing?" he says, cocking his head to the side. Immediately, he sets to pacing around me.

"It was just a ribbon, Your Wonderfulness," I say. My shoes have become infinitely more interesting to me, noticing the way even the stitching of the leather to the soles was starting to fray near the toes.

He laughs and it is quiet and deep, sending a prickling from my shoulders down my spine. "Did you like the first one that much? You could have asked for another."

"It wasn't for me," I say.

I can feel him tug on the braids that wrap my head. I had woven the ribbon into them earlier today. There hadn't been a day where I hadn't worn his ribbon since I got it. It was risky, and eventually Emily or someone else would catch on, but I didn't want to leave it in my nightstand and come back to find it missing, pilfered by someone's sticky fingers. So I had woven it into my hair where no one could take it, where the Wizard was now tracing its crooked and dashed path against my scalp.

"You are a terrible liar, missy" he says. "What are we going to do with you?"

Let me go? Kick me out of the palace? In truth, I wanted things to just go back to the way they were, no ribbon, no staff suspicions, just me and my chores and the shared bed with Emily. My voice quavers as I feel his finger stray from the twisted path of the ribbon, wandering onto the pulse of my bare neck, stopping underneath the corner of my jaw. "I won't do it again," I choke out.

"Oh, I have no doubt of that," he says. "But you can't be trusted. To have a thief in my staff... well, it would just cause too many problems. First ribbons, next other things..." He completes his circle around me and I find myself facing him again.

"Are you going to kill me?" I ask.

He smiles, revealing to me a flash of hungry white teeth. Too late. He says, "Do you want me to?"

I shake my head, my lips stitched together in case any wrong words should fall from them.

"Such a fascinating creature," he says, perhaps to me or perhaps to himself. "I'll deal with you tomorrow. Why don't you go upstairs and get some rest? I have... things to arrange."

He leaves me there in the audience chamber, shaking. If you see them, it is too late. I am standing there, head still on my shoulders, and yet I know that I haven't escaped. If you see them, it is too late.

[shakespearesex]

Jeff Goldblum!Wizard: Have another drink my dark eyed beauty…

Me: …Oh? Oh…Wizard Of Oz X Witch!Reader Enemies to Lovers 2,000,000 Words rated E for Explicit? Is that what you said?

[shakespearesex]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl)

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Teen (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 2,185

AO3 Link

The chill fights to work its way through me as I dress quickly. Mint blouse, forest green skirt, and olive apron are donned and tightened before the chill can catch me. I curse Esmet, the head butler for not having gotten the heating fixed by now, the cold of the winter month creeping in and savaging the servants' quarters of the Royal Palace like a fatal disease. I'd be happy as soon as I got into the Wizard's quarters, busying about with the other green bees in keeping the apartments in tip shape. There were several old hearths that had remained there through renovations that could have roaring and crackling fires set to them if needed. Until recently, they had been used solely for decorations.

I strip off the socks that I wore to bed and replace them with a new clean pair that was thick and wooly, and of course dyed green. Emily is still sleeping under the thick duvet when I shake her awake.

"Up, up, sleepy head," I say.

Emily grumbles and pulls the duvet around her tighter now that I'm not under it. She had her own bed, but the staff had taken to sharing beds to provide enough comfort to fall asleep as the sun sank the temperature in the palace with it. I can't blame her for wanting to keep warm, but it was better to rip the bandage off and go start the fire than to wallow in the misery. I cross the shared bedroom to her small little cube of a nightstand and pull her uniform out, throwing it on her sleep-wrinkled face. She flinches, but I'm already lacing up my boots.

"You're going to miss breakfast like yesterday if you don't get up and do your chores," I say. That causes her to wake up. All staff were required to complete their basic morning chores if they wanted to be fed. Emily had overslept yesterday and hadn't seen food until lunch.

I leave Emily to it, not wanting to miss out on my own breakfast. Quickly, I take the old wooden stairs up the servants' way to the Wizard's apartments. They hadn't seen fit to replace those with green marble yet, so they remained creaking from their decades of use. Esmet had already set the first fire in the hearth nearby the door, and for that I hate him a little less. I grab mint sheets from a linen closet and head to the main bedroom.

The Wizard had already risen. This was a little-known fact, one that we in his service had been sworn to secrecy. Nobody was supposed to know that the Great Oracle has needs like any other ordinary man, but looking past the need for sheets and warm baths drawn, he is still as wonderful as the day he came to Oz. Esmet had explained it to me when I was finally trusted to be put into his personal service. It was a privilege to serve him in such close proximity, that those who were unworthy became sick from the good that seeped from him and infected everything that he touched. It was also for his protection that most did not know who he truly was.

I lower my eyes when I knock before entering his room. In the first few weeks in his service, I had been terrified that I would catch some hideous illness that would make me break out in a pox exposing my badness to the world, but it never came. Still, I did not chance it, trying to make sure that I never caught sight of him in case the effects took direct contact to show up.

His room smells sweet with incense and a hint of tobacco. I look up briefly before raising my eyes, making sure the coast is clear. Satisfied that he is not present, I set the clean sheets on the emerald velvet bench at the end of the bed and work at stripping yesterday's sheets off of it. They're much softer than ours, the cotton only the highest quality that can be imported from Munchkinland. I think about the rough sheets that I had left Emily sleeping in back in our cold room.

The door creaks open and I hear her voice. "I'm going downstairs for wood," she says. "We're all out up here. Esmet must have used it all."

I go back to stripping the pillowcases, throwing the old linens into a nearby hamper. At least she's up, I think. Once I have the entire bed bare, I turn back to grab the new sheets, only to be met with the sight of him.

Given my fear, I had never actually seen him in person, but I knew what he looked like. His portrait was hung up in various places around the apartment. One painting that I had quite fancied hung in the dining room. In it, he was sat rather crooked in a chair of gold with green upholstery, a man with gray hair coifed in sweeps and a mustache and goatee to match, his hand lazily resting on the head of a tiger that had been posed next to him. I had always admired his bravery, wondering if he was ever for a second scared when posing for the painting. Seeing him now, any bravery that I had immediately fled from me as I cast my eyes back to the floor, giving an apologetic curtsy.

"Your Wonderfulness," I say, moving off towards the laundry basket, out of his way.

"You haven't happened to see my cufflinks?" he asks. I watch as his green wingtips walk into the room right up to the nightstand next to me.

"No, Your Wonderfulness," I say, trying to still the frog that is hopping in my throat. Why is he talking to me!?

"Could you help me look then?" he says. "They're... well they're green with a little..." he searches for the word. "A little gold flower on them."

I immediately go to searching, looking on the dresser. If I were a pair of cufflinks, where would I be? There are so many fine things laid out on his dresser: a golden hairbrush and mirror set, a snuffbox decorated with emerald and gold beetles, a green satin ribbon. No cufflinks.

"I swear I had them this morning," he says. "Should've had him put them on... Any luck over there?"

I turn to face him, eyes still on the floor. "No, Your Wonderfulness," I say.

"Is there something wrong with my face?" he says. It felt like I had swallowed a peach pit of embarrassment, my cheeks pinkening even more than the cold had roughed them up. I can’t find the words to respond to him, biting my tongue in fear that it may also offend him

"Do me a favor and look me in the eye," he says. "It's weird talking to the top of someone's head, no matter how pretty her braids are."

The compliment makes me want to dive into the basket of dirty laundry, never to be seen again, but I raise my eyes to look at him. This is the first day I have ever spoken with him, and somehow in all of his wonderfulness, he finds it fitting to compliment me. He is just like his portraits, but maybe with a few extra wrinkles around the eyes, the pepper that had generously seasoned his hair reduced to a dash. It can't be helped as those paintings must have been several years old. He smiles and again I fight the urge to bury myself in the hamper.

"Such pretty eyes," he says, crossing the room towards me. My heart beats quickly against my breastbone. Somehow this feels wrong, like I'll get in trouble with Esmet if he walks into the room. I remember Emily, who had gone down to get firewood for the hearth in the bedroom and my lips quiver to form words.

"Do you think they might be in the dresser?" I ask. It's sinful, but I don't want her seeing me with the Wizard. She could be a cruel tease when she wanted to be. I had avoided it for the most part, but the poor Munchkin boy that she had bullied when we'd first come to the palace eventually had to be relocated to the kitchen staff with the way he wept at night in the shared bedroom. Who knows what kind of rumors she might spread if she thought I had looked too swooned by him.

"I suppose," he drawls, making a survey of the top of his gilded dresser, humming in thought. His fingers snatch the ribbon between the middle and index and snap it sharply before holding it up to the sunlight. Satisfied with the assessment, he takes it and wraps it around and ties it into a bow amongst the two braids that wrap the crown of my head. "It looks better on you. Got it as a gift from an ambassador and I hadn't a clue what to do with it."

I go to thank him, but he holds a finger up in the air as if remembering something. Pushing his hand into his pocket, he produces two cufflinks: green, just like he said, with little golden flowers on them.

"Would you mind helping me with them?" he asks. I hadn't put on someone's cufflinks since I was 10 – my father's before he had passed away – but I figure that it can't be much different. I remember Emily once more and quickly guide the metal through the starched cotton, trying not to think too much about how I had gone from never seeing the most powerful man in Oz to dressing him in a matter of minutes.

He gives the sleeves a shake, and satisfied with their solidity, squeezes my cheeks with a tsk of the tongue. "There's a good girl," he says.

As quick as he'd entered the room, he left, leaving me with more than a hundred butterflies in my stomach and sweating palms. I head back to the dirty laundry and wipe off my palms on the sheets. There is a rattling of wood on metal and I know that Emily is back with a bucket full of wood. I hurry to the sheets, realizing that they are still not on the bed, just as they had been when Emily had left.

She enters the room as I'm stretching the second corner of the fitted sheet."What a nightmare that was," she says. "Those idiots in receiving hadn't opened up the wood shipment from last night so I had to wait there for them to cut it open. Here's hoping I still get breakfast." She sets the pail down with a clank, quickly chucking rough-hewn blocks of wood and logs onto the metal grate. "What's taking you so long with that bed?"

I sweep over to the other side, my crinoline rustling under my skirt. "There was a hole in the sheet," I lie. She didn't need to know all about how the Wizard had asked me to help him look for his cufflinks and about me helping him to get dressed afterward. I close my eyes as I pull the last corner of the sheet over the mattress and I can still smell the warmth of his cologne from that moment. It reminds me of the rolls that we get for Lurlinemas, with their cloves poking out of the shiny egg-washed crusts.

"I didn't see you with that ribbon earlier this morning," Emily says, pulling a box of matches from the mantle. "It's pretty. Did you get it in town?"

My eyes go wide as I realize that I still have the ribbon fastened around my head. "Oh," I stutter. I wasn't used to making up so many lies this early in the morning. "It's just some old thing I picked up this summer at the markets."

Emily gets a good strike and soon the fire is crackling quickly into a roar. "Well it looks good," she says. "Maybe we could go into town later this week. I need to get some gifts for Lurlinemas."

I was a little surprised that she was considering gifts, considering the price of everything had been crazy lately. Our meals and housing were complimentary with working in the palace, but any kind of extra clothing or goods besides the uniform that was provided at the start of each year was strictly up to each servant. The last time I had been in the markets I'd gawked at the price of 79 pennies for new laces for my boots. I consider objecting to the potential spending spree but hold my tongue. She's been asking too many questions. "Maybe we could go on Saturday?" I say.

Emily agrees to that, and we pass the rest of our day finishing our chores at a leisurely pace to soak up as much warmth as possible, talking of things we want to go do and see in the markets, away from the cold of the palace.

[shakespearesex]

I am just here waiting for my Wizard Of Oz fanfics

[shakespearesex]

UGHHHH I AM GOING INSANE. Few years ago I read a fanfic of James Potter x Oc. Oc had travel back in time to have a second chance and was a mother figure to Harry in her first time and I think she could still hear him in her head when she was reborn

I need its name

[shakespearesex]

━ 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰

lucius malfoy x woc!reader

⁀➷ summary ━ valentine’s day dinner with the ever so sensual lucius malfoy proves to be a challenge. inspired by this scene of jason Isaacs in “passionada”.

⁀➷ warnings ━ 18+ only - minors dni. age gap relationship. sexual nature and implied smut.

“Darling,” Lucius chuckled as you placed yet another dish on the expansive ebony wood dining table. “Come sit, let the house elves take care of the rest.”

“No.”

The silver haired gentleman shot you a challenging look.

“I rarely get to cook or bake anymore because you always have them do it for us,” You whined, your lips jutted out into a pretty pout. “Besides, this is the last one.”

He eyed the array of pastries, clearly impressed. Pride swelled within you, for Lucius Abraxas Malfoy was a difficult man to please. His steely gaze shifted to you. With the corner of his lips uptilted into a small smirk, he placed his hands on your hips before pulling you towards him and situating you sideways on his lap.

“Now my love,” His aristocratic voice purred. “What do we have here?”

"Butter poached lobster risotto," You stated, studying his expression as he chewed.

He hummed with approval, an indication for you to introduce the next dish. You pulled the second plate towards you before repeating your actions.

He hummed with approval, an indication for you to introduce the next dish. You pulled the second plate towards you before repeating your actions.

“Red wine braised lamb shanks.” You fed him once more. “Dry.”

“Good girl,” Lucius uttered lowly, his voice velvety and rich. “And what about dessert?”

Slightly flustered by his praise, you cleared your throat and reached for the first dessert you had prepared.

“Chocolate chiffon cake topped with a strawberry Swiss meringue. I figured I’d stick to traditional Valentine’s day themes with the flavor palette.” You rambled, nervousness barely detectable in your tone.

But he caught on. He always did.

Just as you were about to draw your hand away from his face, he caught your wrist in his opposite hand and brought your frosting covered fingers to his mouth. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly and sensually licked and suckled the frosting from your digits. Your breath hitched in your throat, eyes widening with shock. The arm around your waist lowered. His other hand wandered teasingly, reaching just above your bum before moving back up again.

“Last one, my love.”

You reached over and scrambled for the last dish, unable to revert your stare from his. He had you hook, line, and sinker. Completely in a trance.

“Tiramisu.”

This time, his mouth dived straight for your digits, licking them with more vigor before trailing heated kisses from your hands, to your wrists, up your arms, and to your neck.

“Get on the table.”

[shakespearesex]

DOES ANYONE KNOW WHERE I CAN FIND A SOUNDGASM THAT SOUNDS LIKE CHRISTIAN BALE/PATRICK BATEMAN. I'm desperate.